-Rhys-
"So he just ran home?"
"He did."
"Straight from school? He didn't fight back or anything?"
"Why would he?"
"I don't know— he was being bullied by the kid. I can't imagine Ty needing to run from a fight."
After saying that, I lean forward in the saddle to scratch under Downy-Beardy's neck, directing my eyes across the road to Sasha. She laughs, her toothy smile bouncing up and down with the rest of her as she rides on her new horse, Dusty.
It's just the two of us out here on the road, and it's still early. Speckled rays of sunlight peek over the road ahead with the sunrise. We only just left the Kingdom this morning, where Jenny kindly hooked us up with a bowl of her only slightly disgusting homemade zoodles and two warm beds for the night. She and Henry both seem to be doing better since Benjamin died. It's been ten days since I found out — making it ten days since the war started. It only makes sense that they would be trying to move past it, but Henry had me worried last night, since he ate all his zoodles without complaining. When I asked him about it, he assured me that he's liked vegetables ever since he started helping restore the Kingdom's garden after they had an outbreak of weevils a few weeks ago.
Sasha asks for the water, so I pull it from my saddle bag and toss it to her as she rides on the far side of the tree covered road from me, the two of us giving a wide birth to a rusty car parked in the middle, a hissing walker trapped in the back seat. Carol gave me the water canteen before we left this morning, mumbling something about Ezekiel wanting us to have it and that we should be using sunscreen. I know Ezekiel didn't say anything, but it was so early that I couldn't be bothered to get annoyed at her.
Maggie sent Sasha and me from Hilltop to deliver a message:
The first attack on the Saviors starts in two days.
We meet in the field behind the old Hudson farm.
The horde is on time.
Of course, we delivered the message yesterday, so the attack actually starts tomorrow.
Sasha brings me out of my head then — somewhere I get lost in more and more nowadays. Sometimes it's just for a fleeting moment. Other times, like falling into a silo of quicksand.
"Ty was always bigger than the other kids," she tells me, "but he didn't fight. I was always his big sister. Doesn't matter that I was born a couple years after him."
"So, what did you do after he came and got you?"
"Broke Toby Taylor's nose in three places," she chuckles. "Almost got expelled, too. Luckily my dad saw my side of it. I'd never seen him yell like he did at that principle lady when she called me a troublesome influence on Tyreese. Ms Taylor was so damn pissed at me... Toby's nose never did stop looking like a coat hook after that punch."
I laugh my ass off at that. Apparently too loud, because three walkers stumble out of the treeline and onto the roadside.
We both dismount our steeds. I turn and grab my bow from Downy's saddle and loose an arrow through the closest walker, a gross-looking dude with puss streaming from his ears. Sasha kicks the knee out of the next and plants her knife through the back of its skull. She moves for the next one, but I throw my knife and hit it square between the eyes.
"Nice," she says, nodding back to me, retrieving my knife for me and handing it back. "But don't show off."
"I'm... practising," I correct her.
She smirks. "If you lose my knife because you miss a throw—"
"I won't," I groan. "And... 'your knife?'"
She shrugs at me.
"Not liking Abraham's?" I ask, gesturing to the giant hog hunter knife in her hand.
"No, it's fine... just trying to get used to it," Sasha says slowly. "I offered it to Rosita, but she turned me down. Said it made more sense if I took it."
I smile. "That's nice."
We turn around to saddle back up and ride on for Hilltop, but Sasha groans when she sees her horse.
"Goddamnit," she groans, scowling as the mare rolls blissfully from its belly to its side, then to its other side in the grass off the road. It whinnies, frustrated as it fails to reach its back with the tack on.
Sasha runs over and pulls Dusty up by the reins. The horse grunts and blows dirt out her nose and into Sasha's face, making her recoil.
"You did buy the horse called Dusty," I say, watching as Sasha attempts to un-crust the mud from her smushed pack that had been fastened to the saddle.
"Jerry recommended her," Sasha hisses, glaring at me as she brushes the dirt off the Dusty's white coat, uncovering the brown spots along her body. "Can't believe I traded a spear and two bags of sorghum for this."
We start riding again after Dusty is less... dusty.
We finally pass by a very specific utility pole that's fallen across the road — one I have been anticipating for a good hour now. I start getting excited, reaching for the walkie-talkie on my belt and twisting the dial.
"Jesus," Sasha chuckles at me. "It's only been four days since you saw each other."
I ignore her, holding down the button. "Grimes Jr? This is Poncho reaching out to Grimes Jr. We just passed the point of mark one, and we're in radio range."
I look at Sasha, full of beans and grinning my cheeks out. She shakes her head.
