They called Fort Sophia a beacon of light in the enveloping darkness. For many, it represented hope and order in a world reduced to chaos. Legends had sprung up throughout the southern states about the community that seemed to embody all that was good in a land ravished by Walkers, gangs and misery.
People talked about Carol, the legendary figure who had founded the township along with her lover Daryl. Those who knew them revered them with an almost fanatical devotion. She – clad in animal skins with her silver locks trailing down her back – beautiful and formidable in equal measure. He – the hunter with his piercing stare, always astride a black stallion with a crossbow slung across his shoulders.
They had built the place from the ground up having abandoned Alexandria fifteen years before, leaving all that was left of the old world behind them. With guns, arrows and knives a small band of comrades cut a path through a jungle of walkers to find a safe place – a place they could call their own.
For Alexandria was no longer their home. Rick was no longer their leader.
Once Daryl and Rick had been as close as brothers, but a terrible feud split them apart, severing their bond forever. Daryl lost faith with his brother's leadership, while Carol was sickened with grief and turmoil over the vicious acts she had committed in the name of their group.
For them, there was only one choice: face the wilderness once more in the faint hope that they could finally create a viable community. The number they set out with had been small enough, but the journey was brutal between Walker attacks and the cruellest winter in living memory. When they finally made camp at their final destination, their numbers were drastically reduced.
It had been a farm once – a huge industrial operation raising cattle across thousands of acres. Now all the cattle had been run off or eaten and the buildings were a wreck, but it was a start. They began by foraging for food and supplies, building on the meagre rations that remained from their journey. The task that lay in front of them seemed impossible, but the group had the benefit of two leaders that had been tempered by war and hardship. Daryl's skills with hunting and Carol's organisational prowess allowed them to survive until the crops began to come through.
They caught wild horses and feral cattle and sheep and domesticated them, recreating over the course of a few years what mankind had struggled to do in thousands. When people saw what they were doing, they began to gravitate towards the small community, buoyed by whispers on the wind and a newfound spirit of hope. What caught people's imaginations was the rumour that unlike the other stragglers who survived the outbreak, Fort Sophia refused to truck with the gangs and robber bandits that roamed the countryside. Somehow, they managed to survive by cooperation and barter, returning to horsepower to travel and till the earth.
They built houses within the walls and external fences to keep the homestead safe, but Carol knew that it would not be enough. She knew that eventually a big enough herd of Walkers would charge through and destroy everything they had fought so hard to build.
Little by little, they sent out bands of riders to hunt the Walkers. They worked in teams, setting traps, herding them into smaller packs, picking them off until year by year, the Walkers became fewer in number and people seemed to be gaining the upper hand once more.
Now they only had to deal with each other.
Inside the township, everyone deferred to Carol and Daryl, though decisions both little and great were taken by the community. Their love for each other seemed to radiate outwards, encompassing all who chose to make the place their home.
Every night, Carol wrote the events of the day in the town leger, knowing that one day people would read her accounts and marvel that a small group of people could create civilisation while the world outside ran mad. Then she blew out the candles and slept soundly in the warm embrace of her mate, wrapped in pelts that Daryl brought home to his woman from hunting expeditions.
Since the Walkers had begun to diminish, nature began to take over again. Bears, mountain lions and wolves prowled the woods, threatening the townsfolk and the sheep that they brought to the mountain pastures during the winter. It was a struggle to keep both people and animals safe, whether from natural or human predators.
Despite their successes, their lives were by no means idyllic. While the last of the tradeable goods were being scavenged and fought over tooth and nail outside, they had to rely on hard work and ingenuity to survive. Maintaining everyone's health was the biggest problem. Carol had been able to relearn many of the old skills of herbal medicine, but diseases like measles and even typhoid began to spring up once more, almost wiping them out in the early days.
Still, people continued to pour through the gates, bringing new skills and new dangers with them. It was a massive learning curve, but the experiences learned on the road and in Alexandria taught them who to trust and how to keep people in line. Unlike Alexandria under Rick's rule, they were not a dictatorship ruled by the threat of violence – that was the most important thing.
One autumn morning, Daryl rose early to check the roofs and fences for damage caused by the previous night's storm. Trees had been uprooted and slates sent flying, but he calculated that he repair job would take no more than a few hours.
He greeted his friends as they went about their daily work. Over the years his demeanour had grown more open and he now bore himself proudly, his figure still strong and muscular even if his hair was streaked with grey and his face lined with age.
A smile creased his face when he saw Carl striding across the main square in his direction. He and Carol had more adopted children and protégés than they had fingers and toes, but Carl was the only one who truly felt to Daryl like a real son. Though his face still held the old sweetness that he always associated with Carl, he had grown tall and strong, hardened by life, but still retaining the same goodness that was uniquely him.
