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lunagb · 10 months

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A Plague of Sleet and Rot (ASoIaF x Walking Dead fanfic)

CHAPTER 4: Lads

Masterlist

Time Frame: Atlanta Arc - Post Rick’s Coma

Featured Characters: Jon Snow, Rick Grimes, Glenn Rhee, Daryl Dixon, Guillermo, Miguelito

Warnings: Graphic bloody violence, vivid descriptions of gore, death-related trauma, ptsd, flashback episodes

Summary: Jon Snow awakens on a highway outside Atlanta, Georgia with only faint fleeting memories of his last day on the wall. This totally alien world shocks him to his core but he's given a beacon of guidance through it when he spots a man on a horse approaching him. Together Rick Grimes and Jon Snow will set out, looking for Rick's lost family and Jon's lost land. After all, The Wall needs its Lord Commander.

[Art above is a piece by Art.of.Azrael. You can support them here: https://linktr.ee/Art.of.Azrael ]

Any notes are appreciated!

The summer sun stared back at Jon, hot and wrathful; it mocked him.

“How pathetically weak I am. Would most not jump at a second life? Would most not fall to their knees to profess their love and faith in whoever or whatever had spared them from the eternal void? That is what it is, is it not; the great beyond? Nothing. No ancestors. No loved ones. Only the cold embrace.

Lies unite all Gods, old and new, east and west, weak and strong; false idols the lot of them. I have seen the truth of the matter. What lies beyond the mortal world is the cold embrace of an eternal void. Utterly indescribable and unimaginable. A place that lacks an experience.

Truly, how is one to imagine nothing? And how is it that I am able? A curse is what it is; second life. A cruel jape. A mockery.

I am Jon Snow no longer. He died at the hands of his brothers on a fiercely cold night; foolish, scared, betrayers. I am a pretender; a spectre. I walk amongst the living making a mummer’s farce of life. If I had any respect for the lives of my forgotten, distant world and this dead and dying one, I would have stepped off of the roof without a moment’s hesitation.

Yet, I am a coward. So I go on living.”

“Jon.” The boy shook him again.

The puffed, red eyes of his boyish face lingered over Jon, wet and welling. While the brother and the father sat far apart up, panting, heaving and bloodied with swollen, cut-riddled faces.

“Jon. Come on, man. Speak to me.” The boy shook him violently this time.

The summer sun was so bright, it stung Jon’s eyes. So hot, it cooked him alive. Hopefully, it would do what he could not; end his mockery.

“He’s gone.” The brother spat blood.

“No, he still has a pulse,” The boy said.

“His mind ain’t.”

“That doesn’t even make sense, dude.”

“You know what I mean.”

“We’re wastin’ time,” The father said.

“Damn right. We should be out there lookin’ for Merle. Who knows how far he’s got by now? Probably in worse shape than this prick too,” The brother said.

“No, your brother is either dead or long gone,” The father said.

“Yeah? How you figure, pig?”

“That blood,” The father spoke through gritted teeth, “is all dried. He’d have to of done that to himself long before we got here. Probably last night, if I had to guess.”

“Why do you reckon he even did it?” The boy asked. “I mean, he was safe up here. The boards hadn’t broken. He had plenty of water. I get he was high but coke doesn’t make you cut your hand off.”

The brother spat.

“Wasn’t coke.”

“It wasn’t?” The father asked.

“Does Merle look like he can afford to be a coke guy? Naw, it was crack.”

“But I found coke on him,” The father said.

“Merle sold coke. He didn’t do it. He ain’t that stupid.”

“Stupid enough to do crack.”

The brother spat again.

“Never said he was perfect. God dammit, man! Did you have to knock my fuckin’ tooth out?! Shit won’t stop bleedin’.”

Jon wished they’d just go. They had their own people to worry about. Truly they were foolish to squabble over a spectre.

“Come on,” The father grunted, “Let’s get him up.”

“And take him to the truck?” The boy asked.

“Yeah. Then we’ll go get the guns and head back.”

“Ain’t he wearin’ armour? How the hell are we gonna carry him in that?” The brother asked.

“We’ll take it off,” Rick said.

“Gonna be hard. He won’t move,” The boy said.

The brother spat.

“I’ll make him move.”

Footsteps approached Jon.

“Whoa, no! Stop!” The boy yelled.

Daryl kicked Jon hard in the ribs and cried out.

“Fuck! What the hell?! God fucking dammit, my foot!”

“I told you, dude… he’s wearing chainmail.”

Jon sighed.

“Just leave me.”

“No way, dude. Come on, stop being stupid,” The boy said.

“The hell you so upset for anyhow? Ain’t your brother who cut off his hand!” The brother yelled.

Daryl kicked Jon hard in the side of his head. His head spun and piercing pain stabbed his ear. For a single, fleeting, maddening moment, the cold embrace’s long and reaching talons returned to close around him.

Jon screamed and scrambled. Tears streamed down his face. Sobs caught in his throat. He pressed his back up against the same pipe that’d held Merl. Merle’s dried blood touched his hand and the world sharpened.

Rick, Glenn and Daryl all stood over him. Glenn looked about on the verge of tears as he looked at Jon the way one looks at a dying puppy. A disgusted sneer plastered Daryl’s rugged, busted face. A fierce gaze pierced through Rick’s swollen, bloodied features to bare down on Jon with a heat far greater than any summer sun. He marched up to Jon, knelt before him and grabbed him by the shoulders.

“You listen to me. Every second you waste here is another second my wife and son could be getting ripped apart by walkers. I get it’s hard. We’re all struggling but you need to get your shit together. If not for yourself then for all the innocent people back at camp.”

The thought of a lad as young as Carl – as young as Bran – being swallowed up by the cold embrace filled Jon with a dread so great it dragged him to his feet as if he were little more than a mummer’s puppet. His heart thrashed like a caged beast and pounded in his ears.

“Forgive me. I-I do not know what came over me. This world, its life, it had plagued me with a madness indescribable.”

Rick squeezed his shoulder.

“You’re not alone, okay? This new world has taken a lot from all of us. Don’t let it take anymore.”

A pit formed in Jon’s stomach as tears, once again, forced themselves into his eyes. He wiped them away and nodded.

“O-Okay.”

Glenn sighed with relief and Daryl just spat again.

“Any of y’all got a cloth or somethin’?” Daryl asked.

Glenn reached into his pocket and handed Daryl a patterned square of cloth. Daryl snatched it up, knelt, and picked up Merle’s hand. He folded the cloth over the hand, tied it up, unzipped Glenn’s bag and tossed it inside. Glenn cringed but made no complaint. Rick picked up the bloody saw and tossed it in the bag too. Daryl slung his crossbow over his shoulder and turned towards the roof’s ladder.

