The sky above was turning the color of bruised steel, the sun sinking low as Glenn and Tara trudged down the cracked asphalt road.
They hadn't stopped moving in hours, only pausing to drink a little water before pressing on again.
Tara's breath came uneven, her eyes darting from shadow to shadow. Finally, she broke the silence, her voice shaky and raw.
"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I'm so sorry. Brian… that man said you were bad people, but I know that's not true. What we… what I did…"
Her voice cracked, and she grabbed at her own face, tears spilling hot down her cheeks. "I'm a piece of shit. Why would you even want my help?"
Glenn stopped, turning to her.
She stood trembling in the middle of the road, shoulders shaking.
A storm of guilt and grief finally breaking through her hardened shell.
Without hesitation, Glenn stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her.
Tara stiffened at first, then collapsed into his embrace, sobbing uncontrollably into his shoulder.
Glenn held her firm, one hand rubbing soothing circles on her back.
"You're not," he said quietly but firmly. "You didn't want to be there. You didn't choose this. In my eyes, your hands are clean."
Tara let out a shaky breath, clinging to him like a lifeline. "Thank you," she whispered, voice barely audible.
After a few minutes, the sobs subsided.
She pulled away, wiping at her tear-streaked face. "This is… embarrassing."
Glenn gave her a tired smile and a soft laugh, patting her shoulder.
"It's human," he replied, then turned back to the road.
They walked in silence for another mile before trouble found them.
Three walkers lurched from the treeline ahead, their groans cutting through the evening stillness.
Tara stiffened, panic flashing in her eyes, but Glenn moved forward without hesitation, gripping his fire axe.
The first walker went down with a clean swing, skull caving under the blade.
The second lunged, catching Glenn off guard. It slammed into him, knocking the breath from his lungs.
Glenn shoved it back, teeth gritted against the agony in his ribs, and buried the axe in its head.
He stumbled back, gasping and then crumpled to the ground, coughing violently.
Dark blood splattered on the dirt.
"Glenn!" Tara screamed, rushing to his side.
The last walker staggered toward them.
Tara's hands shook as she fumbled for her knife, but when the thing reached for Glenn, something in her snapped.
With a yell, she drove the blade deep into its skull. The walker dropped, and Tara spun back to Glenn, heart hammering.
She tore at the buckles of his riot armor, flinging the chest piece aside. When she lifted his shirt, she froze.
His torso was a mess of deep purple and angry blue bruises. The telltale signs of fractured ribs painting him from sternum to hip.
No wonder he was coughing blood.
"Goddamn it, Glenn," she muttered, fighting panic as she tried to think of what to do.
That's when she heard it... an engine rumbling up behind them.
Tara whipped around, AR-15 raised, adrenaline spiking.
A battered military truck screeched to a stop on the road. Doors slammed.
"Stay back!" Tara shouted, finger on the trigger. "What do you want, assholes?!"
In response, the sound of slides racking. Several at once, answered her.
From the truck stepped a mountain of a man, tall and broad-shouldered, with cropped red hair and a handlebar mustache.
He smirked as he looked Tara up and down.
"You got a damn mouth on you," he drawled. "What else you got?"
Behind him, a dark-haired woman with a rifle and a pudgy man clutching something like a football case stepped out.
They didn't raise their weapons, but they didn't lower their guard either.
Tara stood her ground, AR trembling but aimed. Behind her, Glenn wheezed weakly.
The redhead's eyes flicked to Glenn. "He needs a doctor," he said simply. "Lucky for you, we need hands."
...
The air along the railway was cool and damp, the early morning sun hidden behind heavy gray clouds.
Rick's group moved quietly, their small band stretched out along the tracks.
Rick walked near the front, Carl and Clem close to him.
Michonne flanked the opposite side of the rails, while Daryl brought up the rear with Sophia walking just ahead of him, bow in hand.
It had been a long, silent morning... until a scream ripped through the stillness.
Rick froze, hand snapping up in signal. "Hold."
They all went still, listening.
