Glenn and Doug moved house to house, the silence between them broken only by the scrape of boots on tile and the occasional slam of a drawer.
"Looks like they fought," Glenn said as they stepped over a streak of dried blood smeared across a hallway. "Not just walkers. People."
Doug nodded, his voice low. "Yeah. Looters, maybe. This wasn't random."
They picked through what little remained... half-eaten cans, a rusted knife, some empty water bottles.
Barely anything worth taking.
"Damn place was picked clean," Doug muttered, frustration in his voice. He broke off toward a back bedroom.
Glenn stayed in the hall, rifling through a closet, when he heard it...
SNAP.
A sudden, muffled scuffle. Then Doug's panicked cry.
"AHHH!"
Glenn sprinted into the bedroom.
Doug was on the floor, a child walker clinging to his back, its tiny jaw buried into the flesh of his shoulder blade. Blood soaked through his shirt in seconds.
"NO!" Glenn roared, yanking the small corpse off him. He shoved it hard against the wall and drove his knife through its skull, pinning it there.
The body went limp.
Doug collapsed onto his side, gasping, his eyes wide with terror.
His breaths came fast, too fast, hyperventilating as he tried and failed to press a hand against the wound. "I... I can't. Glenn..."
Glenn dropped to his knees beside him. "Easy. Easy, Doug. Stay with me."
Doug's chest heaved, his face pale. His gaze flicked to Glenn's, then down to his Beretta lying beside him. His shaking hand wrapped around it.
"Doug," Glenn said quickly, his voice breaking. "Don't... we can figure this out..."
Doug met his eyes. There was fear, but also a grim acceptance. His lips trembled, but he managed a weak, "Not like that."
He raised the pistol to his temple.
"Doug, wait...!"
BANG!
The shot rang through the empty house, deafening.
Glenn froze, staring at his friend's body slumped against the wall, the smoke still curling from the barrel.
His chest rose and fell fast, then slowed as the reality set in.
After a long moment, he sighed. A sound of pure grief escaped as he closed Doug's eyes with his hand.
He picked up the Beretta, wiped it clean, and slung Doug's pack over his shoulder.
Glenn stood, his face hollow. Without another word, he left the house, heading straight back to the intersection.
The others needed to know.
And he couldn't bear to stay in that room another second.
...
Noah lay crumpled on the cracked asphalt, his face buried in his arms. His sobs were faint at first, but raw enough to cut through the silence of Shirewilt.
Tyreese crouched beside him, massive hands flexing helplessly, unsure how to pull the boy out of a pain he knew all too well.
For a while, he said nothing.
He just stayed there with him, listening to the hollow wind stirring through the burned-out houses.
Then, in his steady, deep voice, he spoke.
"I know what you're feeling. I wanted to die once too. For what I've lost. For who I've lost."
Noah didn't move, but his shoulders twitched.
Tyreese stared down at the boy, his jaw tight, remembering. "I walked straight into a crowd of those things. Didn't care. Just swung until my arms burned, waiting for them to tear me apart. But they didn't. I kept going. And later, I was there when Sasha needed me. I kept her alive. None of that would've happened if I'd given up. If I hadn't chosen to live."
He leaned closer, voice firm now. "Noah… you can't give up. Not now. This isn't the end."
The boy sucked in a sharp breath, his crying easing into shaky exhales. Slowly, he pushed himself up, eyes red and wet.
He stared down the road, and his gaze locked on a house at the end of the street. Its roof sagged, windows dark and broken, front porch half-collapsed.
His house.
Noah's lips trembled, but he didn't speak. He just broke into a stumbling run, his limp making his movements uneven but determined.
"Noah!" Tyreese called, springing to his feet. He charged after him, boots pounding the pavement.
Whatever waited inside that house, Noah wouldn't face it alone.
...
Noah stumbled up the cracked walkway, his chest heaving, tears streaking down his dirt-smeared face.
The front door of the house hung half open, hinges creaking when the wind stirred.
Tyreese caught up, grabbing his arm. "Noah... wait a second."
But Noah shook him off, forcing his way inside.
The stench hit them immediately... rot, damp wood, old smoke. The living room was dark, blinds half torn down.
Toys lay scattered across the floor, sun-bleached and broken.
And then Noah froze.
His mother was slumped on the couch, her skin gray and waxy, her eyes clouded and lifeless. Dried blood pooled beneath her.
Tyreese's heart sank.
"No…" Noah whispered, his knees buckling.
A sound came from deeper in the house. Small. Shuffling.
Tyreese's stomach turned.
"Noah," he said quickly, stepping forward, "Stay back."
But Noah moved, stumbling toward the hallway. "My brothers..."
The sound grew louder. From a doorway at the end of the hall, two small figures emerged.
Twin boys. Their skin was pale, their mouths smeared red. Their eyes locked on Noah, and they let out guttural growls as they shuffled closer.
Noah collapsed, his sobs tearing from his throat. "No… no, no!"
The twins lunged.
Tyreese surged forward, shoving Noah back. His axe came down in a blur.
CRACK!
One boy dropped instantly. He swung again, harder, the second body crumpling to the floor.
Breathing hard, Tyreese turned...
Chomp!
Agony flared through his arm.
