Rick silently assessed his surroundings as he was frisked by a heavyset black man with a rifle slung over his shoulder. He barely looked at the man – it was the town he was interested in. Beyond the crowd of gawkers that had gathered to size up the three outsiders who were currently being unburdened of their weapons was a series of stock-pens filled with cattle and sheep. He reckoned there were a couple of hundred head of each by rough count.
His brain went into overdrive with all the possibilities. That amount of beef and wool would keep his people fed and clothed for a long while. The milkers would keep them supplied for a lot longer. A covetous smile crept across his face until his eyes fell on a young girl coolly observing him. She was slender and red-haired with a fresh complexion – surely no more than Judith's age. The realisation of what he would have to do to these people struck him with sudden force.
He thought of the old Rick – the one who lay awake at night torturing himself about morality, about how his every decision would affect others. He barely recognised himself in that old incarnation. Sometimes he looked back wistfully as if at an old friend, but mostly what he felt was pity. His former self was racked with doubt and insecurity – now he was cloaked in righteous certainty.
As he looked around him at the citizens of Fort Sophia, he knew in his very marrow that he could not live in the same world as these people.
And then he saw them.
The three stood at a distance in the midst of the milling crowd, but he would have known them anywhere. Carol and Daryl were side by side, and of the two of them Carol's transformation was by far the most extreme. He was tempted to laugh at the contrast between the frumpy housewife that she had styled herself back in Alexandria and the empress of the wilderness who now stood before him. His breath caught in his throat when he looked at Daryl – older but unmistakeable as the man who had fought beside him for so long.
His eyes fell on Carl and it was all he could do not to cry out. He felt Judith's eyes on him as he took in his son – so much older than when he had seen him last. He was taller than Daryl, with a strong, proud bearing. Gone was the youthful softness of his face, and in its stead there was a man who had seen suffering and turmoil.
He hesitated, trying to remain aloof, to restrain the overflowing love he felt at that moment, but against his will his feet moved inexorably towards his son.
'Dad?'
The emotion in Carl's face became clear as he approached, and without any hesitation or fanfare Rick grabbed him into a bone-crushing hug. He felt Carl holding onto him and suddenly the years slipped away. The bitterness and pain disappeared and all that remained was the two of them – father and son as they always should have been. He breathed deeply, feeling his heart break once more as he inhaled the familiar scent of his child's hair.
Eventually he pulled away, becoming aware of all the eyes watching the pair of them. He took the opportunity of examining Carl up close, suddenly conscious of the fact that they hadn't spoken yet.
'You ok?' he asked.
'Yeah, Dad,' he replied. 'I'm fine. How are you?' He let out a breathy chuckle, realising how pedestrian his words sounded after all the time that had passed.
Rick shared his laugh, relishing the moment. 'I'm great.'
He desperately wanted to take Carl aside and unburden himself of everything he had kept inside – to ask him every detail of his life, but he knew that this was not the time.
'Daryl. Carol.' He turned to each of them. 'Good to see you.'
'We're glad you've found us, Rick,' Carol replied. Daryl nodded wordlessly.
Something twisted inside Rick at her simple words of welcome, but he forced himself to push it aside, to harden himself against the knowledge that he would have to betray them.
'We've prepared dinner for you and your guests at our house,' Carol continued, reminding Rick strongly of her former motherly persona. 'Won't you come with us?'
The compound was even larger than Rick had imagined. Houses, farm buildings and work sheds lined a central roadway laid with a combination of cobble and brick – salvaged from who knew where. The buildings themselves were brick-built in places, patched with stone and roofed with corrugated iron or thatch. Other, smaller shacks were made from wood, with little consideration given to aesthetics but much to practicality. They were huddled together as if for warmth, the larger buildings giving shelter and protection to the smaller ones.
Even Rick could tell that this was a clear metaphor for the town itself. It was a place where weak and strong worked together in harmony – pooling their talents towards a common good.
It was beautiful. It was naïve. It was completely unsustainable and Rick would soon correct their mistakes. The social contact was a relic of a bygone age – now the survival of the fittest ruled. It was kill or be killed and Rick deemed it his job to ensure that his people always remained among the survivors.
They had reached the epicentre of the township – a beautiful old farmhouse that recalled Hershel's house with its old-world charm, but fortified just like the rest of the town.
Rick was contemplating the contrast between how impenetrable the place appeared from the outside with its essential vulnerability. A puff of wind could blow down some of these buildings, never mind what a Walker herd could do to the place – if Walker herds even existed anymore. He had heard stories of how these people had managed to control the Walker population and wondered for a second if there wasn't something good and right about this town despite its flaws.
Suddenly his heart almost stopped in his chest when he saw a pickup truck parked inside what appeared to be a makeshift garage. It looked clean and in fairly good repair and there was fresh mud on its tyres. He tried to catch Abraham's eye to make him aware of the implications.
The town wasn't completely devoid of machinery after all. If they had one truck, maybe they had more. If they had more, then they had a supply of gas. The place looked more attractive with every second that passed.
Carol fixed him with a curious look, as if aware of his internal machinations. She had always had the ability to read people – a talent he feared in her now.
'Come inside, Rick. You must be starving.'