"Help! Please!"
The voice was young, desperate. Then came the snarls and pounding footsteps of the dead.
Rick didn't hesitate. "This way!"
The group broke into a run, boots hammering the gravel.
They followed the noise through a line of trees and emerged into a clearing where the tracks cut through a shallow gully.
A man and a boy... no older than twelve.
They were sprinting along the tracks, three walkers clawing at their backs. The boy tripped on a rail and went down hard.
"Dad!" he screamed.
The man spun, swinging a rusty crowbar wildly to hold the dead at bay.
"Michonne, left!" Rick barked, raising his revolver despite the stiffness in his arm.
Michonne veered off and sliced through the nearest walker in a clean, practiced motion. Rick fired, dropping the second in its tracks.
The last walker lunged for the man.
"Got it," Daryl growled, loosing a bolt that punched cleanly through its skull.
The walker crumpled mid-lunge, collapsing at the man's feet.
Silence fell, broken only by heavy breathing.
The man stood clutching his son, eyes wild. "Thank you. Oh, God… thank you. We thought we were done for."
Rick stepped forward, scanning them for injuries. "You hurt?"
The man shook his head quickly. "No. Just… just tired. We're headed to Terminus. Heard it's safe. You?"
Rick nodded. "Same. You can come with us if you want."
Hope flickered briefly in the man's face until the boy tugged at his sleeve and raised his arm.
The bite was high on the forearm, deep and ragged, the flesh already turning black around the edges.
Sophia gasped softly, covering her mouth.
Clem's eyes went wide, and she turned into Carl's side. He wrapped an arm around her, jaw tight.
The father stared at the wound, devastation etched across his features. His grip on the boy tightened.
"No..." Rick started gently, but the man shook his head, his voice breaking.
"I'm not leaving my son. We'll be together, till the end."
Rick swallowed hard, seeing the love and the pain. He gave a single, solemn nod. "I understand."
Daryl stepped closer, offering the man one of his bolts. "Make it quick," he said gruffly. Not unkind, just real.
The man took it with a shaking hand. "Thank you. For giving us this moment."
Rick hesitated, then placed a hand on the man's shoulder. "I'm sorry," he said simply. There was nothing else to say.
The group turned and started walking again, the tracks stretching endlessly ahead.
After a while, Clem's small voice broke the silence. "Do you think they'll be okay?"
Carl glanced down at her, eyes shadowed but steady. "He's with his dad," he said quietly. "That's what matters."
Daryl gave Carl a sidelong look, a flicker of respect in his eyes.
He shifted his crossbow, scanning the tree line. "Come on," he muttered. "We got ground to cover."
Rick exhaled and kept moving, Michonne falling into step beside him.
Behind them, Sophia slipped her hand into Clem's, holding on tight as they walked eas.
Toward Terminus, toward whatever future waited for them.
...
The big military transport truck thundered down the empty two-lane road, its heavy tires humming against the asphalt.
Tara sat in the back beside Glenn's motionless form, his head pillowed on her lap.
She absentmindedly combed her fingers through his hair, eyes on the horizon.
Something about him.
The quiet strength, the refusal to break even when everything else around them had.
Drew her in.
She stiffened when the truck abruptly slowed, pitching her forward slightly.
"Stay put," came Abraham's voice from the cab.
The truck stopped with a squeal of brakes.
Outside, three walkers ambled from the ditch, drawn to the engine noise.
Tara lifted her AR-15, ready to fire, but froze when Abraham barked, "Do not fire that weapon!"
She watched as the red-haired giant climbed out of the cab with nothing but a tire iron.
With precise, brutal swings, he caved in the walkers' skulls one by one, each strike punctuated by the wet crunch of bone.
He straightened afterward, breathing steady, a faint smile ghosting his lips.
Tara stared, unsettled.
He noticed. "What?" he asked, tone challenging.
She shook her head slowly. "Never seen that before."
Abraham frowned. "I've seen you do the same."
"You smiled," she said flatly.