“I’m gonna find him,” he said.

Rick stepped in front of him and put a hand on his chest.

“Get your hands off me! You can’t stop me!”

“He’s family, I get it. I don’t blame you. I know how you feel. But we can come back to look for him later. He won’t get far like that. He’ll be easy to track. We gotta focus on gettin’ those guns back to camp.”

“Screw them. Why should I give a shit?”

Rick took a handful of Daryl’s collar.

“There are innocent people. Women. Children. They need our help. Without those guns, they’ll die. All of them. Slow, gruesome deaths. I need your help to stop that. I promise we’ll come back for Merle again.”

Daryl shook Rick off, puffed his chest and flashed a scowl. He paced back and forth, muttering and shaking his head. Then, clenched his jaw and stared daggers into Rick’s eyes.

“God dammit, fine! Fine. But if we find him dead and walkin’, I swear to shit, man.”

“Thank you, brother.” Rick squeezed Daryl’s shoulder.

Daryl shook him off and marched back towards the stairwell.

“Come on then. How the hell do we get to those guns, Glenn?” Daryl asked.

Rick, Jon and Glenn all look at each other before hurrying after him.

“We’ll need a plan. The tank’s pretty deep in the city centre. Who knows if the geeks are still there?”

“The fuck you mean, tank?”

***

The four of them were gathered in a loose circle in one of the building’s backrooms. On the floor, despite lacking an inkwell, Glenn had drawn a crude map of the surrounding, ‘city blocks,’ as he called them, with some kind of strange, featherless quill. Rick stood over the map, hands on hips.

“You’re not doing this alone,” Rick said.

“Even I think it’s a bad idea and I don’t like you much,” Daryl said.

Jon fidgeted. After everything, he felt a little ashamed to speak critically, but the absurdity of what Glenn had said compelled him to do so anyway.

“I, uh, don’t really see this going well.”

“It’s a good idea! Okay? If you just hear me out,” Glenn said, sitting on the floor.

Rick sighed and crouched beside him.

“If we go out there in a group, we’re slow. Not even mentioning the fact you two idiots just kicked the crap out of each other, and you’re in armour. If I’m alone, I can move fast.”

Jon, Rick and Daryl shot each other doubtful looks.

“Look,” Glenn huffed.

Glenn placed the strange, featherless, inkless quill on the map.

“This is the tank. It’s five blocks from here.” Glenn placed a screwed-up piece of paper beside the quill. “This is the bag of guns and here’s the alley I met Jon and Rick in. That’s where Daryl and I will go.”

“Why me?”

“Your crossbow is quieter than their guns.”

Daryl pursed his lips and joined them around the map.

“While Daryl waits here, I’ll run up the street and grab the bag.”

“And Jon and I? What do we do?” Rick asked.

Glenn placed a white, rubber rectangle on the map.

“You wait here.”

“Two blocks away? Why?” Rick asked.

“I might not be able to come back the same way. Walkers might cut me off. If that happens I won’t go back to Daryl. I’ll go forward instead. All the way around to that alley where you guys are. If the walkers haven’t left that part of the city, whichever way I go I’ll have you in both places to cover me. And if they’re gone, no harm done, right?”

Rick exhaled sharply and ran his fingers through his hair. Daryl clicked his tongue and stared at the map intently. Jon simply shrugged.

“It’s a good plan.”

Rick nodded and stood, and Daryl squinted at Glenn.

“Hey kid, what’d you do before all this?” Daryl asked.

Glenn smirked.

“Delivered pizzas.”

***

By the time they’d travelled five blocks deeper into the city, the gurgled cries of the dead tore through the air once again. Jon and Rick raced through the alleys, guns raised, covering each other’s backs. They ducked behind whatever was available: Huge, stinking, metal containers, abandoned cars, open doors; anything to keep out of sight from the dead. The rotting corpses, shambled about purposelessly, only moving with any vigour when they happened to spot either Jon or Rick. Mindful of Needle’s thunder, Jon refrained from firing it, opting instead to deal with any walkers that got too close with his dagger. However, he didn’t dare sheath Needle in favour of Longclaw. Keeping the dead beyond arms reach, if needed, would be best, Jon knew.

Eventually, Jon and Rick reached their marked position without having to kill more than a handful of walkers. They took cover behind another one of the stinking containers and peered out of the end of the alley. Sure enough, two blocks away were the tank and the hoard that surrounded it. The hoard had thinned. No longer did the walkers stand shoulder to shoulder, pavement to pavement. Instead, they shambled back and forth aimlessly, leaving enough room to run by them if one was quick enough. Jon prayed Glenn was. The slew of corpses left behind by Jon and Rick previously still remained, decomposing in the street, heads blasted and decapitated. Jon kept a tight grip on Needle.

Time weighed heavily on Jon’s mind as they waited for Glenn to appear with bated breath until suddenly, Glenn darted from around the corner towards the tank. The dead mobilised against him. A corpse reached for him. He skirted by it, narrowly dodging its grasp. However, doing so threw him into another rotting grasp. Glenn screamed and shoved the corpse away. The walker swung at him as it fell but missed his face by an inch. Glenn bolted for the tank as the dead came at him from all directions.

“I should have given him Longclaw,” Jon hissed.

“Quiet, he’ll be fine,” Rick hissed back.

Glenn snatched up the bag and Rick’s lost hat and scurried back towards Daryl. Suddenly a yell echoed through the streets from Daryl’s direction.

“Ayumade!” A shrill voice shouted.

Jon and Rick shot each other worried looks

“Ayumade! Ayumade!”

Rick’s face hardened. Jon nodded and they ran back down the alley.

“Ayuma-”

Jon and Rick ran around a corner. More yelling of more voices filled the air. The dead began to stir around them, gurgling and hissing. Jon and Rick rounded another corner. The roar of a car’s engine echoed. The dead wailed, and then so did the living. As an unknown voice screamed. Glenn’s voice bounced around the concrete jungle.

“Daryl! Daryl! Don’t let them take me!”

The car’s engine roared again and faded away.

“Get back here! You sons of bitches!

Jon and Rick rounded the final corner and entered Daryl’s alley. He was pointing his crossbow at a young, tanned lad. He was on his back, wide-eyed and scrambling backwards on his scrawny arms and legs. Rick pushed Daryl back just as he looked about to fire and blocked him with his body. The bag of guns laid discarded behind Daryl, along with Rick’s hat.

“I’m gonna kick your nuts up in your throat!” Daryl yelled and pushed back on Rick.

Jon seized the lad by the collar of his sleeveless, stained shirt and slammed him against the alley wall. He pressed his forearm against the lad’s neck firmly enough to trap him but not enough to choke him, and kept Needle pointed at his feet. The lad squirmed and tears rolled down his cheeks.

