The Walking Dead: Season Two

Episode Three: Behind Closed Doors

Chapter Six: Old Jack

Previously on The Walking Dead: When the group arrived at the Robins Air Force Base hoping to find safety and sanctuary, they soon found themselves faced with Jeremiah Winters a.k.a. The Sheriff, who took them prisoner following the demands of a group of nearby bandits led by Jason Quesada. Clementine, Johnny and Donald were the only survivors to make it off the base. The soon ran into Dick and Harold, who claimed to be looking for people to help around a nearby farm. Back at Robins, The Sheriff demanded to speak to Lilly, and Lilly only. When Todd spoke up, demanding answers, Jackson shot him in the head, leaving the survivors with a body that would soon come back to haunt them.

"Now," Dick said instructively as he pointed at a dirt road through the RV's windshield, "you've gotta follow this dirt road about a mile. That'll take you to the farm." He sat back in the passenger seat beside Johnny, who kept a tight grip on the steering wheel – he didn't want Dick to see that he was still shaking. He nodded as he repeated Dick's instructions in his head. Dick and Harold, who had turned out to be brothers, could have been leading them straight into a trap. But, for some reason, Donald had trusted them enough to allow them on the RV. After which, they explained a man they called "Old Jack" was looking for some extra hands around his farm. Deciding it was their safest bet, Johnny and Donald allowed the two of them to lead them back to this farm from where they came, where they would stay until they figured out their next move.

"This guy," Johnny said, his eyes on the road, "The Sheriff? What do you know about him?" He asked, remembering Dick and Harold had mentioned him earlier, when they began to suspect that the Johnny might have been working for him.

"Ah," Donald said and laughed, "that guy. We had a good think going, us and him. He and his men would protect us and everyone at the Farm day and night. All he asked was for a share of the produce," Dick explained. Johnny could tell just by the regret in his voice that things hadn't stayed so tranquil for long. "But as time went on, The Sheriff became greedy. The cuts he asked for got bigger. Eventually we were handing over more than we could afford to, so Old Jack finally spoke up. That was when The Sheriff crossed the line," Dick went on, his head bowed in mourning.

"What'd he do?" Johnny asked, now looking at Dick with genuine concern.

Dick chuckled. "What didn't that rat bastard do?" he asked rhetorically.

Johnny took a sharp turn in the RV. The moonlight had disappeared behind the woods' tall trees. "Do you even know the guy's name?" Johnny asked, tired of knowing him only as The Sheriff – a name that made him sound more like a comic book villain from the 90s.

"Jerry," Dick said simply. "Jerry Winters. Or "Sheriff" Winters as he prefers us to call him – the sociopath gets some sick satisfaction out of it," Dick explained, shaking his head. "He was a Sheriff in a town called Crawford, down in Savannah. Apparently, he made it out of there before that town went to hell." He sighed.

"Sounds to me like he brought hell with him," Johnny remarked.

Dick smiled and patted Johnny on the shoulder. "You're not too wrong there, son."

Clementine's eyes never left Harold, who looked back at her with a wide grin planted across his old and tired face, as though it had been years since he'd seen a little girl like her. She shifted and fidgeted in her seat uncomfortably as she noticed Donald, who sat in his usual spot at the back of the RV, had fallen asleep. It was just her and this stranger now. The smiling stranger then did something odd. He covered his eyes and face with his dirty, worn-out hands, so he was blind as a bat. A few seconds passed, then Harold removed his hands from his face in a joyful manner. "Peekaboo!" He said playfully with a cheesy grin.

But Clementine was unimpressed. She could see his green, beady eyes glistening through his fat sausage-like fingers. Clementine sat, unmoved, her arms crossed, frowning. Harold's grin had disappeared. "I'm not five anymore," Clementine explained.

"How old are you?" Harold asked out of genuine interest. He leaned forward, his hand on his chin as he waited for her answer.

"I'm ten," Clementine lied through her teeth.

"Ten?" Harold asked. He raised his eyebrows in surprise. "That's pretty old," he said patronisingly as his head bounced up and down like a bobble head.

"I'm not old," Clementine insisted. "You're old," she accused of Harold.

Instead of taking any offense from the harmless nine year-old girl, Harold simply chuckled at her remark. "Yeah," he said when he finally stopped laughing, "I noticed that."

