The Stag screamed bloody murder and bolted off into the green abyss.
"Carl, no!" Rick screamed.
The walker wailed. Black blood gushed from a mangled stomach. Unaffected, it stumbled towards Rick with reaching arms and clawing hands. Rick bellowed a guttural cry, charged and slammed his knife's blade through its eye. Rot sprayed. Their bodies collapsed in a heap. Rick rolled off the corpse and scrambled across the dirt and leaves on all fours. Rage gave way to sobs as he knelt beside Carl. Jon pitied him but forbade himself to rage or sob. Instead, he drew Longclaw and watched the green abyss. Silent and still. Fear turns a man's mind to porridge.
Carl stared at his father. Eyes wide. Mouth agape. "Dad?" Carl whimpered. Tiny hands pawed at a mangled, gushing stomach. Blood bubbled between his fingers in slow, pulsing waves.
"What the hell?!" Daryl pointed his crossbow at the green abyss. "Who the fuck is shootin' at us?!"
"JENNER!" Rick bellowed, fierce and panicked.
Jenner blinked at Rick. Still as stone.
"Jenner," Jon soothed, cool and calm. "The boy."
"R-right. Right! Fuck!" Jenner scrambled to Carl's side, drew a knife and cut away the boy's bloodied shirt.
Glenn ran to Daryl's side and raised an empty pistol. "Show yourself! You're outgunned!"
The brush came alive with rustling leaves and snapping twigs. Jon drew Longclaw and stood at Glenn's flank. Ghost crept forward, fangs bared, fur puffed. The tip of a rifle poked out from the brush, followed by a head of tangled, silken brown hair and a face drained of blood.
Emerging, the woman stammered. "I-I didn't-" Her words caught in her throat as she laid eyes upon Carl. Her rifle lowered.
Glenn lowered his pistol and took a step back.
Daryl charged, crossbow raised. "Stupid bitch!"
"Back off!" The woman raised her rifle.
Daryl froze. Their eyes locked, unblinking. The woman's trigger finger trembled.
"Enough," Jon said. He lowered Longclaw. The woman was no threat, only her fear.
Ghost slunk between Daryl and the woman. Daryl cringed away from the direwolf. The woman's eyes bulged.
"The fuck is that?" She yelled. Her legs threatened to topple her, tangling in their scramble to get away.
Jon touched Daryl's shoulder. A stiff, trembling greeted him. "Relax. She's no threat." Not like that anyway.
Daryl huffed and snapped on his heels. Glaring at her, he paced back and forth behind Jon and Glenn.
"Jenner, speak to me. How is he?" Rick pleaded.
Carl's shirt lay in a heap of soggy, crimson scraps by Jenner's side. With crimson hands, Jenner combed over Carl's stomach. "The bullet shattered. Three fragments. All hit the stomach. He's bleeding fast."
"Oh god!" The woman covered her mouth. She stepped past Ghost. Tears brimmed in eyes locked on Carl. "I didn't think it'd go through. I was only trying to- I wasn't aiming for him. Oh god!"
"The fuck else you aimin' for, bitch?! Sure as hell weren't him!" Daryl pointed to the fallen walker. "You think the brain's in the stomach?!"
The woman blinked at Daryl, whimpered then began to sob.
"Daryl, cool it, man," Glenn hissed.
Daryl cocked his head at Glenn and took a step towards him. Jon got between them and spoke in a steady, low voice. "The boy's hurt. Carrying on does naught to change that."
"I don't feel hurt," Carl murmured.
"You will soon," Jenner said. "Rick, your coat."
Without question, Rick handed over his coat. Jenner bound Carl's stomach, tying the coat's arms tight.
"What do we gotta do?" Rick seized Jenner's shoulders. His knuckles whitened. "Tell me what we gotta get to save him and I'll get it, all of it, just tell me!"
Jenner shook him off. "He needs a doctor. A proper one."
"My dad's a surgeon!" The woman blurted. "He can help! We live on a farm just beyond the woods! I can take you to him!"
Rick scooped up Carl. "You take me to him. NOW!"
The woman gave a frantic, jerk of a nod and bolted off into the woods. Rick chased after her. Reaching branches snagged Carl's hat from his head. Thick underbrush swallowed it. Jenner tripped on it as he chased after Rick. Daryl and Glenn made to follow. Jon stopped them.
"You two head back. Tell the others what happened."
"Glenn can go. I'm goin' with." Daryl shouldered past Jon.
Ghost stepped into his path, fangs bared. Daryl stopped.
"Both of you. Who knows how many of the dead that shot has drawn this way? I won't have one of you running through miles of woods on your own. Take Ghost, too."
Daryl huffed and turned away. "Fine."
"Glenn, keep them calm. Lori, especially. She'll want to come after us. Don't let her."
"Keep them out of the woods. Got it." Glenn nodded.
"Get them working on clearing the graveyard. I'll come and get you when Carl's safe. I'd rather drive our people to wherever this place is than risk the woods again."
Glenn holstered his pistol and drew a knife. "Ghost, take us south. Back to camp."
Ghost blinked at Glenn then looked at Jon. Jon nodded. "Show them, boy. Make haste."
Ghost made like the wind back the way they'd come. His paws made no sound, even as he ran. Glenn and Daryl stampeded after him, weapons raised and ready, leaving Jon on his own. The smell of battle lingered; salt, steel and rot. A flutter of black wings erupted from the green abyss and landed on the fallen walker's face. "Haste!" The raven cawed. It pecked a hole through the walker's cheek and gobbled down a chunk of rot.
Jon snatched Carl's hat from the undergrowth and raced after Rick. The raven remained. He caught Jenner in an instant. Underfoot roots and stones harassed the doctor's each step. No time. Jon barrelled past the doctor. A calm cool washed over him. A coolness he'd felt before. The cool that had given him the strength to kill Quorin Halfhand, to behead Janos Slynt, to command the Night's Watch and to say his vows beneath the weir-wood all those years ago. And now, the cool gave him the strength to put aside the fear of the boy's death, so that he may see with eyes clear of fear's fog. Fear turned a man's mind to porridge, after all. Strength, if anything, would see Carl survive.
If running through the forest took a lifetime, running across the fields took an age. Carl had been as still as a statue and stiff as a board through the forest, watching the trees pass by with glassy eyes. Pain made itself known among the rolling hills of golden wheat as fits of wailing and thrashing. The boy's body gave out around the time the white farmhouse came into view. He hung limp from his father's trembling arms, still and silent.
