Ch. 53

The first snow of the new year came faster than expected. Sam had to be quick to find shelter, dragging Cork into the abandoned barn. It had been beyond lucky that he had managed to come across the farm when he did. The horse whined as the cold began to seep into the barn. Small snowflakes blew in and filled the space.

Sam swore to himself as he dragged the horse into the building and shut the barn doors, using his rifle to bar them from opening.

He wiped his face clean of the snowflakes and breathed a sigh of relief as he had finally found shelter. Though it could be better, he thought as the entire building shook from a large guest of wind. The cracks in the wood let in plenty of snowflakes but with a fire, it would allow plenty of ventilation.

Sam shrugged to himself and tied off Cork to a sturdy post. He dug through his saddlebags and pulled out a small fire starter and began to scavenge the area around him for wood. Within a few minutes, a small fire was set and Sam was able to sit and relax for a moment.

He felt the joints and muscles in his body rest for a moment and he leaned his head back closing his eyes and feeling the past year draining from his body. He let a smile dance on his face as he felt the comfortable fire warm him up. He took his boots off and began to dry his socks, his body falling into its nightly routine as he felt the fatigue hit his body.

As he leaned back and let his eyes droop down he thought back to Beth as his thoughts always did before he fell asleep. And as he dreamed, he dreamed of her and his child.

Cork's hooves clopped nearly silent against the pavement. Grass grew out of the cracks and vines spread around the fading black road. A few cars that had been pushed to the side were overgrown with ivy and weeds, the bodies of the cars nothing more than rusted out husks of what they had once been.

Sam had been used to the sight of the abandoned roads. Most of the remaining survivors had banded together and formed communities. Those that hadn't, were drifters like him, or worse. Anarchists, raiders, murderers, and rapists. Sam scoffed as he felt the ghost pain of the stab that a murderer had gifted him a few months ago. He chuckled at the memory.

A drugged-out man had tried creeping up on Sam during the night. He had practically triggered every noise trap that he had set up but had managed to be quick enough to slash Sam's shoulder deep enough to leave a scar.

It had been his own fault, his hubris getting the better of him and allowing the would-be murderer to get the drop on him. He had been gifted with the scar, that and a nasty infection which had almost taken his life. But after two weeks of raiding every leftover pharmacy, medical clinic, and veterinary hospital he could. He had fought off the infection and was back on the road.

As Sam's horse jolted Sam raised his head, seeing a group of men. He chuckled to himself holding out his hand waiving.

"Mitch! Over here!" Sam called out. The man in question looked over and smirked when he saw Sam, moving over to meet the young Irishmen.

"Sam! You're back? Damn, I thought you weren't going to be back for another week at the most."

Sam scoffed and dismounted grasping the reigns and pulling Cork along as he walked toward Mitch.

"Yeah well maybe get Dillon to give me someone harder to track next time." Sam laughed reaching into his pack and pulling out a jacket, an eagle sewn onto the back and the words, High Flyers, embroidered onto the front right side. "He got far," Sam smirked. "Then he ran out of gas."

"Yeah well, what happens when you don't have enough food to feed that horse?" Mitch asked.

"I shoot him and eat him."

Mitch shook his head and took the jacket looking over it. His fingers brushed the leather and felt several holes in the jacket making him smile grimly.

"How many you put in him before he went down?"

"Five," Sam said. "He was a fat fuck."

Mitch nodded in agreement. "Yeah, well, may he burn in hell. Come on, Dillon 'll want to see you."

Sam nodded and followed mitch and his men down a path towards their settlement. He rode through the brush and ducked his head to keep his head from brushing against the branches. The forest was covered with fresh snow, the white fluffy ice crunching underneath their feet as they moved.

As the brush lightened up Sam smiled as he saw the high wooden walls of the settlement. Several guards shouted to see their hands before realizing it was their own men.

"Calm down Bradly, it's Mitch!" There was a soft apology and the wooden gates opened and Sam walked through behind Mitch, his hands still clutching Cork's reigns tightly.

"Well then boys," Mitch said. "Let's go see the boss. But first, Sam, you know the rules."

Sam rolled his eyes and pulled his pistols from their holsters and his sword from its sheath. He reached into his coat, and sock, his belt, and sleeves, taking every knife he had on his person and handing it over for security reasons.

"Alright, come on I'm sure Dillon's excited to see you."

"I'm so sure," Sam said rolling his eyes.

"Oh come on. She likes you," Mitch laughed. "I mean this is, what, the thirteenth job you've done for her?"

"Fifteenth," Sam corrected him, his eyes squinted as he saw several people tracking him with their eyes. "New faces?"

Mitch shrugged. "Yeah, a few new people. A group from down south."

Sam caught the eye of one of the men, scowling at him. Sam stopped and turned to face him. The distance between the two of them was long, a space of at least fifty yards. The man eyes Sam up and down smirking to himself. Sam spat and turned away from the man, keeping forward and not glancing back.

"Who the fuck are these guys?" Sam asked Mitch.

