A/N: The song in this chapter is Bruce Springsteen's "If I Was the Priest."


"Things'll move fast once they start," Rick said, "so keep the engine on." He spun the chamber on his Colt 357, confirming it was full. "If you get crowded by walkers, I want you to circle back 'til you're clear. Just stay off Main Street; I don't want you in the middle of anything."

Beth stared through his head, bright eyes vacant. She looked terrified. Rick grasped her arm gently and leaned down to eye level.

"Beth?" he prompted. "You listening?"

She blinked a few times, as if waking from a dream, before finally nodding. Rick smiled encouragingly.

"If it looks like we're—" He paused. "If we don't come back—"

Beth found her voice. "I'm not leavin' without you." When Rick sighed, she raised her chin defiantly. "I'll sit in that car the rest of my life if you ain't in it with me."

Something flashed across his face, dissipating before Beth could identify it. Frustration? Affection? She set aside her girlish hope as Rick straightened up.

He nodded indulgently. "Okay," Rick said, ghosting a smile. "Guess I'll be back then." He holstered his gun, watching Glenn slide into a kevlar vest.

Beth followed Rick's eyes. "Where's yours?"

"Only got one. Fellas in town took the rest of 'em."

Her nose wrinkled unhappily. There was something appealing about seeing her riled up. She was always so calm, and Rick appreciated that, but it made it doubly endearing then to see her in a huff.

Beth looked at him quizzically. Rick cleared his throat and turned away. "All right then," he said, chastising his mind for its wrongful thoughts. "We should prob'ly get moving."

A delicate hand caught his wrist. His eyes trailed down his arm to Beth's fingers. She said, "Please be careful." Her grip slid to his knuckles. "I don't know if those guns can be replaced, but I know you can't be."

Rick tried not to look at her pink lips as the words spilled out. He felt unseemly urges and a rush of self-loathing. When he gave her a small nod, Beth released him, and Rick moved away quickly.

Glenn's face was neutral as he met him at the car.


It was quiet on Main Street.

The dearth of walkers was almost eerie. It could've been that the thieves cleared them out, or maybe the herd moved on for lack of food. Whatever the case, it made things easier.

Rick and Glenn moved silently along the storefronts.

The doctor's office was flanked by a diner and flower shop, with a hardware store directly across the street. The gang's two cars sat unguarded outside.

The façade of the office had two large windows on either side of the front door. Rick crouched down, gun drawn, and sidled to the far window. He poked his head up and peered inside.

The office was small: a lobby, two exam rooms, a storage room, and a working physician's office. Two men sat casually in the lobby. One had his feet up, reading a magazine; the other ate a bowl of soup. The other four were out of sight.

"Shit," Rick whispered. "Got eyes on two. Others could be anywhere."

Glenn's head rested on the building. "Wha'do we do?"

Rick's eyes snapped over the rest of the street. Glenn could see the gears turning in his head. Rick peeked through the window one more time. "Split up," he whispered. "You need to create a distraction. I'm gonna go 'round back."

Glenn nodded dutifully. Rick gave him a brotherly pat, then slid by him. When he was past the window, he stood upright and trotted into the alley.


Beth listened to the low hum of the engine. She gripped the steering wheel tightly, breaths coming in uneven spurts.

Beth was no hero; she knew that. Some are born with it, while the gene had skipped her. But for the first time, there was a part of her that wasn't satisfied waiting in the wings.

She thought back on the last year, how she'd watched the world die and somehow lived on. Her whole family would be dead if not for Rick Grimes. He tamed a savage world, protected his people, while never giving up his gentle spirit. Rick was kind, a nurturer in his own way; he valued compassion over conflict. Every heartbreaking decision, every act of violence, took its toll on him. She had no idea how he kept it together.

It's not right to demean the dead, even in your mind, but Beth never understood the way Lori let him suffer. He needed tenderness, softness, to counteract the cruel world from which he shielded all of them.

No matter how many men he killed, he'd always be a saint to her. Rick was their savior.

Thinking of him in peril, Beth was unraveling. Sweat pooled on her face, so a few strands of hair stuck to her forehead. Beth pursued calming thoughts: her dad reading the Bible, Judith's smile. Rick smile, and the way he looked in clean clothes after a shower. More and more visions of the sheriff presented. It put her mind of a song her mom played.