Rick crumbled alongside his son. When the boy was still, Rick ran on sturdy, surefooted legs and cradled his son in arms cast of steel. When when the boy wailed and thrashed, Rick stumbled on trembling legs and wrangled the boy in the arms of jelly. And when the boy limped and fell silent, Rick tripped with each step as he hugged Carl with quaking arms. Tears stained Rick's face, smudging his oily skin with a month's worth of unwashed grime. Yet, despite it all, Rick put one shaky leg before the other and ran with all his might towards the white, farmhouse. Jon could only commend the man. A lesser man would have given into grief and fear. Each step Rick took gave Jon a queer sort of hope.
The farmhouse waited for them across the fields, nestled among a sea of golden wheat. A grand, wooden structure painted white from top to bottom. It sat in the middle of a gravel yard, protected by little more than a crude wall of rusted, scrap metal. The rickety palisade stood waist-high. A child could scale it. A strong breeze could topple. The strength of a horde would eradicate it. Within the walls of rust and scrap, a barn and stable stood sentry atop a stubby hill. All was silent. All was still. The same as every other place they'd come across since leaving Atlanta; abandoned and void of life. Except for a single, blonde-haired girl. She gawked at them from the house's terrace with panicked, bovine eyes.
"Not much further now!" The woman flung open a gate in the rusted, scarp metal fence.
Too clean. While tangled with twigs and leaves, the woman's brown hair shone. While dirt-smudged, her face lacked the grime of weeks without bathing. Too eager. She'd helped them at once. No questions. No suspicions. The house could be a trap. That, or the woman lacked in wits. Jon wasn't sure which was more of a threat. He kept a firm grip on Longclaw's direwolf pommel. I should have brought Ghost.
As soon as Jenner stumbled his way through the gate, the woman slammed it shut. They all sprinted across the gravelled yard. The blonde girl continued gawking at them. Up close, she looked twelve or so.
"Beth!" The woman pointed at the house. "Get dad, now!"
Beth whimpered and bolted inside the house screaming, "Daddy! Daddy!"
As Rick headed a charge up the terrace's rickety stairs, an old man flung open the front door. His wrinkled brow wrinkled further and he spoke with a soft, sternness. "Maggie? What is this? Who-"
"I shot him!" The woman, Maggie, shouted.
The old man blinked. "Say again?"
"Please!" Rick gasped for a breath and choked on a sob. "Help him!"
"Three GSWs. Non-fatal but they're bleeding fast," Jenner said, huffing and puffing as he scrambled up the stairs.
The old man's eyes widened, darted from face to face then hardened. "All right, everyone inside now!" He snapped on his heels and marched inside.
Rick and the two daughters scrambled after him. Jenner followed. As did Jon, with a firm grip on Longclaw's hilt.
Rolling his sleeves, the old man began barking orders as he marched through the house. "Maggie, my full kit! Beth, painkillers, coagulants, grab everything! Towels, clean sheets, alcohol, in here!" The old man's voice retained a steady, softness even as he yelled. The kind of voice suited to a Lord. He flung open a door to a bedroom and ushered Rick inside.
Maggie shouted at Jon and Jenner. "Bedrooms and bathroom are upstairs! Get the sheets and towels! The kitchen's down the hall on your first left! You can find the alcohol in the cupboard! Top shelf!"
Jon looked at Jenner. "I'll go up."
"R-Right!" Jenner sprinted down the hall with Maggie at his heels.
Jon rushed up a staircase, gripping Longclaw's hilt. They'd separated them. Swift and efficient. There could be anything waiting for him at the top. Yet, Jon ran up the stairs all the same. He unsheathed Longclaw and shouldered his way into a bedroom with pink walls, poised to strike. No one was waiting for him. A fluffy, pink blanket clung to a large bed. Stuffed, soft animals huddled atop. Jon sheathed Longlcaw and tore the blanket out from the wall. The stuffed bears fell to the floor. Underneath the blanket, Jon found white sheets. He discarded the blanket, tore the sheets off the bed and bundled them in his arms. Now, I've occupied my arms. I'm defenceless. Jon barged back into the upstairs hall and found a bathroom of spotless white tiles at the end. Four towels hung on racks. Jon grabbed them all and added them to the bundle in his arms, all the while juggling Carl's hat.
Jon rushed out into the hall. No one was waiting for him. He charged down the hall, past all its closed doors. No one leapt out at him. He hurried down the stairs. Jenner whisked past him with several liquor bottles bundled in his arms. Together, they rushed into the room holding Carl. Life had been drained from the boy. Skin, once flushed pink had become as pale as Ghost's fur. Eyes so often dark and sharp stared without emotion or purpose at the ceiling. Unblinking like those of a doll.
Jon and Jenner dumped their sheets, towel and liquor at the foot of the bed. Carl's hat became tangled among them. The old man held his ear to Carl's chest while his daughters rummaged through a bag of oddities. Rick held a folded pillowcase against Carl's stomach. Blood seeped through it.
The old man snatched up a towel and forced it beneath Rick's hand. He pointed at Jenner. "You, they tell me you're a doctor."
"Only a virologist."
"And I'm only a vet. Come here. You'll assist me."
Jenner grimaced then hurried to the old man's side.
Rick's face dropped. "A-A vet? She said you were a surgeon."
"I am." The old man looked at Jenner and pointed at a kit of plastic tubes, needles and all sorts. "You, set up the IV."
Jenner snatched up a plastic bag full of water from the kit. "They call me Jenner." He plugged a plastic tube into the bag.
"Hershel." Hershel dabbed a piece of cotton in wine and rubbed it against Carl's arm.
Beth smiled at Rick across the bed. "Don't worry. My daddy's the best pet surgeon in all of Georgia. Your boy'll be just fine."
Rick nodded but his face was a mask of stone.
"What's the boy's blood type?" Hershel asked as he twisted a needle onto a little plastic pipe.
"A positive," Jenner said. "Rick's a match."
Hershel glanced at Jenner and Jon then gave Rick a sullen look. "Maggie, take over for him will you?" Hershel took the plastic tube from Jenner and plugged it into the needle. "Beth, take over for Jenner." Hershel stabbed the needle into Carl's arm. Beth took the bag and held it high. Its water flowed through the tube into Carl's arm.
Maggie put her hands between Rick's on the towels. Rick relinquished the towels. Jenner grabbed a new plastic tube. Hershel prepared a new needle.
