Better Angels
The group stood in, gathered in a tight circle around Dale’s grave. Rick stepped forward. His gaze swept over the faces before him—some tear-streaked, some hardened by grief.
He took a breath, steadying himself before speaking.
“Dale had a way of getting under your skin,” Rick started, “He sure got under mine. Because he wasn’t afraid to say exactly what he thought. That kind of honesty—it’s rare. And brave.”
Rick paused, running a hand over his face before continuing. “Whenever I made a decision, I’d look at Dale. And he’d be looking back at me with that look he had. We’ve all seen it—one time or another. I couldn’t always read him, but he could read us. Saw people for who they were. He knew things about us—the truth of who we really are.”
Rick’s eyes flickered briefly to Amy, standing beside Harry, her shoulders shaking as she quietly cried into his sleeve.
“In the end, Dale was talking about losing our humanity. He said this group was broken.” Rick let the words hang for a moment before shaking his head. “The way we honor him? We unbreak it. We set aside our differences and pull together. We stop feeling sorry for ourselves. We take control—of our lives, our safety, our future.”
Rick straightened, his gaze sweeping over the gathered group. “We’re not broken. We’re gonna prove him wrong. From now on, we do things his way.”
“This is how we honor Dale,” Rick finished.
Later, as everyone gathered stuff to move in the house, Rick stood near the truck, arms crossed as he surveyed the farm. “It’s gonna be tight,” he said, exhaling. “Twenty-something people in one house.”
Hershel shook his head. “Don’t worry about that. With the swamp hardening and the creek drying up…”
Maggie crossed her arms, glancing around. “Fifty head of cattle on the property,” she said. “Might as well be ringing a damn dinner bell.”
Hershel nodded. “She’s right. We should’ve moved in a while ago.”
Rick turned back to the group, switching gears. “All right. Let’s move the vehicles near each of the doors, facing out toward the road. We’ll put a lookout in the windmill and another in the barn loft—that should give us sight lines on both sides of the property.”
T-Dog shifted slightly. “I’ll take the perimeter around the house. Keep track of everyone coming and going.”
Rick nodded. “Good. As for standing guard? I need you and Daryl pulling double duty.”
Hershel stepped in. “I’ll stock the basement with food and water—enough that we can all survive down there for a few days if it comes to that.”
T-Dog glanced at Rick. “What about patrols?”
Rick ran a hand over his beard. “Let’s get the area locked down first. After that, Shane will assign shifts while Daryl and I take Randall off-site and cut him loose.”
Harry scoffed, stepping forward, his voice sharp. “Are we seriously back to that?”
Rick turned to him, his voice firm. “It was the right call the first time. Poor execution.”
Harry let out a breath, shaking his head before storming off in disgust.
Shane watched him leave, shaking his head. “That’s an understatement.”
Rick shot him a look. “I don’t care if you don’t agree. Swallow it.”
Shane scowled “Dale’s death and the prisoner? Two different things. If you want to make Daryl your wingman, go for it.”
Rick nodded. “Thank you.”
Shane didn’t respond, just turned and walked off.
Hershel sighed, his voice low. “I see why you’re not taking Shane or Harry with you.”
Rick glanced at him.
Hershel’s expression was unreadable. “Just know—I’ve got no more patience where they’re concerned.”
Rick sighed, rubbing the back of his neck as he watched Harry storm off in frustration. “He’s a good kid when he wants to be,” he muttered. “He’s just choosing to be an ass.”
Hershel hummed in agreement but said nothing.
Rick turned his gaze toward Shane, who had put some distance between himself and the rest of the group. “Shane’s turning over a new leaf,” he added.
Spotting Andrea walking nearby, Rick called out to her. “Andrea.”
She glanced up, adjusting her grip on her rifle. “What’s up?”
“When I’m out with Daryl,” Rick said, “can you help Hershel keep an eye on things around here?”
Andrea raised an eyebrow. “What about Shane?”
“Shane’s got a way of letting things get out of hand. Especially when he’s all torqued up.”
Andrea let out a short laugh, shaking her head. “I think we’re all a bit torqued up at this point.”
Hershel stepped forward “If you’re staying here permanently, he’s got to understand—it’s what Rick and I say. Not whatever he wants.”
Rick nodded, turning back to Andrea. “You’ve gotten close to him. You two talk—you know he’s not a bad guy. He’s just his own worst enemy.”
Andrea crossed her arms. “You want me to babysit Shane?”
Rick sighed. “I need to make sure every time I leave the farm, all hell doesn’t break loose.”
Andrea scowled. “Then maybe you should stop leaving.”
Rick huffed but didn’t argue. “Will you keep an eye on things?”
Andrea nodded, her expression serious now. “Of course.”
