The indoor, glow-in-the-dark golf course still glows, after all these years, a surreal neon green, yellow, and orange. Perhaps the peaked, glass dome of the ceiling allows in enough sunlight to keep the chipped paint charged. The ceiling hasn't broken in after all these years, either, though there's a long thin crack in one panel, zigzagging from bottom to peak. This place was one of those old beach town attractions. For a mere $9 a game per person, a family could escape the heat or bad weather. That's what the horde-slaying team has done. It's pouring outside. They bathed in the torrent at first, happy to wash some of the walker blood and guts from their hands and faces and clothes, but now they're soaked and cold.

Captain McBride turns the crank round and round on a wind-up flashlight lantern until a stream of hazy white light floods out. Lieutenant Alvarado does the same with his. "Bunch of regular boy scouts," Daryl whispers to Carol, because it seems the Jamestown Navy is always prepared – except, they're never quite prepared to lose one of their own.

People strip out of their wet clothes without shame. It's hard to see too much detail in the hazy and glowing light. Soon, everyone is changed into the spare set of clothes they keep in their packs, and drenched clothes are hung out to dry over chairs at the tables in the snack shop.

Carol eases down on hole #6 and leans back against the base of a glowing green wooden spaceship. Henry sits down next to her on one side and Daryl on the other. Daryl stretches out his bootless feet. His fresh pair of dry, wool socks has a hole in the big toe. She'll have to mend that later, Carol thinks. He fishes in his pack for their dinner or dried fruit and deer jerky.

Others slide down at nearby holes. Mitch and Aaron rest back against a glowing orange rock, while Michonne and Lieutenant Alvarado slide down in front of a yellow and white windmill. Soon everyone is lounging on the artificial turf of holes #6 - #8, in a sort of haphazard circle, with a flashlight lantern in the middle sending up a smoky white light.

Aaron asks Mitch if he used up all his ammunition. This leads to a count off, and it's found that Oceanside's marksmen still have ten bullets remaining. Cyndie tells them to hand them over to Jamestown for payment for their services and as sad compensation for their loss. The women do.

Couples share food and camp blankets, pass canteens and let the exhaustion of the day roll out of their limbs. Friends trade snacks, and there's a light hum of conversation.

There must be some murmur among the three sailors about Merry's girlfriend now being available back in Jamestown, because McBride suddenly growls, "If any of my men make a move on Kaitlyn when we get back home, it's going to be two weeks of swabbing and latrine duty. Give it a month at least, for Christsake, boys."

The sailors fall silent and concentrate on eating.

Daryl swallows down the last of his food. "Gonna check the prize counter," he says as he drags himself to his feet. "Sometimes they got candy."

"No candy's going to be good after all these years," Carol assures him.

"We'll see."

McBride has unzipped Merry's pack. He digs around and pulls out a bag of Jamestown coffee beans. "Give these to the mother of Merry's baby. I hear they fetch a lot in trade at Oceanside." He hands them to Cyndie, who slides them into her own pack. "Lincoln," McBride asks, "what size shirt do you wear?"

"Large."

McBride tosses Merry's shirt in the sailor's direction, and Seaman Lincoln catches it. "That's yours," McBride tells him. "Also, you're an Ensign now. Congratulations."

"Thank you, Captain! Sir!"

"Thank Merry."

Seaman Lincoln's face falls.

"Reedus," McBride says. "Knickers?"

"Merry's?" Seaman Reedus asks. "Think I'll pass. Take his socks though."

McBride tosses Merry's rolled up socks to Seaman Reedus, who fails to catch them. Jerry flicks them with a finger and rolls them back his way. Next, McBride tosses Merry's canvass pants to Ensign Morgan.

"Those'll be floods on him!" Reedus complains.

"Look who's talking," Morgan shoots back.

"You're right. You're both short. Give Alvarado the pants," McBride insists. "Morgan, you can have Merry's spare knife."

"This seems a little off the books," Gunther notes. "Is there no will on file with the courthouse?"

Jesus, who is lounging next to Tara, raises an eyebrow. "You have a courthouse?"

"There is a will on file," McBride says. "I'm the executor, and the distribution is at my whim. That's how most of my boys do it unless they get married. They don't have any other family." McBride pulls out a hand carved wooden necklace next. "I suppose he bought this for Kaitlyn."

"I'll give it to her for him!" Seaman Reedus volunteers.