"What are you doing?" Jon asked. The preparation of needles and talk of blood, he liked naught.
Maggie looked at him as if were stupid. "A blood transfusion."
"Rick's giving Carl his blood, Jon," Jenner said. "It'll stop him from bleeding out."
Jon shook his head. "No. That'll weaken him. I'll give the blood."
"Jon, it's fine," Rick said.
"It isn't. You need to lead your people."
"Jon, you can't," Jenner said. "You're not A positive. And neither am I." Jenner connected a plastic tube to an empty bag.
"The father it is then," Hershel said. He plugged the plastic tube into the needle and stabbed it into Rick's arm. Blood began to flow through the tube into the bag.
"Jenner, you were wrong about the wounds being non-fatal," Hershel said.
Rick sat up. "What do you mean? What's wrong?"
Jenner shook his head. "No, I checked them. They're only surface level."
"Two of the fragments are lodged in the muscle, yes. The third's gone deeper. I can't tell how far. But it risks breaching the large intestine."
"I could've sworn-"
"If it breaches he'll go septic. I gotta remove it but my kit ain't got the equipment to cut him open."
"What do you need?" Jon asked. "One of our men assured us the town has clinics. Jenner and I can scavenge them."
Hershel nodded. "A GP clinic and my vet. I need a nasogastric tube, an endotracheal- oh, Beth get me a pen and paper, will you? I'll make a list. It'll go by quicker. Jon was it? Take the IV bag. Make it two pieces of paper, Beth. I'll draw them a map."
Jon took the bag from Beth and held it high. Beth raced from the room.
"Can we afford to wait?" Rick asked. "How far's the town?"
"Half an hour away. We've got the time, though. Abdominal gunshot wounds take a long time to bleed out."
Beth burst into the room and handed Hershel a pen and two pieces of paper. He scribbled down a lengthy list and handed it to Jenner before drawing a map on the other. Jon gave the IV bag back to Beth and examined the map. It was crude but discernible all the same. The, 'GP,' as it was labelled, was located in the heart of the town. While the, 'Vet', was on the edge of town to the south right by the highway.
"Dad, the doctor should stay here. I'll go instead," Maggie said.
"No. You ain't ever seen this equipment before."
"I have. How many times I have helped you in the operatin' room?"
"I need your help here. Jenner'll know the equipment."
"Really? The virologist'll know what surgical equipment looks like?"
"I do actually." Jenner held up the list. "I worked alongside surgeons for my work. I'm familiar with all of this."
"What about the horses?" Maggie snapped. "We ain't got time to teach them to ride. Unless you wanna have them run into town?"
Considering the circumstances, an inappropriate excitement struck Jon at the mention of horses. "I've been riding horses all my life. I'll make haste, even with an inexperienced passenger."
Maggie gawked at Jon as if he'd told her the moon was green.
"It's settled then, you're staying." Hershel locked a stern gaze onto Jon. "If the boy wakes up while you're gone, he'll wake to a special kind of hell. All the thrashin' and writhin' could rupture him. Don't dawdle, son."
"I don't plan to. I assure you." Jon folded the map and tucked it inside his jeans pocket.
"Good." Hershel turned his gaze on Beth. It softened. "Help them saddle a horse. One that's brave and fast. I'll take this." Hershel rose and took the IV bag from her.
"Nessy then." Beth nodded. She looked at Jenner. "Follow me." As she made her way past Jon, she avoided his gaze.
Swift like the wind, Beth rushed for the door. Jon and Jenner hurried after her.
"Watch each other's backs!" Rick called after them, straining his voice.
"Bring the coat rack with you on your way back, Beth," Hershel said.
"You needn't worry!" Jon shouted back.
"Okay, daddy!" Beth said.
Their boots crunched across the gravel yard as Beth led them to a stable. The old, familiar musty smell of horses warmed Jon's nose. Beth ushered them past stocky workhorses, slender mares and even a weathered mule. At the end of the stables, a stallion, bulked by muscle awaited them. Flames blazed in his eyes. He flared his nostrils and snorted hot breath in Jon's face. A gentle stroke of Beth's hand smothered the flames in his eyes. His coat was brown and speckled white; flecks of snow on a muddy field. Beth grabbed a saddle from a nearby iron peg and Jon aided her in saddling the magnificent creature. Jenner stood idle, looking out of place. Once Nessy's saddle was in place, Jon fastened the stallion's leading rope across his chest with a hardy knot. Only when Jon could be sure the rope wouldn't fall during the ride did he mount the stallion.
"Thank you, Beth. For this and all your father's done," Jon said.
Beth looked off to the side and fidgeted. "Sorry, my sister shot that kid."
"An accident. Don't concern yourself."
Beth's eyes met his for a moment then darted down in the next. Jon forbade a grimace to show. Such meekness would not serve the girl well in this world. He prayed that she found strength before death found her.
"Jenner, make haste."
"R-Right."
Jenner took a step towards Nessy. Nessy huffed. Jenner grimaced but approached all the same and placed both hands on the saddle. He stared at it with eyes unfamiliar.
"Put your foot in the stirrup, step up into it like a ladder, take a hold of me and swing your leg over," Jon said.
"Don't hesitate or you'll fall," Beth added.
Jenner took a deep breath, stepped into the stirrup and clutched Jon's shoulders. After a brief pause, he swung his leg over and plopped down into the saddle. He teetered, but wrapped his arms around Jon's chest, avoiding a fall.
"What is that?" Beth asked, pointing at Jon's belt.
"What is what?"
"The bear."
Jon touched Sophia's sodden and stained, once-pink bear.
"Is it the kid's?"
"No. It belongs to another child." Jon freed the bear from his belt and held it out to Beth. "Clean it if you can. She'll be in need of it these coming days."
"I will. I promise." Beth took the bear and hurried to the enclosure's gate.
As she swung the gate open, Jon seized Nessy's reins. "Hold on tight," he warned Jenner.
Jenner's arms squeezed Jon. Jon's legs squeezed Nessy. They both lurched as Nessy bolted out of the stables. He galloped down a long gravel path towards an asphalt road baking beneath Georgia's summer sun.
