Early one morning, about a year after the outbreak, Hemingway was sleeping in a small cave on the side of a cliff when something hit him in the face. Startled, he sat straight up and nearly fell out of his hole.

Twenty feet below him stood a scar-faced man holding a handful of stones. He had two other people with him, and they all looked the same: Filthy flannel shirts, holey jeans cinched with rope, and gaunt faces.

"Sorry," said the scar-faced man. "A rude way to wake up, I know. My name's Teddy. This here's Curtis and Bobby."

"Why should I not take out my rifle and make a new entrance on the top of your head?" said Hemingway.

"Sorry again, but we got it already." Curtis held up Hemingway's assault rifle by the barrel like it was a stage prop.

Christ, thought Hemingway. They must have scaled up the cliff and gotten it while he was asleep. That's what he got for going too long without rest - he slept so hard he didn't hear the danger, and now it was too late. But then why -

"Why not just kill me then."

"We're not like that," said Teddy. "But we do need to survive. So we figured, you look pretty healthy. Maybe you can show us where your food stash is?"

"Well," said Hemingway. "I'd rather share what I got than -"

The edge gave way as Hemingway shifted his weight. He tumbled down the side of the cliff in a whirl of rock and dust and slammed into the ground face first.

"Oh shit," said Teddy as he walked over. "I think he's dead."

He was not. Hemingway pushed himself up, hung there like a drunk, then suddenly vice-gripped Teddy's windpipe, crushing it. Then he limped over to Curtis, who was trying desperately to figure out the AR-15. Hemingway yanked the gun from his hand and clobbered him with it. In his peripheral vision, he saw Bobby's running at him with a knife, so he spun his leg around, tripped him, and stomped his face in.

The fall hurt Hemingway more than the fight afterwards. He had to camp out at that cave for a week before he could fully move again, and in the meantime his former robbers turned into walkers and nearly spotted him.

Hemingway told all this to Keats, Pike, and Tommy the morning after Bart's revelations. He said it matter-of-factly, as if relaying directions to a store, and he either didn't care about or notice the looks of disquiet on his friends' faces when he told them how brutally he had killed these people who sounded more pathetic than threatening.

"And since then," said Hemingway, "I've killed others, and I couldn't even count all the walkers I've put down. So this love test? No problem. But it's afterwards that worries me. What if he won't let us make the supply run?"

"Bart says it's a shit job," said Keats. "Marco needs volunteers for it."

"What about Katie and Duck?"

"We need to talk to the them," said Tommy. "See what they're like before we tell them what Bart said about Marco."

"I think Katie's love is pure," said Hemingway.

"We owe it to her to find out for sure," said Keats, "but I think you're right. She'll probably be staying."

"The best way," said Hemingway,"would be to do some countersurveillance, cut a guard's throat, and rip through the fence. But we'll try your way first."