"We're here," Dick said with a warm smile as Johnny finally pulled the RV out of the dark, lonesome dirt road. The Farm wasn't much on the eyes, but Johnny could tell just by looking at it that the people here had a good thing going. Looking around him, he saw Cows and Horses in stables painted red and white. He saw a house that stood proudly behind picket fences, seemingly untouched by the end of the world. He saw a husband strolling with his wife and son merrily to collect a pale of water from a well. He saw two men share a laugh together, both with a bottle of beer in their hand. If he hadn't known any better, Johnny would have thought the world hadn't ended. Sadly, Johnny did know better.

A tall shadowy figure stood in the distance, his hands on his hips. Johnny could hardly see his face, but the man stood proudly before the Farm behind him. His Farm. "Who is that?" Johnny asked, still struggling to see the man engulfed by the night's darkness.

"That's Old Jack," Dick told him. "He's my cousin," he explained, proud to call the man family, "and this is his farm." He turned to look at Johnny coldly. "Don't you forget that," he warned him. "You're far from home, son. So, don't go tryin' anything funny."

Old Jack gave a firm handshake. He shook Johnny's hand with enough energy to rattle the bones in the boy's body. "Welcome, son," he greeted Johnny warmly, a cheerful and hopeful smile plastered across his long, horse-like face. "It's good to see a face around here that isn't rotted to hell," Old Jack said. That was when Harold stepped out of the RV.

"Yeah," he agreed, "everyone gets sick of my brothers ugly mug eventually," he joked as he jumped out of the RV. Clementine followed, and Donald hopped out on his crutches behind.

"Actually, I was talking about the zombies," he explained, "or walkers or geeks or whatever the hell you kid call them these days." Old Jack was a tall man. He wore a pair of blue and red checkered overalls, and desert-coloured boots that upped his height by a couple of inches. He buried his dirty, worked hands deep in his pockets when he said: "The Sheriff and his boys haven't been much help when it comes to those things of late."

"Dick was just telling me about the problem you've been having with that guy," Johnny explained. "He sounds like a real nasty piece of work."

"You don't know the half of it," Old Jack remarked, unaware of how wrong he was.

"Actually, I think I do," Johnny replied. "This guy, The Sheriff, he kidnapped my friends. Sounds like he might have killed one of them. I don't know if the others are still alive, but if they are, they won't be for long. Not unless we can help them," he explained with deadly seriousness.

"Jesus," was all Old Jack could manage. "I knew the cold bastard was capable of some evil shit, but this surprises even me," he explained. The way he spoke, Johnny felt as though there was something Old Jack was keeping from him about this man "The Sheriff", but he was in no position to demand answers. "And how did you make it out alive?" Old Jack asked.

Johnny struggled to reply. What way was there of telling him that he'd simply abandoned his friends? Johnny stuttered and stumbled as he tried and failed to put the words together.

"He ran away," a hoarse voice from behind them said, loud enough to make Johnny jump like a little girl. He turned to see Donald, stood with the aid of his crutches, looking at Johnny with hateful eyes. He hopped past Old Jack and Johnny, ignoring them both. "How else do people survive in this world?" was what the old man mumbled under his breath.

"A few months ago, we here at the farm cut a deal with Jeremiah when he and his men first appeared on our doorstep," Old Jack explained to Johnny as he followed the cheery man to the front porch of his house. Clementine also walked between them, her eyes drawn to the horses and cows she saw in their stables. "He offered us protection in return for a large cut of everything we farm here."

"How large, exactly?" Johnny asked, nervous to hear Old Jack's answer.

Jack sighed. "60% of everything we farmed," he said with regret. "Though that soon went up to 75% when his numbers raised, so we had to start scavenging just to be able to pay our debts and make sure there's something left for the rest of us."

"Christ," Johnny cursed. They're killing these people, Johnny thought. He looked around him at the cows being milked and the crops being planted. This is all for him, Johnny realised. These people were working their asses off day and night just to keep this evil son of a bitch happy. "Why the hell did you agree to this?"

"Do you think I had much of a choice?" Old Jack asked him sarcastically. "He and his men showed up armed to the teeth. If I hadn't have handed over the stuff, they'd have taken it by force, but not before they killed everyone and burned this place to the ground. I couldn't let that happen to my family's farm. It's survived two World Wars, after all!"

Johnny nodded in agreement as he head the old man's reasoning. He had given up a lot to do so, but the man had protected the people he cared about for this long. It was more than could be said for him. Johnny turned to Jack. "So, do you think it could survive one more?"

