The sky was soft gray, dew still clinging to the grass. The camp was waking up slowly.
Boots crunching dirt, water being poured, someone coughing off in the distance.
Joe sat on the porch steps, sipping weak coffee, a rifle propped nearby.
His shoulder was stiff. A dull ache in his side. His mind elsewhere.
Maggie stepped out of the house.
She looked rested but only just. Her eyes were sharp. Guarded.
Joe looked up, met her gaze, gave a slight nod.
"Morning."
Maggie didn't answer right away.
She walked past him, then stopped, turned, arms crossed.
"So… you, Amy and Andrea."
Joe's eyes narrowed slightly.
"Yeah?"
A beat of silence.
Joe set his coffee down. "You jealous?"
Maggie raised a brow.
"I'm pissed," she said.
"You kissed me like it meant something. Then turned around and got dragged into a tent by someone else like none of it mattered."
Joe stood slowly, expression unreadable.
"It did mean something."
"Then what the hell was that last night?"
He looked off toward the fields.
"This world's broken, Maggie. There's no rules. No time for slow anything. I didn't ask for any of it. They… happened."
Maggie shook her head, stepping closer.
"So what now? I get in line? Take a number?"
Joe finally looked at her, eyes steady.
"No. But... don't expect me to be some prince charming."
"'Cause I'm not."
That hit her.
Maggie's expression flickered...
Hurt flashing across her face before she quickly masked it. She nodded once, sharp and final, then turned away.
She stepped off the porch and headed for the barn, her boots crunching dry dirt with every step.
Joe let out a long sigh.
He picked up his coffee, took a slow sip, the heat doing nothing to warm the growing cold in his chest.
Out of the corner of his eye, movement.
Hershel.
Watching from the window, arms crossed, glare sharp enough to cut steel.
Joe met his gaze, lifted his mug in a lazy wave.
Hershel didn't move.
Joe turned and walked off, heading toward the others. Back to what he was good at.
Surviving.
...
The group gathered around a simple wooden cross hammered into the ground.
No body, just a pair of Otis's boots at the base, laces still tied. A folded flannel shirt placed beside them.
The air was heavy with silence. No one spoke until Joe stepped forward, hands at his sides, eyes locked on the cross.
He exhaled slowly.
"Otis stayed behind with the truck," he began.
"We were trying to draw the walkers away. Create some space so I could get into the warehouse. He laid on the horn, took the attention off me."
Joe glanced up, his voice steady but low.
"I didn't see it happen… but I saw him in the truck afterward."
"His throat had been slit." Patricia burat into teats. Beth comforting her.
"The masked men did it. The same ones who ambushed me."
He looked down.
"Otis didn't deserve what happened." Everyone nodded.
"From the short time I knew him… he was a good man. Brave. Selfless."
He let that hang in the air.
Patricia stepped forward, tears falling freely. She wrapped her arms around Joe without hesitation, clinging to him.
"Thank you," she whispered, voice cracking.
"Thank you for bringing him back to me, even just the truth."
Joe slowly returned the hug, one arm lightly around her shoulder.
Maggie and Beth stood close together, both crying softly. Beth wiped her eyes with her sleeve.
Maggie stared straight ahead, jaw trembling.
Hershel stepped up next. He held a worn Bible in one hand, the other resting gently on Patricia's shoulder.
His voice was quiet, but strong.
"Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil…"
The group bowed their heads as he led them in prayer.
The breeze rustled through the tree above them, leaves whispering in the wind.
And for a moment, in this broken world, there was still room for mourning.
...
The group began to disperse slowly, soft murmurs and sniffles fading as people made their way back toward the farmhouse.
Joe lingered by the cross, hands still in his pockets, gaze fixed on the boots.
Footsteps approached.
He didn't look up... he didn't need to.
Hershel.
The older man stood beside him, silent for a while. The breeze carried the faint smell of soil and sweat. Horses neighed faintly in the distance.
"I know you lied," Hershel said finally, voice even.
Joe didn't flinch.
"Not everything. Just enough."
Hershel nodded slowly.
"She needed peace more than truth."
Joe glanced at him.
"You mad?"
"No," Hershel said, eyes on the horizon.
"Otis was no soldier. He wouldn't have made it out, even if he ran. You gave Patricia something to hold onto. That matters."
Another beat of silence.
"But Joe," Hershel added, turning to face him now, "you walk a dangerous line. Between who you are… and who you're becoming."
Joe looked away, jaw tense.
"I do what needs to be done."
"That's what everyone says, right up until it breaks them."
Joe gave a humorless smile.
"Little late for that."
Hershel studied him for a long moment, then placed a hand briefly on his shoulder. Just above the stitched wound Maggie had closed.
"There's still pieces worth saving," he said quietly.
"Don't throw 'em all away."
Then he turned and walked back toward the house, leaving Joe alone with the wind and the weight of it all.
...
Joe let out a long sigh. He hated lying.
But sometimes, telling the whole truth did more damage than good.
He walked back toward the group and sat beside Sophia, quietly spooning at her breakfast.
