This barn smelled like shit but they were safe from the elements and the walkers, not to mention it would buy them a little time to rest and maybe even get their bearings long enough to come up with a plan. The one thing Rick knew — and he didn't know much these days — was that they couldn't stay. The space was too small and there was no privacy for fourteen people. Made of rickety wood, it barely withstood the previous night's storm and the comfort the sparse hay provided for one night would soon disappear. Trees surrounded the barn, obstructing the sight lines which would prevent them from seeing an attack, not to mention they weren't near a water source. Since their vehicles ran out of gas they walked for miles without a house, store, or any structure in sight. He figured they made it eight short but arduous miles before the storm forced them off the road. Along the way was a futile search for food and water. They were desperate — you would have to be to do the things they did to survive, namely eating dogs.

The long walk gave him nothing but time because no one wanted to talk when it took almost all the energy they had to keep putting one foot in front of the other. Instead of using that silence for something useful, he doubted his past decisions and, neurotically enough, even began doubting his future ones. Not even after the farm fell when he didn't know what to do other than keep the group together did he feel this lost. He led this group to Virginia for nothing more than a pipe dream because getting Noah home was for Beth, the last thing anyone could ever do for her. And who knew, maybe it could have been for them too. Maybe by some stroke of luck, he told himself as they traveled from Georgia, it would still be standing. It wasn't and, though he had no right, he found himself slightly disappointed. During their slow journey to a destination unknown, he realized he had to stop holding out for hope. There was no safe place. There was no happy ending. Just safe enough. Happy enough. It was all momentary and spurious.

He had to table his hopelessness, his doubts, his feelings of inadequacy — none of that mattered because everyone in that barn looked to him for answers. He wasn't sure why. They suffered so many setbacks with him at the helm but they still saw him as the leader. That meant he needed to come up with a plan to save fourteen lives and he had nothing. What a shit show to have on your conscience. Maybe that's why they looked to him. Who wanted that responsibility on their shoulders?

The barn door opened with a squeak of the rusted hinges. It seemed loud against the silent backdrop of the barn.

"Everybody, this is Aaron," Maggie's voice rang out.

Immediately they went from enervated, barely able to hold their heads up, to on their feet ready for whatever danger was about to rain down on them. Fear brings on an adrenaline rush rivaled by no other feeling. Daryl looked outside the barn. Rosita, Carol, and Abraham had their guns aimed and with those three he knew it was center mass. This stranger, Aaron, was about 6'1", brown hair, average build. The world going to shit didn't mean he stopped profiling — that initial snapshot of a person cataloged in his head for future reference. Just like in the past, everyone was a threat until they weren't. None of that presumption of innocence shit because hesitation could mean death. Who he was and what he did in the past served him well now, forever ingrained in him.

Daryl patted this guy down like he was the sheriff's deputy in the previous life instead of whatever he was. He never discussed his previous life but Rick took him for one of the shiftless types who was born and died in their hometowns and never did much in between. It didn't make him good or bad, just one of those guys with little going for him and even less self-esteem under the rough exterior. All he needed was the positive influence he never had growing up.

"I already did that," Sasha said.

Rick could tell the assumption she and Maggie didn't know what they were doing annoyed her. No one thought that to be true. The women in the group were just as capable as the men — and sometimes they were the only reason this group was still together and alive. If there were weak links in this group, an adversary was best not to assume it was a woman. Eugene and Gabriel were their underbellies.

"He's by himself," Maggie said. "We took his weapons, and we took his gear."

"Whatcha bring him back here for?" Daryl said.

"Sasha and I didn't see him," Maggie said. "If he wanted to hurt us, he could have." She had the patience Sasha didn't. Sasha suffered no fools and made sure you knew it. He liked that about her. You always knew where you stood with her. She was smart and quick — mentally and physically.

"Who are you? What do you want?" Rick asked as he took a few steps forward.

"He has a camp nearby," Sasha said then cut her eyes at the stranger. "He says he wants us to audition."

"It sounds weird, I know," Aaron said. "I wish there was another way to put it."

His hands fell slightly until he saw Rick grip his gun tighter, then he raised them even higher than they were before. He wasn't stupid. Far from it, so what was his angle?

"Sasha," Aaron said. "Will you hand Rick my pack?"

