Tyreese's breaths were shallow, ragged. His skin was pale, sweat slick on his forehead.
Blood still seeped from his arm despite Rick's desperate pressure.
Michonne crouched low, her face drawn tight, eyes flickering between the wound and his face.
Glenn hovered at the doorway, pale himself, still carrying the weight of Doug's death.
Joe tightened the tourniquet with steady hands, his jaw clenched, knowing it was already too late.
Tyreese's eyes rolled, then steadied on them. His voice was hoarse, broken. "Don't… don't look like that."
Rick leaned close, gripping his shoulder. "We're not giving up on you, Ty. Just hold on."
Tyreese managed a weak smile. "Rick… it's okay. It's alright."
He coughed, his chest rattling. Then his gaze shifted, landing on Noah, who stood frozen in the doorway, eyes wide with horror.
Tyreese raised his good hand slightly, trembling. "Don't… don't you give up, Noah. Not ever. You hear me? You keep living."
Tears streamed down Noah's cheeks as he nodded furiously.
Tyreese's eyes swept over the group, each of them leaning in, their faces streaked with grime and grief.
He struggled for breath, each word a battle.
"There'll come a time… when you'll be able to say it. Without doubt."
His lips trembled, a faint smile breaking through the pain.
"We're safe."
A silence hung heavy after the words. The weight of them pressed into every heart.
Tyreese's head sagged back against the wall, his breath rattling once more… then fading.
Rick bowed his head, his hand still firm on Tyreese's shoulder.
Michonne turned her face away, biting back tears.
Noah sank to his knees, his sobs breaking the stillness.
Joe shut Tyreese's eyes with his hand, his jaw tight. "Rest easy, brother."
Outside, the ruins of Shirewilt stood silent.
Inside, the group absorbed the loss. But Tyreese's words lingered.
A kind of fragile, impossible hope echoing against the broken walls.
One day, they told themselves. One day, it had to be true.
...
Noah's mouth opened, but the words caught, broken by sobs. He shook his head violently, clutching Rick's arm. "He's—he's gone. Ty… Ty's gone."
The silence that followed was crushing.
Michonne's lips parted, but no sound came out. Glenn closed his eyes, shoulders sagging. Rick shifted his weight, jaw tight, eyes hard to hide the sting.
Joe's face hardened like stone, but his gaze dropped, heavy with grief.
Rick pulled Noah close, steadying him as the boy broke down.
His own voice was low, but the words trembled. "Alright. Alright… you did what you could."
Around them, the group absorbed the blow.
Another loss. Another brother gone.
And with Tyreese's death, Shirewilt Estates became just one more graveyard on their endless road.
...
Joe drove his knife cleanly into the back of Tyreese's head, and pulled it free.
The man deserved better, but this was mercy.
Joe crouched, sliding his arms under Ty's massive frame. With a grunt, he hauled him onto his shoulder.
Tyreese had always carried others and now it was his turn to be carried.
The group filed out behind him in silence.
The stairs groaned under Joe's slow, deliberate steps. Each one echoed heavy in the ruined house.
Nobody spoke. There was nothing to say that wouldn't break under the weight of it all.
They walked back through the empty streets, past the burned homes and the blood-streaked pavement, back toward the intersection.
The vehicles waited there, engines idling. Faces leaned out of windows, eyes widening.
Sasha was the first to move.
The instant she saw Tyreese slung over Joe's shoulder, she scrambled from the truck, stumbling as her legs gave way beneath her.
Tears streamed down her face before she even reached them.
Joe knelt, lowering Tyreese gently to the ground.
Sasha collapsed onto his chest, clutching at him with shaking hands. Her cries tore through the air, raw and unrestrained.
She screamed, cursed God, cursed fate, cursed every cruel turn that had led them here.
Her grief was unfiltered, a wound split open in front of them all.
The others gathered, drawn by the sound.
Rick stood close, his jaw tight, eyes fixed on the ground. Glenn hung back, his own loss still heavy on him. Michonne's hand covered her mouth, her katana hanging limp at her side.
But it was Carol and Emma whose faces broke hardest. Both women sobbed openly, shoulders shaking.
Tyreese had saved them more times than they could count.
When they were on the road, during the aftermath of the prison, when hope was running thin.
He had carried their burdens when they couldn't, made sure they ate, kept them alive when they might've given up.
Emma whispered, voice cracking, "He was… he was family."
No one argued.
In that moment, the whole group felt the same.
Tyreese wasn't just another loss. He was a pillar. And now he was gone.
...
They lifted Tyreese carefully into the bed of the pickup. His body, once so strong and solid, looked unbearably still now.
No one spoke as the convoy pulled out of Shirewilt, leaving behind its broken homes and broken promises.
The road was quiet. Even the engines seemed subdued, rumbling low as if in mourning.
They drove until they found the right spot.
A quiet stretch where the trees opened into a small clearing. A tall oak stood rooted firm at the center, its branches spreading wide, defiant against the gray winter sky.
It was there they laid Tyreese to rest.
The men dug in silence, shovels biting into the cold earth. Rick and Joe took the heaviest turns, their faces grim, sweat mixing with dirt on their brows.
When the grave was ready, they lowered him down gently, Sasha clutching Emma's arm for support as her legs threatened to give way.
Father Gabriel stepped forward, his bible open, though his voice trembled. "This man… he was gentle in a world that demanded cruelty. Strong when others faltered. He carried burdens that weren't his own, and he never stopped protecting those around him. May he find peace now, in the arms of the Lord."
Sasha whimpered softly, her face blank and hollow. Emma held her close, hugging her tight against her chest.
Sasha's body shook, but her eyes were empty, like she had already surrendered.