A groan comes back over the radio.
"I thought we agreed that my code name wasn't going to be that? Kinda obvious who I am to any Saviors listening in. And you're meant to say over," Carl sighs. "Over."
"Pfft," I blow into the receiver. "I'm not gonna say anything stupid, and besides, you know who told us the Saviors don't use this channel. And if any Saviors are listening, you can all suck mah dick... over."
"Rhys!" "Rhys!" Carl and Sasha yell at the same time.
"What?" I laugh. "And you just gave away who I am, Grimes Jr! Also, you didn't say over just then. Over."
He groans again.
"How are you?" I ask.
"Pretty okay," he answers, his voice all crackly. "Dad's doing that thing... y'know... with the cars? Over."
He pauses because we really can't give away too much on an open channel — even if Dwight does say that the Saviors never use this one. But I know what he's talking about. All the cars from Alexandria are at Hilltop right now, getting ready for tomorrow's fight.
"I know the thing," I tell him.
"Yeah," he says. "Over."
"I'll be in that area soon," I tell him. "Guessing you're not there?"
"No..." Carl crackles. "But I'm taking the eagle truck out to the intersection halfway. Over."
"How comes?" I ask.
"Well... I knew you were meant to be going back to Hilltop today... so maybe we could meet there? Just to... y'know... maybe kiss? ...Over."
"Oh god," Sasha says to herself, shaking her head.
"That would be perfect," I answer quietly back into the radio. "But... you're definitely giving too much away to any listening in Saviors, Grimes. They know we kiss now!"
He forgets to let go of the button, and I hear him laugh on the other end.
"So I'll see you at the intersection for lunch?" I ask.
"Yeah..." There's a short pause where static hisses at me, "that would be great. Over."
"Everything okay?" I ask.
He laughs. "Why are you asking? Over."
"I could hear the tension in that pause," I snicker.
"Everything's fine," Carl explains. "It's weird. You've only been gone four days, and it feels like forever. Enid's been doing her own thing at HT, and the war's just... never mind. Think I'm just tired. Sorry. Over."
"Don't say sorry. We can talk about it when I see you later, yeah?"
I pause then.
"Want me to come back home with the convoy?" I ask.
There's a really long pause then. I shake the radio in case it died, but...
"Could you? I mean, don't they need you at Hilltop or something?"
"Nah," I blow into the microphone again, aware it probably sounds awful on the other end. "I'm not going to the fight." Then I smirk. "Did you just forget to say over, Grimes Jr?"
He groans again. "I really do hate that call sign."
"What about 'Tiny Grimes' or 'Poncho's boyfriend, Grimes'?"
Another groan. "Over and out!"
"See you soon, man..." I smile. "Over and out."
I clip the radio back onto my belt by Ty's hammer. Sasha doesn't ask about all that weirdness in the middle.
By the time we reach the Hilltop, the convoy of Alexandrian cars are getting ready to leave. They've been armoured on one side with metal sheets from Hilltop's blacksmith, ready for tomorrow.
Once we've stabled Dusty and Downy, Sasha tells me that she's gonna go find Jesus to give him the rundown of our meeting with the King. I say bye, but before I can go she reaches around my head to take a fistful of hair and drag me in for a crushing hug.
"I'm gonna stay here and help out," she says into the top of my head. "I wanna be there tomorrow when we hit the Sanctuary."
I nod into her shoulder; it smells like sandalwood. "I know."
"I'll be safe," she tells me like she's pre-empting an argument.
"I know."
"You be safe, too!"
"I will."
She pulls us apart, smirking down at me.
"When did you get so agreeable?"
I shrug, and she laughs, and then Sasha heads off towards the trailers.
I find Maggie in her office inside Barrington house, sitting behind Gregory's old desk.
"Gregory still not back?" I ask, closing the door behind me.
She smiles up at me from a mountain of paperwork. Words like ration stores and shift rotation stick out to me.
"He's not... but Kal got back a few nights ago. Said he dropped him off at the Sanctuary."
"Shit..."
"Not much he can do to hurt us now that the Saviors already know we're involved."
"What took Kal so long to get back?"
"Got stuck behind that highway horde and had to wait it out for a few nights."
Maggie takes a moment from her papers to look me up and down. When she's done, she asks me something.
"How're you holdin' up?"
Riding a horse with two cracked ribs isn't the best feeling, and that's exactly what doctor Dana from the Kingdom told me Negan's bat had done when it hit me. And my ring finger still feels like it's there sometimes. It's like my hand keeps forgetting that it's lost an appendage and has to remind me every time it remembers with a shooting pain in the nub that's taken its place.
