The country club was a shadow of its former glory.
Broken windows, overturned chairs, and dusty chandeliers casting fractured light across the room.
Daryl sat at the bar, wiping grime from a half-empty whiskey bottle before taking a long drink.
He glanced at Beth, who sat on a faded sofa near the fireplace, staring into the cold hearth.
"Want one?" he offered, holding up the bottle.
Beth shook her head, a faint smile tugging at her lips as she rested a hand on her belly.
Daryl froze mid-motion, eyes narrowing in realization. "...You're pregnant."
Beth nodded, a quiet confirmation.
Daryl lowered the bottle, setting it aside. "Does Joe know?"
Her gaze dropped to the floor. "No. I never told him… or anyone. I wanted to surprise him after things calmed down."
Daryl exhaled slowly, rubbing the back of his neck. "Joe definitely made it out," he said with firm conviction. "And I'm sure as hell he's lookin' for you."
Beth's lips curved into a soft smile. "I agree."
Sophia returned from exploring the club's east wing, her sneakers scuffing the marble floor.
She looked between them, sensing the tension. "What's up?"
Daryl smirked faintly. "Got another little asskicker on the way."
Sophia blinked in confusion, then her eyes went wide. "Wait... you're having a baby?!"
Beth laughed softly as Sophia rushed forward, hugging her tightly. "Wow," the younger girl breathed.
Beth hugged her back, emotion welling in her chest. "Yeah," she whispered.
For a moment, the world felt almost normal.
It didn't last.
The first groan came from outside. A low, guttural sound that set Daryl on edge.
He moved to the window, peeking through a gap in the boarded shutters. His stomach sank.
A herd.
Dozens, maybe hundreds, weaving through the trees, drawn by some distant sound or smell.
"Grab your stuff. Now," Daryl ordered.
They moved quickly, but the walkers were faster.
Glass shattered as a window gave way, the dead pouring inside. Daryl loosed an arrow, dropping one, but more surged in behind it.
"This way!" he barked, ushering Beth and Sophia toward the rear exit.
They burst into the night air, sprinting toward the tree line. Walkers flooded the clearing behind them.
"Don't stop!" Daryl shouted.
They broke through to a narrow country road just as disaster struck. Beth, slightly behind, stumbled on a branch.
Before Daryl could reach her, headlights flared in the darkness. A police cruiser barreling down the road.
Beth turned, eyes wide, as the car screeched to a halt beside her.
"Beth!" Daryl yelled, raising his crossbow.
Two figures in uniform jumped out, weapons drawn.
Before Daryl could fire, they grabbed Beth, shoving her struggling form into the trunk.
The lid slammed shut, and the cruiser peeled away into the night, its taillights vanishing into the trees.
"NO!" Daryl roared, but the walkers were nearly on him.
He spun, driving his knife into a rotted skull, then another, fighting tooth and nail to protect Sophia.
"Go! Stay behind me!" he shouted, backpedaling toward the woods.
Sophia clung to him, terror in her eyes. Together they retreated, the sound of the cruiser fading into the night.
Beth was gone.
...
The air was warm and humid as Maggie, Sasha, Bob, and Nicole trudged along the rusted train tracks, their boots crunching over gravel.
Overhead, gray clouds threatened to rain, and the faint smell of ash still lingered from distant fires.
Maggie kept her eyes forward, one hand on the grip of her pistol, the other brushing her stomach every so often.
She said nothing about the life growing inside her, not yet.
Her thoughts were locked on Joe, Beth, and the others scattered by the Governor's assault.
Sasha walked beside her, rifle slung over her shoulder.
She was still haunted by what they'd done days earlier... killing the stragglers without hesitation.
Her face was tight, her eyes hard, but Maggie caught the way her fingers twitched whenever they passed a quiet grove or abandoned siding.
She was on edge, ready to fight again.
Behind them, Bob trudged silently with his pack.
He'd been unusually quiet since the prison fell, his usual half-hearted jokes gone.
Nicole walked near him, scanning the treeline with grim determination, her jaw set in a permanent scowl.
She'd lost too much to the Governor's final act of vengeance, and it showed.
They rounded a bend in the tracks when Nicole froze, pointing ahead. "Look."
A weathered wooden sign stood beside the rails, words crudely painted in black across its surface.
TERMINUS – SANCTUARY FOR ALL. COMMUNITY FOR ALL. THOSE WHO ARRIVE SURVIVE.
The group stared at it for a long moment.
"Sanctuary," Bob muttered under his breath, almost skeptical.
