March 25, 8 AM
Fun Kingdom
The evening passed with no arrival from Shane. Bad news came with the morning. Despite the doctor's best efforts, Tyreese hadn't made it. Between his gunshot wound and the virus, the battle was too great, and after the loss of his girlfriend Karen, his will to survive was too weak.
"At least I got to bury my brother here," Sasha said dully over his grave behind the Haunted Mansion, "instead of leaving his body to be devoured in Woodbury." His corpse, like those of the other victims of this plague, had been burned until only ash and skeletal fragments remained. Those fragments had been raked up, placed in a box, buried beneath the earth, and marked by a cross. What little was left of Tyreese now lay in a shallow grave beside the one that housed the tiny body of the baby Eve, wrapped in a swaddling blanket. Carol hadn't asked who'd driven the knife into her forehead to keep her from turning.
Sasha now fell to her knees on the freshly covered ground and wept. Bob could not even be there to comfort her, stuck as he was in quarantine, contaminated himself, and treating the sick.
Two women from Woodbury, who had escaped the plague and were not in quarantine, each put a hand on one of her shoulders. One, a blonde, thirty-something woman named Charlotte, was the mother of eleven-year-old Owen, who, along with the rest of Woodbury's well, was attending the hastily cobbled-together ceremony. Charlotte was dating Tom the electrician, who still languished in the infirmary. When she squeezed Sasha's shoulder, it was clear she was aware that another grave might soon be dug for Tom.
Standing not far from Sasha, Rosita muttered to Carol, "Your old friend lit a match that burned down our world."
With the ceremony complete, Glenn took up watch at the front gate for Shane, and Carol returned to her shift at the castle tower slides. Through her binoculars, she saw Daryl's old pick-up moving from the theater to the infirmary. She'd thought they were done with that, that the people in quarantine were only getting better, not worse. She didn't see anyone lying in the bed of the truck, though, and the pickup was out of sight before she could tell who was in the passenger's seat.
Her toy walkie talkie crackled. "Hey, Miss Murphy, whatcya wearin'?"
Carol smiled as she lowered her binoculars. They would be eighty, she thought, and Daryl would never be tired of that joke. But then her smiled faded as she thought what a far-fetched idea it was that they could live to be eighty in this world, which had already killed so many of them.
"Hey, Pookie," she whispered hoarsely after she'd taken the walkie talkie from her belt. "Not sure if you've heard but…Tyreese didn't make it. We buried him this morning. Who was in that truck? Over."
"Heard. Tyreese was a good guy they say. Was Bob in the truck."
God no, Carol thought. Sasha had just lost her brother. She couldn't lose her boyfriend, too.
To her relief, Daryl continued, "Bob's doing a'ight. Mild symptoms. But Dixon's takin' him down to the infirmary to help." Then her stomach plunged with the next bit of bad news: "To take over for Dr. Stevens. Told Hershel she's too sick now to work. She's one of the patients now. So it's just Hershel handlin' shit here. I'm helpin' though." And then the roller coaster of emotions went up once again: "I'm symptom free now. So's Dixon. And a couple others. And Luke's gettin' better. Been keeping juice down. Coughin' less. Over."
Symptom-free. Daryl would live. It was the best news she could hear right now. "So, you'll be out tomorrow morning? Over."
"Yeah. Dixon too. Or Hershel might let him out this afternoon. He's been symptom-free longer. But he's also been a huge help. So, he might just stay and assist. No sign of Shane? Over."
"No. Rosita got on the radio and told Terminus Shane was back in Georgia and had ten Saviors with him. I don't know if they heard because they aren't responding to us. Mary's pissed off about her sons. But Rosita broadcasted the message three times. Over."
"If he was gonna rebel, should have killed that Simon fucker first." Daryl sighed heavily. "I gotta get back to work helpin' Hershel. Love ya. Over and out."
12:15 PM
The Sanctuary
Gavin hated the way the workers stopped everything when he stepped onto the factory floor. At least they didn't kneel this time.
It had been a rough morning. Dwight was gone back to the Kingdom with Amber's mother. Aaron had returned to Alexandria, leaving Alden to fill his place supervising the workers. The volunteers from Hallowbrant were still on guard at the gate, though, at least. Gavin had worked supervising the crew fortifying the fence from sunrise until 11:30 and then sent them to the factory floor for lunch, which they were finishing up now.
Meanwhile, Alden and J. Money had broken up two fights between a few of the released, surrendered Saviors and some of the workers. The Saviors were not taking kindly to the new equality, or to the expectation that they labor also. They'd lived lives where their only jobs were to guard, kill walkers, loot, and be the muscle for Negan or his lieutenants. They didn't like having to saw, hoe, weed, dig, scrub, grind, hammer, muck, grunt, or sweat. Gavin had sent the four Saviors involved in the fighting back to their cells and told them they could come out when they were ready to get along. It gave him a flashback to the years when he used to send his own five- and seven-year old boys to their rooms until they could play nice, and then he missed those boys suddenly and sickly. The youngest had died and turned at the start. The oldest had been ripped into by his own brother before Gavin realized what was happening. He'd had to put down both, and their mother, too.