Carl approached Harry, who was stacking logs near the edge of the camp. Harry glanced up, wiping sweat from his brow. “What’s up, Carl?”
Carl hesitated, shifting nervously. “Can I tell you something? Without you telling Mom or Dad?”
Harry raised an eyebrow, leaning against a tree. “That probably isn’t a good idea,” he said “They’re pretty pissed at me most days lately.”
Carl didn’t laugh. Instead, he pulled a pistol from his jacket and held it out to Harry. “I took it from Daryl’s bike,” he admitted quietly. “If he finds out, he’ll kill me.”
Harry sighed, taking the pistol and turning it over in his hands. “What were you doing with this?” he asked, his tone more serious now.
Carl’s voice cracked as he looked down at the ground. “It’s my fault Dale died.”
Harry froze, his eyes snapping to his little brother. He saw the tears welling up in Carl’s eyes and immediately knelt down to his level. “Why would you think that?” he asked gently.
Carl sniffled, wiping at his face. “Me and Sophia… we were messing with it in the woods. I was gonna shoot it, but it got loose. We got scared and ran. If we killed it, Dale would still be alive.”
Harry’s expression softened, and he placed a hand on Carl’s shoulder. “You can’t think that way,” he said firmly. “I know better than anyone else—you can’t carry that kind of weight.”
He held the gun out to Carl. “Keep it. Protect yourself.”
Carl shook his head, stepping back. “I’m not touching any gun ever again,” he said, his voice trembling. Then he turned and ran off, leaving Harry standing there.
Lori walked through the house, giving directions as she helped organize the living arrangements. “The men are in that part of the house,” she told T-Dog and Glenn.
Maggie approached Glenn, arms crossed. “You can put your stuff in my room.”
Glenn blinked, glancing toward Hershel. “With your dad in the house?” he asked skeptically.
Maggie simply stared at him, her expression unreadable.
Glenn hesitated, then cleared his throat. “I’ll put my stuff over there,” he said quickly, nodding toward another spot.
Maggie rolled her eyes but walked off without another word.
Outside, T-Dog took a box from Amy as she adjusted her grip on another. Lori glanced over at them. “Rick, Carl, and I are taking a corner of the living room.”
Nearby, Hershel spoke to Amy. “You and Harry can put your things in my room.”
Amy raised an eyebrow. “I thought you didn’t like Harry much.”
Hershel sighed, not bothering to deny it. “I can’t live with myself if I make a pregnant woman sleep on the floor while I’ve got a bed.”
Amy smirked slightly. “Big change of heart.”
Hershel nodded. “I’ll take the couch downstairs. When I came home reeking of bourbon early in my marriage, my wife would lock the bedroom door on me.”
T-Dog glanced up. “I’ll take the bed if she doesn’t want it.”
Hershel shook his head. “The couch is mine,” he said firmly, walking into the house.
Lori looked over the yard, pausing when she spotted Shane working on the windmill. She frowned, walking toward him. “Wait for help,” she called up.
Shane barely looked at her. “Help’s not coming,” he muttered. “I’ll do this myself.”
Lori sighed. “You always do. Like when you showed up while Rick was fixing the sink.”
Shane scoffed, adjusting his grip on the tools. “Wasn’t my fault your basement flooded that day. You can thank Rick for that.”
Lori’s expression softened. “Come down.”
Shane stared at her for a second, silent and unreadable, before finally obeying, stepping down from the windmill.
Rick stood on the porch beside Daryl, both men staring out at the farm as the sun started its slow descent. Rick exhaled, running a hand over his beard. “We’ll take Randall out to Senoia,” he said. “Hour there, hour back. We might lose the light, but we’ll be halfway home.”
Daryl scoffed, shifting his weight. “This pain in the ass’ll be a distant memory. Good riddance.”
Rick nodded. “Carol’s putting together provisions for him—enough to last a few days.” He hesitated before continuing. “That thing last night…”
Daryl glanced at him. “No reason I should do the heavy lifting.”
Rick studied him for a moment. “You alright with this?”
Daryl shrugged. “I wouldn’t be throwing a wrench through a window full of walkers if that’s what you’re asking.”
Rick raised his eyebrow slightly. “You heard about that.”
Daryl snorted. “Yeah, Randall blabbed.”
Before either of them could say more, they heard footsteps approaching. Both turned to see Harry walking toward them, his expression tense. Daryl pushed himself off the railing. “I’m gonna piss,” he muttered, stepping away.
Harry stopped in front of Rick, glancing around. “Where’s Carl?”
“In the house,” Rick answered, watching him closely.
Harry hesitated before speaking. “Carl asked me not to say anything—but he and Sophia were in the swamps yesterday. They came across the walker that killed Dale.” He swallowed. “It was stuck in the mud. They got scared and ran off.”
