-Carl-

Carl and Rhys were still wearing their sweaty clothes and only needed to pull on their pants and buckle themselves up. They ran out of Rhys' room, down the stairs, crashed through the front door and off the front porch, making it out the front gates in time to see the swarm of rats racing past their feet. Hundreds of them, more likely thousands. All of them heading the same way — running from the same thing. Yumiko sprinted toward them from the fence post she and Kelly were helping raise in a long line of fence posts for Eugene's project. Carl watched as Marco and Luke stomped their feet and yelled at the top of their lungs to try and direct the swarm of rats away from Hilltop's gates.

"It's them," Yumiko panted when she reached them. "The horde's on its way."

Rhys kicked one of the rodents away as it scampered onto his boot, but it only let out a sharp squeak before scampering straight back towards them. Whatever they were running from was far worse than a swift kick. The second barricade of woven wicker that Sasha had ordered built didn't stop them from squeezing past, and it wasn't just the rats. Carl watched flocks of birds flee the trees above them; rabbits and even a boar rushed from the treeline.

Sasha met them after being forced to damn near tackle the boar to keep it out of Hilltop's gates.

"You see it?" she asked, straightening the polished, black steel armour she'd adorned since Carl last saw her.

He shook his head, scanning the treeline with his eye.

"We can't have long," Yumiko warned.

"Gather everyone," Rhys told her. "Get them inside as soon as Eugene's fence is ready."

"It's ready now!" Euegene called as he rushed back towards the gates with Rosita in tow — she struggled to keep up with whatever fueled him back towards the house.

Sasha nodded to Jerry, who put his fingers to the corners of his mouth and let out an ear-piercing whistle.

"Everyone inside!" Jerry roared.

They helped shut the gate. Rhys called up to Marco to move the top bar across while Carl and Jerry lifted the bottom one.

Earl's shack was ready and waiting with armour and weapons for everyone — the quality of that day's work showing through its rushed stitches and bumpy welds.

Rhys went to grab the first leather gambeson he saw, but Earl snatched it away and tossed something else at him. Rhys gazed down at the cuirass that was unique like Sasha's armour was, only his was a brownish-red and made of boiled leather rather than steel. Hilltop's crest was branded on the chest.

"Figured if you need anything heavier than that, you're on the wrong part of the field," Earl told him, handing Jerry his freshly sharpened axe.

"Thank you," Rhys gulped as he gripped the leather tight.

The boys helped each other with the straps on their waists and shoulders that they couldn't reach themselves, grabbing their gloves, knee guards and elbow pads. Carl looked Rhys over, tugging on his armour's collar to make sure it fitted him well.

With what was coming, it felt like they'd suited each other up for their graves.

Rhys kissed Carl's cheek. Carl watched him as his eyes filled with tears.

"I'll find you before it starts," Carl told him, cupping a hand to his cheek.

Rhys left, and Carl watched him walk away. Earl stepped out from behind his table with a sword in hand. He passed it to Carl, who took it, confused. Carl tugged the weapon from its leather scabbard. The steel blade seemed to shine silver — the hilt twisted in red leather.

"It was Enid's," Earl told him.

Carl looked up at the smith, returning the sword to its scabbard. "I didn't know she had one," he said.

Earl shrugged. "Yeah, well, she never used it," he told him. "I made it more for..." he trailed off. "Nevermind. It's yours now."

Carl frowned. "Why give it to me? Not Alden or Rhys?"

"Well, they seem to favour those spears of theirs," Earl told him. "And that machete of yours is long over due an upgrade."

"Thank you, Earl."

He nodded, rubbing a hand against his mouth in thought. "Let's do my girl proud, okay?"

Carl straightened up. "Yes, sir."

As he passed the office, Carl saw Carol standing behind the desk, staring at the six paintings that hung on the wall. The Greene family stared back at her. She didn't let her gaze move from Glenn's portrait, clutching the bow on her shoulder nervously.

Carl hovered in the doorway until one of the floorboards under his boots gave him away.

Carol turned to look.

"I'm sorry," she told him quietly.

Carl hesitated. "I know."

"I shouldn't have—"

"They're alive. Mikey's alive." Carl dipped his head, pinching the bridge of his nose as he told her, "I have to believe that."

"I pushed him too much," Carol murmured. "Changed him."

"What do you mean?"