Beth softly sang.

Well, there's a light on yonder mountain
and it's calling me to shine
There's a girl over by the water fountain
and she's asking to be mine
And ain't that Jesus, he's standing in the doorway
with a buckskin jacket, boots and spurs, so really fine
He says, "We need you up in Dodge City, son
'cause there's oh so many bad boys trying to work the same line"


Rick winced as the door whined from rust. He opened it just enough to slide through.

There were no lights. The only illumination came from outside. Though the shelves were stripped bare, Rick recognized the supply room. There was a door along the far wall that would lead to the reception area.

Rick crept across the room, listening intently. He thought he heard voices in the physician's office, and he could tell the two men in the reception area were still chatting.

When he reached the door, he allowed himself a breath. He massaged the handle of his Colt.


Glenn circled past the cars, looking about for inspiration.

Firing his gun would get their attention, but they might come out blasting. He glanced at the hardware store, noting its huge window and solid oak door. Then his eyes swept over the road. Ten feet away, a rusted tire iron peaked out from beneath some junk.

With a tense glance at the doctor's office, he moved low and retrieved the iron, then scurried back behind the cars.

Glenn cocked the iron back. But a moment before he swung it, a blurry figure crept into view. He whirled around and looked into the warm brown eyes of a golden retriever. It dragged a leash in its wake.

"Jesus Christ," Glenn groused, letting out a breath. "Get outta here!" he whispered harshly. "Go on—get!"

The dog wagged its tail and regarded him imploringly. Glenn took a threatening step and whispered again: "Get outta here!"

While not looking especially frightened, the dog let out a low whine and trotted away. Glenn watched until it disappeared around a corner and out of view.

When it was gone, he took a long, calm breath, a fleeting image of Maggie drifting through his head. Then he smashed out a car window.


In the reception area, the Relaxing Man leapt out of his chair and grabbed a rifle. The Soup Man set aside his meal and took up his own weapon.

"What the fuck was that?" a third man with blue eyes asked, emerging from another room. When they said nothing, he grabbed a machine gun and headed for the door. His comrades followed.

The Blue-Eyed Man led them into the street, sweeping his eyes left to right. There wasn't a soul in sight—man or walker. He gave the other two a glance; they took its meaning and began to fan out.

The Relaxing Man slowly approached the cars. When he reached the first bumper, he could saw the window was smashed, shattered glass scattered across the street.

He didn't see the door to the hardware store cracked open, or Glenn's gun barrel poking out.

A gunshot ripped through his right temple, dropping him to the pavement.

The Soup Man snapped his eyes to his fallen friend. "Bill!" He and the Blue-Eyed Man rushed toward the store, firing a storm of bullets that shattered the window and turned the front door into Swiss cheese.

Glenn pressed his back against the wall, arms squeezed against his sides.


Rick kicked the door open. A dark-haired man whirled around just in time to be blown away. The force of the blast sent him sliding into the reception area.

Rick moved fast through the small hallway, circling the man's body. Straight across the room, a bearded man took aim and fired an Uzi. Rick growled as a bullet skimmed his chest before he spun back to the hallway's safety.

The Bearded Man continued shooting, and Rick narrowly avoided ricochets. Rick poked his gun around the corner and fired two blind shots that missed their mark.

Outside, the bullets were still flying. Rick hoped Glenn was holding his own.


The Soup Man and the Blue-Eyed Man blanketed the store with fire. Glenn stood rigidly while plaster and concrete were ripped up around him.

He was used to being outgunned, but this was something else. Glenn shut his eyes and accepted that his group's own guns would kill him. Irony is savage.

The shooting stopped suddenly. Glenn's eyes snapped open.

Outside, the Blue-Eyed Man dropped the empty magazine out of his gun. He rifled through his pockets but came up with nothing.

"Fuck!" he grumbled. "I'm out!"

He and the Soup Man were caught off-guard when Glenn wheeled around firing. As they scurried behind the car, the Soup Man took one in the arm and collapsed behind a tire.

The Blue-Eyed Man drew his pistol, leaning over the hood to return fire. Glenn spun back out of harm's way.

The Blue-Eyed Man smacked his comrade in the cheek. "Wake up!" he demanded. "I'm going around back. You keep on his ass! He doesn't move—got it?"

