Later that afternoon.
Joe wiped the sweat from his brow, sitting beside Amy and Andrea near the fire pit.
Kids still laughing in the distance, their game of tag echoing faintly through the trees.
Amy passed him a damp cloth and a bottle of water. "You didn't have to play that hard," she said, smiling.
Joe took a long drink, then looked out over the camp. "Let them have their moment. They deserve to feel normal."
Andrea sat cross-legged, sharpening one of her knives. "You think the others will talk about what you did?"
"They already are," Joe said flatly.
"But you don't care," Amy added.
Joe looked at her, then at the camp's edge. "He killed Eric. The guard on night watch."
Andrea froze mid-stroke. "You didn't say that before."
"I didn't need to. I found the body hidden in the underbrush, throat slit."
Amy covered her mouth, eyes wide. "Jesus…"
Andrea's grip on the knife tightened. "Then he got what he deserved."
---
Campfire Meeting – Dusk
Joe sat motionless, hands resting on his lap. Listening as the group discussed about the intruder.
Joe interupted, "There gotta be more of them."
That landed hard. Glenn looked sick. Daryl clenched his jaw. Morales swore under his breath.
"Goddamn," Daryl muttered. "So that wasn't just a warning. That was step one."
Joe nodded. "And if they don't hear back from him soon, they'll know something went wrong."
"We don't have time," Rick said. "We reinforce the perimeter tonight. Set alarms. Silent ones. If they come, we need to know before they're at our tents."
"I'll take first watch," Joe said.
Rick looked at him. "You need rest."
"I'll sleep when we're safe."
---
Joe patrolled the outer perimeter, quiet as a shadow. He'd replaced his usual shirt with a dark hoodie and had a scoped rifle slung over his back.
The wind picked up. Leaves whispered.
From the tree line, something moved.
He crouched low behind a broken trap, sighting through the scope.
Just a deer.
He exhaled slowly.
But then, movement again. Not four-legged.
He lowered the rifle and switched to his knife, moving in total silence toward the trees.
Footsteps. Faint. Careful.
He closed the gap and suddenly grabbed a figure from behind, pinning them to a tree.
"Don't move," he whispered coldly.
A woman. Young, trembling fiercly.
"Who sent you?" he growled.
She shook her head rapidly. "I'm not with them. I swear... I just escaped!"
Joe searched her eyes. She wasn't lying.
"They're coming, aren't they?"
The girl nodded, frantic. "Tonight. They said your camp wouldn't see the sun."
---
Back at camp.
Rick, Glenn, Daryl, and Carol sat around the fire, listening as Elize recounted what she overheard before her escape.
Rick stood, pacing slowly while Daryl, Glenn, Morales, and Joe listened.
"The group out there isn't just some scattered raiders. They've got scouts, rotations, a chain of command."
"They've been watching. You're surrounded. They were just waiting on word from their scout."
Joe leaned against a post, arms crossed.
"They didn't plan to talk?" Rick asked.
"No," the girl whispered. "They plan to take. Food, weapons... people."
Glenn looked pale. "How many?"
"Fifteen. Maybe more. All armed."
Daryl spit. "Let 'em come."
Rick turned to Joe. "You ready?"
Joe nodded once. "Always."
---
Amy and Andrea's Tent – Moments Later
Amy sat on her bedroll, hands trembling slightly. Andrea knelt, checking her pistol, then slipped a long knife into her boot.
"I can fight," Andrea said.
"I know," Amy said. "But we've got more to lose now."
---
As Joe checked his rifle and climbed into a sniper post near the camp's edge, he spoke softly... more to himself than anyone.
"Let them come."
He locked a bullet into place.
"I've already buried one of theirs."
He raised the scope to his eye.
"And I'm ready to send the rest."
...
3am.
The wind was still.
Joe watched the treeline through his scope, his breath slow and even. No movement.
Just darkness and brush. Behind him, the camp slept in uneasy silence.
Then... a rustle.
He shifted slightly, zeroing in.
A glint of metal. A shoulder. A face.
Then another.
And then, gunfire.
A single shot rang out from the treeline. The bullet whistled through the air and slammed into the ground near the eastern guard post.
Joe reacted instantly.
Bang! Shirk. Bang! Shirk.
Two quick squeezes of the trigger. Both shots hit home. Hostile men dropped like rocks.
But that's when the real terror emerged.
From behind the shooters, dozens of walkers stumbled forward, their moans echoing like a death knell through the night.
The enemy wasn't just attacking, they were driving the walkers straight into camp.
---
Screams erupted.
By the time the first walker reached the fence line, chaos had already taken root.
A woman shrieked from the far side of camp. Children scrambled. Men shouted.
