Michonne sat on a wooden bench. She'd taken off Carl's hat, setting it down on the seat beside her. Her sword was leaning on the bench's backrest. She held a glass Tupperware container in her lap, a parting gift from King Ezekiel and his people.

Using her thumb, she scraped the bottom of the bowl. Michonne sucked the last few crumbs into her mouth, chasing the buttery, tangy sweetness. The taste melted on her tongue, hitting all the right spots. The Kingdom and its king might've been a complete and utter farce in her eyes, but their peach cobbler was divine.

"Now there's something to look at," she told Carl's hat, gazing at the view spread out before her. She'd always loved a good roadside overlook.

According to the sign by the old-fashioned mounted binoculars, Michonne was looking at Durmont State Park. It was a beautiful view, well worth the climb. Morgan had taken her halfway up the mountain, on a beautiful mount with a sleek, shiny coat. It had needed a bit of coaxing, much like Morgan himself. He'd been reluctant to leave the Kingdom, even just to offer her a ride.

The horses had been spooked. Michonne herself, also.

Setting the Tupperware aside, Michonne took a few steps closer to the overlook's edge. Mindlessly, she lifted a hand to the coin-operated binoculars, scratching at the peeling paint with her fingernail. Her brow furrowed as she took in the scenic view before her. The sign told her that the town resting at the foot of the mountain was called Durmont as well. Apparently, it's been named as such because of its proximity to the state park.

Except it wasn't there anymore. Beneath her, the town lay in ruins.

Uneasy, Michonne made her way down the mountain. It didn't look any better up close. The silence was unnerving, almost as much as the unnatural chill emanating from the ground. There was a strange stillness to the air. Michonne kept a hand on her sword at all times, ready to draw it at the first sign of trouble. Something inside of her screamed at her to run away. Yet she was also drawn to it, irresistibly so. She'd never felt anything like it before.

Beneath a pile of splintered wood and metal, something stirred. Michonne took a step back as a shriveled hand emerged from the ruins, green-tinted fingernails scrabbling for purchase in the dirt. Curious, she grabbed the walker's wrist and pulled it forward, bringing its face out into the light. The creature stared back at her with blackened, hollow eyes. Brown liquid seeped from its empty sockets. Michonne shuddered and released the walker's wrist, backing away from the hissing, blinded creature.

What the hell happened here?

Michonne knew the Saviors' compound, the place they called Sanctuary, wasn't all that far. That couldn't have been a coincidence, but at the same time, it was hard to believe the Saviors had anything to do with it. To have this kind of power… was unimaginable.

King Ezekiel knew. Michonne was sure of it. He alone had been unaffected by the phenomenon, even as Michonne and the rest of the Kingdom writhed in pain. Had it been a bomb? A weapon of some kind? If she had a Geiger counter, would it be screaming at her right now? Whatever it was, King Ezekiel had refused to say. Michonne couldn't make him, not with his loyal subjects watching her every move.

As she was coming around a crushed ambulance, Michonne suddenly froze. She could hear voices up ahead. Lucky for her, there was no shortage of cover around.

A black man with a hollow face was puttering around in the rubble. "It was here," he said to his two companions, a man and a woman.

The woman placed her hand on his shoulder. "Reggie, come on. I know you want to give Tim the right send-off, but he's gone, sweetheart."

Reggie's voice stuttered. "He deserves a Hunter's funeral, Audrey." Struck by grief, he crumpled to the ground.

Audrey sighed. Respectfully, she took a few steps back, coming to stand beside the other, younger man. Michonne crept closer, careful not to make any noise. She stopped behind a half-collapsed wall, so close she could reach out and touch the woman's brown hair if she wanted to.

"Give him a moment," Audrey told her companion.

"Poor Reggie," the man said, watching Reggie grieve. "Damn tragedy, what happened to Janklow. Ain't right, shooting a man in the chest. In this day n' age?" He shook his head.