As Rick went through the contents of the pack — a bottle of water, a map, notebook, pens, trail mix — Aaron went on and on about community and safety. The more he talked, the more it sounded like insufferable bullshit and frankly, it pissed Rick off. This guy was insulting his intelligence with this dream world. They barely made it out of Terminus alive; there was no way he'd allow his people to end up in another trap. And he sure as hell wouldn't willingly walk through another set of gates.

Rick surveyed the group as Aaron rambled on about 15-foot steel beamed walls and people being the most vital resource. It was an illusion that anyone was safe these days. You lived until you come across the danger — the living and dead. His group had to know this wasn't a reality, just foolish ideas with a short life and deadly end. But as they passed around the pictures of the community, he could see the glimmer of hope in their eyes and that caused a rage to build in the pit of his stomach for this stranger. Hope was one hell of a drug. Addictive. Each time a poor fool with hope lost the high they always searched for their next hit. The fall was always lower and more painful each time you lost what you thought would be your home for the rest of your life and it was harder to rise back from that loss.

Rick walked over and landed a solid blow to Aaron's jaw. He tried to put his fist through this guy's face but he would have to settle for knocking him out cold. Aaron hit the ground like a sack of potatoes and no one flinched. Secretly he knew Daryl and Carol agreed with him, Sasha too. They were the most pragmatic about what life was and what it could be after Terminus and what happened at the church.

"Almost there," Scott said from behind the steering wheel.

Michonne looked up from the back seat and saw the street sign signaling they were twenty miles from Alexandria. This run took them fifty miles out, farther than they had ever been but it was necessary. They had scoured everything near the community and supplies were getting more scarce. It was hard to find something already built, ready for use, or ready to eat. While their pantry was stocked, the concern was always food. The plan was to never be complacent because it wouldn't take long for plenty of food to turn into barely enough.

"This was a good haul," Heath said from the front passenger seat. "And bringing back all those seeds can't hurt."

"Does anyone know how to farm?" Scott asked.

"How hard could it be?" Heath shrugged. "Drop a few seeds, water, and wait for everything to grow, right?"

Hell if she knew, but that made her wonder about other amenities. Like what would happen when they ran out of toilet paper, toothpaste, and soap. They didn't know how to make those things. They needed to think about it; they needed to come up with a plan. Alexandria worked because the residents were fed and comfortable. It was easy to stay in line when life was as good as it gets these days. Once that was no longer the case there would be division and chaos. It happened in every society across the globe from the beginning of time. These days would be no different.

"Maybe the others will find something when they go out," Scott said.

She rolled her eyes. He was always the optimist, but they knew it wouldn't happen. There were two scavenger crews. The groups never went out at the same time. Michonne, Heath, and Scott were A team. They were a well-oiled machine and wanted no additional members. Meanwhile, the B team, led by Aiden, constantly replaced members. Mostly because their people died. The only person Aiden worked well with was Nicholas. Aiden actually thought his time in ROTC meant something. When it came to Aiden, ROTC was nothing more than a way for a privileged kid to gain patriotism points for his future political career. Aiden's team was okay — they always brought back decent stuff — but nothing compared to her team.

"I bet there are all kinds of things in D.C.," Scott said.

"Yeah, like the dead," Heath said.

Since it was less than ten miles from home, they tried D.C. once but it was dead on top of the dead. No doubt there was a lot of useful things in the city but the dead was like a mindless security force keeping people away which made those supplies useless. And it was even more useless to think about it. Densely populated areas had to be the worst place to survive. Unfortunately for her, she moved to D.C. just before the outbreak. Talk about timing. She wondered what it was like back home. It only took the end of the world for her to appreciate small town living.

"All we need to do is find the entry point. Find a back road, an area that's not congested," Scott said.

Heath snorted. "Have you ever been to D.C.?"

It wasn't his call; the group outvoted Rick. Honestly, it was shocking. He wasn't a dictator, not anymore, but he thought he made a good case for not trusting this guy. Not after Terminus. He didn't think they would ever get over that betrayal. For every dangerous stranger he reminded them of, they countered with stories of how they all came to be. How they were standing as one because they trusted a girl who rolled up to the prison gates with The Governor, saved a priest who turned his back on his people and protected a man who lied about having the cure. Not only does hope make you stupid, but apparently it caused bad decisions too.

So they packed the few belongings they had — mostly guns — and headed in a direction they didn't know trusting a stranger to deliver them to what could easily be a trap. Rick stopped believing in Santa and the Easter bunny when he was eight years old and he sure as hell didn't believe in good fortunes he didn't make for himself. Not in the old world and not in this new screwed up one. They were back to the days of survival of the fittest, not survival of the luckiest. There were no societal safety nets. It was eat what you kill — literally.