But I decide it's best not to tell Maggie this.
"Fine, I guess."
Then the doors fly open, and Enid speed through, crashing into me from behind.
"Rhys?" she squawks, almost dropping an entire tray of pancakes that she quickly sets down on Maggie's desk before hugging me. "You're staying now, right?" she asks.
Maggie glances up again at the question.
"Nah." I shrug. "Heading back to Alexandria with the convoy."
They both look away.
"I'll come back soon, though," I say quickly.
"We know," Maggie says, getting up from the desk to hold me. "Now go on and find Rick. Y'all should be leavin' soon."
Not seeing people for more than a day is always exhausting. The onslaught of hugs that assault you when you see them again never falters. Pretty sure Jerry almost cracked my ribs again at the Kingdom.
Rick's no different, holding me tight. He looks pleased when I tell him I'm going back with them and tells me I can ride with him.
"Where's Michonne?" I ask, hopping in the RV, waving at Gabriel and hugging Aaron and Eric when they get on board.
"She's back home," Rick nods. "Taking care of things."
"How's Jude?" I ask then.
"Bigger," Rick laughs a little, which makes me grin. "I'm sure even bigger since I left this mornin'."
The drive is really nice. You don't realise how bad saddle sores get until you're reclined in a comfy foam seat cruising at forty and listening to Rick's tapes on the radio.
"Shit yeah! I love Weird Al," I whoop, twisting the dial up.
"Language," Rick scolds me through a poorly hidden smirk.
There's a suitcase pokin' me in the ribs
There's an elbow in my ear!
There's a smelly old bum standin' next to me
Hasn't showered in a year!
I think I'm missin' a contact lens
I think my wallet's gone!
And I think this bus is stoppin' again
To let a couple more freaks get on, look out!
Yeah, another one rides the bus
Another one rides the bus ow...
Another one rides the bus...
Hey, he's gonna sit by you
Another one rides the bus...
We reach the intersection and spot Carl's van parked next to a flipped car coated in dust. I spot a small military checkpoint down a grass bank and past a couple trees. I point it out.
Rick tells the other three to stay with the cars and then beckons for me to follow as he slides his way down the hill.
It's a car graveyard past the trees. Rusted corpses left topside and exposed to years of weather sit sad and forsaken. Rick checks a few crates by the checkpoint, but everything of use is long gone.
We follow a chain-link fence to a gas station, and a hanging metal sign reads — No gas.
We almost turn back, but then there's talking. An unfamiliar voice that is midsentence.
"—I've been through things, too. My mom; she also said, 'may my mercy prevail over my wrath.' It's not all my mom. That— that one... that's from the Quran. Probably shouldn't have said that... I don't even know you, but I haven't— I haven't eaten in a few days. You might not even be real."
We sneak closer to the voice, weapons drawn. My heart pounds hard against my rib cage.
"Hands up!" I recognise Carl's voice.
We weave our way through cars towards the voices.
"Listen," the stranger's voice shouts, "I'm gone! Huh? It's cool. I just wanted some— even just some food..."
Rick slides over the hood of a car, getting the man in sight and firing his hand cannon over the guy's head.
I barely see the stranger before he bolts around the gas station and into the tree line.
Rick fires two more bullets into the sky before I reach his side, clutching at my own when it feels like a bag of gravel under my skin.
Carl runs up to us from behind a deteriorated pickup truck. He's scowling.
"Hi—" I try.
"We were supposed to meet at the intersection," Rick growls over me at his son, not looking at him as he watches the tree line.
When Rick does finally look at Carl, he sees the scowl.
"I shot over his head," Rick exclaims. "I just wanted him gone."
Carl points in the direction the guy ran. "He said he just wanted—"
"We heard what he said," Rick cuts in. "Most of it. But he could have been one of them."
"Like a spy?" Carl asks, sounding like he doesn't buy it.
"Negan did have the Scavenger spying on us," I point out, only realising I took a side when Carl stares at me wide-eyed.
Rick shoves his gun into its holster and steps closer to Carl. "I shot above his head. If he isn't one of them, I hope he makes it."
Carl picks up a red gas can from beside his feet and storms off in the direction of the intersection, following the road instead of going through the car graveyard. "It's not gonna be enough, Dad," he says.
"Enough what?" Rick calls after him.
"Hope."
We go to follow, but Rick spots a walker stumbling towards us from behind a row of cars, a blonde girl in a nightgown with half her face missing. He looks at it funny, like he's seen it before. But then he kills it, putting his hatchet back on his belt after.
We have to run to catch up with Carl.
"Hey," Rick calls out to his son as we finally catch him halfway down the road, gas can swinging at his side. "Hey, what does that mean?"
