The convoy rolled along the narrow country road, sunlight filtering through the trees and casting broken shadows across the cracked asphalt. It was mid-morning now, the day already warming, the sky clear and pale blue. Cicadas buzzed somewhere in the distance, and the fields on either side of the road stretched wide and green, fences running crooked along their edges.
Inside the JLTV, Andrew watched the countryside pass by through the armored glass, eyes scanning fence lines, tree lines, and the shallow ditches that ran alongside the road. The vehicle moved at a controlled pace, its engine rumbling steadily beneath him.
A rusted mailbox leaned crookedly at the edge of the road, then another followed, both long abandoned.
"This should be it," Andrew said, glancing down at the map on his lap before looking up again.
A weathered wooden sign came into view, half-hidden by tall grass. The paint was faded, but the name was still barely readable.
Andrew tapped the intercom. " We are close. Keep alert for any walkers."
The JLTV slowed, then turned off the main road onto a narrow dirt track cutting through the fields. Its heavy tires kicked up dust as it left the pavement behind.
Andrew led the turn, followed by the two Humvees behind him.
The road narrowed quickly, flanked by open pasture and distant tree lines. Dust hung in the air behind the convoy as they pushed forward, engines rumbling low.
The convoy rolled along the narrow dirt road at an even, controlled speed, engines low and steady. The trees thinned as the land opened into wide fields, fences reinforced with wooden planks and boards came into view.
The JLTV slowed first.
Dust drifted across the yard as the vehicle eased to a stop in front of the closed gate. The two Humvees followed, spacing tight, weapons unmanned but visible. Engines idled.
Beyond the gate, the farm stretched out. A wide farmhouse sat back from the road, white paint faded but intact. A red barn stood off to the side, doors shut.
Two figures stood in the yard.
Andrew recognized one of them imidietly.
Maggie, she was the first to step forward, one hand resting on the wooden fence. She wore work gloves and jeans stained with dirt, her posture tense but steady. Beside her stood one of her sisters, the second oldest. She was holding a pitchfork loosely at her side, eyes locked on the vehicles.
Andrew didn't remembered her name, but was aware that she is from the comic version of TWD.
Neither ran.
They simply watched.
Inside the house, movement flickered behind the windows.
The farm was quiet.
Too quiet.
The JLTV came to a full stop at the gate. The engine idled. Dust settled.
The door opened with a muted metallic clack.
Andrew stepped down first, boots crunching softly against the leaves and twigs on the ground. He scanned the yard, then gave a short hand signal. The other Rangers dismounted behind him, spreading just enough to cover the vehicles while remaining close. Weapons stayed slung, hands visible. No aggressive posture, just disciplined presence.
Andrew closed the door and walked toward the gate alone.
Maggie shifted her weight, eyes narrowing slightly as she recognized him. The moment he was close enough to hear her without raising his voice, she spoke first.
"So," she said, tone dry but edged with tension. "You come back."
Andrew stopped a few feet from the gate and gave a small nod.
"Indeed, i have."
She crossed her arms. "And for what reason?"
Andrew answered keeping a calm posture. "I need to talk to your father."
Her jaw tightened. "About what?"
"I have an offer," he answered firmly.
She studied him for a long second, eyes flicking past him to the convoy, the Rangers, the JLTV. Then back to him.
"My father isn't here right now," she said. "If you want to talk to him, you'll have to wait."
She paused, then added, almost pointedly, "And you still haven't introduced yourself."
Andrew blinked once, realizing the oversight.
"My mistake. I'm Lieutenant Andrew Mercer, Army Rangers."
She nodded. "Maggie Greene."
Maggie's sister stepped closer from the porch.
"I'm Lacey Greene."
Lacey tilted her head, studying Andrew with open curiosity.
"How close are you to finding a cure?"
The question caught him off guard. Just for a moment.
Andrew inhaled, choosing his words carefully. " What this is, isn't something that can be cured."
Her mouth opened. "But—"
"I'll explain everything when your father gets back," Andrew said gently.
Lacey fell quiet.
Maggie watched him closely, arms still crossed, eyes sharp with suspicion and concern.
Andrew gave Maggie a short nod.
"I'll talk with my men while we wait for your father."
Maggie hesitated, then answered simply, "Alright."
She turned to Lacey and murmured something Andrew couldn't hear. Lacey glanced toward him once, then back to her sister. A moment later, she turned and walked back toward the house, disappearing through the front door.
Andrew watched her go, then turned and headed back toward the JLTV.
The Rangers were already waiting.
