Chapter 7

It was midday and hot, but not the humid, oppressive heat of summer. A cool breeze brought relief, rustling the slowly changing leaves that indicated the slow slide into autumn.

Three walkers shambled through overgrown weeds. Some of the stalks were nearly as tall as their intruders, giving an eerie look of floating rotted heads in golden fields. A twig snapped, and the walkers snarled, looking for the source through milky, rotting eyes. All three were large, burly men in life decked in flannel and denim, but now were bloated walking corpses in tattered rags.

Rick Grimes watched them carefully from across a weather-worn road, crouched behind an overturned car.

"Three," he whispered. His sole companion, Michonne, nodded and slipped away, silent as a cat. He didn't even see which direction she had gone, but it didn't matter. They worked as one, and words were scarcely needed.

To the left of the floating heads, the weeds rustled almost imperceptibly. One walker disappeared in the grass with a flash of steel and a soft thud. The other two snarled and circled in confusion, then they soon were swallowed into the abyss too. Michonne's head popped up from grass momentarily, then Rick followed. They stayed quiet and cautious: there could be an injured walker crawling around, or a small one hidden amongst the weeds.

"Map said it was around here, but it's too hard to tell with all these damn weeds," Rick muttered quietly.

"Look here," Michonne whispered. Rick looked at her, but not where she was pointing. She was more beautiful to him every day, fierce and deadly but with a kind heart, once her defenses were down. Michonne caught his eye and gave him a smile.

"Pay attention," she scolded with a sparkle of laughter in her eye. "The grass here is shorter – see? This used to be the road."

Rick looked down and saw gravel in between the weeds a few feet away, the hauntings of an old road. "Alright, let's go."

They pushed through the tall grass, swatting at lazy bugs and pausing every few minutes to crouch, listen, wait. They heard another walker shambling somewhere in the tall grass, dragging something metallic that clattered occasionally. Rick reached out and grabbed Michonne's hand, and she squeezed it back. The bite of cool breeze was softened by the sun's warmth, and onward they went.

When the walker sounded closer, wheezing and gasping, Rick froze. Michonne disappeared once more, returning after a snarl and a clatter, then they only heard the sound of weeds rustling in the breeze, and their own soft footsteps.

Finally, the weeds gave out to a tangle of blackberry bushes and a low wooden fence with a rusted gate. Rick crouched behind the fence and peered over the top. No movement, no sound. Still, they sat for another minute, sipping from a water bottle Michonne withdrew from her backpack. Rick handed her a piece of jerky, and they chewed and waited. A bird cried out in the distance, and critters rustled in the blackberry bushes nearby. Despite the jerky, Rick's stomach threatened to growl noisily, but luckily it remained slightly satisfied and stayed silent.

Rick looked one more time, noticing nothing suspect, then nodded down to Michonne. She crept to the gate and slid through the bars then he followed.

A tired old garage was nestled in a grove of trees. It leaned slightly to one side as if old weary bones rested inside, too tired to keep upright. A dilapidated, hand-painted sign had Yeehaw Bob's Gun Range and Ammo Depot scrawled on it.

Michonne cocked an eyebrow at Rick. Seriously? Yeehaw Bob? He shook his head, suppressing a smile. There was a scent of sickeningly sweet- rotting fruit from the blackberry bushes, and a small cluster of apple trees to the right of Yeehaw Bob's. A win- there were plenty of underripe baby apples on the tree. A few more weeks, and they'd be ripe for picking.

"We should keep this area clear of walkers," Michonne whispered. "Maybe make it an outpost, if it's safe enough. It's out of That Bastard's range."

Rick nodded slowly. Michonne refused to use Negan's name amongst their own company, and for good reason. Their first time meeting the man face-to-face, and he killed two of their own. Anger bubbled in Rick's veins, but he took a deep breath and let it pass. Now was not the time.

The shed nearby was clear of walkers, but full of spiderwebs and rusted old tools. "Plenty of wild food growing, and animals that eat 'em," Michonne said as a wild hare darted from behind a bush and disappeared into the tall weeds.

Rick squinted and looked around. "Can't live off of rabbit, though. Hopefully some deer around here."

Michonne nodded. "Wish Daryl was here."

"We'll get him back."