"What I said," Carl answers, not turning back to face us as we walk behind him. Rick speeds up to walk by his side. I hold back a little, recognising when it's meant to be just them. "You hope the guy makes it. That's not enough. If you give a shit—"
"Carl," Rick growls.
"If you care, you do something. You don't just hope. It takes more than that." Carl shrugs, glancing back at me for a split second. "That's what I meant."
Carl's changed so much in the days since I met him. He never used to talk about strangers like this, and I've never seen him talk to his dad like this. Like it's all equal.
"There's gonna be something after the fight's over," Carl says.
"Not for everyone," Rick tells him.
"Okay, yeah, but... what about for you?"
Rick doesn't answer that. Maybe he doesn't have an answer for it. Maybe he just doesn't want one.
"You're gonna live, Dad," Carl looks at him.
Rick stays quiet again, his hand rested on his revolver, the other swinging loosely by his side.
"Why are we doing this?" Carl asks. "Why are we fighting them? So it isn't like how they want it, with everyone working for them, everyone living for them?"
I feel compelled to answer then, tugging at the sleeve of my jacket. Mikey gave it to me. The same one Glenn was wearing the day he died.
"Yeah," I say, still dragging behind the two of them. "Everyone that died... we're fighting for them. So it means something for us."
Carl glances back at me again. "We're fighting so that it's all of us— working together for something more than just killing other people."
I bite my tongue.
Rick can't seem to. "Well, you think we're gonna be out there picking strawberries with Negan?"
"If that's what it takes—"
Rick scoffs.
I grimace.
"It's more than just hope," Carl tells us, seeing how we react. "What, are we just gonna kill all of them?"
Rick wants to say yes. I can hear it in the way his boots hit the floor.
I decide he can be the one to bite his tongue this time.
"Negan has to die, Carl," I say stubbornly. "It's the only way forward."
"Finding another way forward, that's harder," Carl says quietly enough that I feel like the unreasonable one. "That's something more. That's how it's gotta be."
I slow down a lot after that, so much so that when I get back to the intersection, Carl's waiting in the run truck. I assume he's waiting for me, so I grab my pack from the RV and climb into the passenger seat.
He's quiet until I shut the door.
He's quiet until his dad finishes a conversation with Gabriel and gets in the RV.
He waits for the RV to peel off towards Alexandria.
"I didn't mean to take your dad's side," I say when Carl still doesn't speak.
He smiles gently, looking at me. "I know."
"We'll get back to helping," I say. "Once Negan's dead."
Carl shuffles in his seat, scratching by his eye. "We can do it before."
I don't disagree.
"I know you disagree about Negan," Carl says. "I know you think he should die."
"Why don't you?" I ask as civilly as I can.
Carl notices the disdain in my voice anyway.
"Because," he sits forward, his arms resting over the steering wheel, "killing him won't bring anyone back."
"Carl, I love you," I tell him. Tell him like the words are a parachute for what comes after. "But, ten years from now, do you really want to explain to Maggie's kid why their dad is dead? Explain to Judith why she only gets to hear stories about Abraham, or Denise, or Olivia?"
"Of course I don't," he whispers. "But that's something we'll have to do. Do you want to tell them why we killed the people responsible? Tell them that we did it to make ourselves feel better?"
I didn't want our first conversation to be an argument. I guess it isn't really. Not like the ones we've had before.
I just smile at him then because it's not really something you can speak to.
"I don't," I admit.
"We'll work it out," he says.
"Guess it's not our call anyway," I say. "We are just kids."
Then I remember something that makes me laugh.
"So, y'know how you love Weird Al?" I say, a creeping smile spreading through my cheeks.
"Obviously," Carl snorts. "Man's a genius."
"Well," I say with a strangely southern accent that makes Carl wince. "Here." I fish through my bag and hand him the tape I swiped from the RV.
"Oh, dude," Carl grins, snatching it off me and letting the tape deck eat it alive. "I love you."
"Missed you, too," I laugh, letting him have that kiss. I spot some orange aviators Tara must have left in here. I push them on my face and kick my feet up on the dashboard. "Now, take me home, Grimes Jr!"
The window doesn't open and the fan is broke
And my face is turnin' blue, yeah
I haven't been in a crowd like this
Since I went to see 'The Who'
Well, I should've gotten off a couple miles ago
But I couldn't get to the door
There isn't any room for me to breathe
And now we're gonna pick up more, yeah!
Another one rides the bus
Another comes on and another comes on
Another one rides the bus...
A/N
The song was Another One Rides the Bus by Weird Al Yankovic.