—St. John's Dairy
"Wesker."
A familiar voice crackled through the radio, rough around the edges but unmistakably hers
I leaned closer, "Maggie," I said, recognizing the voice instantly.
"You finally picked it up, huh?" she replied, a mix of irritation and relief coloring her tone.
There was a sound of fabric shifting, maybe the creak of leather. "Now, would you mind telling me where this place of yours is? I'm standing right where you told me to, and I don't like that the sun's already gone down."
I closed my eyes briefly. Why is she here? At this hour? Did that happen? But these questions were for later, I adjusted the receiver in my hand, "Take a right from the intersection," I said calmly. "Go straight for about a hundred yards, right against the treeline, and then take a left. Keep going in a straight line from there. I'll meet you at the outer fence."
I paused a second, "And remember—don't touch it."
"You've told me that like five times already," she exhaled into the mic, half laughing. "Alright, bye."
The signal ended with a soft click, the blinking light on the unit fading to black. I set the receiver down on the desk and stood up from the table.
From the side, a voice spoke up, eager.
"Was that Maggie?" Clementine asked.
She stood near the bed, behind me. Her hands fidgeted at her sides, and her expression wasn't just curious, it was complicated. She was hiding something, trying to divert attention.
I gave a short nod, but my focus shifted past her. The bed behind her was unmade—more than just wrinkled. The sheets were bunched toward one corner, and the faint imprint of a small figure remained. I scanned the room, and there was nothing missing, no sign of rummaging either.
My eyes narrowed. "What were you doing here?" I asked, turning fully toward her, voice calm.
Her breath caught in her throat, and for the second time, she looked cornered.
"Uh… um," she stammered, eyes darting left and right like a trapped animal. "I-I was just looking for something," she finished.
I waited.
She bit her lower lip, seeing that I wasn't satisfied with the answer, "A-a book," she quickly added, her voice dropping a pitch. "You brought some from the high school, right?" She wiped at her forehead with the back of her wrist, her skin damp again.
I exhaled, tilting my head. Does she really think I'm that stupid? I wondered, before shaking my head.
I turned toward the door, "They're in the basement," I said, stepping into the hallway. She followed behind me, keeping her head down.
"There's just literature—no comics," I added offhandedly as we exited the house and stepped into the cool night.
The fire pit flickered in the distance beside an oak tree, where Carley, Lilly, Madison, and Alicia sat. Their silhouettes wavered in the flame's dance, backs relaxed, rifles at reach.
I moved toward the fence, hearing Clementine's quiet footsteps trailing close. As we approached the gate, Carley looked up, her eyes tracking us, and after a second, she rose from her chair. She moved quickly, grabbing her rifle as she came jogging.
Lilly came up behind her, mirroring the motion, and Alicia and Madison followed suit.
"What's going on?" Carley asked, having reached me first, her eyes scanning the dark treeline, fingers brushing the trigger guard.
"We've got a guest," I said, my eyes fixed forward.
And then, from the forest shadows, a figure emerged.
The trees were parted enough for a car to move about, let alone the horse, stepping through—its hooves crunching the fallen twigs and dry leaves beneath. Atop the saddle, bathed in moonlight, was Maggie Greene.
She wore a baby pink tank top that clung to her chest, hugging the curve of her breasts beneath the open white floral shirt that fluttered lightly around her arm.
She pulled the reins slightly, slowing her approach. Her short hair was loose and unkempt, framing her face in a frenzy.
Her eyes scanned the girls before locking back on me, her eyes sharp, she looked a little pissed, Is she jealous? I wondered.
"Fancy place," she said dryly.
"Fancy timing," I replied.
—Highway
It was dark already, the last ray of sunset long vanished under the skyline. The moon cast a pale glow over the highway, just enough to see the outlines of cars stretching endlessly across the asphalt.
Dale, Daryl, Glenn, and Shane worked in silence, pushing the rusted-out vehicles to the sides, making room for the caravan to finally get through. Engines idled softly behind them, headlight lighting the area.
Daryl, sweating and scowling, had decided to abandon his battered truck; instead, he dropped his brother's old motorcycle from the flatbed.