“Ayumade! Ayumade!” He screamed.

“Calm down,” Jon hissed.

“Ayumade!”

“They took Glenn!” Death festered in Daryl's eyes. “That little bastard and his little homie friends!” Daryl pointed at the lad and pushed on Rick. “I’m gonna stomp your ass!”

“The dead surround us!” Jon yelled over Daryl.

The metal wire fence gate at the end of the alley had a small collection of walkers pressed against it. They reached through the gaps with flailing arms and reaching fingers. Rot oozed down the gate. Rick looked at them over his shoulder. He grabbed Daryl by the arm and pointed down the alley with his gun.

“Get to the store! Go.”

Jon nodded, seized the lad’s arm and dragged him down the alley. Rick snatched up his hat and the bag of guns and ran after Jon with Daryl in tow.

***

Jon dragged the lad for five blocks past stinking containers and putrid, shambling corpses. He fired Needle without a second thought, unloading its magazine into the converging dead until they arrived back at the store. He dragged the lad, kicking and screaming into the backroom with the map and threw him onto a chair. The lad jumped out of the chair but Jon pushed him back down and pressed Needle against the lad’s chest.

“Calm down, lad.”

“I heard it click! Wey!” The lad spat in Jon’s face.

Jon wiped his face and stood over the lad, firm and tall. He resisted the urge to put his dagger to the lad’s throat – the lad was little older than ten and two – and instead spoke in a low, soft voice.

“The man with the crossbow will be here soon. He isn’t as nice as me. Maybe the other one will stop him from killing you, maybe he won’t. I will if you calm down.”

The lad shrank back in his chair just in time for Rick and Daryl to barge in.

“The people you were with,” Rick said.

Daryl tried to push past him but Rick held him back.

“We need to know where they went.”

The lad looked from Jon to Rick to Daryl with wide, fearful eyes. But, stupidly, they hardened and he stuck out his jaw.

“I ain’t telling you nothing! Wey!”

“This little turd and his douche-bag friends jumped me and took Glenn!” Daryl pushed on Rick again but Rick kept him at bay.

“You’re the one who jumped me, puto. Screaming about his brother like it's my damn fault,” the lad said.

“They took Glenn! Could have taken Merle too!” Daryl yelled.

The lad laughed, a fake laugh, a scared laugh.

“Merle? What kind of hick name is that? I wouldn’t name my dog that.”

Daryl thrashed to get past Rick with all his might. Rick shoved him back into a wall.

“Dammit, Daryl! Back off!”

“Argh!”

Daryl started pacing back and forth while eyeing the lad like a starving dog. Then, crossed the room and opened Glenn’s backpack.

“Wanna see what happened to the last guy that pissed me off?” Daryl asked.

Daryl threw Merle’s bloody hand into the lad’s lap. The lad screamed and threw himself out of the chair, sobbing. He backed up against a wall and Daryl jumped on top of him with the bloody saw in hand.

“How about we start with the feet this time?!” Daryl yelled.

Jon and Rick rushed over and dragged Daryl off. Jon restrained Daryl while Rick crouched before the lad.

“The people you were with took our friend. All we want to do is talk to them, see if we can work something out.”

The lad nodded frantically.

“I’ll take you. I’ll take you. Just please… don’t hurt me.”

As the lad began to cry, Jon watched Daryl’s face soften for a fleeting moment.

***

Daryl had called it, ‘the worse plan he’d ever heard,’.

“Fuckers are just gonna shoot y’all. Scumbags won’t give a fuck about some rat kid,” He had said.

Yet, Jon and Rick stood before the large, run-down, brick building anyway. A huge steel door, nearly as wide as the building itself loomed over them. They stood on either side of the lad, guns ready. Rick was brandishing a shotgun – an arm-long gun – while Jon wielded Needle. Jon had thought Longclaw would have been far more intimidating but Rick had insisted the opposite and topped up his ammo from the bag. In his other hand, Rick held the bag of guns. He’d donned his hat with the wide brim and golden star. The lad fidgeted and shuffled.

“Just give them a sec. Guillermo will show,” he said, again.

Before them the large, metal door, which looked like a steel drawbridge turned side-wards, suddenly began to trundle to the side. The clunking of steel filled the air and the door opened to reveal a small army of scrawny, tanned men, all brandishing guns.

Not men, Jon realised near immediately. Lads. All of them.

Each and every one of them was green boys, no older than ten and five. All except one. One lad who looked about Jon’s age stepped forward. Long, greasy black hair hung past his shoulders and patchwork facial hair strapped his lip and chin. He eyed Rick and Jon with a wild gaze that Jon doubted almost at once. He was like the wildling boys who sneered as they passed through Castle Black’s gate, too proud to show thanks and too scared to cry.

Besides the older lad were two others. A tall, lanky lad with a dopey-eyed gaze and a bald head, brandishing a shotgun and no older than ten and five. And the only fat lad who had a huge bandage on his ass and in his hands held a yellow crossbow bolt. He tossed it to Jon’s feet.

“Where’s the puto with the crossbow?!” He yelled.

The oldest lad put a hand on his chest and the fat lad averted his gaze and stepped back.

“You okay, little man?” The oldest lad asked.

“They were gonna cut my feet off, Guillermo!”

The tall, dopey-eyed lad snickered.

“Estúpido,” he said.

“Do cops do that little man?” Guillermo asked.

“No… but-”

“You gonna cut his feet off?” Guillermo asked Rick.

“Not him! Some redneck hick, man! Cut off some dude’s hand and showed it to me,” the lad said.

“And where is this redneck, hm?” Guillermo asked.

“I saw the puto, he’s the one who shot me with an arrow. Where is he, huh?! Too scared to face me?!” The fat lad, who was no older than ten and three, yelled.

“Hey chill ese, chill,” Guillermo touched the fat lad’s shoulder.

Guillermo cocked his head at Rick.

“This true?”

Rick stared at the small army of lads with a baffled look.

“Uh, yeah. It is.”

“You want Miguelito’s feet?”

“N-No, that’s not-”

“We were hoping for a calm discussion,” Jon said.

Guillermo looked Jon up and down.

“Your eye. A walker do that?”

“No. The scar is old.”

“And the sword? Is it real?”

“Very.”

Guillermo gummed his lips and considered Jon for a moment before scowling.

“Your hillbilly jumps Felipe’s little cousin, beats on him, threatens to cut off his feet, Felipe gets an arrow in the ass and you want a calm discussion? Where is he anyway?”

“Heat of the moment. Mistakes were made, on both sides,” Rick said.

“He bust your face up to? Hope so. Be pretty embarrassing if it was Miguelito. Or was it Dungeons and Dragons, here?”

“Heat of the moment too.”