Rick’s expression darkened, his jaw tightening. “I’ll talk to him.”
Harry nodded, then reached into his jacket and pulled out a pistol. “He took this from Daryl’s camp. Give it back to him.”
Rick took the pistol, glancing down at it.
Harry’s voice dropped, bitter now. “I guess the memory and conscience of a dead man is more important to you than the group’s safety.”
Rick looked up, eyes narrowing as Harry turned and walked off.
Glenn approached the RV, watching as Andrea struggled to start it. He stood by the open door, arms crossed. “Pump the gas pedal,” he said.
Andrea huffed. “I did. It was parked too long.”
Glenn frowned. “Pump it three times.”
Andrea rolled her eyes but followed his instructions. “And give it a twist, right?” she muttered.
Glenn stepped forward, opening the hood as Andrea climbed out. He inspected the engine, clicking his tongue. “Dale told me—old vehicles, parts get corroded.”
Andrea rummaged through a nearby toolbox, holding out a screwdriver. “Flathead?”
“Yeah.” Glenn took it, carefully working a piece loose.
“File?” he asked.
Andrea handed it to him without hesitation.
But as Glenn adjusted the parts, his hands stilled. His expression darkened as a thought settled in. “I let Dale down,” he said quietly.
Andrea’s brows furrowed. “Glenn—”
“You had his back and I didn’t.”
“He was proud of you. Maybe not in that moment, but he was.”
Glenn nodded “He was.”
“And Dale knew how much we all cared for him.”
Glenn let out a shaky breath, his eyes welling with tears as he looked back at the engine. After a long pause, he sighed. “It’s done.”
Andrea tossed him the keys, sliding into the passenger seat. Glenn climbed in beside her and turned the ignition.
The RV rumbled to life.
Rick stepped into the barn, scanning the dim interior before looking up to find Carl sitting near the top door, staring out at the horizon. The boy didn’t turn when Rick climbed up beside him, settling in with a quiet sigh.
“I was told you’d be here,” Rick said, his voice calm.
Carl shrugged, his gaze still fixed outside. “I told Mom I’d be lookout. I’m tired of helping around the house.”
Rick studied him for a moment, then reached into his jacket and pulled out the gun Harry had given him. He held it out to Carl. “What happened to Dale… that didn’t happen because of you.”
Carl’s expression flickered, and his voice was barely above a whisper. “But he died.”
Rick nodded slowly, his own voice weighed down. “There’s a lot of that going around.”
Carl finally looked at his father, searching his face for something. Rick sighed. “That’s why I need you, son. No more kid stuff. I wish I could give you the childhood I had—the one we were able to give Harry. But that’s not the world anymore.”
Carl swallowed, his grip tightening on his knees.
Rick pressed on. “People are gonna die. I’m gonna die. Mom, Harry.” His throat tightened slightly. “You’ll never be ready for it. None of us will. But we can try. And the best we can do is avoid it—one step at a time.”
Carl glanced down, his fingers flexing slightly. Rick exhaled. “I wish I had something better to say. My father was good at that… but I’m tired.”
He extended the gun again, his voice quieter. “Take it.”
Carl hesitated for a moment, then reached out, wrapping his fingers around the grip.
Ben slipped quietly into the shed, his heart pounding as he approached Randall. The man sat slumped against the wall, his blindfold still in place. Ben hesitated for a moment before reaching out and pulling it off.
Randall blinked, his eyes adjusting to the dim light. He stared at Ben, a flicker of curiosity crossing his face. “What do you want, kid?”
Ben shifted nervously, his voice barely above a whisper. “Does your group have people around my age? Maybe from one of the schools nearby?”
Randall tilted his head, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Yeah, we do.”
Ben paused, his gaze flickering. “What about families? Any with a girl around ten?”
Randall nodded slowly. “I’m sure there’s a couple.”
Ben stared at him for a long moment, his thoughts racing. Finally, he spoke again, his voice trembling slightly. “Take me to your group. Maybe my friends—or my family—are part of it.”
Randall’s smirk widened, but Ben didn’t notice. He reached for the chains, fumbling with the locks as Randall watched him closely.
Outside, T-Dog approached the shed, his steps brisk. He opened the door, expecting to find Randall inside—but the space was empty. His eyes widened in shock as he turned and sprinted back toward the house.
“Rick!” he yelled, his voice urgent. “Randall’s gone!”
Rick opened his mouth to say they needed to check for Harry and Shane, but stopped short when he spotted both men walking toward him, their expressions tense with concern.
“What’s going on?” Shane asked.
Rick’s jaw tightened. “Randall’s missing.”
Harry’s eyes narrowed. “You serious?”
“Dead serious,” Rick said. “Gather everyone in the living room.”
Without hesitation, Shane and Harry moved to follow orders, calling out to the others to assemble.