Daryl looked back at the truck, now nothing more than a glorified bulldozer, and an idea struck him. He quickly climbed inside. "Boys," he got the other's attention.
The three of them turned to him, confused.
"What?" Shane asked.
"Move," Daryl said as he revved the engine.
Without further question, they backed away from the lane. Glenn hopped onto the metal guard railing, Dale stepped near his RV, and Shane simply nodded, crossing his arms. Anything to clear the road.
The truck roared to life, and Daryl floored it.
It surged forward, crashing into the sides of cars like a battering ram, pushing them out of the way. Steel screamed as a few sparks fell, glass exploded, and fenders crumpled under the weight and force.
The front of his truck was mangled by the end of it, but the way was mostly clear.
"Haha!" Glenn laughed from the side, wiping with forehead with the back of his sleeve. "Never knew road rage could be this helpful."
Dale let out a deep chuckle, leaning on his RV, exhaling, the strain in his old arms fleeing.
Even Carol cracked a smile, the second one today. She covered her mouth with one hand, the emotion sneaking up on her at the thought of seeing her daughter again.
Andrea, standing beside Amy near the back of the RV, leaned over and placed a kiss on her sister's temple. The touch was firm, comforting. Amy stayed silent, as her lips curved up slightly. Just for the moment, she forgot the quarry, the stench, the growls of the herd, and the cold grip of fear
Daryl hopped down from the truck, boots hitting the asphalt, as he made his way back to the group on foot, having ditched the truck at the end of the path.
The group greeted him with a smile and laughter.
He scratched the back of his neck and looked away, almost uncomfortable with the emotions evoked in his chest from the attention; he much preferred the silence.
Shane stayed off to the side, arms crossed, eyes on the ground. He wasn't laughing. His jaw clenched tight, his thoughts far away from here. On Carl, on Lori, and Rick, and on his own decision to leave, he was contemplating everything now.
—Greene's Farm
The room was dim, lit only by a couple of oil lanterns and an old hand-crank lamp that buzzed faintly as it glowed. Shadows dancing on the walls, stretching on the floorboards.
Lori sat on the edge of Carl's bed, his small locked in both of hers. His skin was cold and pale, clammy with fever. She brushed her thumb across his knuckles and glanced at Rick.
"Rick…" she said softly, pleading more with her tone than her words. "Just… You've gotta keep your strength up."
Rick sat beside them, slouched forward in the chair, elbows on his knees. His skin had lost color, the same sickly hue as Carl's. He didn't answer, didn't even blink, he just stared, nowhere.
"Lori… you remember when he fell off that horse," he suddenly asked, his voice dry, not exactly expecting an answer, he continued, "He was six, when I picked him up from school on a horse, I… I just wanted to spend some time with him, " Rick exhaled.
"And on the way home, he jumped off of it and hit a post. I thought he was gone." His eyes were fixed on Carl, staring blankly. "He laid their unconscious, bleeding from the head, he didn't even move a muscle."
Lori's gaze softened, her voice a whisper now, "I remember."
"Of course you do," Rick said, a half smile on his dry lips, "You nagged me for a month because of it."
"Hershel said you need to eat," Lori said, her eyes down, fixed on Carl.
Rick rubbed at his face, still ignoring her pleas, his hands trembling slightly. "He made it through it, just like he will this, he's gonna be alright."
"Please," Lori turned to him with teary eyes, her voice cracking, "For me, Rick. You've got to keep your strength up."
Rick's eyes drifted to her, then to Carl, before he shifted behind his tired expression, reluctantly, grabbing the plate from the side table behind him.
***
The living room was warm and dimly lit by 4 lanterns sitting in each corner of the room. The smell of something boiling in the kitchen filled the air, faintly comforting despite the tension hanging all over the house.
Sophia sat cross-legged on the floor, a pillow tucked under her arms. Beth sat behind her on the couch, gently brushing the girl's damp, tangled hair from the earlier shower with slow, rhythmic strokes.
"I-Is Carl going to be okay?" Sophia asked quietly.
Beth paused for just a moment—too short for a child to notice, but long enough for the doubt to flash on her own mind.