Guillermo looked Rick up and down, then looked back to his lads. They all brandished the scowls and sneers of scared boys, Jon knew.

“We just want our ally back,” Jon said, gently.

“We have one of yours, you have one of ours. We can sort this out,” Rick said.

Suddenly, despite being told explicitly not to, Daryl poked his head up over the edge of the surrounding rooftop, rifle in hand.

“You got my brother Merle, little bastard?!”

The fat lad and lanky lad went wide-eyed and stepped back but Guillermo simply squinted at Rick.

“That your hillbilly? Looks like a runt, mongrel. You let him threaten you Miguelito?”

Guillermo looked at the lad, who clenched his jaw and looked away.

“I don’t know.” Guillermo stuck out his jaw. “I don’t think it’s fair, vejestorio. Don’t sound like an even trade to me.”

Miguelito laughed awkwardly.

“G. Come on, man.”

“My people got attacked!” Guillermo puffed out his chest and began pacing back and forth. “Where’s the compensation?!” He eyed the bag of guns. “I want my guns!”

“It ain’t yours. We need it more than you but we’re willing to give you a few rifles, no more than three, no ammo,” Rick said.

“Half the guns. Half the ammo,” Guillermo said.

“A hoard of walkers is gonna arrive at my people’s camp any day now, we need these guns,” Rick said.

“Then move! Run away! The hell you doing here if you’re in so much danger? Huh?!”

“We’ve got children. No older than eight or nine. They need these guns,” Jon said.

Guillermo stopped pacing. He dodged Jon’s eyes and his face softened for a fleeting moment. Then, it hardened and he faced his lads.

“I’m feeling generous!” He announced. “I’ll take only a third of the guns and half the ammo.”

As the lads grinned among themselves, Guillermo quickly moved close to Rick and Jon and whispered.

“Come inside, I need to show you something.”

Rick and Jon looked at each other doubtfully, but when Guillermo began to walk back inside, they followed.

“Come on, Daryl!” Rick yelled.

“Yeah, call your mutt,” the fat lad, Felipe, said with a sneer.

Jon and Rick passed through the wide door inside the mossy, brick building and entered an utterly chaotic world. Children, girls and boys, all ran about a large, open stone space. Their playful screams and shouts echoed all around Jon off of barren brick walls and a cracked stone floor. Guillermo picked up a bucket and a pipe and started banging them together.

“Everyone out! Back to your rooms!”

Complaints rained in from all directions.

“Anyone who ain’t out of here by the count of three gets only canned peas for dinner! One!”

The children screamed and scurried away, emptying the huge open space in a matter of seconds. Muffled screaming echoed from a stairwell to the right of the entrance. Two lads dragged out a gagged and bound Glenn. Silver tape covered his mouth and bound his wrists.

“Cut him loose,” Guillermo said.

A lad brandished a knife, cut free Glenn’s wrists and tore the tape from his mouth. The lad, who looked to be about ten and two, shoved Glenn towards Rick and Jon. Jon nudged Miguelito’s back and he scurried over to the rest of the lads. Guillermo turned to his lads.

“You too, all of you out of here.”

“But, G,” Felipe began.

“Now!”

They all looked around at each other before nodding, lowering their weapons and disbanding. As Miguelito went to follow them, Guillermo caught his arm.

“Not you.”

Daryl joined them as the lads left.

“You good, man? They hurt you?” he asked Glenn.

“N-No. I’m good.”

“Where are the adults?” Rick asked.

Miguelito scowled but Guillermo just frowned.

“I’ll show you.”

“Wait. I can’t accept your offer. A third is too much.”

“No, that was just for the vatos. To look strong, you know? I’ll take your offer. Three guns, but I want at least enough ammo for two magazines each.”

“G?! What the hell, man. You gonna let these gringos screw us?” Miguelito asked.

Guillermo whacked the back of his shaven head.

“Who you yelling at, huh?!” He whacked him again. “Why’d you go stealing from these men?!” He whacked him again. “Huh?!”

“Ahh! Chill, G, chill!”

Guillermo said something in the language Jon couldn’t understand that made Miguelito’s face drop.

“O-Okay, I’m sorry,” he said.

Guillermo nodded and then looked at Rick.

“Well, how’s that sound?”

Rick chewed his lip.

“I guess that works.”

Daryl huffed and folded his arms.

“Don’t deserve nothin’.”

“Come, let’s do the deal someplace nicer.”

Guillermo headed for a door on the far side of the huge open space and gestured for them to follow. Miguelito chased after him. Cautiously, Jon followed. Rick followed him, Glenn followed Rick and Daryl followed Glenn. Daryl kept his crossbow raised with a tight grip.

***

Guillermo led them through mouldy halls, past run-down rooms and out into a lush, heavenly garden. A lattice archway covered a winding, stone path. Bushes, shrubs and hedges lined the path and flowers of all sorts of colours decorated them. At the end of the winding path was a small, ornate white building. On its lattice porch sat an old man. He beamed at them and waved. It all was nearly as beautiful as Winterfell’s Godswoods. All it was missing was a weretree. Jon put that out of his mind. The thought of home only reminded him of the cold embrace. He forced an image of Carl, Sophia and the other children being consumed by it rather than him. His stomach churned and a pulse of determination flooded through him.

Jon passed through the modest entrance of the white building and was hit with a pungent smell that burned his nose, not the way rot did, but the way a strong perfume might. The kind Sansa used to wear. But the scent lacked the sweetness of perfume and was instead bleak and harsh. Through the entrance was a hall flanked by pristine, white walls and carpeted with a fluffy grey carpet. Rick and Glenn looked around with awe in their eyes, while Daryl kept a sharp gaze and his crossbow sights glued to the many doorways that lined the walls. A tiny old woman with bags under her eyes waddled down the hall, waving.

“Guillermo! Guillermo!” She yelled.

“Abuela, we have guests,” Guillermo said gently.

“Guillermo, it's Mr Gilbert! He needs his medicine! His asthma!”

Guillermo’s eyes widened and he took off running down the hall.

“Hey!” Daryl yelled and took off after him.

As to ensure he didn’t do anything stupid, Jon took off after him with Rick and Glenn in tow. The hall led them into a large room with white walls and grey carpet. Tables, steel and crude, were scattered about. Sitting at them were ancient men and women who must have seen countless name days. Some played games, some wandered about and some gathered around a radio; a device similar to a walkie, Jon had been told. One man, who must have been Mr Gilbert, sat on a chair, coughing and clutching his throat. He was surely dead, Jon knew in his heart of hearts.

Guillermo ran to a cabinet, flung open a drawer and retrieved a plastic, pipe-looking thing. He pushed it into Mr Gilbert’s mouth and the old man inhaled into it. His coughing stopped and his hands lowered. His weathered, tired eyes beamed at Guillermo.