"Killed by a little girl," Audrey sighed in disgust, crossing her arms. "What a waste."

"We'll get her," the blond man said darkly, adjusting his cap. "And all her little friends too. You heard one of 'em kids got Rudy while he been driving? Wham. Right between the eyebrows." He shuffled his foot. "Y'know, Willerd says they've got a little baby with 'em."

Audrey snorted. "Willerd's an idiot. And if you ask me, we should be going after them now. We're wasting time."

"You heard His Majesty," her companion replied, voice dripping with disdain, "It is still alive, or it woulda left something behind. Wing marks, or somethin'."

"That a fact?"

He shrugged. "Heard it from Turner, and he heard it from Singer back in the day. Between you and me, His Majesty is messing with some bad joojoo. I don't want nothin' to do with it."

Michonne's eyes narrowed. Who was this "Majesty"? Did they mean Ezekiel? Michonne didn't trust the man, but he didn't strike her as the kind to go after children. And the baby they mentioned - could they possibly mean Judith? What was happening here, exactly?

The woman chuckled lightly. "Victor's a prissy asshole, I'll give you that, but he's damn useful. Do you know he has an eidetic memory? Man's a walking search engine."

"Says him. He makes half the shit up, and you know it."

Teeth bared, Michonne stepped out of the shadows. The two didn't notice her under she was ripping her sword through the air, slicing their calves in a single upturned stroke. She grabbed the woman from behind, cutting the man's head clean off as he turned around, then raised her sword to the woman's throat. Audrey struggled, her hand reaching for the gun holstered at her thigh. She was clumsy and in pain. Michonne snatched the gun right out of her hand.

Reggie's gun was already drawn, but he was too late. He hesitated, knowing he couldn't shoot Michonne without hitting Audrey as well.

Audrey struggled in Michonne's hold. "Shoot her, Reggie!"

Taking advantage of Reggie's hesitation, Michonne fired Audrey's gun. She screamed as Reggie fell to the ground, dead.

"Lucky," Michonne whispered in Audrey's ear. Her muscles flexed as she kept the struggling woman in her grasp. "I'm usually not that good of a shot." She lifted her sword upwards, forcing her captive to stand on her tiptoes, one leg threatening to slip under her. Once again whispering in the woman's ear, every word bitten out, Michonne said, "Tell me where they are."

Audrey let out a short, bitter laugh. "I'm not telling you a goddamn thing, you stupid bitch."

Michonne breathed in slowly. With the children's lives at stake, there was very little she was not willing to do. "We'll see."


It wasn't quick and it wasn't pretty, but eventually, the woman told Michonne everything she needed to know.


The hilly road to Sanctuary stretched on for miles. The twins led the way, Carl in tow. They'd barely spoken a word to him since their departure, radiating tension in waves. Carl couldn't blame them. He didn't envy them, either. He knew how hard it was for them to go back there, back to their old home.

Spotting a walker, Carl slowed his stride. The creature stood listlessly on the side of the road, staring into the dense woods with clouded eyes. Carl whistled, catching its attention. It did not disappoint, letting out a low growl as it noticed him. Knife in hand, Carl waited for the walker to approach, only to be sidelined when it was taken out by a crowbar to the side of the head instead.

"I had it," Carl grumbled in protest, watching Jake finish it off.

"Yeah, yeah." Jake's crowbar had gotten stuck in the creature's skull. He pressed his foot to its chest, grunting as he pulled his weapon free. "You can have the next one. Let's go already."

Carl did get the next one; it was just a kid, not that much bigger than Oliver. Carl let it fall to the ground and tried not to think about it anymore. The bodies served a purpose. They were making a point to lure walkers to the middle of the road, leaving breadcrumbs in the form of decaying corpses. With any luck, the Saviors would take the bait.

"Is it much farther?" Carl asked, wiping the blade on his thigh. It wasn't like his clothes could get any dirtier.