Andrea burst from her tent, pistol raised. Amy was already helping two kids climb into a truck bed.
Rick and Daryl sprinted toward the weapons stash, firing as they ran.
More gunshots cracked in the dark. Muzzle flashes lit up the woods. The dead poured in.
Joe climbed down fast from his perch, picking off two more walkers mid-run... both perfect headshots.
He shouted as he reached the center of camp, "TO THE STASH, MOVE!"
---
Once armed, the defenders turned the tide.
Rick took cover behind a toppled table, laying down tight, controlled bursts.
Daryl shot an Smg with deadly precision.
Glenn reloaded furiously, staying low behind a car.
Joe moved like a ghost through the chaos. Knife in one hand, sidearm in the other.
He wad dispatching enemies, both living and dead.
Amy and Andrea, armed now, covered the kids as they ran for the RV.
The hostile humans tried to flank but didn't expect the quick retaliation.
A burst from Morales caught two in the chest. Another man tried to run and was tackled by a walker mid-sprint.
Screams. Guts. Blood.
---
The aftermath was brutal, but not terrible for people with little to no training.
Six dead outright. Six from gunfire, nine more alive but had been bitten.
One man sobbed over his wife's body, blood soaking into the grass beneath her.
T-Dog cradled a young teen with a stomach wound, trying to slow the bleeding, knowing it wouldn't work.
And then... the worst one.
A little girl, no older than seven, sat against a crate, cradling her arm.
Sophia was the first to see her.
"She's bleeding," she whispered. "Her arm."
Amy ran over, her heart sinking.
The bite was clear. Deep. Ragged.
The child looked up, eyes glassy. "It hurts…"
Amy knelt beside her, trying to keep her voice steady. "Sweetheart… where's your mom?"
The girl pointed weakly toward one of the covered bodies.
Amy closed her eyes, just for a second. Then she looked at Joe.
He was already walking toward them, jaw clenched.
---
Rick joined him, blood on his shirt, gun in hand. "She's bit?"
Joe nodded.
Andrea stood nearby, crying silently.
Amy wiped the child's face, whispering comforting words.
Rick lowered his gun.
"I'll do it," Joe said.
Amy looked up, angry. "No. She's still here. She's still here."
Rick said softly, "She won't be for long. You know that."
Joe knelt beside the girl. She looked up at him with terrified eyes.
"Am I gonna die?" she asked.
Joe didn't lie. "Yes. But not scared. Not in pain."
He gently brushed her hair back, pulled her close, and whispered something only she heard.
Then, softly, cleanly. He ended it. No pain and no suffering.
---
The fire burned low. Bodies had been moved. The wounded were being treated.
No one said much.
Joe stood beside the fire, staring at the flames, blood on his hands, on his boots.
Amy and Andrea came to either side of him. They didn't say anything, just stood there.
Around them, the camp was quieter than ever before. Not with peace. But with grief.
The fire crackled low, casting shadows across the ruined camp.
What had once been a refuge now felt like a graveyard.
Blood stained the grass. Empty shell casings glinted in the moonlight.
Makeshift blankets covered the fallen, their stillness more deafening than the screams had been.
The air hung heavy with burnt gunpowder, iron, and sorrow.
They'd won.
But no one felt victorious.
---
Joe sat alone by the dying fire, arms resting on his knees. His rifle lay at his side, untouched.
He stared blankly into the flames. Everything looked gray.
He couldn't hear the crickets, couldn't feel the night air. The world around him felt distant. Thin.
The girl's face was burned into his vision. Soft cheeks, tear-filled eyes, trust.
That last breath. That small, shaking hand in his.
His hands trembled now.
Something inside him had cracked. A splinter deep down in a place he hadn't touched before.
He didn't know how long he sat there before Amy's voice broke through.
"Joe…"
Her voice pulled at something. The color returned, faint at first.
Her face emerged from the fog, eyes red, cheeks streaked with tears.
Behind her was Andrea, quiet for once. Her usual confidence stripped away. She looked lost. Hollow.
Amy knelt beside him. Her hand gently rested on his arm. "Come on. You need to sleep."
"I can't," he said quietly.
She pressed her forehead to his. "Then just lie with me."
Andrea knelt on the other side, her hand wrapping around his. "You don't have to hold it all alone."
Joe blinked. The gray receded further.
He nodded slowly.
---
The three of them lay inside the dim tent.
Joe was in the middle, arms wrapped around Amy as she cried softly into his chest.
Andrea curled against his other side, eyes open but unfocused.
No words passed between them.
Amy sobbed in waves, her breath hitching every few seconds. Joe held her tighter, kissing the top of her head.
Andrea reached over, gently rubbing Amy's back, her own face soaked with silent tears.
