The group trudged on after the bridge, the heat pressing down like a hand on their backs.
Sasha lingered near the rear, her jaw clenched tight.
Joe stopped abruptly in the road. Without a word, he reached over and yanked the rifle from her shoulder.
Sasha snapped, "Give it back."
Joe's glare didn't waver. "Not anymore."
She moved to grab for it, but Michonne stepped in, hand on her chest. Rick, Abraham, and Lee all stood with Joe, silent but firm.
Rick's voice was calm but unyielding. "You're not in the right headspace. Carrying that rifle right now puts everyone at risk."
Sasha's hands trembled, fury and grief burning in her eyes. "You can't just..."
Michonne cut her off gently. "We can. And we are. Until you're steady again."
Sasha's shoulders slumped, rage burning but helpless against the wall of agreement. She turned away, her breath ragged, her eyes fixed on the road.
Joe handed the rifle over to Lilly and kept walking. No one questioned it.
...
Minutes later, the group stumbled on a small cluster of cars abandoned in the road.
"Check them," Joe ordered.
They fanned out. Rick and Lee moved to a minivan. Daryl scanned the treeline. Kenny popped the hood of a pickup.
Joe stuck close as Maggie and Beth approached a weathered sedan.
Maggie opened the driver's door, rifling through the glove compartment, while Beth moved to the trunk.
The lid sprang open...
A walker lunged, its fingers clamping onto Beth's arm.
Beth gasped, however Joe's katana stabbed clean through the walker's skull. The body went limp, collapsing into the trunk.
Beth's chest heaved. She looked at Joe for only a moment before leaning up to press her lips briefly against his cheek.
Gratitude, relief, affection, all wrapped in one fleeting kiss.
Joe pulled the body free and dragged it onto the asphalt. Beth dug into the trunk again. Her face lit faintly. "Gatorade."
An unopened bottle.
She cracked the seal, took a single sip, then walked it over to Maggie. Maggie tasted, then carried it straight to the little ones.
Judith's small hands curled around the bottle, Grace and Julian's lips wet for the first time in hours.
Esther whimpered as Maggie tilted the bottle, drops sliding past her lips.
Amy, Andrea, and Emma each took the bottle next, sharing sparingly.
Emma finally walked it back to Joe, holding it out.
He shook his head, passing it to Carl instead.
Carl took a sip and handed it down the line. Clementine, Sophia, Duck, all drinking carefully, their faces easing just slightly with relief.
By the time the bottle came back around, it was empty.
Joe hadn't had a drop.
But the sight of the children's lips wet with Gatorade, their cheeks no longer so pale, was enough.
He adjusted his grip on his katana and nodded forward. "Let's move."
...
They didn't make it far before night forced them off the road.
A shallow ditch on the roadside became their camp, the fire hidden low, its glow muted against the dark.
Joe and Daryl disappeared into the trees and came back with what they could manage.
A rabbit and a handful of squirrels. Small, lean things, but enough.
The meat hissed over the fire, grease popping, smoke curling upward. The smell carried, richer than anything they'd eaten in days.
For a moment, the group sat around it in silence, eyes half-closed, letting themselves pretend life could still be normal.
That illusion shattered with the growls.
Low, sharp, circling.
From the dark, a dozen yellow eyes gleamed. Feral dogs slinked closer, ribs jutting, lips peeled back over jagged teeth.
Hunger drove them, same as it drove the group.
Weapons came up instantly.
Joe looked across the fire at Rick, at Kenny, at Daryl. No words passed between them. Just a nod.
BANG! TWANG! BANG! BANG!
Four dogs crumpled in the dirt. The rest yelped and scattered, tails between their legs, swallowed again by the night.
The fire popped. The survivors stayed still, weapons steady, until it was clear the pack was gone.
Then Joe and Daryl stepped forward together.
Knives out. No hesitation.
They worked in grim silence, skinning and butchering the carcasses with the precision of men who had done this before, and would do it again.
Flesh hit the fire, sizzling. The smell was different this time. Richer, heavier, but hunger drowned out doubt.
Still, when the first strips were done, no one reached for them. Not at first.
Joe chopped the meat into a paste with the side of his knife, pressing it into Amy's hands, then Andrea's, then Maggie's. "For the babies."
The women nodded, feeding their little ones first. Small mouths opened without hesitation, chewing, swallowing.
The sound of infant satisfaction was almost enough to drown out the grim reality of what they were eating.
Only then did the others take their share.
They chewed in silence, the taste metallic, wild. But hunger had stripped them of revulsion. Tonight, meat was meat.
The fire crackled, smoke rising thin and gray into the empty sky. No one said a word.
They ate.
They survived.
...
The next day, they found it.
A neat cluster of gallon jugs sat in the middle of the road. Clear water sloshed inside each one.
Spray-painted across the cracked asphalt, in sharp white letters. FROM A FRIEND.
The group froze, staring. Hope flickered in their hollow eyes, battling suspicion.
Joe stepped forward, katana in hand. His voice was hard. "Nobody drinks. Could be poisoned. Could be worse."