The others wanted to believe. Aaron said all the right things that made them forget everything that kept them alive. And they did it for a chance, just a chance at something better. This guy who came up to fourteen strangers and allowed them to strip him of his weapon and held prisoner. All throughout he smiled and sweet-talked like a salesman with barely a hitch in his voice. He was way too sure of himself despite the situation he was in. It made Rick think maybe this Aaron guy was more dangerous than anyone knew. His behavior was the action of a madman, maybe even a sociopath, definitely not a friend. How Aaron presented himself — those kinds of people didn't live in this world anymore. Altruism was dead. What Aaron had — his community — was something people killed to defend and killed to take, not something you gave away.

The entire trip Rick became antsier with each passing mile. He wished Aaron would show his hand sooner than later so he could put a knife to the base of his skull and go back to looking for a realistic place to settle down and make their own. They lost so much in such a quick amount of time: the prison, Hershel, Terminus, Beth, Bob, and Tyreese. The losses were never-ending and now life was about waiting for the next loss. He understood they needed a win. He needed a win for his boy but this wasn't it.

When the RV broke down, it felt like another warning sign this was the wrong move and they were ignoring them. While Glenn and Abraham worked on getting them back on the road he got out of the car and took a walk to put a little distance between himself and the group. He needed solitude. He needed to think. It might be his last chance before whatever was about to happen and he needed to prepare himself mentally for this fight. Since he woke up in that hospital it was a journey of broken dreams — the CDC, Fort Benning, a cure in Washington, and getting Noah to his family. He knew this would be another.

His solitude was short-lived as he watched Carl headed his way. They were across the road from the others and the RV, just past a curve in the road. It was an amazing view of what used to be Washington, D.C. This area made this country go, hell, it was, in many ways, the center of the world. And it's possible that all that power and knowledge meant nothing and it was gone just like the rest of the country they've seen with their own eyes.

"See right there," Rick pointed at the obelisk in the distance. "That's the Washington Monument. I always dreamed of bringing you here."

He almost wished he had a camera because this was one of those times when the beauty of the land, more than anything, reminded him of what they were missing. But pictures, they didn't matter anymore. Now life changed before you had time to develop the film. Those pictures Aaron showed them, he wondered if they represented this future home. When did he take those pictures? How much had changed? He thought about the things the pictures didn't show. Fuck the walls and gates, the key to any camp's survival was always the people. Were there enough of the strong to keep in check the weakest links in their chain — the assholes, the scared, the angry, the dangerous?

"Dad, it's gonna be okay," Carl said as he put his hand on his father's shoulder. "I got a good feeling about this."

He turned to look at his son knowing when this didn't work out, and he knew it wouldn't, that his son would once again bounce back. He had done it so many times, better than any of the adults did. Better than Rick. Because Rick saw the losses as personal failures. And each failure hurt because it meant he hadn't protected his son. There was no pain greater than being a father disappointing his son. Seeing that disappointment in his son's eyes when he lost faith in him back in the prison was a rejection he almost didn't recover from.

"Why?"

"I mean, where else are we gonna go?" Carl smiled.

"I don't know. Somewhere safe." Rick looked over at him.

"You mean somewhere away from people," Carl said, the disappointment dripping from each word.

Rick shook his head and shrugged. "People are dangerous. This is dangerous."

"Being alone out here is pretty dangerous, dad. I mean, Aaron was right; people are the best resource. It's safer with more people. And we have to try. Try to make things like they used to be. It can't be a fight all the time because eventually, we'll be fighting ourselves. Who we are. What we believe in. It'll make us what we're not. That's what you tried to teach me back at the prison."

Rick gripped the back of his son's neck marveling at his insight in this screwed up world. All he wanted in life was to be a good dad, love his boy, keep him safe, and give him some guidance so he could make his way in the world just like his father did for him. That was the one thing that didn't change when the world did. Though he constantly felt like he wasn't successful, somewhere along the way his boy became a man.

"When did you get so smart?"

Carl smiled. "When I started listening to you."

"Home sweet home," Michonne muttered when they pulled up to the gates, or whatever Alexandria was. After two weeks on a run, she was ready to be back without her head on a swivel and sleeping more than twenty minutes at a time. No matter what, there was no deep sleep while out there. Every sound, every leaf was loud in her ear.

