The pickup was closing fast.
The van's old suspension groaned as Andrea swerved around an abandoned tractor in the road.
"They're gaining!" Michonne shouted, keeping Clementine pressed low in the back.
Andrea's eyes darted to the mirror. The cultists were leaning out of the truck bed, rifles and pistols snapping in the air.
One bullet punched through the rear window, passing through the van and creating spider-webb cracks on the glass in front of her.
Michonne slid the side door open, bracing herself as the wind howled in. "Get me closer."
Andrea swerved toward the center line, letting the pickup creep up on her left.
The tattooed men shouted, their chants mixing with the roar of the engines.
Michonne raised Andrea's pistol and focused.
One breath.
One shot.
The bullet punched through the driver's temple.
The man slumped sideways, and the pickup veered wildly, tires screaming.
It clipped a rusted SUV on the shoulder and rolled, flipping end over end before smashing into a utility pole.
The rest of the cultists being thrown from the vehicle their battered forms unmoving.
Andrea didn't slow down until they were two miles away. She finally pulled off onto a dirt path hidden by overgrowth, killing the engine.
The only sounds were the ticking of the van's hot engine and Clementine's uneven breathing.
Michonne slid the pistol back into the dash, her voice steady but sharp. "That'll buy us time. Not forever."
Andrea nodded, knuckles white on the wheel. "Then we keep moving. We've still got a long way to Fort Benning."
Clementine peeked out from behind the seat, eyes wide. "Are… are they gone?"
Andrea forced a smile. "Yeah, kid. They're gone."
Michonne glanced toward the road, watching dust settle in the distance. "For now."
The road had been quiet for nearly an hour, nothing but heat shimmer and the low growl of the van's engine.
Andrea's shoulders had finally started to loosen, but her eyes never stopped scanning the road ahead.
Every intersection, every treeline.
Michonne sat in the passenger seat, silent but alert.
Clementine dozed in the back with her head against a duffle bag, an empty can of peaches in her lap.
"Up ahead," Michonne said suddenly, pointing at a rusted green highway sign half-buried in weeds.
A bright streak of orange spray paint cut across the metal, a jagged arrow pointing west.
Andrea slowed the car. "That's… Joe's paint. I'd bet my life on it."
They rolled to a stop beside the sign. Below the arrow, written in quick block letters:
"Westbound. Fort Benning. Leave word at next town."
Andrea's lips curved into the first real smile she'd managed in days. "They're ahead of us. We can catch them."
Clementine perked up at the excitement in her voice. "That means we'll see them soon?"
"Yeah, sweetheart," Andrea said, reaching back to squeeze her knee. "Soon."
Michonne was crouched in the grass, scanning the surrounding dirt. Her eyes narrowed. "The trail's not cold.
They came through here this morning." She stood, dusting off her hands. "But so did someone else."
Andrea's smile faded. "Cult?"
Michonne didn't answer right away. She just stared west, the wind tugging at her braids. "Could be."
Andrea gunned the engine again, pushing the van back onto the cracked asphalt. They followed the arrow, the sign shrinking behind them.
From the shade of a roadside billboard, two shapes watched them drive away.
Their faces marked with sunburst tattoos, lips moving in silent prayer.
...
They rolled into the town just after midday, the van's tires crunching over rotted walkers corpses and gravel.
Storefronts leaned on each other like drunks, their windows long since smashed.
A weathered church steeple rose above the rooftops, its bell in front of the entrance. Cracked cement around its impact point.
Andrea kept the van slow, eyes sweeping for any movement. "Looks dead."
Michonne's gaze tracked along the sidewalks. "That's usually when it's the most dangerous."
They passed an abandoned gas station, its sign hanging by one chain.
That's when Clementine leaned forward from the backseat, pointing toward the far wall of the station. "Look!"
A blocky streak of orange paint cut across the cinderblock.
"Benning. Next clue at river bridge."
Andrea pulled over immediately. "That's him."
She scanned the lot. "Let's grab anything useful before we go."
Michonne was already stepping out, katana in hand. "Quickly."
Inside, the station was half-stripped, empty shelves, the smell of stale oil.
Andrea found a few dusty cans of beans left under the counter.
While Michonne was searching through an office in the back. There was a desk, an orange arrow pointing at a drawer. Inside she found a p220 and a half-crushed box of .45 rounds.
Clementine quietly checked the snack racks, grinning faintly when she found a crushed bag of pretzels and an unopened bag of gummy worms.
They were nearly done when the low growl of an engine echoed down the street.
Andrea froze, meeting Michonne's eyes through the dusty sunlight.
Michonne went to the door, peering out from the side. A white pickup crawled into view, its bed stacked with jerry cans.
The driver wore sunglasses and a scarf over his lower face — but the forearms resting on the wheel were unmistakable.
Tattoos. Sunbursts.
Michonne hissed, "We've been followed."
Andrea yanked Clementine close, ushering her toward the back exit.
The sound of the truck's engine rose as it rolled into the station lot.
They burst into the alley just as a passenger door opened. Voices called out, low chanting echoed.
Michonne didn't wait. She took the shot, the bullet cutting through the dry heat as she moved toward the corner of the building.
Another man appeared, eyes wide. Swiftly cut down with a swing of Michonne's katana.
Andrea's pistol barked twice. The driver collapsed forward, the truck veering and smashing into a lamp post with a screech of metal.