Katjaa shifted uneasily. "Who would do that?"
Rick exhaled through his nose. "Wouldn't be the first time."
Lee's group exchanged worried glances, eyes wide.
Just then, Daryl came out of the treeline, crossbow slung, frowning at the sight of everyone gathered around the jugs.
Eugene licked his cracked lips, desperation overtaking him. "I'll test it. If I keel over, then you'll know it's bad."
Before he could lift a jug, Abraham stormed forward and smacked it from his hands. Water splashed across the pavement.
Rick's voice cut firm. "We can't."
Eugene shrank back, shame settling over him. Silence hung heavy.
And then...
Whoooosh!
The sky split open. A torrential downpour hammered down, soaking them in seconds.
Heads tilted back, mouths open, laughter bubbling up between gasps. The sound of rain was salvation.
Joe and Lee moved fast, emptying the jugs, filling them with clean rainwater. Daryl, Rick, and others joined in, gathering every container they could.
For the first time in days, hope felt real.
Then thunder cracked overhead. Lightning tore across the sky, jagged and merciless.
Judith and Grace wailed, terrified. The mothers pulled them close, shielding them against the storm.
Joe's voice rose above the chaos. "We can't stay here. Let's move!"
Daryl's arm shot out, pointing. "There's a barn! This way!"
No one hesitated. They rushed after him, the rain falling fiercely, stinging their skin.
...
The barn was a skeleton of wood and weather, but it was shelter.
The storm battered the world outside, rain rattling against the walls, but inside there was space to breathe.
The group collapsed on straw and dirt, exhaustion claiming them in waves. Joe spread a blanket for the little ones.
Julian, Esther, Grace, and Judith, laying them close together where he could watch over them.
Their small bodies curled into each other, soothed by his steady presence even as thunder growled.
On the far side, Rick crouched with the others near the faint glow of a fire. His voice carried in the stillness, heavy and thoughtful.
"My grandfather fought in the war," Rick said, eyes fixed on the flames. "He told me the trick to surviving was to wake up each day and act like you're already dead. You do what you have to do. And then… you get to live."
His gaze swept over them, pausing on each weary face.
"We are the walking dead."
The words landed like stones. Michonne's eyes narrowed. Glenn looked down at his hands. Maggie pulled Beth closer.
Joe sat apart, watching his children's small chests rise and fall. The words cut deeper for him than most.
He'd carried death long before the world ended. The weight of it pressed heavy on his shoulders.
But he wasn't dead. Not yet. Not while his family was breathing.
From the shadows, Daryl's rough voice broke the silence. "We ain't them."
Rick met his eyes. "We're not."
And for a moment, despite the storm raging outside, the group held onto that fragile truth.
...
Later that night, the barn slept in uneasy silence.
The storm outside had dulled to a steady roar, but when the wind shifted, it howled like a living thing.
The doors rattled on their hinges, only a single length of chain holding them together.
Then the world tore open.
A tornado ripped across the countryside, tearing up trees like weeds, wood snapping and splitting like gunfire.
The dead came with it. A horde of walkers stumbling toward the barn, their groans carried on the thunder, the crashing timber, the pull of life inside.
The doors banged against the chain, straining.
Joe was on his feet in seconds, bracing his shoulder into the wood. Daryl slammed in beside him, both of them grunting under the sudden pressure.
"Hold it!" Joe roared, his voice cutting over the storm.
The others startled awake, blinking, then rushing forward as realization hit. Rick threw himself against the door beside them, Abraham piling in right after.
Glenn, Kenny, and Lee scrambled into place, boots scraping against dirt as the storm screamed louder.
Behind them, Amy, Andrea, Maggie, Emma, Katjaa, and the others huddled the children close.
The little ones woke crying, Julian, Esther, Grace, and Judith. Their shrill wails mixing with the storm's howl.
The barn itself groaned.
The old wood bent and popped under the strain of the wind and the relentless push of walkers outside. Dust rained from the rafters.
But together, they held.
Muscles burned, arms shook, sweat mingled with rain leaking through cracks in the boards. Every second was a battle. Every minute stretched into an eternity.
The storm raged on, merciless.
But they did not yield.
All night, they fought it. Against wind, against wood, against death clawing to get in.
Their teeth gritted, their backs screamed, but no one moved, no one faltered.
By dawn, silence fell.
The wind was gone. The thunder moved on.
They hesitated, then unchained the doors. The hinges creaked as light spilled in.
The world outside was unrecognizable. Trees lay scattered like fallen giants, whole trunks split and scattered across the ground.
The air smelled of wet earth and broken wood.
And yet, the barn still stood. Only a single small tree rested against its roof... stubborn, but not enough to break through.
Father Gabriel stepped forward, his eyes wide, his voice shaking. "This… this was an act of God."
Joe brushed past him, his body aching, sweat streaking his face. His voice was flat, hard. "No. It was us. We held it. Don't forget that."
The group spilled out into the wreckage, their faces hollow with exhaustion. But their feet were still on solid ground. Their hearts still beat.
They were alive.
Another night survived.