With their packs on their shoulders and their restored weapons at their sides, the people of the fallen Kingdom follow Garland from the theater. Heads turn in every direction with a mixture of curiosity, awe, and trepidation. Mayor Barron leads them through the foyer of the museum and down the hallway marked offices.

As he walks, he strolls with a manila folder full of loose notebook papers in his hand. He points the folder through an open doorway. "This is the breakroom. You're welcome to use it any time if you need a microwave or hot pot, but don't touch the food in the cabinets or fridge. That's all for the orphans." He leads them on.

"Your whole camp has power?" Jimmy, the Kingdom's former electrician asks.

"Only in this museum," Garland answers. "But half our solar backup batteries no longer work, so we do ration and we do still have browns out."

"I can take a look at those backup batteries," Jimmy suggests. "I know a few tricks for getting a little extra life out of them."

"Then I think I know what your job is going to be." Garland leads the group on and pauses in the hallway and points at the infirmary. "This is our clinic. There's always someone on duty. That's our field medic in there right now. Thomas. He's the one who patched Carol up when she was stabbed in the woods." Thomas waves to them through the open blinds of the window. Garland flicks open his folder, runs his finger down a page, and asks, "Emily Norton?"

Carol calls the Kingdom's doctor forward.

"You'll be working here, on a rotating schedule with Dr. Ahamad and our other medical personnel." Garland looks back at the notes Earl gave him. "You're married?"

"She is!" calls Emily's husband, stepping forward, apparently anxious that if he doesn't claim her, some other Jamestown man might.

"Then you two can have this office as a bedroom, since Emily will be on call some nights." Garland points to an office cattycorner to the infirmary. "It used to belong to our nurse. She died fighting that flu. It already has a double-size bed in it. Why don't you two drop your things, and we'll get you some fresh sheets from storage later?"

The married couple goes inside, drops their packs and rejoins the tour group.

Garland throws open a door to reveal a long, wide, former office. "This used to be the captain's bedroom chambers," he explains to Carol and Daryl, "but we turned it into communal housing, in case we should need it. It's currently unoccupied."

There are two sets of bunk beds in the room, with three beds each, a dresser, a wardrobe, a changing stall, and a hutch-style pantry as well as a small table with two chairs. He opens the file folder again and runs his finger down it and calls out six names. The first is the widow of the archer who died in that ravine, and the second is her fifteen-year-old daughter. The next four are all single women. Earl must have asked everyone about their relationship status. "You can stay here," Garland tells them. "Feel free to drop your things."

Each woman claims a bunk.

Next, Garland rounds a corner and shows them the old employee locker rooms. He taps a clipboard. "You can sign up on the schedule for one hot shower a week. Keep it under ten minutes. Otherwise you bathe in the washing troughs or river. This building is fed by gravity wells, but they can run dry quickly if overused. We have other old-school wells throughout the community. There are three toilets in each of these locker rooms that are on a septic system. Don't use any other toilets in the museum. We've had sewage issues with those. There are also outhouses throughout the community." He flicks open the file folder again. "Edward Wilson? Plumber?"

Edward emerges from the group with a raised hand. "That's me."

"You'll help us keep these bathrooms up and running. Report here to meet our water engineer at ten tomorrow."

Edward nods.

Next Garland shows them the library, at which point they've reached a dead end and have to backtrack. They head through the open part of the museum that houses the orphanage. The kids are not currently there. Garland opens his folder again. "Anika Dogra and Kelly Hopkins?"

Two women in their early twenties step forward. Both were childcare providers in the Kingdom. "You can stay here," Garland tells them, tapping an empty bunk with two beds. "People have been volunteering to rotate night duty here. It will be good to have someone permanent on call. You'd just need to be available for the children at night in case they wake up and need to be taken to the bathroom, or if they have a bad dream. Then walk them to school in the morning. You'll have your days off and you can switch out nights with each other, in case one of you should have somewhere else to be one night."

"I'll give them somewhere else to be!" a patrol man walking through the museum calls. He's in his late twenties, with black hair, brown eyes and dimples that pock both cheeks when he smiles.

"Aren't you supposed to be on the docks to relieve the patrol, Derek?" Garland asks him.

"Headed there right now, Mayor."

"I apologize for that," Garland tells the young women. "We have a bit of a gender imbalance here. So if there's ever a man giving you trouble or making you uncomfortable, you just report it to the Sheriff Earl Carter."

"How about I report it to my knife?" Anika replies with a hand on the hilt.

Garland glances at her warily. "Vigalintism is frowned upon in Jamestown. And that seems an excessive response to some unwatned attention."

"She was joking," Kelly tells him. "And besides, Derek is kind of cute." She tosses a pack on a bed.

Anita laughs and claims her bunk.