She frowned as they waited for the gate to open. Scott honked the horn twice before Heath climbed out and went to the gate. She leaned her head out of the window trying to hear what was going on. When the green privacy screen opened, she sat up at attention. Whoever was manning the gate was new. And not new to gate duty, new to the community and that was unsettling.

She and Scott joined Heath and this stranger. Michonne looked him up and down as Heath talked to him. He was a weird guy with a fucking mullet and a monotone voice. It wasn't just the sound of his voice but the way he talked that was off-putting.

"Hi, I'm Scott." He offered his hand but Eugene didn't shake it. He didn't even look at it.

"Eugene Porter," he said. "I led my group here from Georgia."

She couldn't imagine him being the leader of anything, especially not people, not if they were semi-competent. His value had to be his brain. She wasn't knocking him, Alexandria was full of those types. People were who they were and as long as they got no one killed, she didn't really care. This world brought out the best in some, the worst in others, and the truth in all of them.

"How many of there are you?" Michonne asked.

"Fifteen. I mean fourteen."

"I'll take this load to the pantry," she said as she looked at Heath.

"I'm with you." Scott nodded and climbed back into the driver's seat.

"I'll get the gate and meet you guys over there," Heath said.

Olivia ran the pantry. Unfortunately, she wasn't alone when Michonne and Scott arrived. A few women Michonne called desperate housewives, even the single ones, clucked away. As physically draining and dangerous as the outside world could be, this is why she sometimes preferred it to being inside the walls.

When life as they knew it stopped, it was amazing the things it reduced people to care about. The same people — the ones who never stepped outside the gates — talked about the silly things like their cell phone batteries, book clubs, or wanting kitchen gadgets. Luckily, most of them knew not to talk to her about such things but they said it so much everyone knew. She supposed there were plenty of people out there fighting to survive who would be grateful for such trivial matters.

Nothing happened around here. Not that she was looking for action within the walls, she got her fill during the runs but she was on the go in her previous life — always needing something to do, somewhere to go. She thought the only way she would slow down was if the universe forced her. But it forced her into eternal stillness and she defied the universe. She couldn't do it. She wasn't meant to be still.

They pulled up outside the gates; the RV, driven by Abraham, right behind them. Rick took stock of the area — looking left and right, inspecting the gate as much as he could from the car. It was eerily still outside the gate. Desolate. No walkers. A burned down home sat to their right. Like Aaron said, the walls were tall but he couldn't speak for how indestructible they were just yet. At that moment he sat gripping the steering wheel until his knuckles were white while fear traveled down his spine. Was it the right call to bring his son to this place? Should he have demanded they turn down Aaron's offer? Just as he was about to voice his concerns he felt the tightness in face give when he heard children laughing. He hadn't heard that since the prison. They were so innocent; they didn't know there was nothing to be happy about.

"Ready, Dad?"

He looked at Carl smiling in the passenger seat as he looked at him. He could see the hope on Carl's face. He was practically begging Rick to be okay with this, to not ruin this opportunity. When did his son become the patient nurturer making sure he was okay? That wasn't his job. There was a time when all he wanted was for Carl to be a kid, but those days were long gone. And, if he were honest with himself, Carl had to grow up long before the dead walked.

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm ready," he said as he placed the car in park and turned off the ignition just as the others, led by Aaron, walked past the car and up to the gate.

As the gate opened a metal trash bin turned over, and they all pointed their guns at it as Daryl killed the possum that appeared.

"We brought dinner," Daryl said as he held up his fresh kill for the man to see.

Brown curly hair. Suspicious. Shifty eyes. Nervous. He looked scared. He was a weak link in any chain he was part of.

Rick smirked at the look on the man's face — stunned and disgusted by Daryl's actions. He imagined their rough appearance had to be a shocking sight to people who slept comfortably under a roof each night. Confusion was a good thing — it caused a slight hesitation which was all Rick's group needed to get the upper hand.

They were inside the gate, but Rick still wasn't sure they would stay. He wasn't comfortable giving over control to people who were stupid enough to invite a large group of well-armed strangers into their community. What went on in the barn was hardly a vetting session. Aaron knew nothing about them. He wasn't at that church; he didn't know about Terminus, or what Rick did to Joe. This wasn't only dangerous for Rick and his group, it was dangerous for this community. Their startling lack of security measures was suicidal. As that gate closed behind them, he could feel the tightening in his chest and for the first time, the others seemed to be just as uncomfortable.