Scott shook his head. "No far," he said, eyeing the dead child-walker with a grimace. He wasn't exactly helping out with the breadcrumbs situation, but Carl didn't have the energy to press that particular button. "We'll cut through the woods on the way back," Scott added needlessly. It wasn't as if they hadn't already discussed the plan at length.

Jake cut in, turning to his brother, "Remember, you're only gonna pop a few windows. Don't kill anyone. We don't wanna piss 'em off more than we have to." His eyes narrowed. "Don't get distracted."

Scott scoffed, rolling his eyes. His fingers slid over the stock of his rifle in an almost loving caress. "Yes, mother."

"No distractions," Carl echoed in agreement.

They weren't planning on getting too close to the compound, just close enough to get the Saviors' attention. It was risky, doing it in broad daylight, but they didn't have the luxury of time. Every now and then they'd overhear the rumble of car engines. The Hunters were still around, and sooner or later they were going to lose patience waiting for their friends and Castiel to come out of the woods.

The trek up the hilly road progressed in silence. Carl couldn't help but feel a little exposed, out here in the open. He couldn't be sure they hadn't been followed, even when their entire plan hinged on it.

He hoped the others were doing okay. Before they'd left, the twins had led them to a cabin close to the forest's edge. It had been part of a rest stop for hikers, once upon a time. Someone had looted it quite thoroughly already. Its toilets were flooded, and vines slithered in between the planks, but it had four walls and a roof, and under the circumstances, was better than nothing.

Keeping the Hunters at bay was key. Enid had found some red paint inside the cabin, which had given her the idea to paint protective sigils on the outer walls of the cabin for them to see. The Hunters were a superstitious lot, they knew that much.

"I helped Cas make these wards before," Enid had explained, reminding them of the brief time they'd spent at a military base in New Jersey. She had used a dirty hand towel in place of a paintbrush, spilling blots of blood-red paint on the ground. "I can't remember exactly what they looked like, but…"

"Don't worry about it," Carl had told her. He'd picked up some paint and started making up symbols of his own. They were nonsense, of course. He didn't have a clue about magic, but he'd done his best to make it look legitimately spooky. "As long as it keeps them away for a bit, we'll be fine."

He'd given Enid his last bullet before he and the twins snuck away. They'd left Judith bawling her eyes out, Claire doing her best to shush her even as she herself looked pale and shaky. They'd snuck out the backdoor, crawling through thick underbrush. It was a miracle they hadn't been spotted; the Hunters were blocking the roads leading out of the woods. Luckily, their attention was on the cabin. Carl, Jake, and Scott had managed to get away unseen.

"We're nearly there," Jake's voice brought Carl back to reality.

They reached an industrial area of some sort; a depressing maze of rusting metal and huge blocks of concrete. One structure loomed ahead, grey and menacing, with active chimneys that spewed black smoke into the atmosphere. Carl didn't have to ask. It was obvious that the eyesore was the Saviors' compound, the place they called Sanctuary.

"How many people live here, again?" asked Carl, peeking around a corner. The place was massive.

Jake's voice was hushed. "Few hundreds here, few more in the outposts. Heads up," he said, ducking under a hole in a chain link fence before lifting it, allowing Carl and his brother to pass. He led them to a warehouse of some kind, long abandoned by the looks of it. "This is as close as we're gonna get."

"It's way too far," Scott protested, scrunching his nose. He eyed the rickety outer stairs that led to the warehouse's rooftop. "Not sure I can hit anything from this distance."

Jake huffed. "Figure it out. We come any closer and they'll be on us before we make it back out."

They climbed up to the roof. The staircase shuddered and creaked under their weight, making far too much noise to their liking. The rooftop offered a semi-unobscured view of the Saviors' compound. One major problem with their plan quickly became apparent.

"What's with all the broken windows?" Carl queried, squinting his eye in the sunlight. They came all this way intending to shoot out a few windows, just enough to draw the Saviors' attention. There were plenty of windows to choose from; the building was covered in them. The only problem was the distinct lack of glass.