He smirked, unapologetic. "Well, I'm the luckiest guy in the world. Still breathing. Even now," he motioned to a stalled sedan on the road.
"Help me push one of these cars. We've got a long way to go."
...
Three hours later.
Glenn stirred awake to the rumble of the truck and the gentle rhythm of Tara's hand in his hair.
His vision swam for a moment before clearing, and he found himself staring up at her profile.
Strong jaw set, eyes scanning the distance.
He shut his eyes again briefly, savoring the rare comfort.
When she finally spoke, her voice was quiet. "I saw you."
Glenn blinked, lifting himself upright with a cough.
"Didn't say you had to get up," Tara said with a small smirk.
Glenn chuckled hoarsely. "Think I've indulged myself long enough."
She smiled, handing him a water bottle. "Thirsty?"
"Yeah," he rasped, taking a long sip. "Where are we?"
"No clue," she admitted. "You collapsed fighting off a few walkers. Abraham and his crew showed up, offered us a ride. Figured it was safer than bleeding out on the roadside."
Glenn nodded. "Good call… but I need to find the others. How long have we been riding?"
"Three hours," she answered.
His eyes widened. He pounded on the cab's rear window. "Stop the truck!"
The brakes squealed again, and Glenn and Tara hopped down with their gear.
Abraham climbed out, unimpressed. "Where the hell do you think you're going?"
"Back," Glenn said firmly.
Abraham's expression hardened. "Neither of you seems to get what's happened to the world. We need each other. Even with all that gear, you won't last a night alone."
"I'll take my chances," Glenn shot back.
Abraham's jaw tightened. "Gonna have to insist you hold up. Believe it or not, the fate of the world might depend on it."
Glenn frowned. "What are you talking about?" He glanced at Tara. "Who is this guy?"
Abraham stepped closer. "Sergeant Abraham Ford. That's Rosita." He gestured to the woman by the truck. "And this here's Eugene. He's a scientist. Says he can end this whole damn nightmare. We're taking him to D.C."
Glenn's lips pressed into a thin line. "Good luck with that. But my people come first." He turned to leave.
Abraham grabbed his arm. "You're walking away from saving humanity, kid."
Glenn wrenched free and spun on him. "My humanity is my family."
Abraham scoffed. "Your family's dead."
The punch came fast... Glenn's fist cracking against Abraham's jaw and dropping him to the dirt.
"They're alive!" Glenn roared. "Joe is alive! I have no doubt. If he's alive, he'll find the others, rebuild what we had. I'm not giving up on that."
Abraham rose slowly, rubbing his jaw. "Son of a..."
He tackled Glenn, and the two men slammed into the asphalt, fists flying.
Tara and Rosita shouted, trying to break them apart... when gunfire erupted behind them.
"Walkers!" Tara yelled.
They spun to see Eugene wildly firing an M4 into the approaching dead, spraying bullets everywhere.
A few walkers went down, but so did the truck's fuel tank. Multiple rounds puncturing the metal, diesel soaking the road.
Abraham tore himself off Glenn and charged the horde with his tire iron.
Rosita joined in, while Tara grabbed her AR and picked off the stragglers.
When the last corpse hit the ground, Abraham crawled under the truck, only to emerge moments later, face grim.
"She's fucked," he growled. "Fuel tank's shredded. How the hell did you manage that?"
"Automatic fire and panic," Eugene muttered sheepishly.
Abraham spat into the dirt, furious.
"Sorry about your ride," Glenn said evenly, shouldering his pack. "Good luck."
He started walking, Tara falling in beside him without hesitation.
Rosita glanced at Abraham, then at Glenn's retreating back, and sighed. "Truck's done. We stick with them until we find another vehicle."
Abraham hesitated, then nodded curtly. "Let's move, Eugene."
As they walked, Abraham muttered to Tara, "Gotta admire his belief. Too bad it's misplaced."
Tara shot him a sidelong glance. "I don't think it is. You didn't see what I saw. Joe should've been dead ten times over, but he kept fighting. If anyone can pull people back from the brink, it's him."