She shook her head, turning back to Glenn.

"Carol..." Carl said.

"What you said before," Carol said abruptly. "Back in the cave— about not dying there. You think we survived that to die here?"

Carl shook his head. "I think we survived it to be here."

Carol's chin trembled. "Does Rhys hate me for what I did?"

"I don't know," Carl answered honestly.

Carol sniffled, still staring at Glenn's painting. "I thought if I made up for all of it... all the times I hurt him... everything he hated me for. I thought it might have counted for something in the end."

Carl took in a long, deep breath. "Help fix it. Mikey's out there. We'll find him when we're done."

She met his eye with tears in hers. "Thank you, Carl."

Carl nodded, wincing at how sad he was.

Carol turned back the painting, nodding. "I hope he can forgive me."

Carl left her there, finding Daryl and Rhys in the foyer.

"We've spoken with Sasha and Ezekiel," Daryl told him. "Shit's not looking hopeful. If more than one of us goes down out there... the others get the kids out. You good with that?"

Carl glanced at Rhys, who nodded with his jaw tensed.

"Yeah," Carl said. "Yeah, I'm good with that."

Daryl squeezed his shoulder.

"Thank you," Carl said hoarsely. "Both of you."

"They're gonna be okay," Daryl told him.

"We're all going to make sure of it," Rhys added.

Carl reached out and squeezed his hand, following his gaze when it moved over his shoulder, where Judith was walking towards them with a dark wad of folded leather in her arms.

"Hey, Jude," Rhys greeted her.

She smiled at them sadly. She knew what was happening. How grim their odds were. She'd always had that wisdom past her years. Ever since she was little. Carl was so proud of her for it.

"You should be with the other kids," Daryl said.

"I wanna help," she said. "I can fight."

"We know you can," Daryl told her.

"I'm sorry about today," Carl said as he stepped closer, kneeling to place a hand on her shoulder. "You didn't need to see those bodies like that."

"They're just walkers," she said, folding her arms. "I've killed plenty of walkers."

"I know," Carl said gently. "But they weren't just walkers."

Again, she looked sad, but her face was brave. Brave and aimed at him — maybe trying to soak up that sadness for him.

"I'm not scared," she told him.

"I know you're not."

"I am," Rhys told her, suddenly breathless. "A little bit."

"Yeah, me, too," Daryl added. "Just a little bit."

She looked up at them, letting her brave face break a little.

"If I was scared," she said, "maybe I'd be scared for RJ because he's so little."

"Yeah, I get that," Daryl said.

"Maybe I'd be worried about Mom," Judith went on. "Maybe I'd be scared that one of you three would get hurt and I'd lose you. And Aunt Carol, Uncle Aaron, tía Rosita..." She trailed off, her face creasing at the thought.

Daryl nodded. "There ain't no shame in that. You know who you're fightin' for."

Judith looked back at Carl, still on her level, still with his hand on her shoulder. "Are you scared, Carl?"

"Are you going to keep our little brother safe?" he asked her.

She nodded.

"Then fuck no," he chuckled, knocking his fist against her chin. "How could I be?"

Judith smiled. Then she held up the leather she'd been clutching under her arm, unrolling it. Rhys laughed. Carl smiled. Daryl gasped.

His leather vest was in her hands. The tears and rips were sowed up and patched to where it reminded Carl of how it looked years ago. The wing that had been missing for so long was back. Back and blue and beautiful.

"No way," Daryl grunted, taking it and, in one quick motion, flipping it over his head to thread his arm through. He turned around so they could all see. "I love it. How'd I look?"

"It looks good," she chuckled.

"It's fucking awesome," Rhys said.

"Dude, language," Carl hissed, swatting his bicep as he stood beside him.

"You literally just—"

Carl shushed him.

"There's one other thing," Daryl said to Judith. "If during the fight Ezekiel or Sasha come lookin' for you and the other kids... you go with them. Don't matter if you know where any of us are or not. Okay?"

Judith frowned, glancing at Rhys and Carl, who both nodded encouragingly.

"Hey," Daryl said to her. "You gotta promise us."

Judith's mouth opened a few times as she thought. "I promise," she finally answered.

Carl rested his hand on her head like their father often used to do to him, then he took off his hat and put it on her.

Two hours passed like minutes. Carl had helped Aaron organise their ranks outside the front gate. Dozens of soldiers on the trampled herb garden, ready to advance in defence of the second, wicker barricade when the horde arrived.