“Gracias, mijo,” he said in a raspy voice.

Guillermo smiled and patted the man’s hand.

Jon stared, astounded. The magic of this world was truly strong.

Daryl’s hardened gaze had vanished as he looked around the room. He lowered his crossbow and eyed Guillermo.

“You take care of them?”

“I try. I’m no doctor though. I try to find the medicine they need but their charts are all outdated. Some aren’t even filled out properly. We just feed them and protect them. All of us. They’re like us, forgotten. We stick together.”

“Forgotten?” Jon asked.

Guillermo nodded past Jon.

“Me and my boys, we all grew up together. Orphans, all of us. When the world went to shit, no one came for us. Not that anyone gave a shit before. We’ve been running our own shit in secret for years. Called ourselves Atlanta’s Vatos. When everything went to shit we came across this place, and we found them abandoned too. Now, we’re called Atlantas’s Olvidado. The guns … my boys just wanted to protect the old folks and the kids. They meant well. They just got a bit stupid, didn’t you?!”

Guillermo raised his hand to whack Miguelito but when he flinched, he grinned and laughed. Abuela walked up to Rick, craned her neck to look him in the eyes and scowled.

“Don’t you take my Guillermo. He’s a good boy!”

“Ma’am?” Rick asked.

“He’s a good boy! Not a troublemaker, you have the wrong boy!”

A deep sadness plagued Rick’s face. He choked as he spoke.

“Ma-Ma’am I’m not here to arrest Guillermo.”

Abuela squinted.

“Then why you come?”

Rick placed the bag of guns on a table.

“I’m here to give him some guns. To help keep you safe,” Rick said.

“Guns? For what?” Abuela asked.

“Abuela, why don’t you go make our guests some tea?” Guillermo said softly.

Her eyes, hidden behind wrinkled folds brightened.

“Oh! Yes, of course!”

She waddled away across the room, paused, looked around and sat down at a table smiling. Rick retrieved five guns from the bag; three rifles and two handguns. Then, three boxes of ammo.

“Half the guns, half the ammo,” Rick said.

“No, man. Come on, you’ve got kids to protect,” Guillermo said.

“So do you.”

Guillermo’s eyes welled for just a moment before he wiped them and inhaled sharply through his nose.

“Thanks, man.” He stuck out a hand to Rick.

“Don’t mention it.”

Rick shook his hand and Guillermo pulled him in. He hugged Rick and patted him hard on the back. After the hug, he grinned at Glenn and Daryl.

“No hard feelings right?”

Glenn shook his head.

“No, dude I get it.”

Daryl grunted and avoided his eyes.

“Miguelito, apologise to the nice men,” Guillermo said and raised his hand.

Miguelito flinched.

“S-Sorry!”

“For?”

“Sorry for trying to steal from you and kidnapping you!”

Guillermo lowered his hand. Miguelito relaxed and Guillermo whacked his head.

***

Jon walked with the group through the now empty streets back to the rail yard. He kept a hand on Needle in its holster and an eye on the alleys, but everything was deathly quiet. The long walk had given him another rare moment to contemplate.

“A spectre, I might be but dying all over again does no one any good. The people who once relied upon me can no longer, but there are new people who do. Their lives, like all lives, are equal. To value my lost people over these ones is far more selfish than any act of weeping. Truly, I have acted no better than a fool. To think, I regarded them as mere children. The audacity. I was the child. A selfish, entitled and arrogant boy. These people have displayed far more bravery and honour than I this day.”

Rick, wearing his sheriff's hat, carried the bag of guns in one hand and his colt in the other. Daryl strolled beside him, watching the alleys with his crossbow raised. Glenn walked ahead of them. He turned around and walked backwards with a grin on his face.

“Admit it, you only came back to Atlanta for the hat,” he said.

“Don’t tell anybody,” Rick said.

“You giving away half our guns and ammo?” Daryl spat. “For what? A bunch of old farts who’re gonna die anyhow?”

“Half was fair. Those boys showed more bravery and honour than many grown men I’ve known,” Jon said.

“It’s gonna all fall apart. What happens when a group a whole lot meaner than ours rolls through? They’ll be slaughtered. Those guns’ll go into the hands of some assholes, most like. Seriously, how long do you think they’ve got?”

“How long do any of us?” Rick asked.

Together, the group rounded a corner and came across the fence to the rail yard. They ducked through the hole they’d cut out, crossed the yard and found their truck still parked just as they left it. Rick tossed the bag of guns in the back and everyone climbed in. Rick and Glenn got in the front and Daryl got in the back with Jon. As Rick drove them out of the yard at a blistering speed, tyres squealed and the engine roared. Daryl gave Jon an odd look.

“What’s with you man? The way you talk. Your clothes. Your sword. It ain’t normal.”

Jon was quite beyond tired of the same questions being asked of him.

“I’m from another world. I died and was brought here by some mysterious force that I don’t understand.”

Daryl smirked.

“Really?”

“Really.”

Daryl burst out laughing. He dropped his crossbow and slapped his knee.

“Man, you’re fuckin’ nuts aren’t ya?”

“Who isn’t?”

Daryl laughed harder.

“Damn right. Sir Snow.”

***

The setting sun cast a homely, orange glow over the empty, desolate land. Jon, after forcing himself to, had begun to get used to the unnatural speed it could achieve. He stood by the front seats, watching the road. The streak of rot along the highway veered off from the road, crossed a field and disappeared into the woods. Rick slammed his foot down flat against a pedal and the truck had accelerated so rapidly it nearly threw Jon off his feet.

In a matter of minutes, they neared the quarry. Thunderous gunshots heralded their return, dominating the roaring engine. Volley after volley rang out, each one seeming more deafening than the last. Glenn lurched forward in his seat. Daryl shot to his feet and rushed to join Jon by the seats, while Rick’s knuckles whitened. A pit formed in Jon’s stomach.

“Are we too late?” Jon asked.

“No, no, no, no, no,” Rick muttered.

He beat on the steering wheel.

“Come on! Piece of shit! Faster!”

Rick nearly toppled the truck as he rounded the corner onto the gravel road. Down in the camp, everyone was lined up firing guns at metal cans. Shane patrolled up and down the line of shooters, grinning ear to ear. But when the truck arrived and Rick jumped out, his grin vanished.

“What the hell are you doin’?” Rick yelled.

Everyone stopped and twenty-five pairs of eyes turned on them as they hopped out of the truck. Rick marched up to Shane and Shane marched to meet him, chest puffed.

“Me?! The hell’re you doin’ man? There’s a hoard comin’ and you’re out playin’ hero instead of protectin’ your family!”

