A/N: There's a bible passage in this chapter that I actually found in a novel, The Reapers Are the Angels by Alden Bell. It's technically a zombie story, though really so much more than that, and I highly recommend it to anyone, even those who don't typically like anything with zombies in it.

Disclaimer: Woe is me! I do not own The Walking Dead.

Keeping a secret in a community so small and close-knit was all but impossible. By day's end, everyone knew Shelby Knowles was sick. The morning after that, they knew what she was sick with, and that it wasn't an accident. Tension between the townspeople and the refugees grew. What mainly kept hostilities down was the fact that Rick Grimes and Dave Wilson, two well-respected men in their respective groups, were involved in the investigation.

Rick conducted the majority of the interviews. It was awkward, since he was interrogating people he'd long come to think of as family, but he was able to push aside his personal feelings and behave professionally. Hank, who sat in on these sessions and added a few questions of his own, had to admit he was impressed with the former sheriff's deputy. Rick was able to remain impartial, asking questions of his people that were often uncomfortable in the attempt to uncover the truth. So far, though, nobody cracked under the pressure. A few got upset or hurt that Rick would even indirectly accuse them - Andrea and T-Dog being good examples - but none showed signs of actual guilt.

Questioning the locals was even tougher. There was no friendship between them and Grimes to keep them in line. It was Dave or Hank's presence that did that. Together the three men worked their way through every adult who was present when Shelby was allegedly infected. It was a slow process that was sure to take days.

Meanwhile, Shelby's condition deteriorated with rapid predictability. Periods of lucidity became less and less, lasting only moments before delirium set in again. Sometimes she lay in bed glassy-eyed and unresponsive. Other times she raved incoherently and fought against attackers only she could see. Once or twice she had to be restrained to keep from hurting herself or others. Her fever mounted, causing shivers so violent they were like seizures. She wept from the pain. Doc Lawton and his granddaughter Dannika looked after her in shifts, though there was very little they could do for her except try to ease the worst of her suffering. They tried to bring down her fever with cold baths and specially brewed teas. They managed to attach an IV during one of her calmer moments and gave her bag after bag of saline to keep her hydrated. None of these things made any difference, of course. At best, they only put off the inevitable for a little while longer. Dannika wondered at times if all they were really doing was prolonging Shelby's suffering, but in her rare lucid moments she didn't say anything. If she'd asked, they would have helped her end it that much sooner. They made sure she knew this. But again, she said nothing.

Back when the world still belonged to the living, Dannika used to love zombie movies, something she looked back on now with a sense of wry irony. Looking at Shelby stubbornly clinging to life, she remembered something a character once said in one of these movies, the remake of Dawn of the Dead. In it, a dying Matt Frewer rasped out, "You want...every...single second." This seemed to hold true in Shelby's case. She fought for every wheezing breath, every sweaty, agonizing moment. And she would keep fighting until the disease finally won.

When he wasn't helping with the investigation, Dave spent his time sitting beside Shelby's bed. Sometimes, when she wasn't thrashing around, he held her hand. Sometimes, when Shelby was in her right mind, she let him. Neither of them said much to each other. There didn't seem to be anything left to say. That is, until near the end.

Shelby managed to hold on for almost three days after the fever first took hold. Most wound up succumbing a little more than a day after infection. Fighting so hard took its toll. She was little more than bones at that point, and even the smallest movement caused her agony. Her last rational moment was the night before and only lasted a few minutes. Doc knew it was almost over and sent for Dave, knowing he would want to be there for her.

If she was at all aware of her ex's presence, it didn't show. Her unfocused eyes stared up at the ceiling. Though still hot to the touch, she no longer sweated. Dave held her limp hand and watched the shallow rise and fall of her chest. The cabin was eerily quiet, like a bubble of silence surrounded it so even the sounds of the outside world couldn't reach them.

Shelby's eyes slowly turned in their sockets until she gazed at the man beside her. "Dave."

Her voice was so weak he had to lean in close to hear her. "What, Shel?"

If he expected something poignant, perhaps a spoken regret over pushing him away, he was disappointed.

"This is what happens," she rasped fitfully, "This is what happens...when y' let people in. They're gonna finish us all."