Sasha's brows furrowed. "Could be a trap."
"Could be hope," Maggie countered, her voice quiet but firm.
She reached out, brushing her fingers over the word survive. "We don't have anywhere else to go. This… this is something."
Nicole nodded slowly. "If there's even a chance, we should check it out. Better than wandering until we drop."
Bob let out a long sigh and adjusted his pack. "Alright. But we stay sharp. The last 'sanctuary' we trusted ended in blood."
Maggie's eyes hardened with resolve. "Then we'll make sure this one doesn't."
Without another word, they set off again, following the rails toward whatever awaited them at Terminus.
...
Michonne returned from her latest run with a bag of canned goods slung over her shoulder, the faint metallic clink of preserved food her quiet victory.
She set it down on the dusty bar counter and handed Rick a small bottle of antibiotics.
"Take these. Twice a day," she instructed, her tone more gentle than usual.
Rick swallowed them without protest, grimacing at the bitterness.
His wounds still burned, but they no longer bled, and the fever that had once gripped him had finally broken.
Carl and Clementine, their cheeks smudged with dirt, helped Michonne sort through the haul.
They'd been joining her on the scavenging trips for days now, and both had grown more adept at dispatching walkers.
Quick, efficient strikes born of necessity, not malice.
The bar, once silent and foreboding, had become a fragile refuge. But Rick knew they couldn't stay forever.
A week after his collapse, Rick stood upright for the first time without assistance.
The pain in his side was sharp but tolerable. He caught Michonne's approving glance as she tightened the strap on her katana.
"Time to move," he said simply.
They packed their supplies, what little they had and stepped into the cool morning air.
The world outside was quiet save for the distant rustle of wind through the trees.
By midday, they found themselves on a stretch of railway cutting through the woods.
Carl and Clementine's eyes lit up at the sight of the rails, and they immediately began balancing along them, arms outstretched.
"Last one to fall gets the last Snickers," Carl declared, pulling the crinkled candy bar from his pocket.
"You're on!" Clem grinned, determination in her small frame.
Rick and Michonne followed behind, weapons ready, but their expressions softened as they watched the kids... really watched them.
For a brief moment, it wasn't the end of the world; it was just two kids playing on train tracks.
They walked for nearly an hour before Clem finally wobbled, arms pinwheeling, and stepped off the rail.
"Yes!" Carl exclaimed triumphantly, waving the Snickers like a trophy.
Clem's shoulders slumped, her lower lip jutting out in a faint pout.
Carl looked at her for a moment, then tore the candy bar neatly in half. "We always share," he said, handing her a piece.
Clem's eyes lit up, her smile returning in full. "Thanks, Carl." She leaned in, giving him a soft, grateful hug.
Rick and Michonne exchanged a look behind them. Rick's lips quirked into the faintest smile; Michonne's smirk widened knowingly.
"Kids," she murmured.
"Yeah," Rick replied quietly, hope threading through the single word.
And together, they kept moving down the tracks, heading toward an uncertain future
But at least they weren't alone.
...
The morning light filtered through the broken blinds of the small house, casting pale stripes across Joe's face.
He sat upright on the couch, shirtless, as Amy gently unwound the last of the bandages from his chest.
The scabs were still fresh, an angry slash where the machete had pierced him.
The puckered wounds of bullets near his ribs... but they were no longer oozing.
Andrea stood by the window, rifle in hand, scanning the quiet street beyond.
She glanced over her shoulder at Joe. "Looks good," she said. "Color's back in your face. You've stopped hacking up blood."
"Feels good to breathe without tasting iron," Joe muttered, flexing his shoulders experimentally.
His strength wasn't what it used to be, but it was coming back.
Amy knelt in front of him, packing away the used bandages. "You scared us," she said softly, her eyes lingering on his.
Joe reached out, resting a calloused hand on her cheek. "Not done yet," he said simply.
Later, they spread a worn map across the kitchen table.
Andrea traced a finger along faded county lines while Amy held Julian on her hip and kept Grace occupied with a wooden spoon.
"We can't stay here much longer," Andrea said. "Supplies will run out. Walkers will find us eventually."
Joe nodded. "I heard something, before… before all this." His voice was rough but steady. "A survivor we helped. Said there's a place called Terminus... east of here. Trainyard that connects to all the major rails in Georgia. They're taking people in."
Andrea raised a brow. "And we're trusting that?"
"We don't have a better option," Joe replied. He tapped the map where a railway line cut through their area. "We find the nearest track and follow it until we see a sign. No roads... we'd be too exposed. Tracks'll lead us somewhere."