They picked through the shed, putting any useful items in a large duffle bag. Most of it was half-broken or half-rusted, but there were some decent pruners, a clawhammer, and a small plastic bin that still held a bounty of seeds. Michonne left the shed first, poking through some cans that littered the outside, but found nothing.

A scraping noise caused them to freeze. Rick crouched behind the shed and took out his .44. Michonne slid her katana from her back holster and they stood waiting again.

"It came from inside," he whispered.

"Walker?"

"Could be. Or not." If it was a walker, the gun was a bad idea unless it was dire. Rick pulled his hunting knife out and gripped it in his left hand.

"Dual-welding? Best be careful, Mr. Grimes," Michonne teased. Rick cocked an eyebrow and smiled.

She peeked out and eyed the old building. There were no windows they could see, only a dry-rotted front door.

"You go front, I'll go back?"

Rick nodded. They split off, crouching low to the ground and flanked the building. Rick hugged the wall next to the door and tried the handle: locked. Rick felt a pang in his belly: he missed Glenn - he would have the lock picked in no time. Rick didn't have the talent, nor patience for it, unfortunately.

Kicking the door would be noisy, but it looked like his only choice. Though they didn't see any more walkers in the immediate area, there could be some lurking. Wood creaked somewhere on the other side, but he couldn't say if it was Michonne or someone else. Now or never.

Heavy boot met the weak door, and with one hard kick the door flew open, splintering wood and dust. Rick dove quickly to the side and scanned the dark room. His pistol was drawn, resting on his left wrist which still clutched his knife, pointing blade out.

It was a dusty shopfront, untouched by scavengers. Guns and weapons of all shapes and sizes lined the walls, and boxes of ammo lined the dusty shelves. Rick suppressed a burst of laughter bubbling in his throat and steadied himself momentarily, dizzy with glee. A few standing shelves on either side of the store held gloves and various tactical equipment. Focus – there was a noise that drew you here.

He swept the room, down each shelf. A pathway of sun split the room where the door had once been, and it was then Rick noticed faint boot prints in the dust – not his own. Dark splatters accompanied the boot prints: blood. A walker wouldn't lock the door, so Rick holstered his knife, and followed the prints. They led behind the counter, to the left of a big steel door that led to the rest of the building, where Michonne likely was.

He spun around the corner where the prints led, gun drawn.

"Don't shoot," a weak voice said. Rick lifted his free hand to his nose to block out the smell.

A skeletal figure slumped in the corner, a knife loosely dangled from one hand. Had he not spoken, Rick would have sworn he was dead. He was smaller than Rick, and severely malnourished from the looks of it. The sunlight was dim here, but Rick could see bandages soaked with old blood. Then, the smell hit him.

Rotting infection, and the sting of ammonia- likely urine. Like the festering blackberries outside that littered the ground, but far more powerful and acrid. The man dropped the knife and held up his hands weakly in surrender, but dropped them down quickly from exhaustion. His eyes were rounded in panic, though bloodshot. Ghoulish was the word that came to Rick's mind.

"You sure about that?" Rick asked. "You don't look so good."

A soft knock at the door. Rick kept one eye on the man as he opened it and Michonne appeared. She took one look at the man, and lifted her katana. Rick touched her arm softly, and she relaxed her stance, but only slightly.

"I ain't bit," the man croaked.

"Doesn't look like it will matter much longer." Michonne glanced at Rick, then back to the man.

Rick holstered his gun and kicked the man's knife out of arm's reach, though the danger seemed less and less with the pitiful creature before them. Even breathing was a struggle, with each gasp sounding like the final breath. Rick held his breath and patted the man down gently, avoiding the bandaged and soiled areas.

"He's clean," he said to Michonne. She sheathed her katana, then rummaged in her sack for some water. The man quivered and moaned as she uncapped the bottle. He lifted an arm towards her; it had no fat or muscle, just a bone. Bones reaching out. Rick suppressed a shudder.

"I don't think I can hold it," the man finally said. His voice trembled.

Michonne glared at him for a moment, still wary. But she brought it to his lips and tipped the bottle, and he slurped and gulped for a moment before she pulled it away.

"Don't wanna make you sick. I'll give you more in a minute."

