The morning broke gray and heavy, the air cool and damp as Maggie stirred in her bedroll.
She rubbed her eyes, disoriented for a moment, then sat up to see the forest around them shrouded in a dense fog.
The trees were little more than ghostly silhouettes, their branches dripping with condensation.
"Can't see five feet in front of me," Sasha muttered as she slung her rifle over her shoulder.
"Good for hiding," Bob said, standing and stretching his back. "Bad for everything else."
Nicole emerged from behind a tree where she'd been keeping watch, eyes darting nervously through the white haze. "Let's get to the tracks," she urged.
They packed quickly and moved out, the silence of the fog swallowing even their footsteps.
The rails appeared before them like twin lines vanishing into nothingness.
For a time, it was peaceful. Eerily so.
Then came the first groan... soft, close, muffled by the fog.
"Walker," Sasha whispered, rifle snapping to her shoulder.
Another groan answered from the other side. Then another.
Shapes materialized in the mist, lurching figures emerging from the white veil.
"Eyes up!" Maggie shouted, unsheathing her knife.
The herd was small, but in the suffocating fog, it felt like an army. They struck quickly, the group scattering instinctively to handle the threat.
Maggie slashed one across the skull, but another came from the side, knocking her off balance.
She stumbled over a slick rail and went down hard, back slamming against the gravel.
The walker landed on her chest, teeth snapping inches from her throat.
"Maggie!" Sasha spun, raising her rifle but she was too far.
Maggie strained, shoving at the creature with all her strength. Her arms trembled, panic rising in her chest.
Across the tracks, Bob swung his machete at another walker, but it grabbed his arm, dragging him down with surprising force.
He crashed to the ground, weapon tumbling from his grip.
"Help!" he grunted, struggling as the walker's mouth gnashed at his face.
Sasha had to choose. She steadied her aim and fired, the walker atop Maggie dropping dead with a wet thud.
"Bob!" she shouted, rushing toward him. She was too late.
The walker on Bob sank its teeth into his arm.
Bob's scream split the fog.
Nicole burst through the mist, rifle raised. She fired point-blank into the walker's skull, blasting it off Bob.
His scream cut off abruptly, replaced by heavy, gasping breaths.
The group rushed in, Sasha dropping to her knees beside him, eyes wide with dread.
"Bob… oh God…"
But Bob... he was laughing.
They stared at him, dumbfounded, as he reached down beneath him, grabbed the dentures lying there and held them up with a grin.
"Never been so lucky," he said, still chuckling.
For a second, no one moved. Then, one by one, they started laughing. Ragged, relieved, and almost hysterical.
Even Nicole, shaking from adrenaline, let out a shaky giggle.
Sasha threw her arms around him, kissing his cheek hard. "You idiot," she whispered, voice breaking.
Bob hugged her back with his good arm, grinning wide. "Still breathing, ain't I?"
Maggie climbed to her feet, brushing off her clothes, a small smile tugging at her lips despite her pounding heart. "We're burning daylight," she said.
The others gathered themselves quickly, checking ammo, weapons, and each other.
Sasha looked down the fog-choked tracks. "Let's keep moving," she said firmly.
And so they did, disappearing into the mist once more.
Their laughter fading into the quiet as the rails carried them toward an uncertain future.
...
The small town they'd trudged through was nothing but hollow shells of homes and businesses.
Its silence broken only by the wind rattling empty signs.
Cars sat blackened and dead in the streets, stripped of anything worth taking.
Glenn barely noticed any of it. His eyes were fixed forward, feet pounding as if sheer momentum would summon his family back to him.
Then, as they crossed a set of train tracks slicing through the town, something caught his eye.
White paint, bold and uneven across the side of a two-story building.
"TERMINUS. THOSE WHO ARRIVE, SURVIVE."
Glenn froze. His chest hitched.
And then, against all the darkness and death, he laughed. Loud and raw.
"Yes," he whispered. Then louder: "Yes! Finally! A lead. Thank God!"
Abraham and the others stared at him like he'd lost his mind.
"That's a hell of a stretch, pal," Abraham muttered, arms crossed. "You really think your leader, and all the scattered pieces of your camp, are heading to this random spot? No way."
Glenn turned to him, eyes blazing with conviction. "I do."
And without another word, he started jogging down the tracks.
Tara glanced at Abraham, then broke into a run. "Wait for me!"
Rosita arched an eyebrow at Abraham. "So?"
He sighed, already moving. "Maybe we can bum a vehicle off whoever's there."
Rosita smirked, "Or maybe he's right."
Abraham ignored her, but the hint of doubt lingered in his eyes as they followed Glenn into the fading light.
By nightfall, they reached the next town.
A weathered library stood at the edge, windows boarded but intact. Inside, the musty smell of paper greeted them.
Dust hung in the air like a fog.