Carl was searching for his helmet, finding it on the porch bench and almost not spotting Rhys sitting in Hilltop's graveyard. Carol was stood over him, the two talking too quietly for Carl to hear.

Carl walked over with his helmet under his arm, and by the time he reached them, Carol made her leave. She offered Carl a tight-lipped smile as she passed by him and headed for the wall.

Rhys sat beside Glenn and Abraham's graves. A couple over from Jesus and Tara's. He was pressing rounds into a magazine, a rifle across his lap. His fitting leather cuirass wore him better than Carl liked. He looked stronger wearing it, suiting the armour handsomely.

Carl stood where Carol had. "Sasha gave you her rifle?"

Rhys glanced up at him, nodding, then looking back down and loading another bullet into the magazine.

"She won't need it out on the front lines," Rhys said.

Carl patted his hand instinctively against the colt python on his hip.

He winced. "Rhys..."

Rhys looked up at him, his face red from the swampy night's heat.

"What are you thinking right now?" Carl asked breathlessly, the fears of tonight starting to catch up to him.

Rhys looked back to the grass by his crossed legs. "Wondering if they'd be pleased with me."

"Do you think they would be?"

"I don't know," Rhys said quietly. "But tonight... I think tonight is about honouring them."

"I think I've been trying to figure out how to honour the dead my whole life," Carl said.

"We honour them by going on... even when we're scared." Rhys looked back up at him. "And I'm fucking terrified tonight, Carl."

"Me, too."

"Then I think we're doing the right thing," Rhys said nervously. "What are you thinking about?"

Carl swallowed, his breaths still short. "That if I see Daryl or any of the others go down... I won't be able to do my job."

"Carl..."

"I won't be able to leave without you. I won't abandon you a second time."

Rhys clicked the magazine into Sasha's rifle, then stood up, slinging it over his shoulder next to his bow.

"Yes, you will," Rhys told him sternly.

"How could I?" Carl croaked, his chin shaking.

"Because it's RJ and Judith," Rhys told him. "I don't know where Hershel is right now, but if it was him, I would do the same — I will do the same for them if you go down. You're not abandoning me. You will do your job. So will I. We've all got jobs to do."

They kissed. It was like a goodbye kiss. Both of them so scared. Rhys took his hand after, and they walked down the hill together. Carl saw Carol up on the walls with Dianne, Jenny, Yumiko and the rest of their ranged fighters. Rhys went to join them, his fingers slipping from Carl's. Both of them holding on until the last possible second.

Carl put on his helmet as he left the walls and passed Rosita, Sasha, Jerry, and Ezekiel among the other melee fighters behind the shield wall. He felt hands pat his back as he pushed through their forces. But no one spoke. Not a word was uttered when Carl found his place on the front line. Aaron handed him his shield. Still, no one spoke. Carl stood tall, and it was silent.

Not a word was uttered. Every breath was held.

The night was dark and a soft fog had settled.

Kelly dropped her slingshot to crouch and press her palm against the ground. Carl could see the stones between her fingers begin to vibrate.

Kelly nodded at them.

Then, they all started to feel what she had.

The rumble under their feet that grew and grew.

But still, no one spoke.

Not even when Daryl joined them with his morning star.

Not when the trees started to sway, nor when the ground's rumbling became a steady shaking.

Not until they saw the horde for themselves.

The growling became deafening as the dead pushed through the dark and the fog towards them.

Carl heard Jerry crack his neck behind him.

He felt beads of sweat trickle down his own neck.

"FORMATION!" Aaron roared.

They all lifted their shields, ready for the impending doom.

Everyone watched nervously as the first wave hit Eugene's fence — a thick metal wire strung from post to post. Carl could see the sparks as the electricity coursing via the wire burnt through the walkers, their necks and faces melting as they pushed against it until their heads came off. Through the fog, bodies started to drop.

Then they started to pile up.

It lasted a few seconds.

Probably took out at least a hundred, Carl hoped.

But the coils the wires wrapped around puffed with smoke then flame. An explosion of electricity came from the woods where the batteries for the fence were hidden. The wire died, and the posts fell.

"Weapon!" Sasha yelled over the growling that was closed in, and Carl felt slight comfort as he heard the padded sound of steel being pulled from leather a dozen times over behind him. He drew his new sword, and his hand shook.