Another walker... one that had been hidden in the bathroom doorway, clamped its teeth into his forearm.
Tyreese roared, slamming it against the wall before burying his axe into its skull. The body slumped, his blood dripping onto the warped floorboards.
Noah scrambled up, his face pale with shock. "Tyreese...!"
Tyreese clutched his arm, crimson soaking through his sleeve. His breaths came shallow, but his eyes locked on Noah's.
"You hear me?" Tyreese growled through gritted teeth. "This… this ain't the end for you. You keep going. You live. You hear me?"
Noah's tears blurred his vision as he nodded frantically. "I. I'll go get help. I'll get Joe. I'll get them!"
He stumbled back out the door, running toward the intersection, his cries echoing through the ruins.
Tyreese sagged against the wall, sweat dripping down his brow. The world was already swimming, the infection burning its way into him.
But he stayed upright, axe still in his hand.
If more came, he'd fight until he couldn't anymore.
...
Glenn paced near the Shirewilt gate, Beretta loose in his hand. The ruins were quiet now, the smell of char and rot clinging thick in the air.
Then he heard the rumbling of engines.
He froze, weapon raised, until he caught the familiar shape of the U-Haul and pickup trucks easing down the road.
Relief washed over him. He jogged to the gate, unlocking the chain and dragging it open.
The convoy rolled inside, tires crunching over debris. Engines idled, lights dimmed.
Only Daryl climbed down from the truck, his crossbow already in hand.
"Joe told us to come here and wait," he said gruffly, scanning the ruined houses with his sharp eyes.
Glenn exhaled, lowering his pistol. "Alright. I'll stick with you."
The two men stood shoulder to shoulder at the gate, quiet watchmen in the gloom.
Soon after, Rick, Joe, and Michonne came out of the cul-de-sac, their faces shadowed but steady. They joined Glenn and Daryl near the vehicles.
"We just need Ty and Noah," Rick said. His tone was firm, though the lines in his face betrayed the weight pressing down on him. "Then we move out."
They waited. The only sounds were the ticking of cooling engines and the occasional crow's call from the woods.
Then they heard footsteps. Rapid. Uneven.
Noah burst from between two ruined houses, stumbling, gasping for breath. His face was streaked with tears, his chest heaving.
Rick rushed forward, steadying him by the shoulders. "Noah... what happened? Where's Tyreese?"
Noah's mouth opened, but the words caught, broken by sobs.
He shook his head violently, clutching Rick's arm. "You gotta come quick. He got bit."
Rick, Joe, Michonne and Glenn followed after him closely. Their hearts heavy with the thought of losing yet another companion.
The silence was crushing.
...
Tyreese slumped against the wall, sweat pouring down his face.
His left arm throbbed, blood soaking through the fabric, dripping down to the warped floorboards.
Every pulse of pain was sharper, hotter, spreading like fire through his veins.
He stared at the bodies of Noah's brothers, still and small on the ground. His heart twisted.
His axe slipped from his fingers, clattering against the wood. He leaned his head back, gasping.
The house creaked. The silence pressed in. And then...
A whisper.
"Ty…"
He turned his head. In the shadowed doorway of the kitchen stood Karen. Her eyes soft, her smile warm, just like she'd been before the prison fell.
"You fought so hard," she said gently, stepping closer, though her feet made no sound. "You never stopped protecting people."
Tyreese blinked, his vision swimming. "Karen…" His voice broke. "I tried. God, I tried."
Another voice rose behind her. Lizzie. Hands clasped, eyes wide, her voice innocent but hollow. "It's okay, Tyreese. Everything works out."
Mika stood beside her, nodding. "It's better now."
His breathing grew ragged. He shut his eyes tight. "No. Not like this."
When he opened them again, Garreth... leaned in the doorway. His eyes were cold, mocking.
"Softness gets you killed. Gets everyone killed. You're either the Butcher or The Cattle."
Tyreese groaned, clutching his arm tighter, pain radiating down to his fingertips. His vision pulsed with light and shadow.
Then Bob appeared, crouching in front of him, his voice calm, familiar. "It's not about how you go, Ty. It's about what you leave behind. You kept Sasha alive. That's what matters."
Tyreese sobbed, his strength ebbing. His breaths grew shallow, uneven.
The room darkened around him. Every sound blurred together.
The groans of distant walkers, the buzz of flies, the echo of voices that weren't there.
He whispered, almost to himself, "I don't regret… living."
The shadows pressed tighter, his vision narrowing to a tunnel. His grip slipped from his wound, blood pooling at his side.
And then, faintly, a real voice cut through the haze.
"Noah! What happened?"
Rick's voice.
Boots thundered against the porch. The door banged open. Figures poured into the house.
Tyreese blinked, barely able to lift his head. The world tilted, faces swimming into view.
Joe, Rick, Glenn, Michonne.
Joe dropped to his knees, ripping at his sleeve to make a tourniquet. "Stay with us, Ty. Don't you quit on me."
Michonne's blade flashed as she cleared the room of the last stray walker. Rick pressed cloth against the wound, trying to slow the bleeding.
Tyreese's gaze flickered weakly between them all. His lips trembled.
His head sagged back against the wall, eyes fluttering.
His time was running out.