"I'll give it to her," McBride insists. "I don't trust your motives."

"My motives are pure, Captain."

"Whoever gives it to her is going to have to deliver the news."

"Oh. Yeah," Reedus murmurs. "That should probably be you then."

McBride unhooks Merry's spare cutlass from the pack and lays it aside.

"Who gets that?" Seaman Reedus asks.

"I'm saving it for Seaman Bernthal, back home. She doesn't have one yet."

"She doesn't have a boyfriend yet, either," Reedus observes.

"Not for lack of trying on your part I'm sure," McBride tells him. "And please bear in mind she's seventeen."

"She's nineteen. And I'm twenty-nine. That's less than half plus seven."

"Actually, it's not," Eugene tells him. "Half plus seven would be 21.5, precisely. 22 if we're generously rounding."

Rosita, who sits beside him, chuckles.

"It sounds like you need a math refresher, sailor," McBride tells Reedus.

"Well you were dating her." Reedus points to Cyndie. "And you're more than half plus seven her."

"Negatory on that one as well," Eugene says. "The captain earlier pinpointed his age at thirty-seven years, which would give him a range of 25.5 to 60, and Cyndie has pinpointed her age at precisely twenty-six, give or take a few months in either direction."

Michonne chuckles. "I can't wait to date a thirty-seven-year old when I'm sixty."

Lt. Alvarado glowers, and she pats his cheek playfully.

"What's all this half plus seven stuff?" Henry asks Carol.

Carol screws on the lid of her canteen. "Don't worry about it. I'm just glad you married someone your own age." Her voice a little lower, so it's just between her and him, she asks, "That's going well, right?"

Henry shrugs.

Carol doesn't like the shrug. "What's that about?"

"Nothing. It's just," Henry's half whispering. "She started getting weirdly jealous of Lydia for a while. And Rachel's the one who made me make friends with her in that guardhouse in the first place."

Carol briefly wonders if Cyndie wanted the Hilltop to take Lydia not just because her people killed one of Oceanside's, but to get her away from Henry and remove a potential obstacle to an Oceanside marriage. She wouldn't put that kind of thoughtful maneuvering past the woman. Cyndie's always looking out for her people, in her own way. "You and Rachel worked it out though?"

"I think so. I mean, I'm not that guy, you know. Who would ever…you know."

"I know you're not," Carol assures him. "I just hope Rachel knows."

McBride pulls a small mason jar of white liquid out of Merry's backpack. He unscrews the cap and sniffs. "Candy shine."

"I think Merry deserves a toast," Seaman Reedus says.

"On that I will agree with you." McBride raises the jar, "to Merry!"

"To Merry!" the Navy men all cry.

McBride sips and leans forward to hand the jar across the way to Reedus, who half crawls over from the other hole to take it. The Navy men pass the jar around until it's gone, with Lieutenant Alvarado giving a final toast to the late ensign's memory.

McBride pulls out a leatherbound book from Merry's pack and turns it in his hands.

"What's that?" Alvarado asks.

"A Bible," McBride says with surprise.

"Huh," Ensign Morgan says. "Merry. Who'd of thought it. He never goes to chapel."

McBride opens it. "It was a family Bible, looks like. Mother. Father. Sisters' names. Dates. It's all here. He kept it. All these years."

"We should put it in the museum," Lt. Alvarado says. "As part of his display in the hall of the fallen."

McBride nods and sets the Bible aside. By the time he's done emptying the rest of the pack, Daryl is back. He slides down shoulder to shoulder with Carol.

"I take it you didn't find anything?" she asks.

"'Member what we found that one time, after we first found Jamestown? On the way back to the Kingdom?"

"You're kidding."

Daryl grins and tilts his partially open backpack toward her to reveal the giant pixie sticks inside, in their colorful plastic straws. "Pure sugar don't spoil."

"Is there something you want to share with the group?" Jesus asks.

"Nah," Daryl insists, jerking up the zipper on his back.

Jesus leans forward slightly where he's sitting cross-legged like a guru. "Doesn't Jamestown have some kind of rule about supply runners sharing their finds?"

Daryl shoots Aaron a look, mouths something that looks to Carol almost like twat, and Aaron nods with a light smile. She wonders what that's all about. "Nah," Daryl tells Jesus. "'S only for 'fficial supply runs. Out on yer own, 'n 's less than fits 'n a backpack, 's finder's keepers."