"Splitting into two!" Aaron commanded. "Can't let them load up. On my command, splitting ranks... and... break!"

Carl led his half to the left as Aaron pulled away from him to the right. Daryl dashed in front of them impatiently, swinging the spiked ball of his morning star over his head as he reached the barricade first.

"Archers!" Yumiko barked from the walls. "Give 'em hell!"

The walkers hit the barricade just as arrows started to rain down on them.

Carl saw Daryl start to flail at the dead with his flying ball of death just as his rank met the barricade and pressed their shields against it in support of the defence.

"Spears!" Carl ordered.

In unison, the shields parted for spear wielders to lunge through and butcher the first wave of dead pressed against the barricade in one devastating volley. Their bodies slumped against the barricade and quickly rolled under the next surge of walkers, all of them promptly meeting the same fate. Alden lunged again and again to his left. Carl felt a rush of air over his head and looked to see rocks begin to launch from their catapults on the walls. Behind the front line of walkers, sections of the crowd were crushed under the flung boulders, with volleys of arrows striking them between each load. Carl could see people in the corner of his eye helping thin out where the shield wall didn't stretch to— Luke, Kelly, Sasha, Mary, Eugene, Rosita, Lydia, the King, Jerry, and everyone else who fought in defence of the Hilltop. Carl held the barricade the best he could against his shield, stabbing his sword around at the skulls behind it at a steady pace.

The work was slow, and the horde didn't seem to shrink.

"The fence isn't going to hold!" Luke shrieked as the barricade started to bend a creak.

With no other option, they kept fighting. Carl bashed his shield as hard as he could against the wall, the groaning wicker starting to scream as it tried to yield. Carl shoved his shoulder against it as it kept bending. More rocks launched over their heads. Arrows rained down. A walker got knocked down onto the barricade from the crowd, and Sasha rushed to take its head off with one fell swoop of her axe.

Then came the rain.

Only this rain was in balloons of pale, rotten skin.

They popped as they crashed against their shields, showering them all in a sticky layer of a strangely familiar smell that reminded him of the forest. Another volley of the balloons flew from over the horde, raining into Hilltop this time.

"It smells like a Christmas tree!" Jerry barked as he split a particularly tall walker at the waist.

"Fuck..." Carl breathed as he smelt the fluid coating his skin and clothes, realising why he knew it. "Pine sap."

He'd used it before. Daryl taught him years ago when they were searching for his dad. One cold night when the fire just wouldn't seem to light.

He'd used it like fucking gasoline.

"Back!" Carl screamed as he saw Daryl doing the same. "Get the fuck back!"

Carl grabbed people's shoulders, hauling them back and ignoring their confusion that started to spread to others. He saw the whizzes of fire in the sky. He yanked Alden back as Jacob, right beside him, caught an arrow to the shoulder. It didn't even take a second. He went up in flames, screaming and crying as he flailed and collapsed into the barricade, sending the whole thing up in flames.

A walker snatched Carl's wrist from across the barrier, and an arrow quickly sunk into its eye before it could take a bite of him. He watched as Brianna took a balloon of sap to the face beside him. Carl dropped his shield to grab her collar and scream at her to move, but a walker crashed into the flaming barricade and sent up a lonely ember that caught her arm. She became fire and pain. Screaming and writhing and melting to the floor in a pile of agony and smoke as she died. Carl tried to let go of her in time, but the moment her unfurling flames hit his hand, it ignited, his whole arm guard catching alight as he howled from the pain. Jerry quickly tore the armguard off him, kicking it back. Carl cradled his arm as it pulsed with the agony he felt, blistering with welts over his burnt flesh. The barricade finally fell, walkers tumbling over it.

"Back!" Aaron roared. "Retreat to the walls!"

Carl pulled Eugene back by the arm just in time to avoid a flaming arrow that struck the dirt beside his boot.

Someone else beside them went up in flames as they retreated to the gate, then another. Through the fire and smoke and dark, Carl couldn't recognise them anymore, no idea as to who was dying beside him.

Before they could reach the gates, another volley of flaming arrows whizzed over their heads.

The gate and walls were engulfed in seconds.

The herb garden caught ablaze.

Everything was on fire.