Asphalt took to a horse's hooves like no other surface ever had. Nessy raced Jon and Jenner down a highway that cut through fields of golden wheat and shaggy, green grass. Sunlight danced upon the fields, transforming the land into a patchwork of gold and green silk. Pine's sharp, sweet smell swarmed Jon's nose as the highway plunged into a forest of towering trees. Sparks spat as Nessy's hooves slashed the road. Wind howled in Jon's ears. He leaned into it, hunching. Swift like an arrow. Every inkling of speed could be the difference between life and death. Jenner crushed Jon's stomach with a fearful grip. It mattered naught. Jon rode Nessy hard. Too hard. Nessy whinnied and slowed to a trot, panting and snorting. Jon cursed, snapped the reins and dug his heels in. To no avail.
"Bloody, lazy horse! Run, damn you!"
Nessy huffed and chomped his bit. The muscles in his neck tensed, hard as stone. His tail snapped back and forth. Jon, fearing a buck, relented to the stallion. Jenner sighed and let go of Jon.
"At least you're happy," Jon snapped.
"Better we're slower than dead."
"Every moment we delay Carl creeps closer to death's door!"
"Tell that to the horse."
Nessy shook his head and snorted. Jon's hands trembled as he clenched the reins. Every second nagged at him, pecking his head with a persistent throb. His scarred hand ached. Fire burned in his chest.
"Take a deep breath, okay?" Jenner said.
"Do not belittle me."
Silence. A long silence. Long enough to let a coolness trickle through Jon's veins. The flames dulled, the ache shrunk and Jon felt a fool.
"I apologise. That was curt of me."
"It's fine."
More silence. Nessy's hooves clopped as he took up a canter. Jon let the stallion be and took the deep breath suggested to him. Coolness washed over him like a gentle spring breeze. It flowed from chest to head and trickled all the way to his feet. Fear turns a man's mind to porridge, you know that, bloody fool.
"This family we've come across, what do you make of them?" Jon asked.
"They seem genuine enough. Good people for sure. But…"
"Speak your mind."
A brief silence.
"They're… They're weak."
"I agree. We show up with an injured child, utterly desperate and they jumped to our aid. No questions. No suspicions. It all stinks of nativity."
"And Hershel was too skittish about sending his daughter out here. I can't help but wonder what's waiting for us in town."
"Nothing good, I imagine."
"It's all too elaborate to be a trap, right? We're not gonna walk into an ambush are we?"
"No. If shooting Carl had been some kind of rouse, they'd have ambushed us in the house while we were all separated."
"True." Jenner sighed. "Good."
Jon took note of the landscape. The highway was a narrow one, more of a road than a highway. A mere two lanes, separated by double yellow lines. Towering pine trees flanked the road on all sides, forming a ravine of leaves and trunks. Buildings sat far off down the road as mere specks. Jon retrieved the map from his pocket and reviewed it. Judging by a crossroads they'd recently passed, the buildings in view were the outskirts of the town. A little huddle of buildings nestled on the shoulder of a proper highway. Among them was Hershel's Vet.
It was a straight shot to the buildings and the only cover or vantage points were the trees. Jon had confidence in his tree-climbing abilities. But the trees were as tall as Winterfell's turrets and he was no Bran. Climbing them to scout from afar was too great a risk. They didn't need any more injuries to deal with.
"Best we leave Nessy a fair distance away. Tie him up out of sight and approach on foot. If the place is overrun, we retreat and strategize from afar rather than risk the dead spooking Nessy. I'd rather not be thrown into another horde by another spooked horse."
"That'll be slower," Jenner said.
"Better that we're slower than dead." Jon grinned.
Jenner chuckled. "True."
As Nessy cantered, Jon and Jenner rode in a pleasant sort of silence for a while. A united silence rather than a fractured one.
Jenner broke the silence with a soft voice. "Jon… What I'm about to say isn't me talking down to you, okay?"
"Okay…" The doctor's tone left Jon wary.
"You're allowed to be upset about what happened to Carl."
"Upset? I can't catch bullets. I was too far away to stop the boy's foolish charge. Carl getting shot was cruel luck, not any sort of failing on my part. What do I have to be upset about?"
"Our group's only children are fighting for their lives. It's a normal thing to be upset about when the world was stable, let alone now. Hell, I'm upset."
"You don't seem it."
"Once all is settled, I'll feel what I have to feel. You should do the same. Letting it all fester inside you will cloud your judgement. You know as well as I that impaired judgement puts us and everyone else in danger."
Jon picked out the right words for a response. Jenner spoke the truth, Jon knew. But it was a truth already privy to Jon. He sees me falsely.
"Jenner… when times are desperate, boys go off to war. I've seen more boys die than I can count. I am more than capable of dealing with such grief."
"I-I, uh… sorry. Sometimes, I forget the sort of things you've lived through."
"Do they strike you as forgettable?"
"No. It isn't that. It's just… well… when I see you, I don't always see Jon Snow, the Lord Commander."
"What else is there to see?"
"A teenager."
"I'm eighteen in two moon cycles. Even by your land's standards, that's practically a man."
Jenner chuckled. "Something you'll realise as you get older, Jon, is that everyone younger than you is a child. I'm thirty-eight. To me, Daryl's a child. I'm sure to Hershel, I'm a child."
Jon huffed. "Folly. The mindset of fables."
"No." Jon heard a queer smile on Jenner's lips. "There's a certain beauty to it."
"Fables and stories are often beautiful."
"It means that we're children all our lives. From the moment we're born to the day we die."
Nessy's neck softened and his breathing calmed. Jon dared to squeeze with his legs. Nessy huffed but took up a steady gallop all the same. The threat of a bitten tongue put a stop to Jenner's prattling.
They left Nessy far from the road, tied to a towering pine and crept off in the direction of the town. Jon had done his best to teach Jenner to creep. Toe then heel. And yet, Jenner had all the stealth and grace of a drunken giant. The silence of the forest only exasperated the problem. Jon despised the lack of sound, it felt unnatural and uncanny. Like a dream; unreal and fabricated. A nightmare more like. The silence didn't last. But the noise that replaced it made the hairs on the back of Jon's neck stand to attention. A constant drone. Faint at first, like a whisper. Low and dull. But as they reached the edge of the forest it grew ever so louder, a little above speaking volume. Death's stench burned the back of Jon's throat. Jon and Jenner hid behind a tree at the forest's edge each, as still as stone. Jon centred himself with a deep breath and peeked out at the huddle of buildings.