"Not sure. They showed up before the snows started up. They wanted to stay until the streets thawed out a little."

"They armed?"

Mitch stopped and glanced at Sam, he opened his mouth and let out wheezing laugh shaking his head and continuing to walk.

Sam rolled his eyes and continued onward. The two of them came to a large building, the remnants of an old ranger station. The sign in front of the station was covered in a white sheet, the words Dillon's Station, painted in red. The two men walked up to the door and heard shouting from inside.

"She still in a bad mood?" Sam asked, his hand gripped around the doorknob.

"She lost her son," Mitch said.

Sam chuckled and pulled out the jacket. "Then let's make her day."

He threw the door open and took several large steps into the station with a smirk. The screaming from inside ceased and Sam held his arm up the jacket in his hand.

"Dillon," he said dropping it to the ground. "The fat fuck's dead."

There was a shuffling, and a woman approached Sam. She was thin and scrawny, her hair was white and thin, drooping from her head and falling in front of her eyes. Her skin was waxy and she shuffled forward toward the jacket. She dropped to her knees and her thin bony fingers grasped the leather jacket. Her fingers found the bullet holes and a thin smirk found its way onto her face. She stood up and looked to Sam, her breathing was shaking and her eyes watering up.

"You got 'em." She said, her voice raspy.

"I said I would." He said.

"How?"

"Five bullets. Knife to the head. I brought the jacket back as proof."

Dillon nodded and turned to Mitch. She nodded and turned away from them and towards the two men she had been screaming at before they had arrived.

"He killed him. He killed the man that killed my Jeffrey. And what did you two do? Drive five miles and give up?"

"Ma—"

Dillon moved forward and slapped the man. "Don't!" She snapped at him. "Sam killed your brother's murderer. While you sat around doing nothing!"

"Sam," he turned and saw Mitch standing behind him holding a small chest. "Your reward."

Sam took the chest and opened it. There was a small bag of bullets and several packets of dried food wrapped in parchment paper.

"Should keep you going for a while," Mitch said.

"Hopefully," Sam said.

"So, Sam," he turned and looked to Dillon who seemed to have finished berating her son, "what to next?"

"I'm heading North. Figured I'd try to clear the pass before the snows pile on."

"Finally heading north then huh?" Dillon laughed.

"Well with this last reward I have enough to finally make it on my own for a few months. Figure I would try to look for another settlement and start over there."

"You could do well here Sam," Dillon said. She crossed her arms over her chest and smiled. "We could set you up with a hut. Give you a job as our chief scavenger. Hell, I'm sure half the girls here would jump at the chance of being yours."

Sam smiled and bowed his head. "Yeah, I don't really think this is a permanent place for me."

Dillon shrugged and reached into her pocket. "Always the drifter ain't you Sam?"

"I'm just trying to find my way, Dillon."

She nodded at the response. She looked to her son and nodded. The boy ran out and returned several minutes later carrying a large bottle of the sweet amber-brown liquid that Sam had always loved.

"Take this then. Consider it a thank you. For all the people you've helped find and make things right with."

Sam smiled, taking the bottle and giving it a look over. The label was faded but the seat was still intact. He chuckled to himself and looked up to Dillon.

"Are you getting sentimental on me Dillon?"

"Fuck you," she said smirking. "Now get the fuck out of here."

Sam smirked as Dillon nodded at Mitch and then walked away, her sons in tow. Sam turned following mitch as they walked to the doors.

As they approached the door Mitch held his hand out and stopped him from going outside. "Listen, Sam, you saw those new guys?"

Sam raised an eyebrow and nodded. "One of 'em gave me a pretty intense look. I wasn't sure if he wanted to kill me or fuck me."

Mitch shook his head. "Sam I'm serious. They came out from down south. Said they're looking for an Irish guy."

"I'm sure there's loads of Irish out here," Sam smirked. "Besides, even if it is me, let 'em come."

"Sam," Mitch snapped. "We've had one rule since you've been coming here. And that's no blood in our home. No exceptions. Ask Dillon right now and she'll tell you the same."

"I know the rule," Sam snapped at the man. "That's why you have me. Hunt the people that don't follow the rule."

Mitch rolled his eyes and he glanced to the door again. "This won't lead to blood will it?"

Sam smirked and opened the door. "Let's find out."

He strode out into the large center of the settlement, Mitch following close behind him. Sam smirked seeing the man he had spotted talking with two others. They wore tattered clothes and sported patchy unkempt facial hair. Their belts held empty holsters, as was customary for visitors to the settlement.

The man that had seen Sam first whispered to his friends and slowly they all looked up. Sam chuckled and kept moving forward shaking his head. The men's eyes tracked his every stride and they kept a healthy distance behind him as Sam moved to the stable.

"So, what's the plan?" Sam asked.

"We're gonna hold them for a few hours. Dillon figures we owe you that much."

"For all the bodies that I've dropped for her, I figured she'd give me at least a day."

"She wanted the Trix Brothers alive." Mitch joked.