Carl scanned the walls for Rhys but could only make out the silhouettes of the archers trying to avoid the spreading fire as it leapt its way up the wall towards them. The booming noise of the walkers didn't stop behind them. Carl spun to help hold the horde back — swinging his sword at one that had latched on to Kelly's back.

-Rhys-

The horde below was almost at their walls. Rhys fired arrow after arrow down into the crowd. Jenny's face was already black from the rising smoke, coughing her guts up as she squinted over the wall and nocked her bow. Yumiko tossed a fresh quiver to Carol when she yelled she was out. Earl and Kyle kept loading rocks into the catapults and firing into the encroaching darkness.

None of their efforts slowed the horde.

Rhys lugged the rifle from his shoulder, scanning the horde for Whisperers. He found one a few rows back, putting a round into their shoulder and watching as the walkers swarmed the screaming pretender.

"We need to get the gates open!" Rhys yelled at Yumiko, coughing into his arm as the smoke engulfed them.

"We'll let the horde in!" she yelled, firing an arrow over the wall and re-nocking her bow quickly.

"It's gone," Rhys told her hopelessly. "Hilltop's lost! We don't have to lose them, too."

"It's not!" she cried.

Rhys grabbed her arm and spun her to look at Barrington House. Her face fell when she saw the blaze. Every window was seething with angry fires and black smoke. The building was no more.

Rhys left her to stare, stumbling along the walkway and screaming to the platform on the far side of the gate where Marco was shooting from.

"Help me get it open!"

Marco nodded, dropping his bow to grab the other end of the steel beam that stretched over the gate and help Rhys lift. The metal was scorching, burning into their palms as they lifted. Rhys cried out, but didn't stop. When it finally came off, they threw it from the wall, and the gates swung open.

"Get inside!" Rhys yelled down to whoever was left, cradling his burnt hands.

People started flooding through the gates with the dead on their heels, some trying to shut it again behind them.

An arrow flew past Rhys' head from over the wall. He turned to look, and in another instant, another struck his side. He howled in pain, stumbling backwards and losing his footing, falling down the ladder behind him. Rhys gasped as the floor met his back with a hard blow. He couldn't breathe. He forced himself to sit up as walkers continued to pour through the open gates beside him. One of them grabbed him. He quickly snatched the knife from his hip and drove it up into its neck. Once it dropped, Rhys stumbled to his feet and looked around for anyone living.

"Fight them back!" Ezekiel yelled from somewhere.

Rhys could hardly see five feet before him, thanks to the smoke that poured from every window and door of Barrington House. He hissed through his teeth as he grabbed the arrow still sticking from his side, growling at the pain that surged through his gut as he snapped off the shaft and tossed it to the ground.

Rhys spotted movement. He could see Sasha and a few others as they fought their way backwards up the hill towards the stables. He went after them, clutching his side, only to be stopped by a walker in his way, its feet planted firmly in his path, a knife in its hand. Rhys aimed Sasha's rifle only for someone to tackle him from the side, another Whisperer on top of him and thrusting a blade down into his shoulder.

"Fuck!" Rhys screamed as steel sunk into him.

He threw his fist at the assailant over him, catching their chin and sending them reeling off him with their blade. Rhys quickly snatched one of his own knives from his leg holster, rolling on top of his attacker and stabbing down through their mask. They wheezed — then they were still.

"No!" Rhys heard from behind him, just barely dodging the knife swung at his throat by the second Whisperer. He leapt for the rifle, snatching it up and putting a round in the Whisperer's chest before they could lunge at him again.

Rhys scurried onto his feet, making sure the Whisperer he'd just shot was dead before taking a second to dry heave on the smoke that was filling his lungs. Flaming walkers were surging in from the gates, a few people trying to hold them back and being either consumed or set alight as the horde passed. Rhys stumbled away from it, up the hill, the grass on fire under his boots.

"Carl!" he screamed into the smoke. "Sasha!"

Just as Rhys pointed his rifle at a walker in front of him, a spear jabbed at him from the other side of its head. When the steel tip pulled back out and the walker fell, Mary was before him. He could see her hands shaking, her eyes wet with fear.

"Hey," he coughed, grabbing her shoulder and pulling her away from a walker behind her that lunged, jabbing his knife through its eye. "Have you seen the others? Lydia?"