Once everyone was inside, it didn’t take long for the realization to set in—Ben was missing too.
Carol’s face paled as she looked around. “He was talking about going to find his friends or family,” she murmured, her voice full of dread. “Do you think he took Randall? To see if they were with his group?”
Rick considered it for a moment before nodding. “It’s possible.”
His looked around “We spread out. Shane and I will take the fields. The others will cover the woods.”
He and Shane moved toward the door when Christa spoke up. “What about us?”
Kenny turned to her. “You and Amy should stay here with Randall on the loose.”
Christa frowned. “Why?”
Kenny crossed his arms. “Because you’re both eating for two.”
Silence fell over the room as everyone looked between Christa and Amy. Christa’s eyes widened, her hand instinctively going to her stomach. “How—how did you know?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
Kenny simply gave her a look before turning away.
Outside, Harry left with Daryl and Glenn, heading in one direction, while Kenny, Mark, and Allen moved in another.
Rick tightened his grip on his revolver as he and Shane strode toward the fields.
The two walked halfway through the field as Shane stopped abruptly. Rick slowed his steps, turning to face him. “You really want to do this here?” Rick asked, his voice low and steady.
Shane’s expression was cold, unreadable. “Good a place as any.”
Rick’s eyes narrowed as he turned fully, only to see Shane raising a gun, pointing it directly at him.
Meanwhile, in the woods, Harry, Glenn, and Daryl moved cautiously, Glenn’s flashlight cutting through the darkness. The sound of scuffling reached their ears, and the three of them broke into a run, following the noise.
They burst into a small clearing to find Randall on top of Ben, his hands wrapped tightly around the boy’s throat. Ben struggled, clawing at Randall’s arms, his face red as he gasped for air. Without hesitation, Daryl raised his crossbow and fired, the bolt piercing Randall’s back. Randall’s eyes widened in shock, but he didn’t release Ben.
Harry stepped forward, his own bow drawn, and loosed an arrow that struck Randall’s neck. Blood gushed as Randall choked, his hands finally loosening their grip on Ben. He collapsed to the ground, clutching at the arrow as life drained from his eyes.
Daryl turned to Ben, his voice sharp. “What the hell were you thinking?”
Ben coughed, rubbing his throat as he sat up. “He told me… he told me maybe my friends or family were with his group. It was worth a shot.”
Harry muttered under his breath, “Damn it, Ben.”
Ben’s voice cracked. “I’m sorry.”
Glenn exhaled, his nerves still frayed. “We need to head back to the house. Tell everyone what happened.”
Before they could move, Randall’s body twitched. His eyes snapped open, now clouded and lifeless. The walker that was once Randall lunged at Glenn, snarling. Glenn yelled in surprise as the creature grabbed him, its teeth snapping inches from his face.
Harry and Daryl rushed forward, wrestling the walker off Glenn. Daryl didn’t hesitate, stomping down on its skull repeatedly until it was nothing but mush. The group stood in stunned silence, their breaths heavy.
Ben’s voice trembled. “What… what happened? He wasn’t bit. How did he come back?”
The four men exchanged uneasy glances. None of them spoke.
Back in the field, Rick’s voice was calm as he addressed Shane. “We can work this out.”
Shane laughed bitterly, shaking his head. “There’s nothing to work out.”
Rick’s jaw tightened. “You think everyone’s gonna buy whatever story you tell them?”
Shane’s smirk faded slightly. “All they’ll see is Randall getting you. I chased him down. Killed him. It won’t be easy, but they’ll get over it. Harry and I did it with Ed Peletier.”
Rick’s eyes narrowed. “You think Harry would forgive you if he found out you killed me?”
For the first time, Shane hesitated, his grip on the gun faltering slightly. Rick nodded, his voice quieter now. “I know you, Shane. Out of everyone in the group, you only really care about Harry and Andrea’s opinions.”
Shane’s composure cracked. “No one but Ed died before you showed up!” he yelled, his voice raw. “Everyone only started dying when you showed up!”
Rick slowly lowered his pistol, placing it on the ground. “We can come back from this,” he said softly. “We can walk back to the farm and forget this ever happened.”
Shane said nothing, his expression unreadable as Rick stepped closer. Rick moved quickly, reaching for his knife, but Shane reacted just as fast, backhanding him and tackling him to the ground. The two men grappled, Shane landing punches before Rick managed to flip him over, grabbing Shane’s gun and pointing it at his head.
Rick’s voice was steady, but his eyes were filled with regret. “I’m sorry,” he said, pulling the trigger.
Nothing happened.
Rick pulled the trigger again, but the gun only clicked. Shane’s expression shifted to one of disappointment. Rick’s heart sank as he realized the truth—Shane had never loaded the gun. He’d known it was empty from the start.