CHAPTER 23: TWO COMMUNITIES
POV: Hershel Greene
Hershel sets down his coffee and studies the young man across his breakfast table—Scott, the EMT who helped save Carl's leg with surgical precision that impressed even a veterinarian. There's something about Scott's manner that suggests depths beneath the surface, medical knowledge that goes beyond emergency training.
"The infection," Hershel begins carefully, "in your professional opinion, is it truly irreversible?"
Scott pauses with his fork halfway to his mouth, considering the question with the gravity it deserves. Around the table, Rick's people tense slightly—they know where this conversation leads.
"What do you think it is?" Scott asks gently, deflecting while gathering information.
"A disease. Perhaps viral, maybe bacterial. Something that affects the brain, causes aggressive behavior, but..." Hershel's voice carries desperate hope. "Diseases can be treated. Cured."
POV: Rick Grimes
Rick's jaw tightens as he recognizes the dangerous territory they're entering. He's seen too much death, too much reality, to indulge in comforting fantasies about the infected being "sick people" who might recover.
"With respect," Rick says carefully, "those things out there aren't sick. They're dead. Walking corpses that want to eat us."
Hershel's expression hardens. "That's a very convenient way to justify killing them without guilt."
The accusation hangs in the morning air like smoke, dividing the table into camps—Rick's people nodding agreement with their leader, Hershel's family looking uncomfortable but loyal.
POV: Scott
Scott feels the tension escalate and quickly intervenes, his diplomatic instincts honed by months of managing group dynamics.
"This is the philosophical divide that nearly destroyed both groups in canon. Hershel's hope versus Rick's pragmatism. I need to bridge this without destroying either perspective."
"Both viewpoints have merit," Scott says quietly. "Hershel, your hope for humanity is admirable—we need people who refuse to give up on the possibility of healing. But Rick's right about the immediate threat. Whatever these people were, their higher brain functions are gone. They respond only to hunger and movement."
Hershel's eyes flash with hurt. "You're a medical professional. Surely you understand the possibility of recovery—"
"I understand brain death," Scott continues gently. "And I understand hope. Maybe someday someone with advanced scientific resources will find a cure, a treatment, something. But until then, we protect the living by acknowledging what the infected have become."
POV: Maggie Greene
Maggie watches the philosophical debate with growing discomfort, knowing it strikes at the heart of her father's worldview. Daddy's been keeping infected family members in the barn, caring for them like patients rather than putting them down like rabid animals.
She catches Glenn's eye across the table—sweet, nervous Glenn who volunteered to help with today's supply run to town with transparent eagerness to spend time with her. His crush is adorable, obvious, and surprisingly welcome after months of isolation.
"At least some good can come from these two groups meeting. Even if Daddy and Rick can't agree about the dead."
"More coffee anyone?" Maggie offers, standing to defuse the tension with domestic routine.
POV: Glenn Rhee
Glenn accepts the coffee refill with a grateful smile, noting how Maggie's hand lingers just a moment longer than necessary when their fingers brush. She's beautiful—green eyes, confident manner, the kind of woman who would never have noticed him in the old world.
But this isn't the old world. And Glenn's proven himself capable of things he never imagined possible—navigating walker-infested cities, coordinating supply runs, earning the respect of people like Daryl and Scott.
"I could use a guide for the pharmacy run," Glenn offers hopefully. "Someone who knows the local area."
Maggie's smile suggests she sees right through his transparent excuse. "I suppose I could spare the time."
Dale chuckles from across the table. "Young love blooms even in the apocalypse."
POV: Andrea
Andrea watches the interactions with amused fondness while her rifle waits cleaned and ready beside her plate. The shooting lessons with Scott have become the highlight of her days—partly for the skill development, mostly for the intimacy of shared focus and gentle instruction.
"He's patient, encouraging, completely different from Shane's aggressive training methods. Scott treats me like an equal who can learn, not a liability to be managed."
"Think we could use the south pasture for target practice today?" Andrea asks Hershel. "Continue the lessons."
Hershel nods distractedly, still processing Scott's gentle challenge to his beliefs about the infected. "Of course. Just mind the livestock."
Scott's eyes meet Andrea's with promise of shared time away from group tensions. Something warm and electric passes between them, the kind of connection that transcends words.
POV: Scott
Later that morning, Scott sets up targets in the pasture while Andrea loads her rifle with practiced efficiency. Her progress has been remarkable—natural talent enhanced by dedicated practice and quality instruction.
"Stance," Scott murmurs, positioning himself behind her to adjust her grip and shoulder alignment. "Remember, the rifle is an extension of your body, not a separate tool."
Andrea's back presses against his chest as he guides her aim, both of them acutely aware of the physical contact that's become increasingly charged with romantic tension.
"Like this?" Andrea asks, though her technique is already perfect.
"Exactly like that."
The first shot takes the target dead center. The second punches through the same hole. By the fifth consecutive bullseye, Andrea lowers the rifle and turns in the circle of Scott's arms.
"I think I'm getting the hang of it," she says quietly, green eyes bright with accomplishment and something deeper.
POV: Andrea
The kiss is inevitable, natural as breathing after weeks of growing attraction and shared danger. Andrea drops the rifle and pulls Scott closer, tasting morning coffee and the promise of life continuing despite everything trying to end it.