Amy glanced between them. "East, then?"
Joe nodded. "East."
---
In the afternoon, they packed what little they had.
Two backpacks, a duffel of baby supplies, weapons, and the resolve to keep going.
Joe led the way out of the house, katana across his back, his children bundled against Amy's chest and in Andrea's arms.
They reached the old railroad in less than an hour.
Rusted steel stretched in both directions, disappearing into a tunnel of trees.
Joe looked east, peering into the distance, and exhaled. "Let's go."
And so they began to walk, the rhythmic crunch of gravel beneath their boots the only sound as they started their journey toward whatever waited for them at Terminus.
...
The forest was still when it happened.
No warning. No time.
One moment, Rick's group was huddled near their small campfire; the next, shadows burst from the darkness.
Armed men, at least a dozen of them, surrounding them with guns drawn.
"Down! On your knees!" the leader barked, a grizzled man with a jagged scar running from his temple to his jaw.
Rick's heart thundered as they were forced to the ground.
Michonne resisted, earning a blow to the back of her head.
Carl struggled wildly against the bandit restraining him, spitting curses.
"Get off me! I'll kill you!" he screamed.
The leader's gaze fell on Clementine, small and terrified. He grinned, a vile, leering expression. "Well, ain't this a prize…"
He motioned to one of his men, who yanked Clem to her feet, holding her as she thrashed and screamed. "Let me go! Let me go!"
Rick's blood ran cold.
He fought against the men pinning him down, fury surging through him despite his weakened body. "Get your hands off her!"
The leader strode toward Rick, boot slamming into his ribs. "Shut up."
Rick tried to rise, only to be punched back down.
His body screamed in pain, but it was nothing compared to the helplessness burning inside him as he heard Clem's cries grow more desperate.
The leader grabbed Rick by the collar, dragging him upright, mocking him with a cruel grin. "You ain't gonna do nothin', old man."
Something in Rick snapped.
With a feral snarl, he lunged forward, sinking his teeth deep into the man's neck.
The leader screamed, thrashing, as Rick ripped a mouthful of flesh free.
Blood sprayed hot across Rick's face.
Rick spat the flesh onto the ground, rising like some primal beast.
His eyes were wild, unrecognizable.
The bandits froze, stunned by the sight.
That hesitation was all Michonne needed. She twisted, wrenched the pistol from her captor's holster, and shot him in the head.
Rick snatched the dead leader's pistol and fired without pause, dropping two more bandits in quick succession.
From the treeline, a thunk. A bolt slammed into the chest of the man restraining Carl.
The bandit fell, and Carl tore free, grabbing the knife from the man's belt.
He bolted toward Clem's captor. The man, startled by the sudden carnage, released Clem and raised his hands, stammering, "W-Wait, kid! Don't..."
Carl didn't hesitate. He tackled the man to the ground, plunging the knife into his gut again and again.
"You… will… NEVER… touch… her!" Carl's voice cracked with raw fury as he stabbed, over and over.
Blood gushing over his hands. "She's mine to protect! You hear me? MINE!"
The man choked on his own blood, collapsing lifeless beneath him.
Carl's chest heaved as he stared down at the mutilated body. His grip on the knife trembled, blood dripping from his fingers.
Then, arms wrapped around him.
Clementine, sobbing, hugging him tight from behind.
Carl blinked, his vision clearing.
The knife slipped from his hand as he turned and clutched her to him, burying his face in her hair.
From the shadows, Daryl and Sophia emerged, crossbow still raised.
They stopped short, eyes widening at the sight of Carl covered in blood, holding Clem like a lifeline.
Sophia rushed forward, wrapping both Carl and Clem in a tearful embrace. "You're okay," she whispered over and over.
Daryl strode to Rick and Michonne, pulling them both into a rough hug. "Damn glad you're still breathin'," he muttered, voice thick.
When the tears finally slowed, Rick looked between them. "You with anyone else?"
Sophia shook her head, tears streaming. "Beth's gone…" Her voice broke as she buried her face in Carl's shirt.
Carl's face fell, his arms tightening around both girls.
Rick rose, still unsteady but resolute. "We saw a sign for a place up ahead. Terminus. We follow the tracks, stick together, and maybe find Joe and the others."
Daryl nodding, sophia following his lead hoping her mom is there.
They gathered what they could, leaving the carnage behind, and stepped onto the moonlit rails.
United by blood, loss, and a single, unbreakable purpose.