The man nodded and shifted slightly, wincing in pain. Michonne wandered towards the front of the store then reappeared with a few lanterns and a handful of batteries. As she fiddled with it, Rick knelt down near the man.

"My name's Rick. What's yours?"

"Ed. Ed… Salisbury, like the steak."

Michonne dropped a battery and scoffed. "Shit, salisbury ain't a steak. It's ground meat."

Ed chuckled weakly. "Exactly, miss. Got myself… in a spot of trouble, you see. Thought this place was… was as good as any for dying."

Rick looked around. "How'd you even find this place? It's not on any map or directories. We only came across a mention of it in a fluke, hidden in a church newsletter."

"Well the name is… hard to forget," Ed said, before breaking into a wracking cough. Somewhere in the distance, a walker snarled.

The smell was getting intolerable. How the hell were they going to transport him? Could they even save him? He could barely move, let alone stand up.

"Sure would be… nice not to… die alone," Ed said with a small smile. Rick uncapped the water and gave him some more. Water dribbled down the mans chin, but he made no motion to wipe it away. His lips were cracked and dried with flecks of blood.

The water seemed to restore him a little, or perhaps it was the company, or both. The dullness in his eyes grew a little sharper.

"You aren't going to die. Not yet, at least." Michonne made a triumphant sound and the lantern flicked on.

The light made Ed even more ghostly, casting unnatural shadows across his face and hollow eyes. He wore a white shirt caked with mud, his belly distended unnaturally underneath. Black and yellow-stained bandages wrapped around his right arm and leg. One pant leg was ripped at the knee, and for good reason. His kneecap was hardly visible, the joint was so swollen and purple, it hurt just to look at it. One of his fingers pointed in an odd direction: broken. Water bottles littered the ground around him, some empty, some dark yellow.

Ed smiled sheepishly. "Sorry about that. Couldn't move much… but found a pack of water nearby. Drank the last one… a few days ago maybe. Good timing."

Rick spied a dented first-aid kit underneath the cash register. The label looked old, the contents likely long past the expiration date even before the Collapse. He reached for it and cracked it open, pulled out gloves and bandages. Damn- the antiseptic was dried up. Michonne took one of the lanterns and found another kit on the shelves along with face masks, and tossed it to Rick. He pulled it on gratefully, the smell slightly less noxious behind the cotton fibers.

"What happened to you?" Rick asked, his voice muffled under the face mask. He slipped on the gloves and prepared the bandages. First-aid training to the rescue, once again.

Ed winced as his filthy bandages were gently pulled off. Pus and blood wept from his wounds, but they were clean cuts from a blade, not ragged from a bite. At least Ed was honest so far. Ragged black thread showed a haphazard attempt at stitches, which seemed to almost work to seal up the wound.

"Heh. What didn't happen is a better question. Was with a little group, nice little settlement we had up near the mountains. Oof, that's tender…no, you keep going. Ah, not many ghouls wandering around in the remote areas… they seem more docile up there, not sure why." He coughed and turned away to spit up a glob of bloody phlegm. "'Scuse me. We got attacked. Group of pagan nutjobs that call themselves the Shadow Coven."

Michonne snorted loudly. A walker growled in the distance, so she unsheathed the katana and went towards the front door, peering outside.

"One, but it's pretty far away." She eyed Ed, then dug around in her bag. She found a precious energy bar still in the wrapper, and set it on the counter by Rick.

Rick nodded. "Go around back too and check, just in case." Michonne nodded and left the doorway.

"That your girl?" Ed asked.

Rick looked at him for a moment before replying. "Yeah. Yeah, she is."

Ed smiled crookedly. "Good. It's good to have someone." He looked around a little, embarrassed as if they'd dropped by for a visit unexpectedly to find him in a bathrobe. "Sorry about the mess. Don't know how long I've been here. Time sort of drifts together, in the end. Almost contemplated drinkin' piss. Imagine that." He chuckled softly, but Rick could almost taste the bitterness. "Can I get some more of that water before you move on to the next one? Awful parched."

Rick complied. Ed held the bottle this time, still trembling so Rick helped steady his hand. He unwrapped the bar Michonne left, and broke off two pieces. One he popped in his mouth to suppress his own creeping hunger, and Ed took the other piece gratefully.