"Before we take this any further," said the gatekeeper, "if you're staying, I need you to turn over all your weapons. Those are the rules."

"We don't know if we're staying," Rick barked at him. "If we wanted to use them you'd be dead already."

"It's okay Nicholas," Aaron said with a stutter. "Let them talk to Deanna first." He turned to Rick. "She's the leader and can tell you everything you need to know about this place. Why don't you talk to her first, Rick?"

Rick nodded. Yeah, too stupid to be in charge of his people. One challenge from Rick and they were changing the steadfast rules of their safe community. There was no way he would follow these people even if they stayed.

He turned to survey his people and saw a lone walker about twenty yards away headed toward the gate. "Sasha." He nodded behind her. She turned. Aimed. Fired. Headshot and it was down. He chuckled at the awestruck faces of Aaron and Nicholas. That was nothing for Sasha. They should have seen her on the rooftop of that parking garage back in Atlanta. "It's a good thing we're here," Rick said as he walked behind Aaron.

This community was clean. The homes were like mansions. There wasn't a single errant piece of paper on the ground. The grass was neat, and the flowers were blooming in flowerbeds. This was the type of place that the sheriff's office rarely patrolled back in King County. The broken window theory stated if you kept the windows intact you kept society intact. But even though he believed in it, the theory had holes — pretty packages sometimes hid dirty things. And that was most dangerous because you weren't looking for it.

She made it home and tossed her gear on the floor in the small entryway of the townhouse. Unpacking would come later, it would take a while to sort through muddy and possibly bug-infested belongings. For now, it was time for a long, hot shower. While out on the run she craved a shower more than food. Two weeks worth of whore's baths was two weeks too many. They had to drive with the windows down just to survive their stench. Basic survival was disgusting.

But showers always made a hard day better whether covered in the blood of the dead or trying to soothe an aching back due to manual labor she never did in her previous life. Someone delivered her groceries, and she had a weekly maid service mostly due to a lack of time, but she always had an aversion to such tasks. Hell, she didn't wash her car. She held her head down and placed her hands on the gray tile shower wall as she watched the sand and grime slide off her body and swirl down the drain taking all the bad moments out there with it. Funny how near-death experiences rolled off you quickly. At first, they stayed with her but now it was just another day in this nightmarish life. On this run alone they almost died tripping over half-buried biters, barely escaped a horde, and outwitted a group whose intentions were unknown until it was too late.

Once out of the shower she stood in front of the mirror, naked and dripping, staring at her body. She was always physically fit but now her body bordered on sinewy. She figured she'd lost somewhere between ten and fifteen pounds, and for someone with a petite frame, that was significant. But she liked it, especially being able to see her abs. Her love of pasta had made that impossible but this forced minimalist diet changed that. She turned, taking in her hips and butt, which was still there. Even her shoulders and arms looked better.

"All this," she muttered, "and no one to appreciate it." She held her breasts in her hands.

There were basic needs like food, water, and shelter but the human needs didn't end there. A long time passed without having to deal with sexual urges — running for her life did that. But she had been in Alexandria for four months — and time moved in dog years inside these gates — so her dreams often drifted to sex.

She sat on the edge of the bed and slowly her body came back to life as she rubbed lotion on her skin, giving her legs a deep massage along the way from her ankles up to her thighs. She closed her eyes and thought about the deep tissue massage back at the spa. Her self-massage felt good but nothing compared to relaxing as the touch of someone else's strong hands manipulated her tense flesh.

She slid on a pair of underwear — pale yellow silk instead of the functional cotton she wore while out on the run — and slipped on her long blue silk robe. She loved clothes. For a moment, she allowed herself to grieve the wardrobe she lost. Was it still sitting in her D.C. apartment? Was it used as a change of fresh, clean clothes? Or for something more functional? She cringed at the thought of her red Badgley Mischka evening gown being ripped to shreds and used as a tourniquet. Was someone living in her apartment? Hell, if that were the case she'd be pissed because that meant she could have stayed there herself. But she fled D.C. because it was chaos. She'd seen nothing like it. The living were as savage as the dead. She once watched a man kill a woman because he thought she was a biter — turned out she had a limp because she hurt her leg. Getting as far away from irrational people seemed to be the only hope of survival back then.