They barricaded the doors, each claiming a corner of the dim main hall.
Abraham and Rosita vanished into the shadows between shelves, muffled laughter and soft whispers hinting at their chosen way to pass the time.
Glenn sat apart, his back against a wall, staring at the cracked ceiling.
He barely noticed Tara approach until she tugged at his sleeve.
"Come here," she said softly.
He hesitated, then let her pull him into a quiet alcove lined with forgotten history books.
They lay side by side, his arm around her shoulders, her head resting on his chest.
After a long silence, Glenn spoke. "Her name was Mary."
Tara stirred. "Your…"
"My girlfriend," he said, voice low, tight. "The Governor...Brian. He took her. Said we were the bad guys. Tortured me while he…" His voice faltered, jaw tightening. "He killed her. I didn't even get to bury her."
Tara's breath hitched. Tears welled in her eyes as she gripped his shirt. "I trusted him," she whispered. "God, I'm such an idiot. I helped…"
"You didn't know," Glenn said firmly. "You didn't want to be there. None of that's on you."
She sobbed quietly, the sound muffled against him. He held her, patient and steady, letting her grief bleed out into the dark.
When she finally looked up, her eyes were red but clearer. "Thank you," she whispered.
Glenn gave her a small, weary smile. "Get some rest. We've got a long way tomorrow."
...
By midafternoon the next day, they reached a railyard with high fences and signs promising sanctuary.
Hope flickered across every tired face as they stepped through the open gates.
A woman greeted them with a warm smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "Hi, I'm Mary. Welcome to Terminus."
She offered food, warmth, reassurance.
Glenn felt relief loosen something tight in his chest… until he caught Tara's subtle frown, the way her gaze kept flicking to the armed men on the catwalks.
Before he could say anything, they were disarmed "for safety," their gear taken "for storage," and herded into a side building.
The moment the heavy metal door clanged shut behind them, Glenn knew something was wrong.
A man named Alex smirked at Abraham's protests. "Never heard the 'save the world' line before," he sneered.
Forcing them out another door and to a waiting boxcar with an "A" scrawled on it in white paint.
He shoved them inside, then slammed the boxcar door shut.
Abraham pounded on the steel walls. Tara clung to Glenn, shaking. "Are we gonna be okay?"
Glenn kissed the top of her head, voice steady despite the cold knot in his gut. "Joe's good at reading people. He'll smell their bullshit from a mile away."
"I hope so," Tara whispered.
Abraham snorted bitterly. "If this Joe of yours shows up, I'll…"
Rosita cut him off with a smirk. "I hope he does."
In the darkness of the boxcar, Glenn closed his eyes, willing himself to believe it.
That Joe was alive, that he'd find them, that they'd all walk out of this alive.
...
The tracks began to splinter into a web of steel, converging toward a cluster of old freight cars.
A weathered train station painted with one word in bright yellow across its face.
TERMINUS.
Maggie's heart thudded faster as she led Sasha, Bob, and Nicole down the gravel approach.
Flower gardens bloomed around the entrance, neat and colorful, a surreal sign of life in a dead world.
"Looks… nice," Bob murmured, almost in disbelief.
"Too nice," Sasha muttered, her eyes scanning the rooftops. But Maggie, so desperate for hope, let her guard slip.
They walked through the open gates, met by a tall man in clean clothes and a polite smile. "Welcome," he said warmly. "Please, follow me. You must be hungry."
Inside, the smiles faded fast. Weapons were stripped from their hands, their bags stripped from their backs.
Before Maggie could process the subtle wrongness in their hosts' voices, they were herded into a side building.
...
The darkness inside smelled of rust and sweat.
Maggie blinked until shapes resolved.
A group of people sitting along the walls. Her gaze caught on one man in particular, thin and pale but very much alive.
"Glenn," she breathed.
He looked up. For a heartbeat, disbelief froze them both, and then Maggie was across the car, crashing into him.
She clutched his shirt, saying happily, "You're alive."
"I am," Glenn whispered, holding her tight. "I made it."
She pulled back just enough to search his face. "Joe?"
Glenn's eyes softened, pained. "He's alive. But the last Tara saw… he was hurt bad, Maggie. Real bad. We thought..." He stopped himself, pulling her close again. "But he'll be here. I swear it."
Maggie broke, hugging Glenn tightly, relief and grief tangling until she could barely breathe.
When she finally looked up, Glenn gestured to a woman sitting near him. "This is Tara. She… helped me get here."
Tara shifted uncomfortably under Maggie's tear-streaked gaze. "Hi," she said awkwardly.
The weight of what she'd done... what she'd almost done. Hung between them. "I'm… glad you're here."
Maggie nodded once, unable to find words, then leaned back against the boxcar next to Glenn.
Glenn cleared his throat, forcing some semblance of normalcy. "And these are Sasha, Bob, and Nicole," he said, gesturing to his group. "Everyone, meet Abraham, Rosita, and Eugene. They got us this far."