Jake frowned. "I dunno." They were lying side by side on the warehouse's rooftop, trying their best to remain unseen. Jake looked at Carl, eyebrow raised. "You think they felt Cas-a-Nova all the way out here?"

"I'll figure something out," Scott grunted. He crawled away from them, muttering something about finding the best spot. He had quite a long distance to cover, after all.

From his vantage point, Carl observed the compound with interest. He could see the main factory building with its large courtyard. There were people moving around in the yard. No, not people. Walkers. Dozens of them, shuffling about or hanging from the fences. Some were even mounted on spikes. As he watched, several people entered the yard, all wearing similar beige clothing. They carried buckets and long poles. To Carl's amazement, they began feeding the walkers.

"What the hell are they doing?" Carl whispered in shock.

"It's punishment," Jake answered with a grimace of disdain. "Most of 'em used to be Saviors. The dead ones, I mean. It's what they do to you if you break the rules. Workers are the ones trying to earn an extra chance." His jaw tightened. "Scott spent six months in there, you know."

He didn't know. Carl's stomach sank. "What happened?"

A few moments passed before Jake replied. "It was a long time ago," he said, stuttering a little. "My family decided to make a run for it. My dad, cousins, my older brother and sister… and Scott."

Carl ran his tongue over his teeth. His mouth was dry. "But not you?"

"I didn't want to leave, man. I thought they were crazy. And I was right - everyone was killed, everyone except Scott. Negan gave him another shot, you know? So he took it. Stayed in the yard, took care of them till his punishment was over." He scowled and jerked his chin, gesturing. "See the dead one in the corner? The one in the green shirt, with a bucket on his head?... that's our dad."

Carl swallowed. "I'm sorry."

Jake chuckled darkly. "I'm not. He was a bastard."

There was nothing more to be said. They watched the workers wrestle the walkers for a little while longer. The sun was close to setting. After some time, Scott gave them the OK signal, telling them he'd finally picked a spot. Except he didn't open fire. Jake and Carl exchanged a questioning look.

"What are you doing?" Carl whispered once he'd crawled over to Scott.

"Yeah," Jake echoed in annoyance. "We don't got all day."

Scott looked up from his sights, frowning. "I'm picking a target."

Jake scowled at his brother. "Well, hurry up. We need to get the hell out of here."

Scott scoffed. "I would - if you two assholes would stop distracting me. Go downstairs, Jake. Keep an eye out for trouble." He rolled his eyes, adding, "Make yourself useful for once."

"Don't kill anyone, asshole," Jake muttered, but he did as he was asked.

Carl followed, leaving Scott alone in his sniper's nest on the roof. The staircase was just as noisy on the descent. "Just give him a minute," Carl offered, used to the brothers' bickering.

As his feet hit the ground, Jake opened his mouth for what was probably going to be a scathing reply. Then his eyes widened. Taking it as a cue, Carl whipped around, pulling his gun from his waistband.

"Who are you?" Carl demanded, pistol levied on the stranger. It was completely empty, but the stranger didn't have to know that.

The blond man seemed just as surprised to see them, but only for a moment. He sneered. "What the fuck are you doing back here?"

"Dwight," Jake greeted the man shakily. He was holding his hand out placatingly, his grip on his crowbar loose. "Shit, man. Your face."

Carl frowned. He knew his messed-up face was on full display, but he didn't care. The stranger was scarred as well, one side of his face twisted up from cheekbone to forehead. Had they met anywhere else, Carl might've felt a twinge of sympathy for him. A kinship of some kind, perhaps. But not today. The man was a Savior. And the vest he was wearing… that crossbow… Carl would recognize those anywhere.

"What are you doing with Daryl's things?" Carl all but growled.

Dwight smirked. "My things now." He tilted his head, blond hair falling on his scarred face. "I know you - you're Rick's kid." His cold smile widened. "We've been looking for you."