Rick moved onto the next wound after Ed drained the water bottle and ate a few more bites. He seemed more lucid now, his breath not quite so ragged.

Rick rummaged in Michonne's sack and pulled out a small strip of jerky wrapped in parchment paper, he ripped it into small, bite-sized pieces and placed them in Ed's hand.

"Now, you've already gotten some food so take this slowly. Make sure to really chew each piece well- this is all you get for now. Now, you still haven't answered my question: what happened?"

Ed chewed on a piece of jerky thoughtfully, rolling the piece around in his mouth and closing his eyes to relish the taste. "Ahh. Venison. A good meat – high in protein. Oof – don't worry. Keep filling me with jerky and you can abuse me as much as you need to." Rick gave him a small smile before cleaning the next wound.

The sunlight dimmed for a moment- movement from outside. Rick leaned around the counter. It was only Michonne, wiping the blade of her katana on a filthy rag.

"That your truck back there?" she asked.

Ed nodded, then burst into wheezing coughs. His face was pale, droplets of perspiration sprinkled across his receding hairline.

"It runs, but it's low on gas. May get us five, ten more miles maybe. Thought I'd rest here for a bit before looking for more. Didn't realize how bad my injuries were at the time. Adrenaline, you know?"

Michonne nodded, her eyes dark and far-away. "I know." They stood in silence for a few minutes while Rick finished the last bandage. Michonne shifted on her feet impatiently. Rick knew she wouldn't want to leave this man if there was a chance to save him, but this place was making her nervous.

Finally , she spoke. "There's a few beat-up cars in a gravel lot by the shooting range, I'll go look around, see if I can get a tube and a canister. I think there were some in the back. Hopefully the gas is still good." Then, she was gone.

Ed took another bite and chuckled. "I bet you're awful lucky to have her around."

Rick smiled and looked back at the empty doorway. "I sure am." He continued working on Ed, brow furrowed deeply in worry. His hands were steady, but his fingers felt clumsy now. How far away was this Shadow Coven from Alexandria? They were barely hanging on as it was under Negan's tyrannical thumb.

Then…an idea. Something sparked in him, a little niggling of a plan.

Rick offered Ed some more water, but he shook his head. "Well, before I die, I suppose I'd best tell you what happened. This group rolled in one day – well, they really just sort of…appeared. From the trees. We just had a little camp for the seven of us, with tents and what-not, minimal defenses to keep out walkers and bears. Really odd folks. Said their leader sent them, but we never met 'em. Took about half of our stuff, despite our protests. Killed one of our own, then we agreed. Funny how that works- like killing one of us'll make everything work out. Thought they'd move on after they robbed us, though they called it an offering. Bullshit, I say, it's robbery.

He took another small piece of jerky and chewed it for awhile, swallowing down some water as well to wash it down. "But fat chance, they'd wander back from time to time. They'd leave weird shit around to spook us. Dead rotting animals, sticks with feathers, rocks in patterns. We would've taken care of 'em but we had hardly any ammo left. Already coming off a bad winter, we were all pretty weak."

Rick was watching Ed intensely, his heart felt like it was seizing in his chest. "They took half of your stuff?"

"Yep. Started maybe a year or so back. Made the next winter harder than it needed to be. A few died from starvation."

"Did they call themselves the Saviors? Offer protection from walkers and other people in exchange for your supplies?"

Ed furrowed his brow. "What's that? No, don't know anything about saviors. No protection offered either, except from themselves." He inspected his clean bandages and nodded approvingly. "These were odd folks. Wild, like they was raised in that forest… by wolves or somethin'. No guns either, just spears and knives. Some were up in the trees with bows. I'd say with humility in my heart that I've a good eye from huntin' all my life. I can track a deer for miles, but I never saw or heard this group approach. Like ghosts." He snorted, a bitter smile creeping on his lips. "Magda- she was in my group. Sweet as pie. Called them 'spirits of the forest.' I don't know about all that. The leader called themselves the Witch, I assume a woman but like I said, we never met 'em. Called themselves the Shadow Coven, like I said. Pagan hooligans, more like."

A sinking feeling tugged deep within Rick. Great, another one. One more group to ride through settlements, intimidating people who were just trying to survive.