"It's after noon," Gavin announced, with Laura flanking him on his right and DJ on his left. They all had rifles on their shoulders and handguns on their hips. So did Alden and J. Money. The rest of the Saviors' guns – the ones not taken by Shane when he went AWOL - had been locked in the arsenal, though some of the workers would be armed once they became trained guards. For now, though, it didn't seem wise to arm any of them. "Who have you chosen as your representatives for the new council?"
A worker named John stepped out of the crowd. "We haven't been able to agree. We want you to choose for us, sir."
"Jesus Christ," Gavin muttered beneath his breath. "That's missing the point! You're supposed to elect your own representation. I'm not supposed to appoint it!" He looked over the sea of workers. "Who is willing to serve on this council? To step up and make some decisions? Step forward now!"
People looked at one another cautiously. There were whispers on the factory floor. Finally, Gordon stepped forward. He worked taking care of the livestock and vegetable gardens. Gavin had once overheard him murmuring to Alden when Alden was a worker and not yet part of Gavin's crew, "There's only one of him and all of us. Why are we living like this?" He'd overheard, but he hadn't told Negan, because he knew where that would end for the man, and he didn't think Gordon was likely to rebel. Run away, maybe, one day, and be hunted down, but not rebel.
Embolden by Gordon, a construction worker named Jose stepped forward. Then Jerel, a mechanic who kept the motorcycles well tuned. Next Gina, a vendor and food preparer Gavin knew fairly well. Finally, a man and a woman whose names Gavin didn't know joined them.
"Anyone else?" Gavin called, and when no one else stepped forward, he asked the last two their names, which were Roger and Emily. "All right. These are your candidates. Jose, Gina, Gordon, Jerel, Roger, and Emily. Pick three. We'll do it by a show of hands. How many want Jose on the council?"
The workers looked around at each other to see who was raising their hands.
"Jesus Christ," Gavin muttered again. "Okay, eyes closed! Everyone eyes closed, heads down!" He felt like a grade school teacher telling the kids to put their heads on their desks.
"Can I vote?" a boy asked. "I'm almost thirteen!"
There weren't many children in the Sanctuary, but there were a handful. Under Negan, it had been the responsibility of their parents, guardians, or relatives to earn enough points to feed them, but this one looked like he'd been at work, blackened as his hands were. A pretty woman in her late thirties stood next to him, which led Gavin to believe the boy had probably started working a while ago to feed himself in and effort to keep his mother out of Negan's harem. It was difficult to earn enough points to feed two people, and being Negan's wife paid very well. It was tempting for women – especially women with relatives to support – to "volunteer" to become a concubine. The new point system they put in place would have to allow a mother to feed her child, Gavin thought. It shouldn't be difficult to dramatically raise wages – the Saviors had skimmed so much off the top for themselves, and nearly all of them were gone now.
"Anyone age twelve and up may vote!" Gavin announced. "Eyes closed, heads down! Now who wants Jose?" When hands shot up, Gavin whispered to Laura, "Check my count." He went through all of the names and then did a run-off between two of the candidates before announcing, "All right then. Gordon, Gina, and Jose are your representatives. You three finish up lunch and join me and Laura in the council chambers in fifteen minutes. We've got a shitton of work to do."
1:30 PM
Fun Kingdom
Rosita was on the slides now and T-Dog at the front gate. Carol finished cleaning up from lunch and then sat at the table in the breakfast nook with a glass of water. Sophia, Mika, and Andre were making get well cards for the boys in the infirmary with supplies from the kids' craft corner in Kids' Kingdom. Andre's card consisted primarily of scribbles, though he did manage to write his name, in large sloppy all capital letters.
Sophia was putting a great deal of care into her cards, as though if she could only make them look good enough, she would have some power to heal her friends. Patrick's card, she noticed, had a sweeping red heart on it. She wondered if her little girl had developed a new crush to replace her unrealistic pinning for Dixon. Patrick was at least closer to her own age – but still too old – fifteen to her not-quite-thirteen. A couple years down the road, though? Who knew.
Rosita's voice shot through the walkie talkie she'd left on the counter: "Trucks and motorcycles entering the parking lot!"
Carol slammed her glass down onto the table and scraped back her chair as she stood. T-Dog's voice came through the baby monitor from his post at the front gate: "Vehicles entering the parking lot!"
"Sophia," Carol ordered, "get your sword." As Sophia hastened to her room for the weapon, Carol yelled, "Beth!" She wasn't quite sure where the teenage girl was. "Get your gun and watch the kids! Everyone else, armed and to the front gate!"
Glenn and Maggie came rushing out of the bedroom they shared, looking a little disheveled and unevenly dressed, as if they might have been enjoying some afternoon delight, and hurried down the ramp to the armory. Carol ran for her own AR15 and found Patricia already in the armory, her rifle on her shoulder, clipping a handgun into her holster. Soon Glenn, Maggie, and Michonne, who had emerged from the bathroom, were arming up as well.
"Where's Beth?" Carol asked Maggie.
"Tending to the horses. I just called her on the walkie. She's on her way to the house."
"And Sasha?"
"The Royal Banquet," Glenn told her. "She was taking some guns down there to the Woodbury women who are watching the kids. I just called her. She's having them lock up in there, and she's on her way on foot to the gate."
Carol hurried back to the living room with the others in tow and told Sophia, "Lock up the house when Beth gets here."
Sophia nodded, and soon the small army was spilling out of the front door and clambering into T-Dog's van to drive at breakneck speed to the front gate.