Empty. The pavement; the gravel parking lot; the buffer of grass; the four-lane highway; the windows of the buildings. All empty. All silent. All still. A police car had crashed through a storefront but it lay as silent and still as everything else. Festering rot smeared the length of the highway and fat, black flies swarmed the rot. Their buzzing wafted through the air as a low, dull drone while the rot's stench lingered, ever-present.
"All clear," Jon said, wary.
"You sure?" Jenner whispered.
"Outside is at least."
Jenner peeked around his tree and wrinkled his nose at the abandoned lot. "It's not right. There should be at least one or two. There's always some."
"We'll find them inside, most like."
Jenner's face paled.
"Let me lead the way," Jon said. "We stick to Glenn's rules. Like always. I'll take care of the walkers. You watch my back."
Jenner stood a little taller. "I am capable of killing walkers, you know."
"Are you wearing chain mail? Do you have a sword? Are you trained in melee combat?"
Jenner's silence spoke volumes. Jon drew Longclaw. Jenner drew a knife. Together, with Jon leading the way, they crept beyond the treeline and along the gravel lot. Jon kept a careful eye on the windows of the stores and the alleys between the buildings. Thick layers of grey dust caked the windows. Shadows stalked the alleys. To see through the windows would be to see through walls and Jon hadn't a pair of magic eyes. Instead, he kept a careful eye out for moving shadows beyond the dust. And honed his ears for shuffling feet or gurgling hisses. Walkers lacked for a sense of stealth. Well, most anyway.
Hershel's Vet sat at the end of the row of shops, marked by a sign of a grinning dog. Jon put toe in front of heel as he approached the Vet's dusty, glass door. Jenner lingered behind half a dozen paces. The doctor knew the protocol as well as Jon did. Glenn had only drilled it into them half a hundred times. One man opens the door. The others stay back, ready to run. Always know the route of escape. Jon checked over his shoulder. Escape was a straight shot across the gravel to the trees or across the grass buffer to the highway. He scanned the windows one last time. No shadows. He seized the door's handle and inched it open then waited. One heartbeat. Two. No sounds. Jon gave Jenner a nod, readied Longclaw and skulked inside the Vet.
The open door breathed light into a void of black, revealing two dormant lurkers lay together in a corner. Two corpses, still as statues with their backs to the light. Jon froze. The smallest of sounds would alert them. Glenn's words rang in his head. Scan everything before entering a building. Threats are everywhere. Never assume you've found them all. Jon scanned the shadows. A decrepit door of peeling paint lingered to the right of the entrance, open ajar. Other doors littered the far wall of the lobby. A hall plunged into the building's right. The lobby was an open space full of rows of seats with rotting, foam cushions. Jon scanned the rows. No corpses were hiding among them, as far as he could tell. Jon took a silent step out of the Vet and held up two fingers to Jenner. Jenner nodded and readied his knife.
Tap. Tap. Jon rapped Longclaw against the door frame. The lurkers took up a unified gurgling hiss as they got to their feet. They shambled across the lobby, arms outstretched, hands clawing. Jon took several steps back and readied Longclaw for a sweeping swing. The dead exited, side by side, yellow eyes locked on Jon. They wailed. Longclaw silenced them. A clean, two-handed slash split both their heads from ear to ear. They collapsed and oozed black blood onto the gravel. Jon and Jenner waited a dozen heartbeats. No other corpses made themselves known. Threats are everywhere. Jon tapped Longclaw against the door frame again. Tap. Tap. Another dozen heartbeats later and still no corpses.
"Three doors. One hall," Jon whispered. "Lobby is clear."
Jenner nodded and together, they entered the Vet. But, the moment Jon stepped foot inside, the decrepit peeling door flew open. It slammed into Jon's side, staggering him. A man burst from the room and cracked a black club against Jon's temple. The word spun and blurred. The floor slammed Jon's back, forcing the air from his lungs. Longclaw skittered from his grasp. A gurgled screech pierced the air. The man pounced on Jon, like a wolf. Without thought, Jon raised his arms. Teeth shattered themselves on the chain mail of his forearm. The yellow eyes of a corpse gazed into Jon's, mere inches from his. Black blood poured from a mouth broken teeth down Jon's arm. The corpse, dressed in a sheriff's uniform, scraped at Jon's chest, shredding its fingernails on the chain mail beneath Jon's shirt.
"Stay back, Jenner! I've got it!" Jon reached for the dagger on his belt with his free arm.
Yellow eyes snapped to his hand. The corpse screeched and flew off of him, scurrying to its feet. It snatched up its black club and held it with both hands. Jon froze. Corpses couldn't move like that. Was I mistaken? Is this a man after all? It certainly eyed him like a man. Its yellow eyes narrowed and it turned, pointing its shoulder at Jon, making itself small. A fighting stance. Jon glanced past it, to Jenner. Jenner looked as bewildered as Jon felt; wide of eye and pale of face. The thing screeched, spluttering black blood and rushed Jon. With both hands, it cleaved its club at Jon's face. Jon caught the club in both hands. The thing tried to pull away but Jon was stronger. He kept a firm grip and buried his boot into the thing's stomach. Black blood sprayed as its arm tore from its socket. It staggered back, screeching and wailing. Jenner bellowed and charged. He drove his knife through the back of the thing's head. It limped at once and collapsed like a puppet without strings.
Huffing and puffing, Jon and Jenner stared at each other. The buzzing flies droned.
"You bit?" Jenner asked.
"No. The mail stopped it." Jon snatched up Longclaw.
Jenner sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "What the fuck was that thing? It had a weapon…"
"I noticed." Jon got to his feet.
Jenner shook his head and stared at the felled corpse. "That's impossible."
"Clearly not. We can discuss it later. We're not done here."
"Oh. R-Right." Jenner swallowed and readied his knife.
Together, they cleared the rest of the Vet. Four rooms and a hall. All empty. Behind the decrepit, peeling door, rusted filing cabinets filled an office. They contained only paper. A second door connected the office to the hall. At the end of the hall, in a room labelled, 'DR. Greene,' they found cabinets full of supplies. Jon rattled off meaningless words from Hershel's list as Jenner searched. Jenner found every item. Plastic tubes, bandages, little blades called scalpels, metal clamps and all sorts of bizarre instruments. Jon packed everything into Jenner's backpack.
Only when Jon read the final item did Jenner stop.
"How the hell does he expect us to bring a respirator back on horseback? Give me the list."
"What's a respirator?" Jon handed the list over.
"Helps you breathe." Jenner scanned the list then folded it.