"Yes," she said softly, resuming the brush strokes with a warm smile. "He's going to be alright. My dad… he'll fix him."
Beth reached down and tugged playfully on Sophia's cheek, making the girl blink in surprise before managing a small smile.
"We just have to wait for my sister to come back, okay?"
Sophia nodded and hugged the pillow tighter, watching the light flicker on the floor.
In the Kitchen, Shane stirred something in the pot. He glanced toward them now and then. His grip on the spoon tightened, Maggie, please be safe he prayed, a flicker of doubt on his brow.
—St. John's Dairy
The dining room still smelled faintly of roasted vegetables and venison. Maggie sat at the wooden table, her fingers laced together, eyes flicking around the crowd.
I sat across from her, having just heard the full story—Carl, Shawn, and the accident. She'd barely touched her drink.
"So," I asked, leaning forward, "What do you need?"
Maggie hesitated, clearly uncomfortable asking for so much, "A-a respirator, surgical supplies, drapes, sutures. A lot, honestly."
Her voice wavered near the end, embarrassed from the looks she received from Madison and Lilly, and by the request itself.
"D-Do you even have 'em?" she asked, voice small, she'd walked here on a hunch, unsure whether she'd travelled for nothing, and wasted the boy's time.
I exhaled and opened my mouth, about to answer.
"Wesker," Lilly's voice cut in from the side of the room, her tone sharp.
I turned my head, meeting her narrowed eyes.
"Can we talk?" she asked, already stepping toward the door. "In private."
I nodded once and stood, following her out of the house toward the fire pit, where the flames had turned to embers from neglect.
She didn't waste time.
"Are you seriously thinking of doing charity work?" Lilly asked, crossing her arms. Her frown wasn't just disapproval—it was laced with frustration. "In a time like this?"
The glow of the embers flickered over her features, sharp and tense.
"What happened to being pragmatic all the time? What changed?"
I paused, letting her words hang between us.
Have I… changed? I wondered.
No, that wasn't the reason.
This wasn't me showing sentiment or softness. It was just part of a bigger picture, the picture Maggie revealed: Rick's group existed in this version of the world, something I was unsure of, since I hadn't even met Lee Everett; I only knew he existed from the photo in his family's pharmacy.
I needed the manpower, survivors worth taking in. And Rick's group was just that, loyal, strong, and most of all—human.
Though I seriously doubted the strong part.
But I needed humans who I could shape into tools, not wildcards, that bend to their own needs, the plan might take time—They wouldn't even leave the farm, let alone change—but I had to lay the groundwork.
Lilly stepped closer, eyes narrowed as she saw the distance in mine.
She reached up and pressed a hand on my shoulder. "Are you gonna answer me, or just keep staring at nothing?"
I blinked, shaken out of my thoughts.
"Didn't you say we had more than enough?" I asked her.
"I did," she admitted, shifting slightly. "But more than enough of us. Not for just anyone who shows up asking."
I stepped forward. Stopping close enough so that we were just inches apart. Her arms were still crossed, but her chest was flush against me. Her frown remained, but her eyes softened.
"Why are you so hesitant to trust me this time?" I asked, genuinely confused, she went guns blazing with me amid gunfire at the Save-lots, what changed now?
"I-I'm not…" she muttered, clearly lying.
"Then what is it ?"
I pressed closer. Her breath hitched as she glanced up at me.
"I just… don't want you alone with her," she blurted out finally.
I stilled.
"That's what this is about?" I exhaled slowly, my tone neutral. "You're jealous."
Her head turned to the side, with no answer in sight.
I wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her against me. Her breath caught again as I leaned down, brushing her hair gently back from her face.
"Are you afraid she's going to get between us?" I asked quietly, Sorry, Lilly, but she's already there.
There was still no answer.
"When we were in Macon," I reminded her, "You said it didn't bother you. That you were okay with however many women I had."
Her head leaned against my chest, her voice barely audible.
"You said you only wanted Carley and me."
Did I?
"So what changed?" she asked, her voice trembling. "How come you get to have everyone to yourself… and I can't have you all to myself?"
****
Read +3 or +7 chapters ahead on my Pat*eon
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