Morales stepped out of the line of shooters. He puts his arms around his kids and scowled at Rick. Daryl tossed the bag of guns at Shane’s feet.

“The fuck you think these are for, man?” Daryl asked.

“Did I ask you? Dixon?”

“Why the hell is everyone shootin’? Why aren’t you packin’ the cars? Roundin’ up supplies? Gettin’ ready to leave?” Rick asked.

“The hell you mean, leave?! This is our home! We’re fightin' them sons of bitches!” Shane yelled

The crowd cheered and waved their guns above their heads.

“Fight?!” Rick shouted. “Are you crazy?!”

“Are you?! What the hell you’d waste all that time for guns if you ain’t gonna fight, and where the hell is Merle?!”

“These guns are for gettin’ us the fuck out of here! For keepin’ us safe on the road! You ain’t seen it, man! The city, for like three or four blocks was completely empty! We can’t fight somethin’ like this man!”

Shane’s jaw clenched and he got really close to Rick.

“You’ve always been a little pussy, ain’t you?” He spat. “What kind of man ain’t willin’ to fight for his family? Huh?! You see Morales? He’s a man! A real man! He walked three hours, through all this, on his own, to protect his family! And where were you? Off saving some shithead like Merle Dixon. You see all these people? They’re willin’ to fight. They want to fight! They’re patriots! The dead don’t run this world! We do!”

Shane shoved Rick and turned back to the camp. The camp sheered again. Ed, Carol’s husband, fired his gun into the air.

“USA!” He yelled.

A chant swept through the camp.

“USA! USA! USA!”

Rick stumbled back, dumbfounded. Glenn shared a similar look, while a disgusted look festered on Daryl’s face. A great sadness gripped Jon. These people, he knew, were lost to fear. Desperately, Jon scanned the crowd for a scrap of reason. Nearly all of them had savage, manic looks plastered on their faces. But not all.

Dale looked down from his RV with weathered eyes and a frown. Andrea stood beside the RV, away from the crowd, in front of a terrified Amy, scowling. T-Dog, with Jacqui’s aid, stood amongst the crowd. Both of them looked around helplessly. Carol pulled Sophia close to her and huddled with her. Lori did much the same with Carl, but she did not cower.

Lori eyed Shane with fury to rival a mother bear. She marched up to Shane, reeled back and whacked him across the face. The slap cracked Shane’s head to the side. He stumbled and for a brief moment, Shane was a small boy scorned by his mother.

“You stupid, son of a bitch! I’m not risking my kid’s life just so you can wave your dick around!”

An older woman shouted from the crowd. Her crow’s feet flared and her pouty, wrinkled lips twisted into a snooty scowl.

“You shame yourself! Talkin’ to a man like that. Where’s your patriotism?”

“Shut the hell up, Donna!” Lori yelled.

“Don’t listen to her man, she’s just hysterical!” Ed yelled.

Shane’s gaze hardened.

“Why don’t you go back to your laundry, and calm down while we figure out how to beat this?” Shane hissed.

Lori looked ready to smack him again when a shrill cry rang out. Carl ran from the crowd and tried to punch Shane in the stomach. Shane shoved him back onto his ass. Carl bore into Shane with a savage look.

“Don’t talk to my mom like that!”

As soon as Carl’s ass hit the ground, Rick flew at Shane and all hell broke loose. Rick tackled Shane to the ground and lay into him savagely. As blood sprayed from Shane’s nose, Ed ran at Rick and tackled him off Shane, which prompted Daryl to do the same to Ed. Morales cracked a wooden bat across Daryl’s back and as Daryl buckled, with wide, fearful eyes, Glenn shoved Morales to the ground. T-Dog tried to rush forward too but was stopped by Jacqui. Lori, Carol and other women screamed at the men to stop but were drowned out the by the cheering of the camp. Jon kneaded the bridge of his nose.

“Have mercy,” he muttered.

Jon joined Dale on the roof of the RV.

“We gotta get them to stop,” Dale said. “We don’t have time for this!”

“Can I borrow this?” He asked, gesturing to Dale’s rifle.

“Uh, sure.”

Dale handed him the rifle. Jon pointed it away from the camp, out into the forest and fired. Thunder cracked through the camp, grinding the brawl to a sudden halt. Every pair of eyes went to the RV and stared at Jon as a sea of fear, confusion and bubbling hostility.

“You want to fight, do you?! Good! It’s about time you all showed some bloody initiative! As we speak there are two hundred, maybe three hundred walkers on their way. ‘Tis but a troupe! One of us is worth a hundred of those shambling corpses!” Jon pointed to the distant towers of Atlanta. “They’ll all come from that direction. We shall fell trees and create a barrier.”

Jon pointed to where the camp met the forest.

“Then we will dig ditches and lay traps, set up two rows of cars, one short and one tall, and mow down the dead as they trip and fall over each other!”

Jon’s allies looked at him as if he were made. While Shane’s band of buffoons hooted and hollered.

“That’s insane!” Andrea said.

“Have I led you astray so far?”

Jon gave Andrea a desperate look. These people were mad with fear. They were beyond the point of reason, beyond calm thought, beyond sanity. They would die here, organised or not. Better that they fight with a plan and lose but a few to the dead than be slaughtered. Jon needed her to believe him. To believe he was who he said he was. That he knew what he was doing. That he wasn’t crazy.

Andrea sighed.

“No. No, you haven’t.”

“I-I-I!” Carol ran forward. “I don’t want to fight!” She screamed.

“Shut the hell up, woman!” Ed yelled.

He grabbed Carol by the wrist and started to drag her to the tents.

“No!” She screamed. “I won’t let you do this! I won’t let you get my baby killed!”

“Mama!” Sophia screamed and ran after them.

“Shut up!”

Ed shoved Carol. She staggered and she did, Ed punched her across the jaw. Carol hit the ground hard. Blood splattered from her mouth and gushed from her nose. Sophia screamed.

“Mama, no!”

She threw herself on top of her mother. Ed scowled and reeled back his leg to kick her.

“No!” Carl shouted.

He broke free of Lori’s arms, pulled his gun from a holster on his hip and pointed it at Ed. Ed let out a yelping shout and scrambled back, hands raised. Rick sprinted to Carl and knelt beside him.

“Son put the gun down,” he said, softly.

“No!”

Tears rolled down Carl’s flushed, chubby cheeks. His tiny arms trembled like thin branches in a storm.

“I know what you do to them! Sophia told me! I won’t let you anymore! You… you… deserve to die!”

Tears welled in Rick’s eyes.

“Carl, please, if you pull that trigger you can never take it back, not ever. You don’t wanna kill a man, son. Put it down, please.”

“He’s no better than, them. A monster,” Carl whimpered.

The last light of the setting sun dipped behind the forest and a dull, darkness fell upon the camp. Ed fell to his knees.