"And its big, I assume?"
"Tall and heavy. Unless Nessy comes with a trailer, Carl's gonna have to breathe on his own. Let's go."
Jon took Jenner at his word and handed him the backpack. Jenner shrugged into its straps and they headed down the hall. As Jon rounded the corner from the hall to the lobby the barrel of a shotgun greeted him.
"Do as you're told. You don't die." A fat man with a dirt-smudged face prodded the barrel against Jon's chest. He bore a hollow gaze into Jon. Behind the fat man, a skinny lad that looked about fifteen stood at the Vet's entrance. A tattoo of two lightning bolts marked his cheek.
Jenner stood in Jon's peripheral, in the hall and out of sight.
"Kneel. Toss away the sword. Strip down." The fat man prodded Jon's chest again.
"As you say." Jon knelt.
As quiet as the man could manage, Jenner crept through the office's door. The door creaked as it opened. Jenner's feet scraped as he sneaked.
"The hell was that?" The fat man pointed his shotgun in Jon's face. "You got friends here, kid?"
"No. Just me. I haven't cleared this place out properly yet, though."
The skinny lad snickered. "Yeah, 'cause we got the jump on you."
"Shut up, Randy," the fat man hissed.
"Fuck you, Dan."
"Quiet."
The lad obeyed. Silence. With his shotgun still pressed to Jon's head, Dan peeked around the corner into the hall.
Randy eyed Longclaw and pointed a revolver at Jon. "Drop it."
"As you say." Jon placed Longclaw on the ground, within reach.
He glanced down the hall. Jenner had had the sense to shut the door behind him. Dan clicked his tongue.
"Randy, get the sword. Get up, kid. We'll do this outside."
Randy lowered his revolver and stepped inside. "That thing re-"
Jenner flung open the decrepit door, cracking it against Randy's head. Randy staggered and shouted. Jenner tackled him. They fell to the floor. The revolver flew from Randy's hand. Shouting and cursing, Jenner and Randy wrestled for Jenner's knife
"The fuck?!" Dan took his eyes and gun off Jon.
Quick as lighting, Jon snatched up Longclaw. Fire blazed in his chest. He thrust Longclaw through Dan's back. A crimson geyser erupted from the wound. Dan croaked, dropped his gun and went limp. Jon pulled Longclaw free. The corpse collapsed.
"No!" Randy screamed.
The lad raged and wrenched the knife from Jenner's grasp. He slashed open Jenner's face. Jenner screamed. Randy threw him off and bolted out the door. Jon gave chase. But as Jon barrelled out the door, Randy had already mounted a strange vehicle with peddles. Frantic as a startled mouse, the lad peddled for the highway faster than Jon could hope to run. He shouted curses over his shoulder.
"You mother fuckers! You'll pay!" The lad sobbed as he shouted.
Jon let the lad go and returned to Jenner. Pain accosted the doctor's face as he cradled his wound. Jon moved his hand away, revealing two flaps of skin where once had been a cheek. Blood pooled in Jenner's mouth and a crimson curtain flowed down his jaw. Jon feared for the man's tongue. Jenner grunted, swatted him away and covered the cheek. He flung off his backpack and tossed it to Jon.
Jenner spat blood. "Stitches," he gurgled.
"Right."
Lunwin had sewn Jon's wounds as a boy. The painful practice had seared into his memory with each stab of the needle. He found a kit inside Jenner's backpack. The needle was metal rather than ivory. The stitches were some strange silken thread rather than wire. Regardless, it functioned the same. Jenner hammered a fist against the ground as Jon sewed the wound shut. Lunwin's stitches had always been straight and evenly spaced. Jon's were coming out at mismatched angles with varying gaps between.
"Hold still," Jon hissed.
Jenner glared at him with venom in his eyes. Once Jon had tied off the stitches and cut the thread with his dagger, all fell still and silent. The buzzing of flies droned. It was then, as the fire dulled in his chest and coolness washed over him that Jon realised he'd killed a man. The fat corpse lay face down in a crimson pool, lifeless and still. It'd been a while since Jon had killed a man. Not since the wall. It'd been easier back then. Not that it was ever easy. But still, Jon nary thought about the men he slew once they were dead. He'd assumed they were at rest, in some great beyond. The cold embrace had taught him otherwise. He found himself staring at the corpse once known as Dan. Jon's stomach churned and he averted his eyes.
"Is your tongue intact?" Jon asked.
Jenner nodded, holding his cheek. "Who the hell taught you stitches?" He gurgled, muffled.
"Lunwin." Jon stood and offered Jenner his hand. "In a sense."
Jenner grasped his hand. "He did a shit job of it."
Jon helped Jenner to his feet. "You're more than welcome to do them again, yourself. Now, stop talking before you tear them."
Jenner scowled but kept his mouth shut.
Jon returned the needle and thread kit to the backpack. As Jenner swung it over his shoulder, Jon sheathed Longclaw. "Has that revolver got ammo?" He asked.
Jenner snatched up Randy's revolver and opened it. He nodded and held up three fingers.
"Good." Jon opened Dan's shotgun.
Two rounds inhabited the chamber. Jon tried not to think about the man's last moments as he scavenged a hatchet from his belt. The look of terror frozen on Dan's face made that hard. With their new weapons and scavenged surgical equipment in tow, Jon and Jenner hurried back to the woods. Jon put aside nagging thoughts of the fat corpse once known as Dan. He forced them away, beating them down into the dark recesses of his mind so he could focus on what mattered. Carl. Saving Carl. Saving him from the cold embrace.
Thick summer wind lashed Jon's face as Nessy galloped down the gravel path of Hershel's farm. Jon kept Nessy's gallop steady for Jenner's sake as much as Nessy's. Jenner clung to Jon's shoulder with one arm while he held his weeping cheek. Tremors rattled the doctor and weakened his grip until Jon could barely feel it. If the ride back had taken any longer, Jenner would have fallen for certain. Beth spotted their approach from the terrace. Waving her arms she raced down its steps and into Nessy's path. Nessy skidded to a halt before her.
Beth screamed. "What happened?! Is that blood?!"
Jon looked at his hands. They were crimson. Dan's blood. And Jenner's. Before he could answer, Beth, screamed again. "Jenner! Your face!"
"Some men tried to rob us. They came off worse I assure you," Jon said.
Beth stared at him, horrified. But only for a heartbeat. She shook her head, hardened her face and let loose a flurry of words. "I'll take Nessy! You head inside, Daddy's waitin' for you, he's ready to go! Did you find it all?"