"Shel," Dave sighed and closed his eyes in weariness, "Please stop. These ain't the people who hurt ya before. They ain't the ones who tied you up 'n' used ya like an animal. You killed those people, baby. They can't hurt ya anymore."

Shelby's expression remained unchanged, despite the memories his words stirred up. "Always...too soft..."

His mouth quirked in a wan smile. "Thought that's what y' liked 'bout me."

"Thought so, too," she admitted, "At first."

Dave rested his hand on her feverish brow. "When we find out who did this to ya, I ain't gonna be soft with 'em," he promised.

Shelby managed a faint nod, satisfied.

Two hours later, she slipped into unconsciousness and never woke again. Dave got Doc Lawton, who'd been waiting just outside the door to give them privacy. The doctor checked Shelby for a pulse, and finding none, took out a thin case from his black bag from which he removed an ice pick. This incongruous tool had been used more than once on victims of walker bites. Doc called it the "mercy needle." With Dave's help, he turned Shelby's body over to expose the back of her head. A careful prod of his fingertips found the spot at the base of the skull where the bone was thinnest. There he placed the tip of the pick. With one firm push, the mercy needle punched through into the brainstem, ensuring that Shelby would remain dead.

Doc removed the pick and quickly swabbed it down with alcohol. He would sterilize it more thoroughly later, figuring one could never be too cautious when it came to his disease. He looked at Dave, who remained standing over Shelby's motionless body. She once again lay flat on her back, her eyes closed, face almost peaceful.

"You okay, son?"

Dave looked at him and the old man saw sadness in his eyes. Sadness, but not heartbreak. She'd already broken his heart long ago. "We'll burn her inside th' cabin."

Doc blinked in surprise. "Y' sure about that? Ain't that kind of risky?"

"Place is isolated enough th' fire won't spread. And nobody's gonna want t' live here now." Dave was right about that. No matter how thoroughly it was cleaned, everyone would consider the cabin tainted and avoid it. Best to burn it all and start afresh. A viking funeral on land.

Shelby might have been surprised at how many showed up for her funeral (even a few of the refugees), though some were present just make sure the fire stayed contained. She might have had something to say about burning down her cabin, not because of sentiment, but because all that smoke was bound to get somebody's attention should there be anyone within sight of it.

As the house with Shelby's shroud-wrapped body inside it burned, Dave read a passage from the Book of Matthew, the only one Shelby actually liked because she thought it fit so well with how the world turned out:

"The field is the world; the good seed are the children of the kingdom;

but the tares are the children of the wicked one;

The enemy that sowed them is the devil; the harvest is the end of the world;

and the reapers are the angels.

As therefore the tares are gathered and burned in the fire;

so shall it be in the end of this world."

Dry-eyed, Dave closed his small bible and tucked it into his pocket, then walked away from the fire and the people gathered to offer their last respects. No one tried to talk to him. They all sensed he wasn't in the mood for condolences. He wandered through the village without any destination in mind. The place was eerily quiet. With so many at the funeral, the town almost felt abandoned. It was several minutes before Dave saw anyone else, and who he saw he did not expect.

A figure carrying a loaded pack and a long, distinctive case slung over his shoulder was headed for the smaller gate leading out to the river, obviously unaware of Dave's presence. Frowning, Dave kept pace, but maintained a distance from the other. He watched as the figure kept out of sight of the guards stationed on the wall, whose attention was mainly focused outward, not inside the wall. Just as the figure was about to slip through the gate, Dave caught up.

"Takin' a stroll?"

Hess tensed, then slowly turned to face him, his relaxed expression at odds with the rest of his body language. "Didn't think you'd object to one of us leaving. It's us staying that you guys have an issue with."

David casually rested his hands on his hips, his right hand within easy reach of his sidearm, which he'd worn despite the objectionable glances this provoked. "Mind tellin' me why y' picked now to leave?"

Hess shrugged, "Didn't wanna make a big deal out of it."

"Or ya didn't want anyone t' know 'til you had a head start."

Hess gave him an amused look. "A head start? What, were you gonna send a posse after me?"

"For all I know, yer th' one who killed Shel," Dave stated coldly.

"Why the hell would I do that?" Hess blinked, "We never even said two words to each other."

