The van rolled to a halt at the edge of the quarry clearing, tires crunching softly against gravel. The engine died with a low sigh, leaving only the quiet crackle of the camp's fire and the distant murmur of cicadas. Night had fully settled; the sky above was a deep indigo pierced by stars that had not yet been dimmed by the city's once-constant glow.
Doors opened slowly, almost reluctantly. The group disembarked in silence, each movement stiff with accumulated fatigue. The stench of walker gore clung to them like a shroud thick, cloying, inescapable. Even the night air could not immediately dispel it.
Dale was the first to approach, lantern in hand. His expression shifted from cautious recognition to alarm as the light fell across their faces.
"Dear God," he murmured, eyes widening at the sight of Jacqui supported between T-Dog and Alister. "Get her inside the RV. Now." - Dale worriedly said.
Shane emerged from the shadows near the fire pit, arms crossed, posture rigid. His gaze swept over the returning party Glenn, Andrea, T-Dog, Jacqui, and the towering, filth-encrusted figure of Alister. For a moment his expression remained unreadable. Then his eyes narrowed slightly.
"You're all still breathing," Shane said, voice flat. "That's more than I expected from all of you"
Glenn stepped forward, meeting Shane's stare directly. "We had help." He nodded toward Alister. "More than you know."
Shane's attention settled on the knight. Alister stood motionless, helmet tucked under one arm, broken sword still gripped in the other. Dried blood and viscera coated the armor in uneven layers; dents and gouges marred surfaces that had once gleamed. The man beneath looked carved from exhaustion, yet his stance remained straight.
Shane exhaled through his nose. "You look like you crawled out of a slaughter pit."
"I did," Alister replied evenly. "And I brought them back with me."
A beat of silence passed. Shane's jaw worked once, then he gave a short nod acknowledgment, not approval.
Lori appeared next, Carl close at her side. The boy's eyes widened at the sight of Rick leaving the van; he broke into a run. Rick dropped to one knee and caught him in a fierce embrace, one hand cradling the back of Carl's head. Lori followed more slowly, tears already tracking down her cheeks. She reached them, fingers brushing Rick's face as though confirming he was real.
The camp stirred into motion around them. Amy brought blankets. Carol fetched water. Morales and his wife began heating a kettle over the fire. Practicality took precedence over questions; the returning survivors were too spent for explanations, and the camp too relieved to demand them yet.
Inside the RV, Dale worked quickly. He had already laid out the first-aid supplies: antiseptic, sutures, gauze, a half-empty bottle of antibiotics scavenged weeks earlier. Jacqui was eased onto the narrow cot. She hissed as her shirt was cut away, revealing the ragged gash along her ribs.
"Deep," Dale said quietly, "but it missed anything vital. You're lucky."
Jacqui managed a weak smile. "Luck had very little to do with it."
Alister remained near the door, watching intently as Dale cleaned the wound with careful strokes. When Dale began stitching, Jacqui gripped the edge of the cot; her knuckles whitened but she made no sound.
Outside, Alister finally set his helmet down on a nearby crate. He knelt, methodically unlacing the damaged gauntlet on his left arm. The buckled joint gave way with a soft metallic groan as he pulled it free. Beneath, the shallow cut across his forearm had crusted over, angry but not infected. He examined it briefly, then reached for a canteen of water someone had left nearby.
Andrea watched from the doorway. "You should let Dale look at that."
"It is superficial," Alister replied. "The armor took the worst of it."
She stepped closer, studying the dented breastplate and cracked pauldron. "It looks like it took a beating."
"It did." He ran a gloved finger along one of the deeper gouges. "And yet it held."
T-Dog joined them, wiping his hands on a rag. "You gonna be able to fix that thing?"
Alister considered the armor for a long moment. "In time. With the proper tools and materials, yes. For now… I will make do."
He rose slowly, joints creaking beneath the weight of metal and exhaustion. The camp firelight flickered across his face pale, streaked with dried blood, eyes shadowed but steady.
Shane approached, stopping a few paces away. "You held the basement so Jacqui could get out."
Alister met his gaze. "I held until she was clear. I owe it to her."
Shane studied him. "That's not nothing."
"No," Alister said quietly. "It is not."
For a moment the two men regarded each other officer and knight, modern pragmatist and medieval oath-keeper. Neither offered more words. None were necessary.
Dale emerged from the RV, wiping his hands. "She'll live. Rest, antibiotics, no movement for at least a day. She's strong. She'll pull through."
Relief rippled through the small knot of people gathered nearby. Glenn let out a long breath he had not realized he was holding.
From the tree line, two figures emerged into the firelight, moving with the quiet confidence of men who had spent the day hunting. Daryl Dixon carried a fresh brace of squirrels over one shoulder, crossbow slung across his back. Merle followed a step behind, a dead raccoon dangling from his belt, a smirk already curling his lips.
Daryl's eyes narrowed as he took in the returning group blood-soaked, exhausted, and reeking of death. His gaze settled on Alister: the towering armored stranger, gauntlet removed, forearm exposed, broken sword resting across his knees like a fallen banner.
"What the hell happened to y'all?" Daryl asked, voice low and rough.
Merle chuckled, stepping into the light.
"Looks like they went swimmin' in a slaughterhouse. Nice tin suit, tin man. You lose a fight with a can opener?"
Alister rose slowly to his full height, meeting Merle's mocking stare without flinching. "I fought. And I returned. That is enough."
Daryl's expression remained guarded, but he gave a small nod toward Jacqui's direction inside the RV. "She gonna make it?"
Dale answered from the doorway. "She will. Thanks to them."
Merle snorted, but Daryl's attention lingered on Alister a moment longer assessing, calculating. Then he turned away, slinging the squirrels onto a nearby table.
"Long as everyone's breathin'," he muttered, "guess that's somethin'."
The fire crackled. Voices murmured low. The night deepened around them.