As she walked down the stairs, there was a knock on the door. Through a window on the side of the door, she saw a tall frame. It was Spencer or Tobin. But he was wiry so that meant Spencer. She opened the door and stared at him, waiting to see what could be so important to knock on her door an hour after her return.

"Just out of the shower, huh?"

She tracked his eyes to the top of her head. Her hair still wrapped in a white towel. "Just back from a two-week run."

Spencer smiled. "The lovebirds found new people," he said as he offered her a laptop. "Mom wants you to watch their interviews."

Deanna's youngest son was nice enough. She preferred him to his brother, Aiden, who was the definition of a douche bag. The one thing about Aiden she appreciated was he knew that about himself. Spencer had zero personality. It was hard to be offensive when you molded to your surroundings. Whoever he was around that's who he became. Malleable. That was just a nice way of saying the kid had no spine. Deanna and Reg Monroe were nice people, but they didn't do so well at raising sons.

"Thanks." No rest for the weary. She sighed. "How many?"

"A lot. Like twelve or fifteen."

She frowned. "Were they all together or did they find different groups?"

"I think they were all together. Hey, how about I cook you dinner? You've been out on that run. I'm sure the last thing you feel like doing is cooking. I'm making my famous beef jerky Stroganoff. It's not Sole Meunière, but it's good," he said with a smile.

She smiled. "What do you know about Sole Meunière?"

"I love French cuisine."

"Best place in D.C.?"

He leaned against the door frame. Languid. Smiling. "Le Diplomate."

She shook her head. "Not bad but Marcel's definitely."

Spencer was one of the few bachelors. She imagined it was difficult for him being a fit, handsome — albeit generically so — guy. The women were older, married, or lesbian. She was definitely up for food she didn't have to prepare but accepting his invitation was not a good idea. You had to be careful in navigating the landscape of men. Smile, but not too much. Eye contact but not too long or else the man misreads politeness for sexual interest and then she would have to turn him down. This seven-block world was too damn small for fractured male egos and burnt bridges.

She watched him descend the stairs and thought 'what if' then quickly shook the thought out of her head. Her instincts were right. There was nothing there, never could be, and there was no need to make trouble where there was none. Spencer was probably a clinger. He definitely couldn't keep up with her. She had a personality and a certain set of skills that only a man could appreciate.

She closed the door and placed the laptop on the coffee table and watched as the monitor came to life. So Aaron brought back a group. More people. That was Deanna's dream — to rebuild civilization starting with Alexandria. It was smart but all she could think about was eventually having to share her place with someone. She was more than happy living alone in her townhouse. Not only was she used to it, but she preferred it. She had become accustomed to living alone since her divorce almost one year ago.

Start with the leader, Deanna scribbled on a yellow post-it. She shook her head. A post-it note. Office supplies, laptops, electricity — all the things that could make you believe life hadn't changed. If only for a few minutes it was easy to believe that. Especially at night in those nice, comfortable beds.

Deanna had a good feeling about this guy. She was so pie in the sky. She needed Michonne around to level out that optimism. Deanna still felt guilty about the three men Michonne convinced her to exile.

She pressed play, and a saw a man, back turned to the camera pacing back and forth in Deanna's living room like a caged animal checking out his new surroundings. Touching trinkets on the bookshelf, looking at book titles, touching the wall. He stood by the fireplace and looked out the window. His hand left a dirty print on Deanna's pristine wall. He was anxious, and that didn't sit well with Michonne. Was he planning something or was he so damaged from what he'd seen out there that he'd be a threat in here?

She went to the kitchen and poured a glass of water, remaining at the sink as she drank. She gazed out the window and did a double take. What had to be one of the new people was a priest — in his priest garb. "You've got to be shitting me," she said with a slight laugh. Who needed a priest? The world ended, and they were already in hell. They didn't need his services; fate had been decided.

"Hello, I'm Deanna Monroe." She heard the sounds from the video.

"Rick Grimes."

She dropped the glass in the sink, shards of glass flying as it broke into countless pieces. She ran back over to the laptop sliding and almost fell on her ass on the way. Did she hear what she thought she heard? Could it be? There was no way it was possible. She leaned close to the laptop and stared, waiting for the man to appear on screen again. It seemed to take forever for him to sit in that empty chair the camera focused on. She held her breath. The wild beard and long hair, the weeks of dirt coating his skin the color of rust but if she couldn't recognize him by anything else, it was those piercing blue eyes. She gasped as she studied him.

Staring into the camera, looking like something Michonne had never seen before was her ex-husband.