Chapter 1. Reunion

A tiny little girl in a white dress sat in front of the opened gate to the house. She could not be older then about two, but already had a beautiful head full of curls and was fervently playing with a doll. When she heard them approaching, she looked up. Rick stopped his pace and stared at her. He couldn't have told anyone what the feeling was that crept up to him and settled somewhere in his throat. He was staring into a pair of eyes that he had seen before. Next to him, Carl stopped to look as well. His face showed the same recognition. "Rose," he muttered. The little girl stretched out the doll. "You play?" she asked, eyes shiny, and when they didn't respond, "You like dolls?", as she started pushing herself upwards, stumbling a little like toddlers do.

Rick slowly dropt to his knees so he could sit in front of her, looking into her pretty face. He stretched out his hand and gently touched her arm. Shivers went through him. He opened his mouth to ask, but it had gone dry. How many people hadn't he asked in the past years where their family members were? If they could lead them to their friends? If this was the home of their parents, brothers, wife, fiancé? And how many eyes hadn't turned numb, how many times hadn't he heard muttered words, or simply nothing at all? Could he face asking this girl that question, could he face her eyes numbing, her reply? What reply was a two-years-old going to give to such a question in the first place? Would she even know? But before he could ask her anything, he heard a scream.

"Let go of her!"

He and Carl both turned, automatically clutching their guns, to see a little boy coming out of the nearby bushes. He was tiny as well, about six or seven, rather thin and wearing a shirt over his pants that was way too big for him. In his hands, he somehow managed to wield a wooden bow that must be far too heavy. But his look was fierce and they were experienced enough not to hesitate.

"I said: let go of her! Get your hands of!"

Rick immediately let go of both his gun and the girl, whose eyes had gone wide with fear. Slowly, he raised his hands upwards and started rising. The girl turned around and ran towards the boy, hiding behind him and peering anxiously past his legs, clutching her doll.

"What were you doing? Who are you?"

"Look," Rick started, "we don't want any trouble. We are here to talk to…" He hesitated. Did he want to know?

The boy raised up the wooden bow a bit further. Then they heard a voice coming from the house.

"Fredrick! Freddy! Sweetie, what's going..." The woman whom the voice belonged to stopped dead halfway through her garden path, looking at the two men besides the fence. She had her arms wrapped around her body, a strange, defenceless look for someone finding strangers at her gate talking to her children. She stared at them, her mouth dropping a little. Her eyes, the exact same green colour and almond shape as those of her daughter, widened. Then she started running towards them.

"Rick!"

When she reached him, she threw herself in his arms. It took him a while to react. His arms had lost the possibility of a hug, his mind lost the imagination of being welcomed. But his nose hadn't forgotten her smell, his eyes hadn't forgotten what she looked like, even now she looked so much stronger, and older, as well. Six years older, to be precise. When his hands found her back, she turned her face to look him in the eyes, tears shimmering on her cheeks. "Rick," she muttered, and then again, "Rick…" for a second, her hand softly touched his cheek, then she turned towards Carl, who hadn't moved.

"Carl! Sweet, beautiful Carl! Look how grown up you are!" She hugged him as he stood frozen, allowing her touch but not reacting to it. She looked at him for a second, then turned towards the little boy and girl. The boy still had his bow raised and the girl was still clutching his jeans with her hand. "Turn that bow away, Freddy, what have I been telling you about that?" And then, turning to Rick, wiping her eyes, "don't worry about the arrows though, they're fake. He wanted real ones like his dad, but I wouldn't have it. Fredrick, these men are Rick and Carl. You knew them when you were a little baby. They protected you and kept you safe."

The boy nodded, lowering the giant toy bow. "Alright then. I'm going hunting." And he turned, running back into the bushes again, his mother looking after him with a little smile.

"He's a wild one, you know, just like his dad," she said, half apologetic, half amused. "But this one, you haven't met." She bent over to pick up the little girl in her arms. "This is my daughter, Molly. Molly, say hi to our guests." The girl didn't move. "Well," Rose said. "I think Freddy scared her again. She does follow him in practically everything, you know." She turned towards them and her face grew worried. "But you should definitely come in. Have a drink. Tell me…" She stopped, and Rick understood why. He understood the questions that she wanted to ask, but simply couldn't. The fact that he and Carl were here alone, looking ragged, told her more than she wanted to know. She swallowed, and said: "He is alive. Daryl. He is alive. I expect him home in a few hours." She looked at them for only a second, then her face lit up again, although the smile didn't reach her eyes. "Come in the house. I have fresh juice." And she turned around, walking towards the house. The little girl in her arms stared at them over her shoulder. Then she stuck out one of her arms, making a grabbing movement with her hand. It was enough invitation. Rick and Carl followed.

Inside, they found the house big, yet strangely cosy. They followed Rose through a dark hallway past a dining room with fireplace into a small kitchen. The kitchen seemed so very ordinary, that it was almost extraordinary to see. The only things that showed that it could have looked different were a newly built stove that had replaced part of the kitchen dresser, and the candles spread throughout the room. Rick looked around and saw a big, green cupboard standing in the corridor. A shock went through him when he remembered its colour. That was the exact same, soft green cupboard that had stood there when they found the place deserted six years ago. It made him realise that they were in the same house, a house that he had thought 'ordinary'. But six years ago, it had been everything but that. It had been layered in thick dust, doors and windows had been jammed closed and the smell of rot had hung around them like a thick cloud attacking their brains. Now, it smelt like freshly baked bread and flowers.