Rick stepped up next, his gaze fixed on the grave. "Tyreese… he saved people. Again and again. He never stopped believing there was good worth protecting. Even when he could've hardened like the rest of us… he didn't. He carried that for us. That hope. And we're gonna miss him for it."
Joe's turn came. He stood with his hands clasped, his face shadowed with sorrow. His voice was low, steady.
"Tyreese was the kind of man this world doesn't make anymore. He put himself between danger and the people he loved, every time. Saved Carol, saved Emma, saved the kids. Saved me too, more than once. He was proof that strength isn't just in how hard you hit... it's in how much you can carry for the people who can't."
His eyes swept over the group, landing on Sasha. "We'll carry him now. And we won't let his memory die."
The silence that followed was thick with grief.
Finally, Rick and Joe picked up their shovels again. One by one, the group joined in, covering Tyreese with earth.
The dirt fell in steady rhythm, until the grave was filled, until only the oak tree stood sentinel above him.
When it was done, the group lingered, staring at the fresh mound of earth. Some prayed. Some wept quietly.
Sasha stayed on her knees at the grave's edge, Emma's arms still around her, her expression blank, empty.
It was as if all the fight had drained from her at once.
For the rest of them, there was only the road ahead.
But for now, they stood together. Mourning not just a man, but the heart he had given them all.
Joe carved a T into the trees trunk.
Then, they loaded up the trucks.
The children still half-asleep in their mothers' arms, the rest of the group moving with quiet purpose.
A week later, the road had stripped them down to nothing.
Their supplies were nearly gone...
Scraps of canned food passed from hand to hand, never enough to fill anyone's stomach.
Water was worse. A few sips here and there, rationed to keep the little ones alive.
The rest of them fought through the thirst in silence.
The convoy had dwindled to a single vehicle, the old U-Haul.
It rattled and shook with every mile, the right front wheel threatening to come off entirely.
They were forced to keep it crawling at ten miles per hour or less. At that pace, even DC felt like an eternity away.
Rick drove, his eyes hollow, both hands gripping the steering wheel, fighting to keep the truck moving in a straight line.
Maggie and Beth dozed against each other in the back, their faces pale.
The children whimpered but no longer cried; they didn't have the energy left.
Every mile felt stolen.
By midday, the truck stuttered to a halt. The group spilled out into the roadside, stretching their cramped limbs.
Their eyes scanning the treeline for danger.
Joe, Daryl, and Kenny slung their weapons over their shoulders.
"We'll check the woods," Joe said simply.
Rick gave a small nod, too drained to argue.
The three men disappeared into the trees, boots crunching on brittle leaves.
They searched for streams, for anything that glistened in the undergrowth. But the woods were dry, lifeless.
Even the animals seemed to have abandoned the stretch.
They ranged farther out, split to cover more ground, then circled back. Each returned the same way... empty hands, hollow eyes.
Daryl kicked at the dirt, his crossbow dangling limp at his side. Kenny muttered a curse under his breath, pulling his cap lower as though to hide the frustration on his face.
Joe walked ahead of them both, expression carved in stone. He didn't need to say it, the weight in his shoulders told them everything.
They had found nothing.
When they returned to the truck, the others lifted their heads in silent hope.
That hope died when they saw the men's faces.
The group slumped back down, the air thick with despair.
The U-Haul rattled weakly when Rick tried the ignition again. One more day, maybe less, and the engine would fail them.
They were stranded.
And DC still felt a lifetime away.
...
The U-Haul gave one last shudder before the front wheel finally snapped. The truck lurched sideways, groaning like a dying beast.
Rick slammed it into park. For a long time, no one moved. They just sat there, the silence suffocating.
Finally, Sasha broke it. "That's it," she muttered, her voice sharp and hollow. "That's it. We're done. We'll never make it."
Amy held Grace tighter, her own lips trembling. "The babies…"
Glenn rubbed at his face, his voice ragged. "We've got nothing left. No food, no water. Even if DC's still standing, we won't survive to see it."
Kenny spat into the dirt, his cap low over his eyes. "All this walking north for what? For a pipe dream Eugene spun outta his ass? We're dying on this road."
That lit a spark. Abraham surged to his feet, red-faced. "Don't start with that. DC is still the only chance we got!"
"Chance?" Rosita snapped back, her eyes burning. "We're killing ourselves for a lie!"
Voices rose, clashing in the stale air. People shouted over one another, frustration spilling into anger.
Even Carl muttered bitterly, "Maybe this was all just for nothing."
The chaos churned until Joe stepped forward.
"Enough."
His voice cut through the noise like steel on stone. Everyone turned.
Joe's gaze swept over them, cold and sharp, his jaw tight. He looked at their slumped shoulders, their cracked lips, their hollow eyes.
"You think this is hard? You think whining makes it easier?" He gestured at the children, sleeping weakly against their mothers. "Look at them. That's why you keep moving. That's why you keep breathing. You quit now, you bury them along with yourselves."
No one spoke.
Joe's voice lowered, but the edge only sharpened. "We've bled too much to start tearing each other apart. DC might be a lie, it might be hell, but it's forward. And forward is the only direction left."
Daryl gave a curt nod beside him. Rick's expression hardened again, that fire rekindling in his eyes.
Joe pointed up the road. "On foot. Pack what you can carry. Leave the rest."
One by one, the group obeyed. Backpacks were slung. Weapons were checked.
The rest, blankets, cookware, whatever didn't fit was abandoned at the roadside.
Sasha glanced once at the dead truck and the trail of wreckage behind them. Then she adjusted her rifle and followed the line.
The convoy was no more.
They were wanderers again, a column of survivors marching north under the empty sky.
The road stretched on, endless. But under Joe's shadow, they moved.
Forward.
Always forward.