A few more minutes passed, and I managed to take down two more Wolves. My breathing was heavy, adrenaline still pumping, but I could tell the tide was turning. The chaos was beginning to settle, and the scattered attackers were starting to retreat. The street felt less alive with gunfire now, though the tension still clung to the air like smoke.
I turned to Graves, wiping the blood from my cheek with the back of my hand. "Any word on Merle?" I asked, concern hidden beneath my usual tone.
Graves shook his head. "Haven't seen him. Sorry."
Not the answer I wanted, but not surprising. Merle had a habit of going off on his own—always did things his way. Still, a part of me hoped he'd show up guns blazing, maybe dragging a couple of Wolves by the throat.
Daryl, Glenn, Graves, and I regrouped and moved forward. Behind us, Tobin, Scott, Aaron, and Eric followed close, their weapons drawn and eyes sharp. I'd instructed Aiden and Nicholas earlier to stay back and protect the civilians. They weren't frontline material, but they could handle crowd control—hopefully without screwing it up.
As we moved toward the edge of the community, I finally took in the full aftermath. It was over. The Wolves were either dead, fleeing, or hiding. But the cost… The chaos had left scars. Smoke rose from several homes, a few partially burned down. Blood stained the streets, windows were shattered, and bodies—both theirs and ours—were scattered across the community.
I let out a breath, long and heavy, when I spotted Michonne approaching with Deanna. The two were walking slowly, Michonne helping her along. Deanna looked shaken, pale and grief-stricken, but alive. It looked like Michonne had gotten to her just in time.
I jogged up to them. "Michonne! Have you seen Merle?"
She shook her head. "No. I thought he was with you."
Damn it. Where the hell had that bastard run off to? Always disappearing when things got rough—either chasing blood or making trouble. I'd deal with that later.
"What about Deanna?" I asked, glancing at her.
Michonne's expression darkened. She looked down briefly before speaking. "Reg's gone. Died right in front of her." She paused. "If I hadn't shown up when I did… she might've been next."
I clenched my jaw. Reg was one of the few here who really tried to help build something better. A shame. But Deanna… she had potential. Political instinct, leadership presence—things we'd need in the future. Especially if we ever crossed paths with a place like the Commonwealth.
Deanna turned to me, her eyes burning despite the tears. "They must pay," she said, voice hoarse. "You were right, Rick. You were right all along."
I didn't speak right away. Just nodded slowly, meeting her eyes. She wasn't the same woman from a week ago. The loss had carved something new into her—harder, colder. Maybe that was a good thing. Maybe not. Time would tell.
We spent the next hour rounding up the bodies. The dead were scattered across the streets, in front yards, and even inside homes. It was a grim task, but it had to be done. We separated the Alexandrians from the Wolves—the difference was clear enough. The Wolves were easy to identify, their foreheads carved with that haunting "W," as if they wanted the world to remember what they were.
Over two dozen Alexandrians lay dead. Brutally murdered. Most of them hadn't even put up a fight—they weren't fighters, never trained for something like this. Their deaths were quick, senseless. Slaughter. On the other hand, we counted 14 Wolves among the corpses. There might've been more that got away or bled out in some alley, but 14 was our current count. I still had no idea how many of them were out there, hiding.
Eventually, the surviving residents were gathered in the center of the community. Many were crying, clutching each other, trying to make sense of what had just happened. Some screamed in grief. Others stood in silent shock.
As I scanned the area, my eyes landed on Pete Anderson's body.
Even in death, I felt nothing but contempt.
He was a skilled surgeon, sure—but an abusive man, just like Ed had been. I'd seen his type before. No amount of talent justified the kind of monster he was at home. Lying next to him was Jessie Anderson, blood on her hands. Surprisingly, it wasn't hers.
Looking closer, I noticed one of the Wolves not far from her body, a knife still clenched in his hand, throat slashed clean. Jessie's hands trembled as she held them against her chest, but there was steel in her eyes. She'd defended herself. Maybe even protected her kids.
Speaking of which—Sam and Ron were nearby, both sobbing. Ron had his arms around his little brother, while Jessie stared blankly at the ground. She looked broken, but alive. I remembered from the series that Jessie could've been a potential love interest. Hm. Should I make a harem in this world?
I almost chuckled at the thought, but then shook my head.No. Maggie would probably beat me over the head for even thinking that.
Just then, a voice rang out from the distance."Hey, folks! I found it!"
I turned toward the sound just as Merle strolled back into Alexandria, cocky as ever, blood on his shirt and a twisted grin on his face.
Daryl, standing beside me, scowled. "Where the hell were you?"
Merle raised both hands with a smug smile. "Calm down, little brother. I was doin' recon. I followed one of those sick bastards back through their tracks—found their damn camp. There's only about 15 of 'em left. You oughta be thankin' me, Ricky boy."
I crossed my arms and nodded. "Good job, Merle. That might come in handy later."
Honestly, I'd been thinking about planning a raid on the Wolves. But seeing the state of Alexandria now—the grief, the blood, the shock—I knew this wasn't the time. We needed to rebuild first, regroup, let people breathe.
I stepped forward and raised my voice so everyone could hear me."Everyone—listen up! Right now, we clean up this mess. Help your neighbors, tend to the wounded, and bury the fallen. Tonight, we'll meet back here. Then we'll talk about what comes next."
Deanna looked at me, eyes filled with sorrow but also… respect. Gratitude. She nodded silently. Aiden, standing near her, wiped at his face, trying to hold back tears. Then he turned to comfort his mother. He wasn't as much of a jerk as I thought—maybe just a little rough around the edges. With the right push, he might become someone worthwhile.
But Spencer...
Wait.
Where the hell was Spencer?
--------------------------------------
The Fanfic is Complete in my Patreon
patreon.com/xavien1