"Go!" Michonne barked, already pulling Clem toward the van. Clementine scrambled into the backseat.
Andrea floored the gas the instant Michonne's door shut, the tires screaming as they tore out of the lot and back onto the main road.
In the rearview, smoke curled from the crumpled truck. Two more tattooed figures stumbled into the street, but the van was already disappearing around the bend.
Michonne exhaled slowly, still gripping her sword.
Andrea's hands were tight on the wheel, her voice low but steady. "We follow Joe's trail. No more detours."
Clementine leaned forward between them, her voice small but firm. "We'll find them. I know we will."
Andrea glanced at her in the mirror.
Hoping they would reunite with Joe soon.
...
Joe and his group had just arrived at the river bridge. They stopped beneath its concrete shadow for a short break before pressing on toward Fort Benning.
But Joe couldn't shake the feeling they were being watched.
"From here on," he instructed, "Nobody goes anywhere alone. Always take a partner. And if you're trained, carry at least a pistol."
Some of the group gave him odd looks.
Lori leaned toward Carol. "Is this really necessary?"
Carol shrugged. "Better to be safe than sorry. I guess."
Joe's eyes never stopped moving, scanning the treeline and the dark mouths of distant buildings. Rick noticed, approaching with Daryl at his side.
"What's up, Joe?" Rick asked.
Joe's voice dropped. "Gut feeling. Somebody's out there."
Rick froze. Daryl's eyes swept the shadows.
"Don't make a show of it," Joe continued. "Just… let everyone know to be ready."
The two men nodded and split off, quietly spreading the word.
Joe tried to shake the tension, but his instincts always outweighed his senses.
He was drawn out of his thoughts when Amy came over, lacing her fingers through his and tugging him to a chair.
She sat on his lap, popping cashews into his mouth and stealing a few for herself.
"You're wound tight," she murmured. "Everything okay, honey?"
Joe's smile was faint, but it was there. "Always better with you around."
Amy blushed, kissed his cheek, and kept feeding him.
---
For the next hour, nothing happened...
Until Carl wandered over. "Hey, Joe… have you seen Sophia?"
Joe shot to his feet, keeping a steady hold on Amy so she wouldn't fall. His eyes swept the area.... and then he caught it.
Subtle movement in the treeline. Then more.
He shoved Amy behind him and bellowed, "Everyone, get to cover!"
His AR-15 came up, barking rounds into the shifting brush. Wood splintered and leaves tore in the air.
Muzzle flashes flared back at them, shotguns and pistols.
Rick and the others took aim, returning fire from cover.
Then, as suddenly as it started, the shooting stopped.
Emma rose too soon. A single shot cracked, and she cried out, spinning and collapsing with a hand pressed to her shoulder.
Joe's rage hit like a hammer.
A lone man stepped from the trees, pistol in hand. Joe's first shot blew the weapon from his grip.
The next moment, Joe was on him...
Lifting the man clear over his head and slamming him into the dirt with a sickening crack. His head exploding onto the road.
Blood pooled instantly.
He left the corpse and rushed to Emma's side. Hershel was already working.
"She'll live," Hershel said. "Bullet went clean through."
Joe nodded, but movement in the brush caught his eye again. He rushed off.
Daryl and Glenn fell in beside him as they pushed into the trees.
They found Sophia crumpled on the ground, half her face smeared with blood.
Daryl knelt, ear pressed to her chest...
Babum. Babum.
He exhaled in relief and began wiping her face. The gash on her forehead was deep, the bruise already swelling.
They carried her back. Joe dug into Hershel's kit, threading a needle with practiced hands and stitching the wound closed before wrapping it in gauze.
Carol took her daughter, tears streaking her cheeks as Daryl rubbed her back.
Emma, sitting up now, pulled Joe into a shaky hug. "I was so scared," she whispered.
Maggie joined in, pressing a kiss to her cheek.
Glenn returned with a bundle of bloodied guns. "Took care of them," he said.
Joe said, "Good job, Glenn." Some others joining him.
Glenn rubbed the back of his head sheepishly. Mary going to his side to help him with the guns.
She placed a soft kiss on his cheek. "So brave." He chuckled.
The sight of the dead man's body set the group murmuring. Both arms bore ritual scars, and sunburst tattoos barely visible around each eye.
Beth's voice was small. "What the hell are these people?"
"Language," Hershel chided.
"They're some kind of cult," Glenn said grimly. "Every one of them looked like this."
Joe raised his voice. "Alright, everyone. Take a deep breath. They weren't heavily armed. We'll be fine if we stay sharp."
Daryl added, "But we don't know how many are out there."
Rick's gaze fell to Sophia. "From now on, no kids unattended."
Carl groaned but was shut down by Lori's glare.
---
Later, Rick pulled Joe aside. His voice was low. "Fort Benning's gone, burned out. Hershel wanted to saya something, but I've kept him quiet. What's our real plan?"
Joe sighed. "Just trying to keep people hopeful."
"We need something solid," Rick pressed.
Joe's eyes swept the group. "We need somewhere better than the farm. Secluded. Preferably with walls already in place…"
Rick paused, deep in thought.
Suddenly, his eyes lit up. "A prison."
Joe's smile was sharp. "Perfect."
Rick's expression fell. "Only problem is… where do we find one?"
Joe scratched his head. "Guess that's our next problem."
Rick sighed.