Outside, the camp was still. Half the group was gone. Dead. What was left of the group had been emotionally shattered.
But the enemy was finished.
They'd killed all of them. They couldn't strike again. They were no longer able to threaten the peace.
---
Joe didn't sleep. Not really.
His eyes closed now and then, but his mind didn't rest.
He listened to Amy's breathing. The occasional rustle from Andrea when she shifted. Every sound pulled him back.
The girl's face returned each time he blinked.
He whispered, almost to himself, "I didn't want to do it."
Amy stirred. "I know."
"I keep seeing her."
Andrea whispered back, voice tight, "We all will."
Joe stared at the roof of the tent. "This world doesn't get to be beautiful anymore."
Amy tightened her hold on him. "Then we make our own beauty."
Andrea leaned in closer. "Even if it's just inside here."
He closed his eyes again.
...
The Next Morning.
The sky was gray, clouds hanging low over the camp as if even the world itself was in mourning.
Men and women moved slowly across the clearing, faces hollow, hands busy with the grim task ahead.
A truck bed had been backed up into the center of camp. Nearby, a separate pile of rotting corpses, walkers and hostiles.
They lay in a loose heap, blackened with decay and crawling with flies.
Glenn grunted as he dragged a body toward the truck, sweat streaking down his face.
Behind him, Daryl hauled another corpse, fresh. One of their own.
Instead of heading for the truck, Daryl moved toward the burn pile.
Glenn saw it and froze. "Hey! What the hell are you doing?!"
Daryl glanced back. "They're gone. Doesn't matter how they're disposed of."
Glenn marched over, anger flaring in his voice. "We don't burn our own, man! We bury them."
Daryl dropped the body with a thud. "You think they care now? What's difference does it make... hole or fire?"
Glenn didn't answer. He knelt beside the body, sliding his arms beneath it. Carefully, reverently, he began to drag it toward the truck bed.
Daryl watched him in silence. Then with a sigh, he stepped forward and helped lift the other half.
Together, they placed the body gently into the back of the truck.
No more words were needed.
---
Joe woke up late.
Amy and Andrea were still curled around him, their bodies tense even in sleep.
Amy's fingers clutched his shirt like a child hanging on to something safe. Andrea's forehead rested against his shoulder, her breaths shaky.
Joe moved slowly, untangling himself from their grip.
Amy stirred slightly, and instinctively rolled toward Andrea, clinging to her instead.
Joe kissed them both gently on the forehead.
Then he rose, pulled on his boots, and stepped out into the morning light.
---
Joe looked around. The Camp was divided, each person mourning in their own way.
Rick was kneeling beside a body.
Joe stepped closer and saw who it was.
Shane.
His neck torn wide open, the side of his face clawed nearly off.
Blood stained the dirt beneath him.
Rick's hands rested on Shane's chest, unmoving.
He didn't look up when Joe approached.
Joe kept his voice low. "You okay?"
Rick answered quietly, still staring. "Why did you do this?"
Joe frowned. "What?"
Rick's voice cracked. "He's only dead because you beat him unconscious. He never had a chance."
Joe's expression hardened. "He had plenty of chances."
Rick pointed behind him.
Carol stood over a body... Ed.
Her face streaked with tears, pickaxe in hand. She drove it down into his skull, sobbing with each swing.
Daryl stood close by, not interfering. Just there.
Rick looked back at Joe. "You could've handled it different."
Joe's voice was cold, controlled. "One of them touched someone he shouldn't." He nodded toward his tent.
"The other pulled a gun on me."
Joe stepped forward, eye to eye with Rick.
"If you want me to feel bad and say I'm sorry... I'm not. Fuck them."
Rick stared at him... stunned, furious even, but he said nothing.
His fists clenched.
Then after a long pause he exhaled, shoulders sagging under the weight.
"I'm sorry," he said quietly.
Joe gave him a firm pat on the back. "Don't be. I understand, brother."
He turned, walking toward the truck bed to help Glenn and Daryl with the rest of the dead.
---
As the day passed. They buried their own.
It took hours. No eulogies. No prayers. Just dirt, sweat, and silence.
The burn pile grew smaller, black smoke rising over the trees.
The enemy was gone. The danger was, for now, past.
But the wounds they left behind would take far longer to heal.
---
That night, the camp was quieter than it had ever been.
Joe returned to the tent.
Amy was already inside, curled up on her side, eyes red and raw from crying.
Andrea sat cross-legged beside her, rubbing her sister's back. For once, she didn't hide behind her usual sharpness.
Her face was bare. Grief had melted down the walls she'd spent years building.
Joe entered without a word, sat between them, and pulled them both in.
Amy buried her face in his chest, sobbing softly.
Andrea didn't speak. She just leaned against him, letting herself be held...