"Daryl and Sasha were up there," she croaked, pointing a shaky finger towards Barrington House as it continued to burn fiercely. "I told Lydia to run, but she—"

They both spun to face the west wall when they heard it groaning over the deafening roar of the horde. It was a blaze, and in the blink of an eye, it was falling and crushing the stables in an explosion of sparks and splintering timber. Rhys could hear blood-curdling screams from whoever was in its way. He caught Mary's arm when she stumbled back from the horde, momentarily distracted by the breach in the wall.

"We have to get the kids out of the house!" Rhys yelled over the battle.

"No, no, no— I saw Adam! Alden was over there, and this will buy us time. We should—"

"Do what you have to," Rhys barked, dropping her arm and marching towards the horde as they dragged their feet up the hill towards the stables and the house.

Rhys hacked away at the back of heads. Carving into rotted faces when they pivoted to see why their allies were dropping. He spotted Eugene fighting alongside Aaron, only to lose them in the crowd. He was covered in so much blood, Rhys wondered if the dead could even tell him apart from their own anymore. He slipped to his knees in the mud that had been kicked up by the march of the dead, almost at the house. Drenched in wet mud and cold guts, Rhys clambered back to his feet in time to stab a walker that grasped his shoulder with burning hands. Rhys yelped and jumped back from the flames as they caught the side of his neck, singeing his exposed flesh. He staggered, pure adrenaline keeping him on his feet.

Suddenly, he heard a voice he knew.

"Rosita?!" Rhys roared, getting the attention of more dead than he could kill.

Rhys arm-barged his way past two, spotting Rosita in the sand school as she fended off a Whisperer that was closing in on her, another already dead at her feet among a pile of walker corpses. Rhys guessed they were singling out anyone doing too much damage to Alpha's horde — he didn't hesitate to snatch the rifle off his shoulder.

CHOOK!

The Whisperer cried out and collapsed to the ground, clutching his exploded kneecap. Rosita brought down her macuahuitl with a sickening crunch on the Whisperer's head.

The sand school he used to train horses in was now alight with a storm of roaring fire. Rhys kicked down the burning fence and hobbled towards Rosita, grabbing onto her and asking if she was okay.

"Manito," she gasped, "you're bleeding!"

"The kids," Rhys cried at her when he realised she was okay. "They're upstairs!"

After Rosita's boot made quick work of the front door, an explosion of smoke flooded past them, blinding them the moment they entered.

"Rosita?!" Rhys choked, flailing his arm in search of her as the hot air burnt his eyes and filled his lungs.

"Here!"

He found her hand somewhere, somehow, gripping it, letting her pull him further into the ablaze foyer. It stank of burning carpets and melted door handles. Rhys squinted, managing to make out the bottom of the stairs. His eyes travelled up to where the chandelier swung, flames spitting out from its limbs as it groaned above them.

"In my room!" Rhys yelled into the side of her head. "The kids are upstairs!"

They made it to the bottom of the warped wooden steps together. Only together. Rhys might have thought they were the last two people alive, if it wasn't for the screams coming from outside. Rosita clutched at a gash on her leg that Rhys had only just noticed. He didn't have time to ask if it was a bite. They hung onto each other in fear of losing the other to Barrington's smoking guts, climbing the grand staircase and traversing the halls Rhys was glad he knew blindfolded.

Thankfully, the smoke wasn't as thick upstairs. Rhys found the door to his room, burning his hand on the superheated doorknob.

Rosita stumbled backwards until her back hit the far hallway wall. "Back up," she warned.

Rhys barged in after she kicked it down, tripping over his bedsheets that had been tightly stuffed at the foot of the door to keep the smoke at bay.

"Rhys!" Judith cried, lowering the pistol Carl had given her before the fight, all the other kids cowering behind her. She and RJ crashed into his arms.

"Is everyone here?" Rosita barked from the doorway, seemingly trying to block the smoke from flooding the room and failing.

"We're... all- all here," Judith said, fragile coughs breaking up her words.

Rosita grimaced at her. Before Rhys could ask what she was doing, Rosita grabbed the bedsheets from the floor and tore them into pieces, snatching up the jug of water set atop the dresser and dousing the fabric. She handed one to RJ and Judith, then to Gracie, Ezra, Aliyah, and the other kids.

"Keep them over your faces, okay?" Rosita told them, pushing one of the wet scraps into Rhys' hand before covering her own mouth. "Everyone stay close and follow me."