Garland continues the tour. He doesn't lead the group directly out the big museum exit to the docks, but instead navigates through parts of the museum Carol and Daryl didn't explore the first time here. Carol takes up the rear for now, and she can hear two of the single Kingdom women, Elizabeth and Ava, whispering about Garland. "Nice ass," Elizabeth observes.

"Unique eyes, too," Ava says. "What color is that even? Gray or blue?"

"Did you see a wedding ring?" Elizabeth asks.

Garland shows them all the laundry room, where there are two industrial washers and dryers and three ironing boards with electric irons. He assigns two women to report to work there in the morning, women, Carol notices, who did a lot of cooking, cleaning, and laundry in the Kingdom. Earl's notes must be thourough.

"We use these machines to wash and dry the clothes of the orphans and all the bedding and towels in Jamestown," Garland explains. "You can turn in your bedding once a month and your towels twice a month to have them laundered for you. We'll get y'all on the schedule. But you'll wash your own clothes in the river with washboards and dry them on lines. We just don't have the electricty and water to let everyone use these machinces. But you can use the irons in here anytime you like."

Edward laughs. "Who would be so vain?" Then he observes Garland's own pressed shirt beneath his crisp black vest and his smile fades.

"I had a court appearance this morning," Garland explains.

"Well, every girl's crazy about a sharp dressed man," Elizabeth tells Garland with a flirtatious smile.

"My wife thinks so, too." Garland moves on and opens a locked door in the hallway and steps inside. "This is cold storage." There are three refrigerators and five deep freezers inside, as well as numerous plastic igloo coolers and shelves full of food. One of the freezers is unplugged with the door lifted up. The mayor flicks open his folder. "Ken Baker?"

"That's me," says Ken, stepping forward.

"You used to work for Sears Appliance?"

Ken nods.

"Report here at 1 PM tomorrow to talk with our other appliance guy and on that freezer."

"Yes, sir."

Next, Garland leads them through an open door into a large room. "This is our arsenal. We don't actually have many weapons in here, because everyone holds onto their own. But we have ammunition, arrows, spare parts, tools, gun powder, bullets, and related supplies." The old exhibit photographs on the wall have been covered up by floor-to-ceiling metal shelving bursting with the items Garland just described. Y'all get fifteen rounds of ammo a week, which you can use for practice, trade for other goods, or store up for a rainy day. Hunters, guards, depuites, and the like get additional rounds."

"Maybe you can trade your ammo for nails and other supplies to build the cabin," Carol whispers to Daryl, since she knows he'll be using his crossbow to hunt. She's not giving up hers, though. She hasn't been able to get in any range practice for a couple of years now, given the Kingdom's dearth of ammunition. She likes the idea of practicing with seven shots a week and hoarding the other eight rounds.

A long wooden bench with two Dillon Precision reloading presses lines one of the walls, and two men sit pouring in gun powder and cranking down handles. Plastic buckets full of spent brass for reloading line the floor beneath the bench.

Daryl points to a black metal object on the far end of the bench. "'S that what I think it is?"

"What do you think it is?" Garland asks.

"A high-end crossbow press."

"Well, then it probably is. You're welcome to come in here and use it anytime you like."

"Who uses it?" Daryl wants to know.

"We had a crossbow hunter. We lost him in that battle Daniel warned us was coming. You're welcome to his bolts and spare strings and bow. You'll be hunting for your twenty hours, and we don't have any other crossbow men." Garland strolls over to one of the shelves, plucks up the crossbow, and brings it to Daryl.

Daryl grins like a kid at Christmas when he takes it and looks it over.

"Drake!" Garland calls to one of the men reloading ammunition. There's a whir and the clatter of brass before the man walks over. "Check the inventory for Bill's old bolts and strings and bring them over to my cabin later."

"Did the council approve requisitioning all those?" Drake eyes the crossbow in Daryl's hand.

"No one else has asked for them," Garland says. "And Bill had no will. They've just been sitting in the arsenal unused since November."

"Did the council approve?" Drake repeats.

"You're quite right," Garland tells him. "I'll run it by the council at the meeting tomorrow and have a formal requisition order sent." He gestures to Daryl for the crossbow, which Daryl hands over reluctantly, looking like a kid the day after Christmas.

After Garland puts it back, he opens the file folder. "Carter Thomas?"

A man raises his hand and steps forward. "That's me."

"You're a gunsmith?"

"Yes, sir. Mayor."

"Then you'll be working in this arsenal, doing repairs. Report at 10 am tomorrow."

"Yes, sir."

"You got the power to assign all the jobs," Daryl asks, "but not to sign out a crossbow?"

"Well, the council voted to allow me to assign you jobs just to streamline things. They can always decide to reassign you later."