“Please… don’t. I’m sorry. I’m sorry!”

Suddenly, a rustling from the woods interrupted the standoff. Carl whipped his gun towards the forest.

“Walkers!” A voice cried from the woods.

A man with scraggly facial hair and a cap, came running from the woods, tugging his pants up.

“Walkers are comin’!”

“How many, Jim?!” Rick yelled.

“A lot!”

“How far out?”

“Fifteen minutes, maybe less!”

The camp froze. Eyes darted about everywhere, to Jon, to Rick, to Shane. Fear had driven them to madness and now, it had shattered it. Jon threw down Dale’s rifle.

“We need to go! Now! Everyone get your cars!”

Screams and shouts filled the air as the camp scurried towards the cars.

“No!” Shane yelled.

Shane snatched up an automatic rifle and got ahead of them. He stood on top of a car and raised his gun above his head.

“We gotta fight, god dammit!”

“No, man! We’re out of time! We need to go!” Rick yelled.

“God dammit, you pansy-ass, sack of shit! Don’t you get it?! This camp’s our only hope! How else are we gonna be found?! If we leave, the government’ll never find us!”

“They’re not gonna find us!” Rick yelled. “They’re dead! This whole world’s dead! You’re just too fuckin’ sacred to see it!”

“Look at those skyscrapers towering above the trees! They’re invincible! This world can’t be killed that easily! I have faith! In God! In America! In all of y’all! Don’t run! Stand your ground! Take back our country from the dead!”

Silence gripped the camp. Then, stupidly, wild and frantic shouts rang out as a chorus around the camp.

“Yeah!”

“Fuck the dead! Save the living!”

“Fight for our home!”

“Fight for America!”

Almost universally, the camp began singing their allegiance. They gathered around Shane and waved around guns, knives, and even their own fists. Jon’s heart sank. These people were truly lost. He looked at Carl. He was crying into Rick’s chest. Sophia and Carol were by his side too. Ed ran off to join Shane. Lori stood tall over all of them, glaring at Jon.

“Throw me that!” She pointed to Dale’s rifle.

Jon tossed her the rifle. She took it up as Andrea, Amy, Glenn, Daryl, T-Dog and Jacqui gathered around them. Lori faced them, eyes flaring.

“We need to leave, all of us. For our own sake, and the kids’.”

“No.” Rick stood.

He pushed Carl into Lori’s arms.

“You lead them out of here. I need to stay.”

“Like hell you do!”

“I do! I can’t just leave Shane to fight this on his own!”

“He has those idiots, forget him! He tried to hurt our son!”

“I’m staying too,” Jon said.

He hopped down from the RV.

“No, you can’t,” Rick said.

“I can’t just leave these people to die. They’re simply slaves to their fear. If me staying saves even one of them, I have to,” Jon said.

“Me too,” Jacqui said.

“I ain’t goin’ nowhere, hell naw,” T-Dog said.

“Count me in!” Glenn said.

“Dead don’t bother me,” Daryl said.

“And me,” Andrea said.

“And me!” Amy yelled.

“No way, you go with Lori,” Andrea said.

“If you’re staying, so am I!”

“No-”

“It’s not up to you!” Amy shouted.

She marched over to the bag of guns and snatched up a rifle.

“I’ll go with Lori. I’ll watch your back,” Carol said, shakily.

Carl said nothing as he clung to Lori’s waist. As did Sophia as she clung to Carol’s. Lori pursed her lips, grabbed Rick’s shirt and pulled him to her. She kissed him, long and deep.

“You survive. You hear me, you stupid man?”

“I will. I promise.”

They shared a kiss one more time before Lori looked at Dale atop the RV.

“Are you stupid enough to stay too?”

“I’m no fighter… but I can’t just leave her here.” Dale patted his RV. “She’s all I’ve got left.”

“Right. Well, that’s your decision. Come on Carol.”

Lori clutched Carl’s wrist and hurried to the quarry’s exit. Carol picked up Sophia and chased after them. Headed by Rick, Jon and the others ran to join the crowd gathered around Shane. Shane spotted Lori and jumped from the car into her path.

“Whoa. Where are you goin’?”

“Away from this. Now move.”

Lori raised her rifle at him. Shane, again, became a scorned boy. Lori, Carol, Carl and Sophia run past him down the gravel road out of the quarry.

“We’re staying, brother!” Rick shouted.

Shane glared at them.

“What’s your plan?” Jon asked.

“We… we set up defences. Use the cars as barriers, create a choke-point at the forest’s edge.”

“How do we do that?” Someone in the crowd asked.

Shane’s eyes darted back and forth.

“The trees, we’ll cut some down to make a barrier.”

“We haven’t the time, nor the axes to do so!” Jon shouted. “Forget the choke point, instead focus on slowing the dead’s advance. We haven’t the time to dig ditches, but we can still litter the ground. Use the tents to trip their feet, boxes, crates, chairs, anything that’s knee-height!”

“The fishin’ wire!” Jim shouted.

“Yes, perfect!” Jon said.

“Andrea, Amy, you know where the wire is. Go get it. The rest of you, help me move the tents!” Rick yelled.

The crowd shouted and followed Rick to the tents, leaving Shane alone by his car, dumbfounded. Andrea and Amy ran off for the lake, and Jon ran over to the crowd. The putrid smell of rot began to fill the air.

“We need people to move the cars! Some of you come with me!” Jon yelled.

A few members of the crowd, including T-Dog and Morales, ran to the cars. Jon guided the shorter cars into a row just beyond the forming field of tents to form an arched barrier. Then, the larger, taller cars, including the RV to form a second, outer layer. Andrea and Amy returned with the fishing wire and Jon’s group rushed to aid them in stringing it between the tents.

Shane sat idly, cradling his automatic rifle and thumbing the gold cross around his neck. His shoulders were slumped and his head was hung. Jon kept a careful eye on him throughout all their preparation, unsure if madness had consumed him or not.

As they all aided in scattering chairs, boxes and all sorts amongst the tents, a gurgling hiss screeched from the forest. A walker stumbled from the trees and tripped on a chair.

“Back to the cars!” Rick shouted.

Screaming rang out as a chaotic dash for the cars broke out.

“Anyone with a rifle, get on top of the outer cars! Shoot the walkers as they emerge! Pistols and shotguns to the front! Shoot any that make it beyond the forest!” Jon yelled.

Jon vaulted the first ring of cars, found the bag of guns and tossed them to people as they came scurrying over. A shotgun to Andrea. A pistol to Amy. A rifle to Glenn. A shotgun to Rick. Most people in the camp carried a pistol, Jon knew. The issue was ammo. Jon didn’t know if there were enough rounds for two hundred walkers in the whole bag, yet alone the half they’d ended up with. All he could do was pass out as many rounds as he could and pray it would be enough.