Carl's stomach sank. "Why's that?" he asked, keeping his voice steady. He chanced a glance at Jake, who met his gaze briefly. Jake seemed thoroughly shaken.

Dwight chuckled, but he didn't answer Carl's question. He turned to Jake. "Where's your idiot brother?"

"He's dead," Jake answered all too quickly. With that tremble in his voice, it wasn't hard to believe. "Dead ones got to him."

"Huh." Dwight worked his jaw, clearly not buying it.

"Come on, D," Jake said, taking a half-step forward, coming to stand between Carl and this stranger. "Just pretend you never saw us. What are you doing out here, anyway?"

Before Dwight had a chance to respond, four shots went off in quick succession. He flinched, ducking on instinct. His hand flew to his holster. He never got the chance to pull it out. Jake swung hard, bashing him across the face. The crowbar made contact with a sickening crunching sound. Dwight dropped to the ground; he didn't move.

Scott came barreling down the stairs. "I think I got Fat Joey," he announced in excitement. His gaze fell on Dwight's crumpled body. "Uh…"

Jake glared back at his brother. His crowbar was dripping. "I told you not to kill anybody!"

"You killed Dwight!" Scott hissed back, incredulous. "What happened?"

"Let's just get the fuck out of here," Jake replied anxiously.

Carl bent over Dwight's body. Blood was pooling under his head. He reached for Daryl's crossbow, stomach rolling. "We can't go yet," Carl said through clenched teeth. The clasp on the crossbow wasn't giving. "I think they have my friend, Daryl. We have to help him."

He was just about to get it loose when he was suddenly pulled back. Carl struggled, but Jake was much stronger than him. He pinned Carl to the side of the building, furious.

"Are you crazy?" Jake demanded, eyes wild. "What are you doing? Huh? Are you gonna storm in there on your own? You'll get both you and your friend killed, dumbass."

Scott grabbed his brother's shoulder. "We really have to go," he said seriously.

"Leave the crossbow," Jake grunted, giving Carl a shake before releasing him. "I said leave it," he repeated sharply when he caught Carl eyeing it again. "If they catch you with it, you're dead. Or worse."

Clenching his jaw, Carl nodded. They broke off into a run. Already they could hear shouts in the distance, somebody coming to investigate the source of Scott's shooting. They'd find Dwight's body. They'd be angry. The twins were right - they couldn't afford to get caught.

The sun was sinking fast. It was getting darker by the minute. They reached the hilly road before long, and immediately took a hard turn left, taking a shortcut straight through the woods. They hoped the Saviors would take the bait and follow the breadcrumbs of dead bodies they'd left behind. Hopefully, they were not the type to ask too many questions.

Adrenaline coursing through their veins, lungs burnings in their chests, the teenagers ran through the dark forest. They heard walkers hissing and growling around them, but didn't stop to investigate, knowing every second counted. Branches snapped over Carl's face as he ran. One hit him in the eye, momentarily rendering him blind. His eye watered as he blinked the pain away, only one thought on his mind - get back to the others, now.

The cabin was coming into sight, just down the hill. Wheezing, Carl grabbed at a thick tree trunk, using it to propel himself forward. His side was on fire. In the distance, they could hear gunshots. Carl and the twins paused to look at one another.

"Hear that?" Carl gasped, smiling a little. Their plan was working!

Jake grinned. His teeth glinted in the moonlight. "Dance, fuckers, dance."

"Shit. Look over there," Scott hissed.

Carl followed his gaze, breathing hard. He couldn't make out anything at first; it was so dark. Then he spotted it - a figure moving toward the cabin, silent and creeping. It didn't notice them at all. Whoever it was, they were heading straight to the cabin. Expression hard, Scott drew up his rifle. It took him a moment to steady his breathing, and his aim.

Suddenly, the shadows around the figure shifted. Recognition hit Carl like a freight train.

"No!" Carl shouted, slamming into Scott. The shot rang into the night's air, deafening.