"This. This is what I've been missing. Not just physical contact, but connection with someone who sees me as strong, capable, worth protecting and worth teaching."
When they break apart, both breathing hard, Scott's expression carries surprise and wonder like he can't quite believe this is happening.
"Andrea..."
"Don't you dare apologize," she warns, stepping back reluctantly. "Don't you dare say this is complicated or dangerous or whatever excuse men use when they're scared of genuine feeling."
Scott's smile is soft, genuine. "I was going to say that was worth waiting for."
POV: Carol Peletier
Carol hangs laundry and observes the romantic tension between Andrea and Scott with maternal satisfaction. Both of them deserve happiness, connection, the reminder that life offers more than just survival and fear.
Sophia plays nearby with Carl, whose leg is healing rapidly thanks to Scott and Hershel's combined care. The children adapt to change with resilience that amazes and heartbreaks her—making friends, finding joy, refusing to let the world's darkness consume their capacity for laughter.
"Scott saved my daughter twice now. First from that walker in the woods, then from the trauma of watching other children get hurt. We owe him more than I can ever repay."
"Mama," Sophia calls, "Carl says his dad might let us stay here longer. Is that true?"
Carol smiles, genuinely hopeful for the first time in months. "Maybe, baby. We'll see what the grown-ups decide."
POV: Daryl Dixon
Daryl maintains perimeter security while keeping one eye on the farm's domestic activities. Glenn's making moon-eyes at Maggie, Andrea's teaching herself to shoot better than most men, and everyone's settling into routines that feel dangerously close to normal life.
"Getting comfortable. That's when people die—when they start thinking they're safe."
But even Daryl has to admit the arrangement has benefits. Consistent food, medical care for injuries, defensive positions that don't require constant vigilance. Maybe comfort isn't always weakness.
Through the trees, he spots movement—not walkers, just deer grazing in the distance. For a moment, Daryl allows himself to imagine hunting for sport rather than survival, tracking game for the joy of the skill rather than desperate hunger.
POV: Dale Horvath
Dale works on the RV's engine while listening to the sounds of two communities learning to coexist. Children's laughter, adult conversation, the normal rhythms of life that seemed lost forever when the world ended.
"This is what we're fighting to preserve. Not just survival, but the possibility of rebuilding something worth surviving for."
Scott appears with tools and mechanical knowledge that complements Dale's experience, working together to solve problems that neither could handle alone. The young man's competence continues to impress—medical skills, tactical knowledge, mechanical aptitude, and now diplomatic wisdom that bridges competing worldviews.
"You've got a gift for bringing people together," Dale observes as they wrestle with a stubborn bolt. "Making enemies into allies."
Scott's smile is tired but genuine. "Just trying to find common ground. We're all human, all trying to protect the people we love."
POV: Rick Grimes
That evening, Rick finds Hershel on the farmhouse porch, both men processing the day's philosophical conversation with the weight of leadership responsibility.
"I don't want to impose," Rick begins carefully. "But Carl's recovery is ahead of schedule. If we could stay a bit longer, help with farm work, contribute to the community..."
Hershel rocks slowly in his chair, considering the proposal with the measured thought of someone who's seen enough of the world to recognize genuine offers of partnership.
"Your people are respectful, hardworking. And that young man Scott—he's got wisdom beyond his years."
"He does," Rick agrees. "Good judge of character, good mediator. Helps people find solutions instead of just pointing out problems."
Hershel nods slowly. "Extended stay in exchange for labor and protection. Fair trade."
The agreement feels monumental despite its simplicity—two groups choosing cooperation over suspicion, shared strength over isolated vulnerability.
POV: Scott
Later that night, Scott and Andrea make love in the barn's hayloft, both desperate for connection and affirmation of life amid constant reminders of mortality. Afterward, they lie entwined in comfortable silence, her head on his chest while he traces patterns on her bare shoulder.
"When will you trust me with your secrets?" Andrea asks quietly, not accusatory but curious.
Scott's hand stills on her skin. She knows he's hiding something significant, sees through his carefully constructed explanations to the deeper mysteries beneath.
"I love her. But how do I explain transmigration, System interfaces, knowledge of future events? How do I tell her I'm from another world where her life was a TV show?"
"Some secrets are too dangerous to share," Scott says finally. "Not because I don't trust you, but because knowledge can be a burden that changes everything."
Andrea lifts her head to meet his eyes. "I can carry burdens. I've carried plenty already."
"I know. And maybe someday..." Scott kisses her forehead gently. "For now, is it enough to know that everything I do is to protect the people I care about? That includes you, especially you."
Andrea settles back against his chest, apparently satisfied with partial truth wrapped in genuine emotion.
Outside, Georgia's night sounds provide peaceful backdrop to tentative happiness and growing hope. Two communities have found common ground, love blooms despite apocalyptic circumstances, and for the first time in months, tomorrow feels like something worth anticipating rather than just another day to survive.
Carl sleeps safely with his leg healing properly, Sophia plays without fear of wandering into danger, and adults dare to dream of stability lasting longer than a few desperate weeks.
But in the barn below, Scott knows, infected family members wait in chains—Hershel's secret that will soon force another crisis requiring diplomatic solutions rather than violent ones.
For now, though, peace reigns over the Greene farm, and Scott allows himself to hope they can maintain it through whatever storms lie ahead.
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