Abraham gave a curt nod. "Pleasure," he said dryly.
Rosita offered a small wave. "Guess we're all in this together now."
The boxcar fell quiet again, hope dimming as reality set in, they were trapped.
But for the first time in weeks, the group was back together, at least partly.
And in that, at least, there was strength.
...
Rick and his group arrived at Terminus, moving cautiously as they followed the tracks to the large, brick station.
Before stepping into view, Rick stashed some firearms in a hole about 30 yards past the treeline.
They circled around the perimeter, slipping in through the back.
Inside, they crept up behind a man broadcasting a radio message.
"Hello," Rick called out.
A group of people turned at the sound, and a man stepped forward, smiling warmly.
"Name's Gareth. Welcome to Terminus."
He extended the greeting with open arms, speaking with practiced ease. "You've come a long way. We're glad to have you."
Rick's group hesitated, but the man's manner was disarming.
When asked to show their weapons, Rick hesitated, then finally complied. The others followed suit.
They were frisked, then handed their weapons back. A gesture that lowered their guard further.
Gareth led them to the welcoming area.
Raised gardens bloomed in neat rows; sturdy brick walls surrounded the compound.
For a moment, they all felt the dangerous tug of hope.
By the grill, the scent of roasting meat filled the air. Rick's nose twitched.
Something about it was… off. Not like any meat he'd cooked before.
A man handed Gareth a plate. Rick's eyes locked on the golden watch on the man's wrist... Glenn's watch.
His gaze swept across the rest of the Terminus group.
He spotted Maggie's silver necklace, armor they'd stripped from fallen Crows at the prison, other items that had belonged to their people.
His stomach turned cold.
Rick subtly signaled the others. Then, without warning, he lunged, grabbing Gareth and driving a knife to his throat.
The rest of Rick's group drew hidden pistols, ready for blood.
Rick snarled, "Where the hell did you get this watch?"
Gareth stammered, "You want answers? Put down the knife."
Rick's eyes were ice. "I see your man up there on the roof. How good's his aim? Where'd you get this watch?"
Gareth swallowed hard. "Got it off a dead one."
Rick gave a humorless chuckle. "What about the riot gear?"
Mary stepped forward, voice flat. "Got it off a cop."
Rick's smirk was pure venom. "Now I know you're lying. That armor's from a group called the Crows." He pressed the knife harder, drawing a thin line of blood. "Where are our people?"
"Who?" Gareth's eyes flickered... caught.
Then he sighed, dropping the mask. "Guess the jig's up. Alex!"
Gunfire erupted from the rooftops. Gareth wrenched free of Rick's grip, ducking away.
"I'd run," Gareth called with a smirk.
Bullets rained down, forcing Rick's group down a narrow path. Every attempt to break away was cut off by gunfire, guiding them like cattle.
At the end of the gauntlet, voices barked commands, "Drop your weapons!"
They obeyed, teeth gritted.
"You! Ringleader... boxcar, now! Or the boy dies."
Rick's blood boiled, but he went.
"Archer next. Samurai."
"Sweethearts."
Rick shouted, "My son!"
"Go, boy!"
One by one, they entered the boxcar. The door slammed shut behind them, locking them in darkness.
Inside, familiar faces turned toward them.
Glenn, Maggie, Sasha, Bob, Nicole—and others they didn't recognize.
Relief surged, tempered by reality.
Glenn stepped forward, voice tight. "Rick. You meet Joe at all?"
Rick shook his head. "No."
The boxcar fell silent, grief momentarily heavy.
Then Glenn smiled grimly. "Figures."
Abraham, watching all of this, frowned. "That's it? You're all just… fine with this?"
Sophia smirked through tears. "Joe's still out there."
Abraham scoffed. "What could one man possibly do in this situation?"
The laughter that followed was sudden and unsettling... hearty, defiant, and utterly certain.
Maggie's voice cracked but held firm. "You'll see."
Carl spoke up quietly, with conviction. "If he's alive, they're already dead. They just don't know it yet."
Abraham stared around at them like they'd all gone mad.
Glenn met his gaze, voice like steel. "We've seen what he does when he's cornered. Terminus has no idea what's coming."
Daryl smirked, saying gruffly. "Joe ain't no man, He's a Demon."
Rick, who had been silent, finally spoke. He looked around the car, at his son, his people, his family.
Then he turned to Abraham, eyes hard as steel.
"They're gonna feel pretty stupid when they find out…"
Abraham tilted his head. "Find out what?"
Rick's answer was a low, lethal promise.
"They're screwing with the wrong people."
The boxcar fell quiet again, but not with fear.
It was the quiet of a storm building.
An unspoken oath shared by every soul inside.
Survive, endure, and when the time came, make them regret ever crossing their path.