The hum of the truck was the only sound cutting through the empty Georgia road. Rick sat in the passenger seat with a rifle across his lap, eyes scanning the way. The man sharpened up since our first meeting; his recovery was almost complete. I had to admit, the sheriff adapted quickly.
"Still feels strange," Rick murmured, breaking the silence. "Road this quiet used to mean peace. Now it just feels… wrong."
"Silence means the dead are somewhere else," I replied calmly. "It's noise that gets you killed."
Rick gave a dry chuckle. "You ever take off a day from being grim?"
I smirked faintly. "Tried it once. The world ended." That drew an actual laugh from Rick, a tired, genuine one.
We had driven out earlier this morning to check one of the marked zones, a cluster of supply depots I had noted during earlier recon. It was a decent find, had to make a couple of runs to empty everything valuable, with the third being this one. With the truck half loaded with canned food, spare batteries, medical kits, and some bobs and ends, we were on the way back to the farm when I slowed down near an overpass.
Rick scanned the street ahead with binoculars, his brow furrowed. "Thought I'd saw movement just past that bus wreck."
Quietly parking the truck behind a wrecked vehicle, killing the engine, I leaned forward, squinting through the windshield. There: a flicker of motion, quick and desperate. Someone darting between the vehicles, clutching a crowbar. The figure was young, wiry, moving with the way of someone who'd done this before.
"Not a walker," I murmured. "Too fast to be one."
I opened the door and stepped out quietly, signaling for Rick to stay low. "We'll move in slow. If he's friendly, we'll talk. If he's not…" I loaded a round. "We don't hesitate."
Rick nodded once. We moved like shadows through the wrecks. The smell of rot lingered in the air, faint but constant. Then we heard it: a sharp crash of metal followed by panicked footsteps.
"Over there," Rick hissed, pointing toward a wrecked storefront.
I rounded the corner just in time to see the scavenger, a young Asian man barely in his twenties, sprinting backward out of an ally, swinging his crowbar widely as a pack of walkers closed in from both ends.
"Shit," I murmured, raising my rifle. Rick took the left flank. Gunfire cracked silently. Clean shots. The walkers dropped in sequence, skills bursting like overripe fruit.
The scavenger stumbled, fell backward, and stared up at us, wide eyed, chest heaving. "You," he gasped. "You're not dead."
I stepped forward, offering a hand. "Not yet. You okay?"
The man blinked, then grabbed my hand. "Yeah, yeah, thanks. Name's Glenn, Glenn Rhee."
My eyes widened slightly then returned to normal. I recognized that name: one of Rick's original group members.
Rick gave a half smile, lowering his rifle. "Rick Grimes. This here's Zephyr Ward. You picked one hell of a time for grocery shopping."
Glenn chucked breathlessly. "You're tellin' me. I was trying to reach the pharmacy two blocks down. Figured it was empty. Guess not."
I studied the man quietly. He moved with instinct, fear, and focus balanced, the kind of edge that comes from surviving alone for a while. "You got a group?"
Glenn stiffened, hesitant and unsure for a while, then nodded, catching his breath. "Yeah, camped just outside the city, near the old quarry. A few families, couple of loners. Been scrapping by, but we're running out of meds, food, you name it."
Rick froze. "You said near the quarry?"
Glenn frowned. "Yeah, why?"
Rick's eyes went distant. His voice cracked as he spoke. "My wife and son, they might be there. Lori and Carl."
Glenn blinked, then his expression softened. "Dark haired woman, maybe thirties? Kid about ten, wears a sheriff hat two sizes too big?"
Rick's breath hitched, his whole body tense. "That's them," he whispered.
Glenn nodded slowly. "They're alive. Been with us since the first week."
Rick didn't wait. He grabbed me by the shoulders and said, "We're going now."
I nodded once, calm but decisive. "Lead the way, Glenn."
The dirt rod wound down toward the quarry where the faint glow of campfire flickered between the trees. Voices drifted through the evening air: laughter, arguments, the desperate buzz of people trying to pretend life was normal. Rick jumped down from the truck before the wheels even settled, his breath hitched. They were alive.
Lori sat near the fire with Carl resting beside her, head tucked against her arms. The sight hit Rick like a sledgehammer. His throat constricted, and before I could stop him, he broke into a run. "Lori! Carl!"
Heads turned. A woman looked up, her expression froze. The spoon in her hand clattered against her bowl. "Rick," she whispered.
Carl blinked, confused. "Dad?"
Rick reached them and fell to his knees, wrapping his arms around them. Carl clung to him, sobbing, while Lori's hands trembled as she held her husband, the man she thought he died. "Oh my god," she murmured, tears spilling down her cheeks. "You're alive, you're—"
"Yeah," Rick choked, his voice breaking. "I'm here, baby. I'm right here."
I stood at the edge of camp with Ghost by my side, watching silently. Glenn lingered nearby, visibly moved. Around the fire, others murmured in disbelief. Whispers rippled through the group.
Then Shane appeared. He froze mid step, jaw tightening as his eyes landed on Rick holding Lori. His grip on his rifle went rigid. The flickering firelight couldn't hide the wave of conflicting emotions that passed over his head: shock, disbelief, guilt, then something else, something darker.
"Rick!" Shane said at last, forcing a grin. "Jesus, man… I thought you were dead!"
"Guess I got lucky."
"Luck doesn't even cover it," Shane laughed, but it sounded forced, hollow. He stepped forward and clapped a hand on Rick's shoulders—too firm, too fast. "Welcome back, brother."
Rick smiled faintly, exhausted. "Good to see you, Shane."
Shane's hand lingered a second too long before he pulled away. His eyes flickered to Lori, then to Carl, then back to the ground. The faint tremor in his jaw betrayed the storm brewing behind his eyes. Lori avoided his gaze, her knuckles were white where she gripped Carl's sleeve. I caught every flicker of tension: the guilt in Shane's eyes, the shame in Lori's, the confusion in Rick's. But said nothing. Wasn't my place to say anything. I just catalogued it a for later.
(To be continued...)