"This guy, The Sheriff as he likes to be called, shows up here one day in Tank, his boys following in jeeps behind him," Dick told Donald as they sat on the porch. Dick drank from a bottle of whiskey as he told the story of The Sheriff's first appearance. "He offers us protection, but in return he wants a huge chunk of our surplus here on the farm. We said yes, like we had a choice. Since then, he and his men have mostly kept the walkers out of our hair. Mostly. That isn't to say our relationship hasn't had its share of ups and downs."

"What does that mean?" Donald asked as Dick took a long swig from the bottle.

"Doesn't matter," Dick assured him. "But with three-quarters of the stuff we farmed gone, there was barely enough left for us to live on. So, me and my brother, Harold, we've had to start scavenging outside the Farm – searching abandoned buildings and vehicles for food and supplies. We were hoping we might have found something in your RV, had it been abandoned. But, putting ourselves out there guarantees a run in with the zombies. So, even though we're handing over almost all our food to these people for protection, we're still risking getting bitten by those things out there. It's fucking ridiculous, and I've long grown tired of this asshole and his deal. We were dealt a shit hand, my friend. But, looking at your leg – or where it should be, at least – I see I'm not the only one with problems."

Donald noticed Dick was studying his stump. He looked at the bump where his leg ended and simply shrugged his shoulders, as though it was no real biggie. "Right now," he told Dick, "my only problem is that I'm here, and my wife is out there," he explained as he looked beyond the trees and towards the horizon, lit up by the light of a million stars glowing in the air like Christmas lights. "And there's nothing I can do to help her."

Dick sighed, pitying Donald. But then, he remembered what was sat in the barn, waiting. "C'mon," he told him as he jumped out of his seat and stepped off the porch. "Follow me."

"Where are we going?" Donald asked as he hopped down the steps, balancing on his crutches.

"To show you how wrong you are," Dick told him as he hurried towards the barn.

Clementine tugged at the sleeves of Johnny's black leather jacket, still dirtied and bloody from days gone by. He turned to see her stood at his feet. "Where are we going?" she asked him, whispering as she did so. Though she trusted these people, she wanted to go back and save her friends more than anything. But Johnny simply shrugged hopelessly.

Old Jack paused when the three of them reached the doors to the red and white barn. He spun around, looking excited by sharing what he was about to show them. "You asked me whether or not I believe this Farm could survive another war," Old Jack reminded Johnny. "Well, hopefully this answers your question," he told him. With both hands around the handles, Old Jack swung the double doors to the barn open, and stood back.

At first, Johnny thought his eyes must have been playing tricks on him. Had he not gotten enough sleep? Maybe he was dehydrated? But what stood before him was no hallucination. The large, green tank was quite real as it stood in that barn ready for battle. "Where the hell did you…" Johnny tried to ask, but words failed him in this moment of awe and wonder.

"It was a sort of a peace offering from The Sheriff," Old Jack explained. "He gave it to us when he started demanding more food from us, so that we could keep the crops and the animals safe," he went on. "But the man's gone too far, and has to be stopped."

Now, Old Jack looked at Johnny with deadly seriousness. Behind him, Donald and Dick had appeared. Johnny heard Donald lose his breath at the sight of the giant, green titan. Clementine felt the cold metal of the tank with her hands. She knew then that she was not dreaming. "So," Old Jack then said to Johnny. "You know how to drive a tank?"

Lilly followed Jackson as he led her across the hangar, their footsteps echoing across the vast, empty hall. She could see The Sheriff stood with another man in front of a large piece vehicle, his arms on his hips as he stood proudly before it. The Helicopter was black, though an American flag had been painted on its side, just above where the name "Daisy" has been painted in white. The two men turned around upon hearing their footsteps approaching them, and the man with the stump took a step back. He had been there watching when Jackson had shot Todd dead, an action that had seemingly frightened him. Her eyes met the man in the sheriff's uniform, whose name she still didn't know. But, for some reason, he wanted her, and her alone. But why? Lilly had a feeling she was about to find out.

"You," The Sheriff said firmly to Jackson, stopping him in his tracks. "Explain yourself."

"What?" Jackson asked him in honest confusion. "What are you talking about?"

"You know," The Sheriff assured him. He tilted his head at Tommy, who stood beside him. "You know damn well what I'm talking about." His cold, unforgiving eyes never left Jackson.