Rosita led them out of the room, holding Gracie's hand, followed by the rest, ending with Judith. Rhys stayed at the back, making sure no one was left behind.

They had to go the long way around to reach the staircase, since the landing they came across had been swallowed by the flames in the time they'd taken. As they descended the stairs into the pit of smoke below, Rhys could see the faint light of the front door, getting ready for the fresh air, only for something bony and hairy to scamper between his legs and shoot into the office.

"Pumpkin!" Judith yelled, running after the cat, only for Rhys to grab her arm and yank her back. "We have to get him!"

Rhys saw that the others had already vanished out the door.

"Go find Rosita," he grunted, pulling her into his and squeezing a smokey cough from her. "I'll get him."

Rhys saw the fear in her eyes, but Judith nodded and vanished out the front door.

The air in Maggie's old office was fairly breathable when Rhys barged in, slamming the door shut behind him to keep it that way.

"Fucking cat," he groaned, pressing his back to the warped wood of the heated door and scanning the room.

It might have been the heat, or it could have been the smoke, or even the fact his home was burning back to the ground they'd raised it from, but Rhys' feet seemed to fail him. His back slid down the door until he hit the floor. He pressed a hand to aching side, realising how much blood was pouring from his wound. He shut his eyes for a second — only a second. When they opened, the bookcases around him were engulfed in flames. The window panes black with soot and glowing orange from the fires inside and out. Rhys' eyes went down to the cat clinging to his lap.

"Benjamin was right about you," Rhys groaned, gripping the cat's scruff before he could scamper away. "Sweet as pumpkin pie."

He hauled himself to his feet, stuffing Pumpkin down the front of his leather cuirass and patting his soot-covered head when he stuck it out and yowled up at him.

"I know," Rhys gagged as smoke started to fill the office, too. "I know."

Before Rhys left, he stumbled his way to the desk, still pushed to the side of the room from the meeting. He quickly yanked open one of the drawers and fumbled around for the leather tube that had been hidden away in there for a long, long time. On his way to the door, Rhys stepped on something, glass crunching under his boot. He saw the painting staring up at him. He snatched it up and quickly pushed it into the leather tube with the rest of his sentiment, slinging it onto his back.

Rhys took a step towards the door, but his feet really did give out this time. He crashed into the desk. His head cracked against the oak. Everything slipped into blackness. Pumpkin screeched from under his cuirass.

The next time Rhys' eyes opened, Daryl's mouth was on his, like he was kissing him. Only, he wasn't kissing him. Rhys' eyes went wide as air was being pushed painfully into his lungs. He lurched up, accidentally head-butting Daryl, before retching up bile and puking all over the floor and himself, coughing and gasping as he tried to apologise to the cat still attached to his chest, having gotten vomit on him. Before Rhys could speak, Daryl was hauling him to his feet.

"Where's—" Rhys groaned as they staggered to the main foyer and out of the burning building.

"Sasha's with Earl, Ezekiel, and the kids," Daryl grunted, flailing his morning star up at a walker that stumbled towards them as they came off the porch, blasting through its chin and cranium. "Carl went with Rosita to look for Judith."

"Judith?" Rhys cried out, his lungs burning like stoked logs in his chest. "She didn't—"

"They'll find her," Daryl barked.

The horde was still as prevalent as it was, dominating the Hilltop from the smith shack to the stables. The walls were burning. The trailers were raging with fire. Enid's clinic and the graveyard burned. Rhys could see the dogpile at the front gate. Hundreds of walkers piled on top of each other. More clambered past the gaps on either side.

Hilltop was gone.

It wasn't long before Daryl's arm slipped from Rhys' middle to fight a walker, and they lost sight of each other, both swallowed by the chaos.

Rhys stumbled onward, so turned around that he had no idea where he was going. He only knew he had to keep going.

It was Earl he found. Beating pulp from the skull of what must have been a Whisperer with a hammer. Judith was behind him.

"Guys," Rhys groaned, as he called out to them.

Earl's face was grim, tears in the wrinkled corners of his sunken eyes.

"We have to go," he croaked. "I've got the other little ones. Told them to wait with Ezekiel past the back gate."

"We have to help!" Judith yelled at him.

"Help who?" he retorted, helping Rhys when he staggered. "We're the only ones still here. We have to go!"

A/N

Rest in peace to the Hilltop Colony, MVP community.