Jon dismounted. "We did. Did Carl wake?"
"No, he's still sleepin', thank the Lord."
Jon untied Nessy's leading rope from around his chest and handed it to Beth. Jenner dismounted and Beth's eyes widened.
"Lord, did you stitch yourself, Jenner?"
Jenner grunted and gestured to Jon. Beth blushed.
"Oh… I'm sure you were in a rush, Jon. But anyways, you come with me, Jenner. I'll stitch you up proper."
Jenner spat blood. "Can't," he gurgled, wincing as he spoke. "Surgery."
"You can't be in there with a cut like that. Daddy and Maggie know what they're doin'. Let them handle it."
Jenner gurgled an incomprehensible protest. Jon tired of all the time wasting. He snatched Jenner's backpack off his shoulders. "Go with the girl, bloody fool." He marched towards the farmhouse.
Inside, Jon found Hershel and Maggie at Carl's bedside. Strange light-blue robes and white mouth masks garbed them. Carl lay as still and quiet as Jon had left him. The flush had returned to his cheeks and his skin was cream rather than milk. But his eyes still stared a glassy stare. A tall rack stood by the head of Carl's bed. From it hung the IV bag and the bag full of Rick's blood, connected to Carl's arm by plastic tubes. Rick was absent from the room. Sophia's bear sat on Carl's bedside table, as pink as a peaceful dusk, right beside Carl's hat with the golden star.
While Maggie knelt beside Carl, applying pressure to his stomach, Hershel noticed Jon.
"Did you find it all?" His mask muffled his voice.
"Aye, we did." Jon placed Jenner's backpack on the bed. "Everything except a respirator."
"That'll do. Good work, son." Hershel looked past him.
"Where's Jenner?" Maggie asked, wary.
"Alive," Jon said, hearing the unasked question. "Beth's treating him. Some lad opened his face from ear to mouth."
Hershel nodded. "I'll make do with only Maggie, then. Can't risk him contaminatin' anything. You neither, son. There's a shower upstairs. Best you go wash up. You smell like death."
Jon stayed where he was. "Where's Rick?"
"Upstairs. Restin' in my bed. It took a lot of out him, givin' blood, as malnourished as he is."
Jon relaxed. "Aye. Okay then. You have my thanks, Hershel."
Hershel pulled on a pair of blue, rubber gloves. "Thank me later, son."
As Jon made his way from the room, he couldn't deny that Hershel had had the truth of it. Death's stench stalked his every step. The taste of salty steel loitered in the back of his throat. A wash would do him good. But later. There were more pressing matters. Jon discarded Dan's shotgun on a table as he crossed the living room. Beth had sat Jenner down on a couch as she cut Jon's crude stitches from his cheek. The doctor clenched as stiff as a board as Beth cut and unlaced each stitch.
Wooden boards creaked as Jon ascended the stairs. Now that all had more or less settled, Jon saw the house as it truly was for the first time. Grime matted the carpets. Chips and cracks littered the walls. A musty aroma lingered everywhere. Mould made camp in the corners of ceilings. It's all held together by a thin, rotten thread. At the top of the stairs, he found a door along the hall open ajar. Beyond it, he found Rick out of bed, standing by a window.
"You should be resting," Jon said, entering.
Rick faced him with sunken eyes and the face of a ghost. "You've got blood on your hands."
"I've noticed. Why don't you sit? Gather your strength."
Rick shook his head and faced the window again. "Glenn'll bring the others here. I know it. I've gotta be ready for them. Lori'll need me."
"Lori's capable of managing a dozen stairs. I can't say the same for you."
Rick said nothing. Jon joined him at the window. The house stood only two stories tall. Yet, Jon could see for leagues across the rolling hills of patchwork fields.
"This place could be good for us," Jon said. "Fertile soil. Plenty of room. Easy to defend. It's everything we've been looking for."
"It ain't ours, though…"
"It isn't… what do you make of them?"
"They're good people. Strong too."
"Good, yes. But naive."
Rick shook his head. "They've got pure hearts. Somethin' we could use in all this." Rick sighed, stepped away from the window and sat on the bed. He ran a dirty hand through dirtier hair. "We've been losin' ourselves out there. Death surrounds us no matter where we go. I hardly recognise us anymore. Myself most of all. A little girl lost her arm today. Maybe her life. My son's shot, about to be cut open by a pet surgeon and here we are, talkin' about fertile soil and people's strength. What the hell are we comin' to, Jon?"
"We're surviving." Jon stood over Rick. "For now, that's all that matters."
Rick stared at Jon's hands. "That's not walker blood, is it?"
"Two fools tried to rob us. We came out better. A lad cut open Jenner's cheek. He got away. I stopped the other." Jon touched Longclaw's direwolf pommel. "Jenner's fine. One of Hershel's girls is patching him up."
"You killed him?"
"The man, yes. The boy escaped."
Rick dodged Jon's gaze to look towards the window. His hand rested on his hip, on his empty revolver.
"They had guns," Jon continued. "A shotgun and a revolver. Both loaded. The first ammo we've come across in weeks. Ask Jenner for the revolver ammo. It's best you carry a loaded gun. This as well." Jon slipped Dan's hatchet out from his belt and thrust it into Rick's hands. "Your knife's been blunt for a few days now. A leader needs proper weapons. It'll remind the others that we still have strength. They'll need that after a day like today."
"You've killed before, haven't you?" Rick whispered, looking at the carpet.
"I have."
"How many?"
"More than I'd like."
Rick squeezed the hatchet's handle. "So have I. Before all this. The last day before all this. For me at least."
"The man who put you in a coma?"
"No. Shane shot him. Apparently." Rick spoke in a slow, quiet drawl void of light. "No, I shot his brother. A kid. About Glenn's age. Shane told me that I stayed awake for most of the ride in the ambulance but I don't remember it. No, the last thing I remember, was the look on that kid's face as he realised a bullet had gone through his throat."
The cold embrace haunted Jon's memory. He fought it off, banishing it from his mind and sat beside Rick on the bed's white sheets. "It never gets easier. We do what we must. For the good of others."
"Would you have killed him?" Rick asked. "That kid. If he hadn't of escaped, would you have killed him?"
"Yes."