Then, Jackson got it. "Wait, you mean the kid?" He asked, still confused. He looked at Tommy with venom, angry that he'd come running to Jerry. "Are you talking about-"

"The kid you shot and killed? Yes. I am," The Sheriff told him, his voice deep with seriousness. "What were you thinking, Jackson?" He barked at him. He was in Jackson's face now. "You know Quesada wants Six bodies. Six. How many prisoners do you count now that you've killed one of them?" He asked Jackson, his eyes bulging with contempt.

"Umm," Jackson stumbled pathetically as he counted the prisoners in his head, his eyes looking up to the skies for guidance. "…Six?" he finally answered after a long, painful pause.

"WRONG!" The Sheriff bellowed, scaring Jackson, Lilly and even Tommy. All three of them jumped out of their skin. "You know we need Lilly alive. So, that makes five bodies. Five. And, in case you're an idiot, and need it spelt out for you, that's not enough. That's one less than enough," Jerry told him, holding up fingers mockingly as he explained the situation.

"Fuck, Jerry. I'm sorry," Jackson said, his apology empty and meaningless.

"Yeah," Jerry said. "I'm sorry too," he told Jackson with genuine regret and remorse that Lilly could hear in his cold voice. She saw him pull a straight razor from his pants and flick the blade out of its holster, its blade glistening in the light. In one swift movement, Jerry moved the blade in one quick slash across Jackson's neck, opening his throat.

"FUCK!" Tommy cried out in shock as a surge of blood came flooding from the gaping slice in Jackson's neck that now oozed red, thick liquid. Lilly also gasped and took a step back as she watched Jackson hold his neck with both hands, trying desperately to keep the blood from seeping out of the gash in his neck. However, blood was now spurting from his wound and spraying across Jerry and Lilly. Tommy had stepped far back now. Jackson's incomprehensible cries in pain turned to mere choking sounds as the man fell to his knees. Jackson's tongue lolled in his open mouth as the man knelt agape, blood still leaking from his open throat. Eventually, he fell flat on his face. Lilly even heard his nose break as he slammed against the floor. She saw him twitch and heard him choke, but after a few seconds, the man was silent. His body lied before them, still and lifeless.

When her eyes finally left Jackson's body, Lilly looked up to see Jerry turn to Johnny, who was still staring in awe at his dead friend and the thick, red blood that was pooling around his feet. "Get back to work," Jerry told Tommy, whose eyes were still on Jackson's corpse. Though he never turned to look at Jerry, he had obviously heard his orders. The next thing Johnny did was turn around and head back towards the exit.

"Ahem," Jerry then coughed, grabbing Tommy's attention. "Aren't you forgetting something?" he asked Tommy, who had turned to face him.

Tommy looked ready to burst into tears. Lilly could clearly see the man was shaking, but now she feared that one more word from The Sheriff and the man would wet himself. Tommy looked back at Jackson's body, and nodded. He approached his corpse, grabbed under his arms, and began to drag Jackson across the hangar floor, leaving a trail of blood behind him.

Next time on The Walking Dead: The Sheriff explains his goals to Lilly, who begins to see Jerry as less of an enemy and more of a fellow survivor when she learns about his experiences in Crawford, and the fate of his wife and daughter. Back on Old Jack's Farm, Old Jack, having partnered up with Johnny and Clementine, plots their next move. And Clementine meets more of Old Jack's family. As the battle for Robins Air Force Base draws nearer, sides are chosen and desperate measures are taken.

Hope you all enjoyed this chapter update. Sorry for the delay in updating this story, Episode Four has been taking up a lot of time, so if there are any future delays, know that it's only because I'm doing my best to make Chapter Four as great as possible! Anyway, thanks you guys for reading. Please leave some REVIEWS!

Chapter 7 + 8 are both ready to be uploaded. When I reach 20 REVIEWS, I plan on uploading them both. Either way, Chapter 7 will be going up next week, but with your help, it can go up much sooner! So, 20 REVIEWS is the goal!

Also, another quick question for you guys that you could answer in a PM or REVIEW: how would you feel about another in-between story, like Tales of Crawford? It would basically be a short story (5,000 words or so?) that teases future events and introduces new characters, but fits right into the world of The Walking Dead like Tales of Crawford [hopefully] did. I have a few ideas as to what it could involve, so just let me know whether you'd like to see it or not!

Anyway, sorry to keep saying it, but 20 REVIEWS and the final chapters go up IMMEDIATELY! So get typing! How else can I know whether or not you're actually enjoying this stuff?

-George