“Y’all without guns, get on the front, use knives, hammers, bats, anything and kill the ones that get close,” Rick yelled.

Once all the ammo was passed out, Jon took his position on the front with Needle drawn. Shots fired over Jon's head as a steady stream of the dead trickled into the camp. The muzzle flashes lit up the quickly, darkening camp. Their thunder roared with such fury that it shook the very ground but the culminating cries of the dead could still be heard over it. The smell was near unbearable as if death itself walked among them.

By Jon’s side, Rick, Andrea, Amy, Morales, Jacqui and many others stood waiting and watching down the scopes of pistols and shotguns. Some, like Morlases’s wife, were pressed up against the cars, clutching blades, hammers and bats in trembling hands.

Jon spotted Morales’s children. No older than Bran and Arya, they huddled by the hood of the RV, crying. As much as it weighed on his heart, Jon hadn’t the time to move them. The hoard’s full strength burst from the trees and marched on the camp.

Daryl, Dale, Shane, Glenn and T-Dog fired rapid volleys from the RV down on the dead. Walkers fell left and right, but still a wall of shambling rot crept across the field of tents. Where one corpse would trip, it simply allowed others to walk over it unimpeded. The front row unleashed a flurry of shots. Finally, the dead’s advance slowed but only for as long as they could fire. When it came time to reload, the wall of rot inched further and further. Bodies piled up, creating hills of rotting flesh. The longer it all went on, the taller the hills got until they were taller than the cars themselves. Corpses tumbled down the hills to be slaughtered, but at a rate utterly unmanageable.

Morales was the first to begin screaming, and quickly the cry was taken up by the rest of the camp. Less a glorious war cry and more a piercing, scream. Jim screamed the loudest and as the first walker reached the cars, he rushed forward, knife ready.

“You killed my family!” He bellowed and plunged the knife into the walker’s head.

“My dad!” Morales’s wife screamed as she fell the next.

“My uncle!”

“My sister!”

“My grandma!”

“My son!”

Revengeful shouts roared over the dead and guns as the camp clashed with the hoard head-on. Needle clicked and Jon sheathed it. He drew his dagger.

“For Westeros! For America!” He cried and stabbed wildly at the dead.

One by one, the guns of the front defence clicked and soon they were all stabbing at the hoard. For a moment, a blissful, hopeful moment, they forbade the dead’s passage. And in the next, one of the dead had Morales’s wife in its clutches. As she screamed, the corpse tore the flesh from her arm. Morales barreled past Amy and dragged his wife from the dead’s clutches.

Amy fell over the bonnet of a car and several, rotting mouths descended on her. They tore her apart, like wolves to a lamb. Andrea screamed and rushed to her sister, but before she could even arrive, Amy was dragged, kicking and screaming into the hoard. In the gap where Amy had been, the dead poured past the cars.

“Retreat!” Jon cried.

“On top of the jeeps! Now!” Rick yelled.

Bloodcurdling screams pierced the air as they made the mad dash to safety. Morales scooped up his kids and wife and dragged them onto the RV’s hood. Rick tore a hysterical Andrea backwards. All while the dead blotted the front row of cars from view. The RV’s gunners helped pull people to safety, but they were outnumbered. As Jon clambered up the RV’s ladder, Jim, who was behind him, was pulled into the hoard by a dozen pairs of rotten hands. He didn’t even have time to scream before he was absorbed into the hoard.

Morales, children in either arm, scrambled along the RV’s hood. A walker grabbed his wife’s ankle. The children screamed, flew from Moralses’s arms and grabbed a hold of their mother, only to be pulled into the hoard with her. The cry Morales made was inhuman. He went to leap after them, but Jon, T-Dog and Daryl all pulled him onto the roof before he could.

Rick got Andrea onto the roof of the RV with much effort and had to work tirelessly to stop her from leaping back into the hoard.

“Amy! Amy! Amy!” She screamed over and over again.

Wails roared from the hoard. Wails of the dead and wails of agony. At first, it seemed as if the rest had made it to safety, as the rest of the camp huddled atop the jeeps. But the jeeps were only so tall. The dead rocked the jeeps back and forth, and as people began to stumble, the dead caught their ankles and dragged them into the hoard. Jon’s insides were shredded as he gazed upon their terrified, agony-ridden faces as one by one they were consumed. Seventeen innocent souls had their mortal frames torn to shreds, and their souls consumed by the cold embrace. The last to go was Jacqui. She looked at Jon with desperate eyes as several mouths tore the flesh from her bones. In an instant, she was wholly unrecognisable.

The remaining nine: Jon, Rick, Shane, Daryl, Glenn, T-Dog, Andrea, Dale and Morales; sat atop the RV, watching hopelessly as the hoard surrounded them. Even Andrea had slumped back against Rick’s chest. She gazed at the full moon as it peeked above the trees.

All things considered, it was a better last stand than most got, Jon knew. The hoard had been thinned considerably. Roughly seventy or so walkers remained of what Jon could see must have been more than two hundred; a valiant effort.

“Does anyone have any ammo left?” Rick asked.

Daryl stepped forward and fired a bolt into the hoard.

“Nope.” Daryl spat.

“Maybe if we lay down so they can’t see us, they’ll eventually move on?” Dale said.

As if to answer him, the hoard began rocking the RV back and forth.

“W-We could jump, like the tank!” Glenn yelled through tears and sobs.

“It’s too far, they’re seven, eight layers thick,” Jon said.

“I’ll jump,” Daryl said.

“You won’t make it!” Jon said

“Gonna die if I don’t, ain’t I?!”

“We’re safe up here, they can’t possibly topple it!”

“Oh suddenly you’re an expert, are you?! Narnia prick!”

Suddenly, a rage unbecoming of Jon seized him. It burned hot in his throat. He wanted to yell. He wanted to bellow and scream and holler. And just as he gave in, a howl erupted from the forest. They all snapped their gazes towards it and saw a sight that spun Jon’s head with every possible emotion at once. A giant, white wolf erupted from the forest and descended on the hoard. It shredded through the dead with ease, obliterating them with claws and fangs.

“It can’t be. It can’t possibly be.”

The wolf looked at Jon with its piercing red eyes and howled. Jon drew Longclaw and leapt from the RV at once.

“Ghost!” Jon shouted.

Ghost barked and snarled as he fought his way to Jon, and Jon cried and screamed as he hacked his towards Ghost. He’d never heard Ghost so loud, so savage, so beast-like. They met in the hoard and together tore through the endless dead. Teeth and nails tore at Jon’s cloak until it was little more than shreds but they never broke through his mail. Time left Jon as he hacked and hacked and hacked and hacked.

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