She didn't say much, just picked at her food. Joe didn't push for the reason, he assumed it was because of Carl's situation.
Across the yard, Maggie stood with Rick and Daryl, a large map spread across the hood of a car.
She was pointing out roads, trails, and markers around the area. The search for the missing kids had been stalled long enough.
Joe stood up and walked over, just as Hershel said, "Rick, you can't go. Not after losing that much blood."
Rick nodded reluctantly, looking pale but stubborn.
"Guess it's just me," Daryl muttered, tightening the strap on his crossbow.
Joe stepped in.
"No. I'll go too."
Maggie frowned. "Your shoulder—"
"It's fine," Joe cut her off.
"We need to find those kids. If they're still alive, they won't be for much longer."
Maggie crossed her arms, huffing under her breath.
T-Dog spoke up. "And what if you find 'em… and they've been bit?"
A pause.
Rick answered for them. "Then they do what they must."
Maggie looked between them, voice tight.
"And their families?"
Joe didn't blink. "We tell them the truth."
Daryl nodded, silent agreement in his eyes.
The conversation shifted when Hershel spoke again, firmer this time.
"No more weapons carried on this farm. Not openly."
Rick nodded without hesitation.
T-Dog looked annoyed. Daryl scowled.
Joe stepped forward and placed his Glock on the hood of the car without a word.
Maggie and Hershel exchanged a look.
Quiet appreciation.
With a sigh, Daryl set his pistol down too, but kept his crossbow slung over his shoulder.
He was already walking off toward the treeline, muttering something under his breath.
"Stupid old man."
---
Maggie turned to Rick.
"Do we have any bandages left?"
Rick shook his head, clearly frustrated.
"Used everything on Carl."
Maggie looked toward the barn. "I can go into town. I've been to the pharmacy before. I know where everything is."
Rick started to object, and Hershel echoed him.
"Maggie, that was before," Rick said.
"Joe got jumped by those masked freaks just a few miles out. They might still be around."
Maggie sighed in frustration, jaw tight.
Joe stepped forward. "I'll go with her."
Hershel frowned."And what of the search?"
Joe looked down. His voice was softer now.
"Honestly? I'm not optimistic."
"It's been two nights. Out there... that long? The chances they're still alive are slim to none."
A somber silence settled over the group. No one argued.
---
Maggie headed off to get the horses ready.
Joe veered toward the tents to find Amy and Andrea. Both looked pale, lingering near the fire pit, cups of water in hand.
He approached.
Andrea looked up and stepped closer, pulling him aside.
"When you're in town…" she said, voice low,
"Can you grab a couple pregnancy tests?"
Joe blinked, then nodded slowly.
"Yeah. I can do that."
She bit her lip and glanced at Amy, who sat curled up on a blanket.
Both women had gotten sick again that morning... nausea, vomiting, but no fever.
Hershel had checked them out and confirmed it wasn't viral.
Joe knew what that meant. Or at least what it might mean.
He nodded again, more thoughtful this time.
"I'll see what else I can find. Vitamins. Iron. Whatever's there."
Andrea placed a hand briefly on his arm, nothing flirtatious this time, just real.
Joe kissed her, then turned and walked off toward the stables.
His body ached. His head was full.
But there was no turning back now.
...
Joe and Maggie were just about to ride out, saddlebags loaded, reins in hand...
When a commotion near the old well caught their attention.
A small group had gathered.
Rick, Glenn, T-Dog, and a few others. Concern painted every face.
They trotted over, pulling their horses to a stop.
"What's going on?" Maggie asked.
Rick pointed toward the open well.
"Bloated walker down there. Water's no good unless we get it out in one piece."
"It's stuck," T-Dog added.
"Too swollen to pull apart, but no one's volunteering to climb down."
Joe didn't wait.
He dismounted, walked past everyone, and dropped straight into the well.
The group froze in disbelief.
"Joe!" Maggie shouted, swinging off her horse.
"Are you insane?!"
They rushed over, peering down into the well.
Joe stood chest-deep in murky water, face-to-face with the walker. Its body grotesquely bloated, head twisted sharply to one side. It wasn't moving.
"Neck's broken," Joe called up.
"This thing's not going anywhere."
"Toss me a rope!"
Glenn blinked, then turned and ran. Moments later, he was back with a coil of rope.
They dropped it down. Joe tied it around the walker's chest with practiced ease, double-checking the knot. Then he grabbed the slick stones and hauled himself out, water dripping off him like rain.
The group pulled the walker up, groaning as its bulk scraped the edge of the well. It flopped onto the grass, still dead for good.
"That's done," Rick said grimly, eyeing the water. "We'll seal it. Just in case."
Maggie slapped Joe in the shoulder, the injured one.
"What the hell were you thinking?"
Joe winced sharply, his jaw clenching.
Her expression changed immediately.
"I... I'm sorry."
Joe just rolled his shoulder, giving her a half-smirk.
"It's fine. Let's go to town."
Maggie hesitated… then nodded, climbing back onto her horse.
Without another word, they galloped off down the dirt road. Dust rising steady behind them.