The roar of engines cut through their conversation like a hot knife. Rick slipped the hatchet beneath his belt, strained, stood and shambled to the window. Jon joined his side. Outside, he saw Daryl racing down the gravel road atop his motorcycle. The jeep, RV and range rover trailed behind him at a fair distance. Behind Daryl sat Glenn with one hand holding Daryl's shoulder and the other a map. He looked at the house with a grin, scanning it the way he scanned spots for scavenging. His eyes found Jon and Rick in the window and his grin broadened. He shouted something unheard at Daryl. The rugged man revved his bike, leaned forward and sped ahead.
Rick turned from the window and hobbled for the door. Jon stood in his path.
"Rest. I'll bring Lori to you."
"Move or knock me out. Those are your options." Rick stepped around Jon.
Jon followed. "That can be arranged."
"Try it." Rick hobbled through the doorway.
Jon chuckled and followed him down the hall, shaking his head. "At least let me help you down the stairs, bloody fool."
Rick gave him a defiant look but once he arrived at the top of the stairs his face softened. "Fine…"
Jon took his arm. "I swear, you're as bad as Carl sometimes."
Rick chuckled. "Yeah. Sometimes."
As Jon helped Rick down the stairs, Beth rushed to meet them.
"Who is that out there?" She asked with queer excitement.
Jon helped Rick down the final step and relinquished his arm. "Our people."
"My wife's among them." Rick hobbled for the front door.
"Has the surgery begun?" Jon asked.
Beth nodded. "Daddy and Maggie are workin' at him as we speak. I'm sorry but your people will have to wait out here. Even the mother. Daddy needs to focus and keep everything clean."
"We'll keep them calm, rest assured." Jon looked past Beth for Jenner. The doctor remained seated on the couch, drenched in sweat and plagued by fatigue. A row of neat stitches travelled from the corner of his mouth to lobe of his ear. Jon decided to let him rest and headed after Rick with Beth in tow.
Outside, Daryl pulled up before the terrace with Glenn. The rest of the column lagged behind, still a ways off. Glenn leapt off of the bike and rushed the terrace's rickety wooden stairs.
"Is Carl, okay?" he shouted. "Is there really a doctor here?"
"There is," Rick said, supporting himself on a white wooden beam.
"A pet surgeon named Hershel. He says the lad'll be fine. They're in surgery right now," Jon added.
"A fuckin' vet?" Daryl asked, climbing the stairs.
Beth eyed Daryl the way a mouse might eye a bear.
"Surgery? For real? … Out here?" Glen asked, deflating.
"I-It's no danger, really. A fairly simple procedure," Beth said.
Glenn blinked at Beth as if seeing her for the first time.
Daryl looked Rick up and down, wrinkling his nose. "The fuck happened to you?"
"Carl needed blood. I'm fine," Rick said, still leaning on the beam.
"He will be, once he rests," Jon said.
"Shit, man," Glenn eyed Jon's hands. "You've got blood on your hands. Her too," Glenn gestured to Beth. Jenner's blood stained her hands.
"Doctor Jenner got hurt, but he's okay." Beth smiled.
Daryl squinted. "How?"
"It matters not," Jon snapped. "It's dealt with. How is Sophia faring?"
Daryl's face darkened. "Not good… she's run a fever. Been havin' fits."
"Seizures," Glenn added, glum.
"Any other symptoms?" Rick asked.
Daryl shook his head. "Naw, she ain't turnin'"
"Turning? Do you mean-" Beth asked.
"Bitten? Yes," Jon said. "I cut her arm off though. That's what's causing her grief."
Beth's face dropped. "Y-You did, what?"
"Cut her arm off." Jon tried to ignore Daryl's glare.
"Have… Have you cleaned the wound? Bandaged it? Is she lyin' someplace comfortable? Did you tie off the arteries?" Beth rushed to the edge of the terrace and stared at the approaching column.
"No bandages. We had to make do with shirts. And I don't know what an artery is," Jon said.
Beth shook her head and faced him with a stern look. "That won't do. When she arrives, bring her to my room. She can have my bed. I'll bandage her proper and Daddy'll treat her wound."
Daryl stepped towards her. "You will?" His voice wavered.
"I will. Are you her family?"
Daryl stepped back. "What? No- I only-"
"We all care a great deal for the children," Rick said.
Moist eyes whisked away any sternness from Beth's face. "She's a kid?"
"She is." Jon moved past them all and descended the stairs. The column had arrived.
The three vehicles kicked up a great billow of dust as they sped into the gravel lot. They halted in a loose huddle before the farmhouse. Every door flew open and the group erupted from their vehicles. Lori headed the charge for the house. Rick hobbled down the stairs to meet her.
"Rick!" Lori cried. "Where is he? Where's Carl? Is he okay?!"
Rick opened his arms and grunted as Lori ran into them. He held her tight, clutching her to his chest. Tears moistened his eyes. "He's doin' just fine. A surgeon's takin' care of him right now. He knows what he's doin'."
Lori sighed a long, shuddered breath, squeezed Rick then pulled away, her face a mask of stone. "And these people. Can we trust them?"
"We can." Rick smiled. "They're good."
Lori's eyes darted across Rick's face. Her scowl dropped into a frown. "What's the matter? Why are you so pale?"
"Your husband gave his blood to save Carl's life," Beth stepped forward, fidgeting.
Lori whimpered. Tears flowed. She hugged Rick tight, threatening to topple him. The rest of the group watched on. Dale and T-Dog smiled warm smiles. Andrea's brown knitted as she eyed Beth. Shane scowled at Rick and Lori. Suddenly, all their eyes went to the ground. Ghost padded between them. His red gaze was a sight for sore eyes and Jon found himself smiling. He dropped to his knee, levelling his eyes with the direwolf and ruffled his fur.
Beth shrieked. "What is that?!"
Ghost stared at her with lazy eyes as the rest of the group chuckled.
"A friend," Jon said, smiling. "Good work, boy." His crimson hands matted Ghost's fur, only adding further to the grime of travel. Jon decided to keep his smile and turned it on Lori. "Take Rick back upstairs, would you? He needs rest."
Rick scowled at him. Lori scowled at Rick. "That he does." She grabbed his arm and marched him back up the stairs.
Jon stood and turned his smile on the others. "What Rick says is the truth," he announced. "Carl is going to be okay. These are good people here. Carl's in good hands." Jon prayed that what he said was the truth.
"Good!" The raven flew over the group's heads. It landed on Jon's shoulder and stared at him. "Good!" It cackled.