Soup Man clenched his teeth and nodded, gripping his rifle with his one good arm. When Glenn poked his head out, the Soup Man fired in an arc—forcing Glenn to take cover. The Blue-Eyed Man sprinted to the nearby alley.


The Bearded Man let out a final volley, then tossed aside his empty Uzi. He reached behind him for a shotgun.

Rick leaned out and fired, but the shot sailed wide. The Bearded Man pumped and fired; a chunk of wall exploded near Rick's head.

Two more blasts followed, before Rick leaned out again. But as he squeezed the trigger, there was a click and no shot. His Colt was empty. He drew out of sight again, cursing under his breath.

The Bearded Man chuckled darkly. "I know that sound," he sneered. "I've got you now, mother fucker!" He pumped his shotgun again. "You hear that? I'm gonna—"

Rick drew his other gun and shot him between the eyes.

The Bearded Man's head snapped against the wall, forming a crater, before he crumpled to the ground. Rick gave a grateful look to his Smith & Wesson—the one he'd found in the corner store. He crossed the room slowly, and glanced down at the corpse with a slight shake of his head. "Dumbass," he muttered.

There was at least one man left.

Rick trained his gun on the physician's office. He inched toward the darkened room, eyes scanning for a human figure. He stopped in the doorway and peered inside, but there was no one there.

A pair of huge arms appeared—choking him from behind. Rick gasped violently, dropping his gun. He grabbed his attacker's wrist, but the arms didn't budge; they were big as tree trunks.

With each breath denied, Rick's vision grew hazier. He was losing the fight.

He forced all his weight against him, driving him into the reception area. The man's grip held, but Rick had him reeling. The sheriff shouldered him toward the bearded man's corpse.

The man tripped over the body, releasing his hold, sending them tumbling to the floor.

Rick got the upper hand, straddling his chest and raining punches on the man's face, which was scarred all over. Left, right, left, right—Rick pummeled him with fists. Blood splattered from his mouth all over Rick's clothes.

In dazed desperation, the Scar-Faced Man drove a knee into Rick's thigh, stopping the beating. He followed it with a head-butt that sent Rick reeling onto his back.

Then he pounced on top of Rick and closed his hands around his throat, squeezing the sheriff's trachea. Rick was already weakened and disoriented; he couldn't get free. He pressed his palm into the man's face, raking at his eyes to no avail.

"Die, you son of a bitch!"

The world got darker, distant. His mind wandered from his predicament. He saw Carl and Daryl, Lori and Beth. Shane and Amy and Andrea. Rick pictured his son in the prison bowels, answering the same phone that had haunted him. He could saw Carl peering up at the catwalk at his dad's apparition.

His time was over.

The Scar-Faced Man screamed, releasing Rick's throat.

Beth stood behind him, her knife plunged into his shoulder. The Scar-Faced Man shoved her off, then staggered to his feet. Beth was on her back, staring terrified into the man's cold eyes.

Rick struggled off the floor and tripped him. The Scar-Faced Man fell, writhing momentarily before climbing to his knees. Rick was ready—hammering his face with the heel of the shotgun.

Flat on his back, the man stared down the barrel. "No! No—don't!"

Rick fired point-blank. The man's head exploded in a million pieces. Blood and skull and brains washed over Rick and Beth.

The sheriff stared numbly as his own bloody arms. He blinked a few times, dropping the shotgun, before his eyes locked with Beth's. He found terror and relief and something he couldn't place. He stared at her for a long moment, before staggering back and falling to the ground.

Beth scrambled over to him, catching his head before it hit the floor. She helped him to a seated position. Her hands roamed all over him—his arms and chest, then his face. She put her hand to her mouth to moisten it, then wiped some blood off his cheek.

"Rick?" she whispered, caressing his face. "Rick, are you okay? Are you all right?"

The sheriff breathed greedily. His vision was clearing; his thoughts became cogent. After a long moment, he looked with recognition into the blonde girl's eyes. "Beth?"

She laughed shakily. "Yeah, it's me. Are you okay?"

Rick nodded slowly, but a chastising frown formed. "You don't listen too well, do you?" He tried to speak harshly, but it was closer to affection.

It took him by surprise when Beth said nothing, tears in her eyes, and after a moment of indecision, pressed her soft lips to his forehead.

Rick hardly had time to process it before Glenn's scream cut through the air.

"RICK!"