After giving the last set of orders, I walked among the rescued people—the workers who had been nothing more than slaves hours ago. They sat in small groups, eating the rations we brought, some clutching blankets like they were lifelines. Their faces were still pale, but there was something new in their eyes… hope.
I stopped here and there, spoke to a few. A joke, a kind word—little things that made them smile. And when the laughter started to spread, even just a little, I felt something shift. For the first time, they believed this nightmare might be over.
Watching them, I couldn't help but think about Carl. My boy. He was strong, capable—maybe too capable for me to keep pretending he's still just a kid. Maybe I've sheltered him for too long. This world doesn't wait for innocence. It kills it.
Next time, I thought. Next time he comes with me.
But then an idea sparked in my mind, one that made me grin despite the exhaustion. Not just come along. What if I put him in one of the scouting squads? Let him lead, make choices, learn what it takes to survive—not just for himself, but for everyone.
I could already picture it: Carl stepping up, taking command, becoming the kind of man this world needs. Yeah, I thought. That's it. That's the plan.
I glanced around again at the rescued people—faces filled with gratitude and relief—and I knew we had to keep going. Keep building. For them. For us. For the future Carl's gonna help lead.
Before I could think more on it, Merle walked up, boots crunching against the dirt. "Rick," he called, snapping me out of my thoughts.
"What is it?" I asked.
"The bodies," Merle said, his voice low but firm. "Our people—they're all gathered up now, waitin' for transport. As for the others…" He jerked his thumb toward a patch of dirt where men were already digging shallow graves for the enemy dead.
I walked over, laid a hand on his shoulder, and gave it a firm squeeze. "Good work, Merle," I said. "Real good work."
Merle smirked. "Hell, Rick… I don't call haulin' meat bags into holes 'good work.' But hey, at least we ain't gotta worry about 'em eatin' us later. Saves us ammo and… hell, space at the dinner table."
I froze, my hand still on his shoulder. My jaw tightened. "Merle."
"What?!" He grinned wider. "Too soon? Damn, Rick, lighten up. I'm just sayin'—fewer mouths to feed, right? Whole damn apocalypse is a diet plan."
I stared at him, not laughing. Not even close. And then it hit me—hard. That was my line, just hours ago, when Michonne gave me the casualty report. 'Fewer mouths to feed.'
Karma's a real son of a bitch.
I let out a breath and shook my head. "Just… get back to work."
Merle chuckled and walked off, muttering something about people losing their sense of humor in the end times.
I stood there, watching the graves being dug, and thought, Yeah… guess I just got a taste of my own medicine.
It didn't take long before I heard the rumble of engines in the distance. Glenn and the backup from camp rolled in at noon, leading a convoy of caged trucks and supply vehicles. The sound alone was enough to make the rescued people freeze for a second—but when they saw the familiar faces behind the wheels, a cheer erupted.
Smiles spread across tired, dirt-streaked faces. Some people even cried, clutching each other as if they'd just woken up from a nightmare. For the first time in God knows how long, they looked… free.
The trucks pulled up and my people jumped out, weapons ready at first, scanning the area before easing up when they saw we'd secured everything. Glenn came to me, sweat on his brow but a grin on his face. "You weren't kidding about numbers, Rick. Damn."
I gave a small nod, my eyes scanning the crowd—over a thousand souls, easy. We'd need more than one trip to get them all home, no question. This wasn't just a rescue; it was the birth of something bigger than any of us.
The first priority was clear: get the people out. The wounded, the weak, the scared—they loaded into the first trucks under watchful eyes. The cheers didn't stop, echoing through the broken stadium like some sign of life returning.
As for the supplies? That was another story. The warehouse was stacked to the ceiling with food, medical stock, weapons—hell, everything. But the sight of it turned my stomach. All of this, sitting here, while the people who built it were starved and beaten. Soldiers feasted while workers got scraps and expired trash. Pure tyranny. Pure rot.
Not anymore.
"All of it," I told Guillermo as he walked past me. "Everything in that warehouse belongs to the people now. Load it up after they're safe."
He nodded sharply, already barking orders.
The first convoy pulled out hours ago, leaving behind me, the rest of the strike team, and the people still waiting their turn. The dead… our fallen comrades… their bodies were lined up under sheets, silent reminders of the cost of what we'd done here. They'd go with us on the second trip, back home where they'd get the burial they deserved.
With nothing left to do but wait, I decided to clear my head. Dropping to the ground, I started on push-ups, feeling the strain in my arms with each rep. Then sit-ups. Then I ran laps around the cleared area, boots pounding dirt in steady rhythm. Anything to keep from sitting still and letting the weight of this war settle too heavy on my shoulders.
By the time the sun dipped lower, I was drenched in sweat but calmer. I rested against a broken wall, breathing steady, when the distant hum of engines reached my ears. The convoy. They were coming back.
As the first truck rolled into view, I caught myself smirking. Not out of joy—just a thought running through my head. Our prison… what a mix we've got there now. Spencer. Gregory. That soldier Washington worked over for intel. And soon, Alexandra herself—the so-called general who turned into a tyrant.
A collection of criminals, every one of them with their own sins in this new world. I almost laughed thinking about it. If I'd kept Gareth alive back then, maybe he'd be sitting in one of those cells too, instead of rotting in the ground. But rage had taken over that day. No regrets. Not really.
"Home," I muttered under my breath as the convoy rolled in. "Time to go home… and check on Maggie."
Because no matter how much blood I spilled out here, that one thought always pulled me back: her. Our unborn child, and Carl. The future I'm fighting for.