'Hey Daryl.'
'Hey kid.'
Daryl placed a firm hand on Carl's shoulder, the closest he ever came to an open display of affection.
'Kids ok?' he grunted.
Carl shrugged. 'Little one has a cold, but Millie thinks it'll pass.'
Daryl felt a swell of pride. He had always known that Carl was strong beyond his years, but could scarcely believe that the little boy with the sheriff's hat now had a family of his own. He always felt a twinge of sadness whenever he looked at the younger man, wondering how it could have come to this. Once Carl and his father were as close as father and son could be. He knew that it had broken Carl's heart to leave Rick behind and make the journey across the plains to Fort Sophia. Deep down, Daryl sensed that Carl was looking behind him every step of the way, waiting for his father to come and bring him back home again.
But he never came.
'Heading out?' Daryl said just to say something.
Carl nodded, just as he always did. It was his daily routine to take the cattle out to pasture beyond the inner fences and walls of the homestead. Every time he climbed upon his horse and checked his pistol, Daryl felt the same sinking fear that he might never see him again.
'Stay safe,' he said out of habit.
'Nine lives, remember?' Carl smiled back. He knew the story of Daryl and Carol by heart. It had been told to the townsfolk as part of their history to be learnt and remembered and passed on to new generations.
Daryl watched Carl as he made his way towards the cattle pens – his eye suddenly caught by a commotion in one of the guard towers overlooking the gate. As he made his way forward, he saw some of the townsfolk turn to see the source of the trouble.
Daryl whistled sharply to get the attention of Leroy, the man who had pulled the morning shift. 'Hey, what's going on?' he shouted from the base of the tower.
'We got company.' Leroy peered through the telescopic sight of the high-powered rifle that was mainly for show. Bullets were rare these days and were greedily hoarded by the warlords.
Fort Sophia's residents were by no means pacifists. They were highly skilled in combat, both at close quarters with staves, knives, clubs and swords, and from a distance with crossbows and longbows. The surrounding walls of the town reflected the world they were forced to inhabit, with watchtowers at regular intervals and medieval arrow loops for long range fighting. The walls were a combination of metal and woodwork fences, doubly and sometimes triply reinforced and covered with iron cladding wherever they could get it. It was a menacing sight to behold, and proof to all comers that they were not to be messed with.
'Well?' Daryl growled impatiently.
'Pick-up truck – heading down the main road to the turn-off. Looks like… single inhabitant.' He said the last part incredulously. These days, nobody travelled alone.
'Jesus!' Leroy suddenly exclaimed, sending a ripple of discontent through the small crowd of onlookers that had gathered. 'It's a girl!'
Daryl shook his head in disbelief. This girl had balls for sure, or she was completely insane. The main roads were crawling with marauders, and anyone who wasn't packing some pretty heavy heat was going to get pulled over. He was amazed she had managed to get this far without at least having her gas siphoned if she was very lucky.
His brain kicked into gear. There was no way she was alone – whoever she was with was probably parked on the other side of the rise waiting for her to give the signal to attack. He noticed that everyone was staring at him with fearful expressions, waiting for him to give an order.
'Stay alert,' he shouted up to Leroy, but it was meant for everyone, himself included. 'We'll see what she wants.'
Daryl waited – every muscle in his body tensed – until he could hear the sound of the engine coming closer. He was alerted to Carl's presence by a horse whinnying over his left shoulder.
'What is it, Daryl?'
'I dunno yet. Stay close.' Daryl realised with relief that the cattle hadn't yet been released from their pens. If things went south inside the walls, the last thing they needed was a herd of cattle stampeding.
'Identify yourself.' They heard Leroy shouting from the tower. 'State your business.'
Daryl heard the truck door open and shut and the sound of feet treading on hard-packed dirt. There was a moment of tense silence before Leroy spoke again.
'Hey, Daryl. You need to see this.'
Exhaling deeply to relieve some of the tension inside, he climbed up the wooden ladder to the top of the tower. Usually he relished the feeling of being at a height surveying the landscape that he had helped tame, but now he had to make a quick assessment of his surroundings. There was no sign of cars on the horizon, no indication of an impending attack. He looked down and saw the girl standing in front of an ancient pickup truck that had been reinforced with armour and covered with spikes.
Leroy nudged him with the rifle, urging him to look through the scope, but he didn't need to look. The girl was no more than sixteen or seventeen, her hair long and dark, with eyes that reminded him forcefully of her mother. She had the usual assortment of knives and guns at easy reach, but in her right hand she held a tattered old sheriff's hat.
Daryl laughed to himself – a bubbling laugh that came from deep within him. Shane was a damn fool, he thought. With her proud chin and the determined tilt of her head, she was every inch Rick's daughter.
'Hey there, Lil' Asskicker.'