Rick glanced at Ed, who was watching him curiously. His knee still looked awful, though there wasn't a wound. "Looks like you tore something in your knee. You left in a hurry?"

Ed smiled weakly. "You bet. We'd been hiding food in little caches around the forest. We were real smart about it, at least I thought so. We'd work out some random patterns so it would be difficult for them to follow us, going in opposite directions. Never talked about it outside of whispered plans in case they could hear. But they found 'em. Caught one of ours in the act, just a young man-"

Michonne burst through the door. "We gotta go."
"Why?" Rick jumped up, hand on his holster. "We haven't even grabbed supplies yet."

Ed sat up shakily, then slumped back down. "Leave me here."

"After all the work I put into cleaning your bandages? No way."

Michonne stepped forward. "We don't have time. Herd's coming, a decent-sized one. Must've heard the door bust or something, maybe they were already headed this way. I was able to siphon some gas. Should have enough to make it to our car. When we get there, I'll follow you to Alexandria in case the truck runs out before we get home." She sized up Ed with her eyes, calculating his weight, the extent of his injuries. "I'll bring the truck around."

"Michonne, there's too much here we need."

Michonne looked around. "This place has been untouched for years. We can barricade the door and come back! There's another shed and some storage garage we haven't even looked at yet."

Rick made to protest, but Michonne held up her hand. "Rick, we'll come back. I promise."

Rick rubbed his chin. Negan had confiscated all of their weapons, but he had managed to hide away his handgun out of the Savior's grasp, giving them a nearly identical decoy with a broken spring he'd been meaning to repair. All of these weapons would need to be carefully hidden, they couldn't just roll back home with a truck full of shotguns.

Finally, he sighed. "Alright, but we should grab some of this equipment, anything that we don't really need. Some of those dehydrated meals, too. We'll be able to keep some of those. It'll keep Negan off our back."

Michonne looked around. "We'd better bust them up a little, if they look too nice they'll get suspicious."

"Agree."

They worked at break-neck speed. Rick piled up some supplies out front as quickly as he could, and Michonne threw them in the back of the truck. Distant snarls grew closer, and a pungent smell of rot grew stronger. With much effort, they got Ed in the truck between the two of them, despite his protests, propping him up against the cab in the bed of the truck. He couldn't bend his leg, so the passenger seat was out.

Michonne peered around the back of the building. "They're coming."

"We gotta barricade the door. They'll make a mess in here."

They grabbed whatever they could quickly: chairs, lumber, a plastic patio set. Rick even found a rusted bike behind the shed and they threw that in front. It was a shoddy barricade, but it would have to do. As long as nothing made noises inside, the walkers wouldn't bother it.

Rick jumped into the driver's seat just as a group of walkers trailed out from the trees behind the building. It was a decent sized herd, growing more and more as they emerged from the forest. He turned the engine and it sputtered.

"Come on, come ON!" He swore, then slapped the steering wheel. Again he tried, and again it sputtered pitifully. Third time was the charm, and the engine roared to life. Rick pulled the truck out, making towards the field they'd entered from.

"NO!" Michonne shouted. "Go around the side!"

Rick yanked it into reverse. "Why the hell not?"

"Someone will see the tire marks from the road, then come back here! We have to go around the long way!"

Michonne was right. Rick chastised himself that he almost ruined their hidden treasure cove. Idiot, idiot, idiot. He followed Michonne's directions as they sped past the herd, circling around to enter the road from further away.

When they were a safe distance away, Michonne began to laugh. She laughed and laughed until tears streamed down her face. Rick looked at her with concern, but it just made here laugh more.

"What's wrong?" he asked, squeezing her leg gently.

"Nothing!" she said in between gasps for breaths. "Nothing is wrong, that's why I'm laughing!"

"I don't understand."

"Rick," she said, wiping the tears from her eyes. "If we can keep that place secure, there's enough firepower in there to blow Negan's balls to kingdom come!"

Rick glanced in the rearview mirror. Ed still was sitting up, looking out the side of the truck serenely at the passing scenery.

"Yeah," he said. "We're going to need all of it."

/ / / /

AN: I hope all of you are doing well and staying safe. Sending all of you love and squishy hugs over the internet 3