"But she did threaten yer friends."

"C'mon, man. Rick already questioned me. He was satisfied." Hess started for the gate again.

Dave's voice froze him, "Take another step 'n' yer gettin' a bullet in your leg."

Hess slowly turned and took in the sight of the gun pointed at him. "Christ, you're serious."

"I am," Dave replied calmly.

Hess seemed to consider his options, then without warning he put on a burst of speed and darted through the gate.

"Damn it!" Dave snarled, chasing after him. But no sooner was he through the gate than a crowbar Hess had been carrying at his belt smacked into his face, breaking Dave's nose and leaving him sprawled in an ungainly heap on the ground. He blinked through tear and blood filled eyes as Hess kicked his gun away. Hess stood over him with the crowbar at the ready. His hands were shaking.

"Goddamn it. I really didn't want this," he said in frustration. He ran an unsteady hand through his hair. "Why the fuck did you leave the funeral, anyway? Huh? This shit could've all been avoided!"

Dave glared up at him. "Y' killed her, didn't you."

Hess scowled in disgust. "You dumb shit. I'm not goin' down for doing something everybody else was thinking about. Don't pretend that bitch didn't have it coming."

"You're gonna burn in hell," Dave rasped.

"Yeah. And I plan on putting it off long as possible." He raised the crowbar. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry about this," he said with genuine regret, "I kinda liked you." He brought the crowbar down with all his strength before Dave had a chance to respond.

A guard heard the struggle and came down from the wall to investigate. By the time she arrived, Hess was already gone. Finding Dave with his hair soaked in blood and his face almost unrecognizable, the horrified guard snatched up her radio and practically screamed for help. Soon there were dozens of people milling around the scene, and the longer the confusion went on, the farther away Hess got.

Lia sat in shock on one of the meeting hall's benches, Daryl beside her. She stared wide-eyed at the stoic man across from her. "Hess?"

Rick nodded. "He's th' only one not accounted for."

"I...I can't believe it. Why would he...? I-Is Dave alright?"

"He's alive," Rick answered grimly, "But that head wound's serious. Doc ain't even sure he's gonna wake from it."

Lia lowered her gaze and angrily wiped the tears from her eyes. She didn't try to kid herself. If Hess whacked Dave over the head and ran off, odds were he was the one responsible for Shelby's death. Lia berated herself for not knowing, somehow. How could she have been so wrong about him? Thought of him as a friend?

"Hank 'n' his men are formin' up a search party," Rick said.

"Y' mean a posse," Daryl stated bluntly, "Any of 'em got experience trackin'?"

"Hank's one of their best scouts," Rick replied.

"Difference between scoutin' and trackin'." He looked at Lia. A silent exchange passed between them before she gave the barest nod. Satisfied, Daryl stood and headed for their possessions to retrieve his crossbow. "I'm comin' with ya."

The corner of Rick's mouth quirked just a little. "Kinda figured you might." He stood and went to wait by the door.

Lia walked over to Daryl, watching silently as he got ready. "What d'you think they'll do to him?"

I don't give a fuck, Daryl almost said, but then he saw the look on her face and felt something akin to sympathy. Not for Hess - that asshole deserved whatever was coming to him, as far as Daryl was concerned - but for Lia, her misplaced sense of guilt, and the fact that she still cared about Hess in spite of herself. Still, Daryl wasn't the kind of guy to sugar-coat things. He straightened to meet her gaze on the same level and told her, "Y' see how things are now. Only justice that might be left's th' frontier kind."

Lia bit her lip and nodded. She expected as much. "So, they'll execute him."

"Hang him, I'm bettin'," Daryl agreed.

She sniffed, wiped her nose on her sleeve. "You must think I'm an idiot for still caring, after everything he did."

Daryl smirked and put an arm around her, drawing her close. "Carin' 's what ya do."

Lia forced her expression into something more composed and met his eyes with hers. "I don't want him to suffer."

Daryl stared back at her for a beat, until he was certain he understood. He nodded. Lia kissed him on the lips, brief but hard, then stepped back and let Daryl pass her. He and Rick left the meeting house to join the rest of the search party. Lia stood in the doorway and watched them leave.