They remained spread around the vehicles, alert but relaxed, eyes sweeping the treeline and the fields beyond the fence. Andrew stopped near the hood of the JLTV and raised his voice just enough for them all to hear.
"Alright. You all know why we're here. We're securing a stable source of long-term food production."
A few nods.
"But if that was all," he continued, "we wouldn't need this level of force."
That got their attention.
His gaze shifted toward the barn at the far end of the property.
"No. The real reason is that barn."
Several Rangers followed his line of sight.
"The owner of this farm and his family have been capturing walkers and locking them inside."
That drew a few raised brows, though no one spoke.
One of the Rangers finally asked, "Why would they do that?"
Another shook his head slightly. "Denial most likely. They lost someone dear to them."
Andrew nodded. "That's the most likely explanation."
A Ranger leaning against a Humvee folded his arms. "So we're clearing the barn."
"Pretty much," Andrew said. "But we go quiet. No gunfire. We draw them out one or two at a time and deal with them clean. If we start shooting, we'll ring the dinner bell for every living dead in the vicinity."
"And the family?" another Ranger asked. "They won't like it."
Andrew exhaled slowly. "Even if they refuse, those walkers are a danger. We can't leave them there. Half of us will handle the barn. The rest keep the Greene family from doing anything rash. But hopefully it doesn't come to that. Hopefully they understand."
At that moment, movement caught his eye.
Andrew turned toward the side of the house.
Three figures were emerging from behind it.
An older man with a wide-brimmed hat and two younger men beside him. Between them, a walker shuffled forward, a burlap sack pulled over its head, arms bound with rope.
They were using livestock prods, long poles with metal prongs, keeping the walker at distance as they guided it toward the yard.
The Rangers stiffened instinctively.
Still no one raised a weapon.
But every eye tracked the scene.
Andrew narrowed his eyes.
"That'll be Hershel," he said quietly. "And his sons."
He started walking toward them.
"Hold your positions," he told the Rangers without looking back.
They stayed put, watching as Andrew walked towards the gate leading into the yard.
Andrew stepped through the open gate and into the yard.
Hershel was pulling back on the livestock pole, boots digging into the dirt as the walker resisted, its muffled growls leaking through the burlap sack. One of his sons kept tension on the rope binding its arms while the other tried to keep its legs from tangling.
Hershel noticed Andrew approaching and frowned.
"What are you doing here?" he asked sharply.
Maggie stood several yards away, close enough to hear, her posture tense.
Andrew stopped a few paces from them, eyes moving from the struggling figure to Hershel's face.
"I came to discuss an offer."
"An offer?" Hershel repeated, shifting his grip as the walker lurched forward.
"Depending how you look at it," Andrew said calmly, "it's more like a contract between you and the military."
One of the sons grunted as the walker jerked again. "This can wait until we're done here."
"It can wait," Hershel agreed, jaw tight.
Andrew watched the thing strain against its restraints. Then he stepped closer.
Before anyone could stop him, he reached up and grabbed the burlap sack.
"Hey—what are you doing?" Hershel snapped.
Andrew yanked the sack free.
The walker snarled, wet and hollow. Milky eyes rolled in their sockets. Its skin was gray and split, blood smeared around its mouth and soaked into the front of its shirt.
Andrew looked from the walker to Hershel, then to his sons.
"I want to clarify something," he said evenly. "You should be aware that they are not alive anymore. They can't be cured."
Hershel tightened his grip on the pole. "They were family."
"Were," Andrew repeated. "You know they're not who they were. And you know the danger you're putting your family in."
The walker lunged again, forcing Hershel to stumble back a step.
He let out a strained groan, fighting to keep control.
Seeing this Andrew drew his combat knife.
Hershel's eyes widened. "No—"
Andrew stepped in and drove the blade through the side of the walker's skull.
The body went slack instantly.
The yard fell silent.
The sons froze, still holding the ropes. Hershel stared at the corpse, breath heavy, hands shaking on the pole.
Andrew withdrew the blade and wiped it clean against the walker's sleeve.
"They're gone," he said quietly. "Keeping them locked in a barn doesn't change that. It just puts everyone here at risk."
Hershel said nothing.
The walker laied motionless at his feet.
He stared down at the body on the ground, then slowly lifted his gaze to Andrew. Anger burned in his eyes.
"You—" he started.
"No," Andrew cut in, firm but controlled. "I understand that you don't want to believe they're gone. I understand that. But what you're doing is putting your family in danger."
At that moment, the front door creaked open.