Rose took a pile of glasses and a jug filled with red coloured juice from the green cupboard, pouring the juice into the glasses. "Are you hungry? We have food. Do you want something to eat?" Rick merely shook his head, and Carl did nothing at all, remaining close to the door. His hands hadn't moved from the clutch of his gun. Rose glanced at it. Behind her, little Molly was peering around the kitchen doorway. Rick carefully lowered his own gun from his back and put it on the kitchen dresser. Then he sat down. Rose smiled grimly, and brought Carl his glass before sitting down and drawing her daughter on her lap. She looked like the perfect, young mother. She had cut her chestnut hair into a short crop, curling just slightly around her face. Rick couldn't even remember the last time he had seen someone looking so much like… like a person.

"How are you?"

Silence.

"I'm sorry," Rose said. "That is such a stupid question to ask."

It was silent for a while, and nothing was heard but the sound of them drinking. The juice was cool, but that was the only thing he could taste about it. Rose tried again. "The others…" she fell silent.

"We left Beth and Glenn a while ago. With Judy." Rick couldn't help himself from glancing towards Molly for a second. He was very grateful that Rose didn't pull the girl tighter towards her chest. Instead, she reacted, surprised: "Beth and Glenn?" but then lowered her gaze and didn't ask any further. If he mentioned only them, enough should be inclined. Instead, Rose continued: "Tell me what I can do for you. You don't have to tell me anything else. Do you want food, a bed, water? You can stay for as long as you want. Please. What can I do?"

"I…" Rick started. "I… we're very tired. Carl and me. We're just… so tired."

"Off course," Rose said. "Please, follow me." She got up and walked towards the hallway, Molly so close behind her that she nearly trotted on her mothers heels. Rose didn't turn to see whether the men were following. Carl looked at Rick, and when the latter nodded and got up, he followed, putting his glass of juice untouched on the kitchen table, taking his father's gun. They followed Rose back into the hallway and then up the stairs. On the landing, a door opened into a spacious room, where two beds stood not far apart, covered in soft blankets. The room had nice, pinkish carpet on it and floral curtains hung in front of the windows. Rick stopped for a moment, then staggered towards one of the beds and dropped down.

When he woke up, it was still light. He knew he couldn't have been sleeping more than a few hours – he never slept more than a few hours – but he felt very awake. Around him, the house had never gone to sleep. He heard footsteps downstairs and people talking, laughing even. He smelled something remarkably good. He sat up and saw Carl sitting straight on the bed, the gun still in his hands. He looked uncomfortable and had obviously not slept. "I heard a motorcycle a while ago," he said, "but I stayed here to keep watch." Rick wanted to tell Carl that he thought they wouldn't need to keep watch, but instead, he got out of bed. "Then I think the master of the house is home, and we should go and say hello." Carl nodded and got up. Rick turned before he opened the door. "Leave the gun." It was a clear order, and Carl put the gun back on the bed, but didn't take out his other, smaller gun, the one he had held with him for the last eight or nine years at least.

On the corridor, they could hear voices coming from the kitchen. He hesitated at the top of the stairs. What were they supposed to do? Just walk into the kitchen and grab a seat? Announce their arrival in some way? He straightened his shoulders and walked down. Downstairs, the smell of food became much stronger, and Rick noticed that he was hungry. They found the hallway empty but for the little boy, who was sitting on the floor, playing with the wooden bow with fake arrows. As soon as he saw them, he jumped upwards and screamed "Dad! Dad!" running in the direction of the kitchen. The voices fell silent. Then, a man stepped into the hall. He was tall, kind of impressive looking, wearing a jeans and a clean shirt, the sleeves rolled up. The man walked forwards with quick steps and embraced him. "Rick! Rick, man! You are here! You are really here man…" Rick looked at the man's eyes in wonder. This man, that seemed so much part of this house, was this him? But the eyes confirmed that question, just as the long scar across his face did. "And Carl…" Daryl embraced Carl as well, then stepped back to put his hand softly on his wife's arm, who had appeared behind him. She smiled at them. "Dinner's ready," she said, and nodded at the dining room.

It was clear that Rose wasn't going to let the opportunity slip by to feed them, and feed them well. She had made soup, followed by large plates full of hot potatoes, vegetables and meat. He couldn't remember the last time he had had so much food. Next to him, Carl had finally succumbed and fed quickly, using his hands and stuffing himself nearly without swallowing. Little Fredrick across the table stared wide eyed at Carl's table manners and then glanced at his mother, who raised one eyebrow as she caught Freddy's look. He lowered his eyes and grabbed his fork. Rick himself ate slowly, trying to use the fork and knife. He found it hard to look at the family around him. Rose helped her daughter eat while chatting to her husband, Molly was playing with her food, and again, they looked simply too ordinary to be real. He and Carl didn't follow in their conversation. Freddy, who spoke very little, glanced at their faces from time to time. After dinner, Rose had her children help tidy up the table and the kitchen (little Fredrick again peered from Rose to Carl, who remained seated, his back still unnaturally straight). They were left alone. Rick coughed and got up. "Come on, Carl," he whispered, and lifted up a few plates while walking towards the kitchen. Carl grabbed the first thing next to him – a water jug – and followed his father.

When they walked into the kitchen, the family was happily chattering amongst themselves, but fell quiet when they saw them entering. "Please, no," Rose said, and took the plates and the jug from their hands. She then looked at her husband and made a small movement with her head. Daryl nodded and gestured at Rick and Carl to follow him. They were lead through the corridor into a small bathroom. "Streaming water," Daryl said proudly. He gestured towards a pile of clothing and two thick towels lying on top of a chair. "Go ahead." He went out and closed the door behind him. Carl walked towards the shower and turned the shrieking knob. Water started running. Rick looked at Carl's face, but it remained straight.

They both used the shower – though leaving the soap that stood next to it untouched – and then dressed into the clothing laying on the chair. They were a bit too wide, especially for Rick, and the jeans lain out for Carl were too short. It couldn't have been otherwise. Carl really had grown tall.