"Tell that to the Herd that attacked us that." Sam scoffed. "Fine. A few hours is all I need to put enough distance between me and those clowns."

The men following stopped a small distance away from the stables, the armed guards on the walls and the ones that stood at the gate of the stable. Though the settlement was run down and dreary, the people that inhabited it were nothing if not fighters.

Sam had seen quite a few people come through, the settlement was built off of a major highway which always got more than a few travelers and caravans. With that, they received more trade, but Dillon preferred to trade for weapons rather than food.

But with all of the traffic the settlement gained, it had led to several run-ins with less than savory characters. That was where Sam had come in. If anyone, a resident of the settlement or otherwise killed in her camp, then it was up to Sam to chase them down and, depending on what Dillon felt like, bring them back dead or alive.

"So ends our partnership," Sam said as the two of them entered the stable.

"I wish I could say it's been a pleasure, but I think I'm gonna enjoy having you gone," Mitch said smirking as he watched Sam begin to saddle his horse.

"Yeah well, if you ever need someone killed you know my number," Sam said. "If you can keep them for more than a few hours then do it."

"I'll do what I can," Mitch said. He held out his hand and Sam took it, grasping it tightly.

Sam smiled, gave Mitch a nod and mounted his horse. As he rode away, the thought that he would never see the man again didn't bother him as much as he thought it would.

Night fell and a small fire crackled quietly.

Three men crept quietly onto the camp, guns drawn. They moved together and kept sight of the fire. A body crouched over the flame, his horse tied off to the tree providing the camp cover.

They moved quickly. The lead breaking through the brush, his heart pounding but his body completing the task he was assigned. He squeezed off two shots and the body slumped forward narrowly missing the fire. The horse reared back and the reigns went taut as the beast moved frightened by the shots.

"Calm it down," the man said pointing at the horse and moving to the body. His man did as he was bid. He stood above the body and kicked it over smirking as he thought of the reward he would get when he brought the body back.

As the body rolled over though, his smile died. The skin was grey and the eyes gouged out. Maggots filled the mouth and the hands were hanging on by mere strands of muscle and tendon.

"What the—"

"Look out!" there was a shot and one of his men dropped to the ground clutching his throat, blood spurting past his hands which tried desperately to hold the red tide of blood back. The leader cursed and turned to his other man but the rapid-fire shots that filled the air sent them both to the ground.

His ears ringing the leader began to try and crawl away but as he moved his hands through the ground he felt a heavy boot step on his back. As he cried out he sent his hand to his wait reaching for a dagger, but a quick pistol round pierced his hand and caused his right hand to cease existing.

He screamed out and brought the mangled mess of his appendage to his face screeching at the bloody lump of dangling fingers and loose bone.

"You shouldn't have brought two men," a voice laughed from above him. He felt the pressure on his back lift and then a hand grasp the back of his neck pulling him up.

Sam smirked as he looked at the crying stuttering mess of the man that had attempted to kill him.

He shoved the man against the tree Cork was tied too and sighed.

"Please… please—please—please…"

"Shut up," Sam spat holstering his pistol and unclipping the would-be assassins belt and throwing it aside. "Now, calm the hell down, and tell me who you are."

Cork moved between the rows of ruined cars slowly, the hoof clops not so loud, ensuring the walkers in the area were ignorant to his presence.

Sam's hands gripped the reigns tightly his knuckles still stained with blood. His breathing was even and steady as he rode. His mind was a whirlwind of anger and resentment. The assassin he had cut into had given him all the information he needed.

Bounties. Hilltop. Maggie.

Betrayal already cut deep into his flesh, but now the fact that she was sending men after him. It felt like Maggie's knives were digging deeper and deeper into his body scraping against his bones and carving her very presence into him.

He had hoped to go back, to see Beth and his child. But with Maggie's hatred still burning like a forest fire, all he could do was move on and hope that her men didn't find him. So, he continued with his plan to move north.

Daryl grimaced as he saw what was left of the men he had sent. It was as if a group of Walkers had torn though them and then decided to put them on display.

Two of the men were piled on one another their bodies smoking and their flesh crisp and still crackling. Small bits of ash and charred skin flaked off of their bodies as small winds blew against them. He walked through the remains of the camp several of his men around him, picking up whatever they could salvage, but all of the key items were gone.

The third man that had been sent to find Sam was shifting slowly in the wind. His feet dangled and the sign hung around his neck clattered against his body with every twitch of the rope he was suspended on.

Daryl spit as he approached the car, his hand finding a radio.

"Maggie, it's me."

"Go ahead, Daryl." Daryl cleared his throat as he read the sign and held the transmit button.

"We found him. But he don' wanna be found."

The sign that clattered against the man's mangled hand reading out to Daryl clearly. 'Send more men, and you'll get more corpses.'

It was a simple message. But an effective one.

AN: Okay, so it's been about a year since the end of the war and Sam's making a living for himself. There will be quite a few chapters with him out there on his own and then a few with him not alone. Either way, it's gonna be fun! I hope you guys liked the chapter and I look forward to next time! Review! ~Pacco1