The delicious smell of roast beef hit his nostrils and he almost groaned with anticipation. It had been years since he last tasted beef – probably not since the turn.
He felt unexpectedly overjoyed as he sat down at a long dining table with his children and old friends, awaiting a delicious meal. Homemade cider was passed around, a fire roared in the grate and dishes of meat and vegetables were ferried from the kitchen. They ate and laughed and made toasts and Rick was so happy to be there that he deeply resented the inner voice that intruded on his reunion, the one that insisted that this was all a ruse.
By the time they got to the cherry pie with cream, Rick was thoroughly sated, but his mind was alert to a subtle change in the atmosphere.
'Hey, Carl.' Rick bit the bullet and took control, not wanting to delay the inevitable any longer. 'Why don't you and Judith get reacquainted? Maybe you can show her the sights.'
The words were spoken to Carl but his eyes were trained on Judith's, silently telling her what was expected of her. Her mouth was tight and disapproving, like Lori's had been on those occasions long ago when he would be called out on police business in the middle of a family function.
Carl nodded. 'Sure, Dad.'
When they had left, the room became solemn and Rick and Abraham regarded their hosts as the adversaries they truly were.
Surprisingly, it was Daryl who broke the silence. 'So how's about we cut the bullshit and you tell us why you're here, Rick?'
Rick smiled at his candour. Then, right on cue, Abraham spoke.
'If you don't mind, I think I might step outside and do what the Lord intended. You got a bathroom that functions?'
Carol shook her head tersely. 'They sewage barons tried holding us to ransom about ten years ago, so we use dry toilets now. Good for the soil. The nearest one is next to the garage.'
She looked at Rick.
'I saw you eyeballing our truck earlier,' she commented. 'We keep some on hand for trading and emergencies. You might have noticed our rapeseed plantations on your way in. Corn oil works better on the engine, but it's harder to grow in this soil.'
Rick was impressed at their ingenuity but quickly dismissed their methods as impractical in the wider world. Alexandria relied on trucks for scavenging and negotiating with the gangs. They had become something of a police force in the area, managing squabbles and making sure that the gangs didn't stray too far out of line. He couldn't imagine doing his business from the back of a horse, or pouring vegetable oil into his engine in the middle of a Walkers fight.
'I'll leave you folks to it.'
Abraham stepped outside, letting Rick weave his tale like Scheherazade of old, delaying them while he went on his own mission. He felt the chill night air on his face, awakening him from a haze of warmth and friendship and alcohol. After relieving himself in the dry toilet, he slipped through the shadows, using his military training to avoid the few humans that patrolled the town at night.
He made for the barn – by far the largest building in the town – standing beside a towering grain silo. Now was the time to discover what this place was really about.
The barn was unlocked, and as soon as he crept inside he knew why. The place was completely empty – there was not a stalk of hay inside the lofty building. Instead of stores of winter fodder, he discovered rows of wooden benches and chairs before a dais and lectern. The barn had been adapted from its original purpose to a makeshift chapel and meeting house.
Abraham felt a terrible fear grip his stomach. Something was very wrong here. There was no doubt in his mind that the grain silo was similarly empty and that the display of abundance at the house had been a show for their benefit. They had clearly not escaped the effects of the drought, and yet the cattle they had seen in the pens did not seem starved. It was a mystery that he was determined to solve.
He went deeper into the barn, seeking some explanation for the discrepancy. If they too were starving, then what advantage could come of pretending otherwise? What did they seek to gain from them?
The floorboards creaked under his feet and as he shifted his weight, dust cascaded down through the cracks between them. He listened carefully, experimentally pushing more dirt through the floor. In the dead silence, he heard the grains of dirt landing on a surface somewhere beneath him.
He smiled. Everything was not as it seemed in this town. It took him several more minutes to locate what he was looking for, and he could only hope Carol and Daryl thought he had got lost or was suffering from the aftereffects of too much rich food on an undernourished stomach.
He pulled on the iron ring and opened a trap door barely concealed beneath the edge of a frayed old rug. Descending a wooden ladder, he pulled out the precious torch that he had swiped from a doctor's office years ago. He only used it for emergencies, and this was definitely one of those, entombed as he was in an underground place where no light penetrated.
He shone the torch into the darkness and saw that he was in a tunnel that appeared to go on forever. On each side were rooms that looked suspiciously like prison cells, complete with heavy doors. He briefly wondered what purpose they once served as he crept along, peering through open grates to see what they concealed.
His former smile broadened into a bold grin as he beheld endless rooms of grain, vegetables both fresh and pickled, cured meats and everything that could sustain a town of this size for years. Like good survivalists, they had carefully rationed their supplies in the good times, storing up for the bad.
Just as his brain was calculating how fast he could get this information to Rick, he heard noises in the darkness that chilled his blood. There were faint but unmistakeable groans, and they were coming closer.
Walkers. Those sons of bitches had Walkers down here.
No wonder the barn had not been secured – no lock was needed when they had the world's best guard dogs protecting their food supplies.
He retreated as quickly and quietly as he had come, just closing the trap door behind him when he heard a footstep. He swung around, ready to fight his way out with his fists if necessary, when he saw Carl's face in front of him.
'Abraham? What are you doing here?'
Suddenly, the barn filled with people.