"That sounds a little greedy," Rosita muses.

"'S just pixie sticks! Gonna give 'em to the kids!"

Dianne actually gasps. "Oh God," she says. "I used to love those when I was kid."

"Daryl, old friend," Gunther says in a jovial voice, "what would I have to pay you to get my beautiful bride-to-be just one solitary pixie stick?"

Daryl sighs, jerks the zipper back down, mutters, "Fine! Buy me a drink back at Jamestown" and tosses a giant pink and white plastic straw in Gunther's direction. He catches it one handed. "That's huge!" Gunther exclaims. "I thought you meant one of those little paper ones."

"I'll share it with you," Dianne assures him.

"Rest is for the kids!" Daryl growls.

"Hey," Henry says with a smile. "We're in a miniature golf course. Maybe we could all be kids tonight." When Daryl glowers, he continues. "I'm not asking for a pixie stick. I just mean…does anyone want to play?"

There are sighs and eye rolls and muttering about exhaustion, and Carol feels bad for her son, because his face is one big smile, like the little kid it seems he was just a few short years ago. She's almost ready to volunteer herself as tribute, even though her every muscle is sore, and she was looking forward to sinking into sleep, when Jerry grins broadly. "I'll play!" Of course she should know she could count on Jerry.

"Ah, hell, I'm in!" Seaman Reedus exclaims. "If I can get one of you lovely Oceanside ladies to play with me?"

"You got a problem with Hilltop ladies?" the former Kingdom archer who now lives at the Hilltop asks. She's got to be almost fifteen years older than Seaman Reedus, but that doesn't dampen his enthusiasm any.

"No, ma'am! Would you like to play with me?"

She laughs. "I'll play one round."

"I'm in," Gunther says. "I have fond memories of playing with my own boys, every summer at Virginia Beach. It was our one annual vacation." He glances at Dianne. "Are you game?"

"Now that I've my magic pixie stick?" She shoots back some sugar, swallows, and says, "You bet I am."

Gunther smiles affectionately, stands, and reaches his hand down to her to help her up.

"I'd play," Aaron tells Mitch. "But I'd hate to beat you with one hand tied behind my back. It could be embarrassing."

Mitch scrambles to his feet. "Oh, you're on!"

No one else seems eager to join, and they sit slumped and lounging as the others head toward the counter where the dusty clubs lie.

"Guess we're going to have to clear off these holes," Michonne says.

They grab their things and find an open, carpeted area off the golf course where they lay out their bed rolls. Cyndie volunteers to take first watch for the night, since she was the one who dragged them into all this, and heads toward the front entrance with her harpoon.

Everyone who's not playing begins to settle into sleep. Daryl and Carol lay on top of his spread-out bed roll and drape hers over themselves for a layer of warmth. Getting out of those wet clothes warmed them for a while, but now the November night chill is becoming more obvious. She rolls on her side and rests a head on the hard pillow of his shoulder. From here she can make out the shadowy outlines of the people playing at holes one and two and hear their drifting laughter and bits of their conversation. She sees Aaron trying to correct Mitch's swing one handed, and Mitch playfully threating to club him with the club.

"I don't know why I didn't think of that possibility," she murmurs.

"What?" Daryl replies sleepily.

"Mitch and Aaron."

"Ah. Yeah. They were drinkin' together last night."

"Is that why you came back earlier than I expected?"

"Mhmhm."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Tell ya what?" He settles his fingertips at the little bit of her otherwise short hair that curls down her neck and toys with the stands.

"You're terrible at gossip."

Henry laughs as a glowing orange ball beams the foot of a big wooden cowboy boot, bounces off, and rolls out of the zone and all the way to the wall of the building. Carol smiles and closes her eyes.

"Hell's the theme?" Daryl asks.

"What?" she opens one eye.

"Spaceships. Windmills. Cowboy boots. Glowin' rocks. Water well. Hell's the theme of this place?"

"Maybe it's the apocalypse," she says, and snorts at her own joke.

Daryl chuckles and gives her a one-arm squeeze. "Yer terrible at jokes."

"You laughed."

"Laughin' at you. Not with you."

"You'd never laugh at me."

He kisses the top of her head and whispers, "Love ya, Mrs. Dixon."

"I love you, too." Now she closes her eyes all the way, and soon they both fall asleep to the rhythm of clacking balls and the intermittent, gentle snores that have begun to surround them.