Soon they enter another, cut-out room of the museum, which is empty except for the exhibits, two filing cabinets, a bookcase, and a long table in the center, surrounded by nine chairs. "This is our council chambers, and also our community's museum," Garland tells them. "If y'all want to look around for a moment, this will tell you the history of our camp, from the onset of the Great Sickness until the last exhibit was added a month ago."

The Kingdom's former inhabitants fan out in the large room. The old display cases have been opened and used to house new objects, and the old display boards have been papered over with pages containing handwritten stories and explanations.

Carol follows Daryl to one of the displays and looks down at the captain's black and white Navy dress hat in a plastic display case. The display board reads: Captain Henry John Smitty (a.k.a. John Smith) 38 BNE – 7 NE

"Knew his name couldn't really be John Smith!" Daryl mutters.

Carol smiles. She reads over the narrative. "He really did save a lot of lives," she says.

They move on to a copy of the original town charter in a glass case, with a note on the display board saying it's since been revised and the new charter is available for review at any time in the council archives.

Then they find a wooden memorial plaque hand carved with the list of names of the fifteen Jamestown citizens who died in the raid that Shannon's old camp perpetrated in 5 NE. On the display board beside the plaque is the tale of the assimilation of the raiders' orphans and widows, concluding, "Jamestown is a place of new beginnings, where the past can be left behind."

There's another plaque commemorating the three men who died in the fight against the group Daniel warned Jamestown about, as well as a little biography of Daniel himself, along with a sketch of his profile. "From banishment to hero of the One-day War," the line beneath his face reads. "Jamestown is the home of second chances."

"Sensin' a theme," Daryl mutters.

There are more displays about the early Navy men who founded the place and died in 1 and 2 NE, "fighting back the cannibal hordes." There's a display about the first sheriff of "the New Jamestown," and how he was murdered in 3 NE and Garland Barron solved the case and became the second sheriff of the New Jamestown, "only to later become its first mayor."

There's the "hall of infamy," listing all those who have been hanged for treason, murder, rape, and mutiny, along with the dates of their execution. "No new names," Carol observes.

An exhibit on "the Great Sickness" discusses various popular theories as to its origin and contains sketches of "the cannibals," as well as a list of "alternative names" that have been used to describe them by those who have stumbled upon Jamestown: flesh-eaters, rotters, rabids, chompers, the soulless, wendigos, lurchers, the undead, and walkers.

Finally, they stumble upon their own display. Daryl smacks a finger down on the plastic case. "That's my arrow," he growls. "Thought I was short one when they gave back m'bow!"

Carol chuckles. "You can donate it to posterity, Pookie, can't you?"

His throat rumbles.

There's also a knife in one of the cases – the one Daryl took off of one of the sailors and used to kill the other mutineers. "That's a bit morbid," Carol says. "I guess Shannon has a dark streak I didn't know about." She looks up at the wall above the cases, where she finds two, full-body charcoal sketches that have been drawn of her and Daryl. In Daryl's sketch, he's holding a knife in each hand, his head bent, like he's ready to come in for a kill. In hers, she's unsheathing her knife. "Those are pretty good likenesses to be drawn from memory," Carol observes.

"Ain't got a scar down my cheek!"

"No, but it is kind of sexy, isn't it?" Carol wiggles an eyebrow at him.

"Yeah, well, artist gave ya bigger tits."

"My tits are big enough, thank you."

"Never said they weren't. Yer tits are goddamn perfect. He just gave ya bigger ones."

"How do you know the artist is a he?" Carol asks.

"'Cause he gave ya bigger tits," Daryl insists.

Carol turns and calls over her shoulder. "Garland? Who draws the sketches?"

The mayor strolls over from a couple he was talking to and comes to a stop beside them. "Andrew. One of the deputies. He used to be a sketch artist for the York County police, before the Great Sickness. You both met him. He helped Earl haul Harold's body out of our cabin."

"Yeah, well, I need a word with Andrew," Daryl grumbles. "Obviously been thinkin' way too much 'bout m'wife's tits."

Carol chuckles. They move on through the displays and find a sketch of the old manager. The man's straw hat rests in a plastic display case. Then there's a memorial to Hank, "the patrolman who gave his life in the Mutiny of 7 NE." No mention of why he managed to get his throat slit.

"This shit's ridiculous," Daryl mutters underneath his breath.

"Oh, I don't know," Carol replies. "I think Ezekiel was onto something when he built the Kingdom around tradition and ceremony and legend. That sort of thing has a way of cementing people together. This museum is a dream, a dream for a future where all this suffering really is just history." She bumps his shoulder with her own. "You're just going to have to get used to the admiration, Pookie."

Daryl glances up at his sketch on the wall. "I do look pretty damn bad ass," he admits.