Lacey stepped out onto the porch with a shotgun in her hands, eyes wide as she took in the scene. Instantly, several Rangers shifted their footing and brought their rifles to a low-ready position, not raised, but ready.
Andrew noticed. He lifted one hand slightly, signaling them to hold.
Hershel followed his gaze to Lacey, then back to Andrew. "Why do you care?" he demanded. "Why does this matter to you?"
Andrew met his eyes without flinching.
"Because I don't stand by when people are in danger, if i can do something about it," he said evenly. "That's not who I am. And right now, you're risking the lives of everyone you love."
He gestured toward the dead walker at their feet.
"Do you want them to end up like this?."
Hershel's jaw clenched. He looked from the body, to his sons, to Maggie and Lacey, then back toward the house.
"I don't want any of them ending up like that," he said quietly. "But I can't—"
Andrew stepped closer, lowering his voice.
"Who's in that barn, Hershel?"
A pause.
"Your wife? Your children?"
Hershel swallowed and nodded once.
"This isn't helping them," Andrew said. "It isn't honoring them. It's only keeping you trapped in a lie that could get your family killed."
The yard was silent except for the wind moving through the fields.
"Open the barn," Andrew said gently but firmly. "Let us handle it. Afterward, you can give them a proper burial. The kind they deserve. The kind they'd want—knowing their family was safe."
Hershel stood there for a long moment, torn between grief and reality.
Finally, his shoulders sagged.
He looked at his children.
Then back at Andrew.
Hershel stood there for a long moment, staring at the ground where the walker lay. His hands were still clenched around the pole, knuckles white.
When he finally spoke, his voice was rough. "You're asking a lot of a man."
Andrew nodded once. "I know."
Hershel lifted his head and met Andrew's eyes. "But you're right about one thing. I won't let my family die because I couldn't let go." He exhaled slowly. "We'll open the barn."
A faint weight lifted from the air.
Then Hershel straightened a little, regaining some of his composure. "But before we go any further," he said, "you said you came with an offer. A contract."
Andrew inclined his head. "That's right."
Hershel studied him. "If I'm going to put my family through this… I want to hear what you're offering in return."
Andrew nodded. "That's fair. I'm glad to hear you're willing to talk."
Hershel turned toward the porch. "Lacey," he said firmly. "Put the shotgun down."
She hesitated, eyes flicking between Andrew and the Rangers near the vehicles.
"Father—"
"Lacey," he repeated, calmer but unyielding. "It's alright."
Slowly, she lowered the shotgun and rested it against the porch railing.
Hershel faced Andrew again. "Alright, mister—."
"Mercer. Lieutenant Andrew Mercer." Andrew introduced himself.
"Hershel Greene. Nice to meet you.Now let's hear your offer." Hershel introduced himself in return.
Andrew nodded once, gathering his thoughts before he spoke.
"Alright," he said evenly. "Here's the situation as it stands. We've secured safe zones, a hospital, we fortified them, and established a working command structure. We're planning on pushing back into the city."
Hershel listened closely, arms folded, expression guarded but attentive.
"The problem," Andrew continued, "is time. What we scavenged and stockpiled will not last forever. Canned food runs out. Fuel goes bad. Ammunition runs dry. If we don't start producing instead of just consuming, then everything we've built will collapse sooner or later."
Hershel's brow furrowed. "You really think we can grow food for a city?"
Andrew shook his head. "Not for the entire city. Not yet and maybe not ever. But we need for our safe zones, the security forces, and the civilians under protection."
He gestured around the farm. "Places like this are the only long-term solution. Land that can still be worked. Animals that can still be raised. People who already know how to do it."
Hershel studied the fields beyond the yard, the barn, the fencing, the grazing land.
"You'd be protected," Andrew added. "Supplied. We provide fuel, electricity, tools, spare parts, medicine. We provide manpower when you need it. You and any other farms that still have living people, would form the backbone of food production for the safe zones."
Hershel was quiet for a long moment.
"And in return?" he asked.
"In return," Andrew said, "a portion of your harvest goes to the safe zones. Enough to keep people alive and keep order from collapsing."
Hershel let out a slow breath. "And you think this can work."
Andrew met his gaze. "It's the only way it works."
The old farmer looked past Andrew, toward the Rangers, the vehicles, the soldiers waiting by the road. Then back to his daughters on the porch.
"Seems the world won't be the same as before," Hershel muttered.
Andrew gave a faint nod. "It won't, but we're trying to salvage what we can."
Hershel rubbed a hand over his beard. "Alright, Lieutenant. Let's say I'm accepting your offer. What next?"