Abraham grunted but said nothing more, and the mismatched group continued down the road.
Bound by fragile necessity and one man's unshakable faith in his friend.
...
The house had been quiet all morning, its peeling white paint and overgrown yard hiding them from the world beyond.
Inside, Judith and baby Esther slept in a nest of blankets by the cold hearth.
Emma sat cross-legged on the floor with Mika and Lizzie, whittling a small piece of wood into the vague shape of a horse.
It was almost peaceful until the first guttural moan came from outside.
Then another. And another.
Within seconds, the windows rattled under the impact of countless fists.
Walkers shuffled across the porch, their shadows stretching long through the houses siding.
Carol's head snapped up. "Tyreese, the back door!"
Tyreese grabbed his hammer, Carol her knife.
They exchanged a quick glance before darting out the rear door, intent on leading the dead away.
Inside, Emma set the carving down and rose, moving toward the window cautiously.
Through the grime-coated glass, she could see the shambling shapes pressing closer.
Her heart pounded. "Stay here," she told Mika and Lizzie.
She crept toward the kitchen where a single walker had slipped through a broken window they'd boarded too loosely.
Emma didn't hesitate. She lunged, driving her knife into the walker's skull with a wet crunch.
The corpse slumped to the floor at her feet.
She turned back, breathing hard... and then froze.
Lizzie stood in the doorway, eyes wide, face pale.
In her small, trembling hands was a pistol, raised and aimed directly at Emma.
"You… you killed her," Lizzie stammered, tears streaming. "She wasn't… she wasn't bad. None of them are bad."
"Lizzie..." Emma started, voice soft, hands raised.
"You don't understand!" Lizzie's voice cracked. "We don't kill people!"
Emma's stomach turned cold. "Put the gun down, Lizzie. Please. Think of Mika..."
A click behind her.
Bang! Bang!
The shots deafened the small room. Lizzie's body jerked violently, her finger convulsing on the trigger as she fell.
Emma flinched, she watched Lizzie crumple to the floor. Behind her stood Carol, her face ashen, pistol still smoking.
Emma's eyes dropped to the floor and her breath caught.
Mika lay sprawled on the ground, gasping for breath.
Blood pulsed weakly from a hole in her neck, her tiny hands twitching as she held her neck.
"No…" Emma dropped to her knees, gathering the little girl into her arms. "No, no, no…"
Mika's wide, terrified eyes locked onto hers. Emma stroked her hair gently, humming a tune.
An old lullaby she barely remembered, as tears streamed down her cheeks.
The door slammed open behind them. Tyreese stumbled inside, chest heaving.
He'd doubled back when he realized Carol wasn't with him.
"What happened?" he demanded, voice tight.
Carol's lips trembled. "Lizzie was aiming at Emma. I had no choice…"
Tyreese's shoulders sagged as the truth sank in.
Something in him seemed to snap. Some fragile, precious part of himself gone forever.
He walked past them silently, kneeling by Judith and Esther to soothe their cries as the gunshots faded into silence.
Mika gave one last shuddering breath in Emma's arms.
Emma swallowed her sob and, with shaking hands, pressed her knife into the child's temple. "I'm sorry," she whispered, and ended it quickly.
The room felt hollow afterward.
Carol just stood there, staring down at Lizzie's lifeless body.
She'd known something was wrong with the girl for weeks, seen the signs but she hadn't acted.
Now, two children were dead. Two children who were about the same age as Sophia.
...
The house was eerily silent as they packed what little they had left.
Judith whimpered softly as Carol strapped her to her chest.
Emma carried Esther, her face set in a numb mask.
Tyreese stood at the door, hammer in hand.
"We can't stay here," Carol said finally.
Tyreese nodded. "Tracks run just past the treeline. Maybe… maybe the others saw the signs."
No one spoke as they stepped out into the pale morning light. Behind them, the house stood empty again, a silent tomb for what they'd lost.
And ahead, the tracks stretched on forever.