The group gathered their scattered gear, loading weapons, blankets, and scraps of food into packs.
They set off down the narrow path, boots crunching gravel and dry leaves.
Behind them, a thick plume of black smoke still rose over the treetops.
Terminus smoldering, a wound in the sky.
As they walked, Tara kept glancing at Joe. He was at Andrea's side, arm around her waist, supporting her steady but gentle.
Something twisted in Tara's chest. Finally, she worked up the nerve.
She drifted closer. "Can I talk to you?"
Joe's eyes slid toward her. He gave a sharp whistle and Tyreese moved in immediately, taking Andrea's weight with quiet care.
Joe muttered a thanks, then peeled off with Tara.
When they were out of earshot, Tara hesitated, hands fidgeting. "I… I need to confess something to you."
Joe gave a dry chuckle. "I'm not a priest."
She laughed softly, but it died quick, replaced with nerves. "At the prison. I..."
Joe cut her off, voice flat. "That's the past."
Tara shook her head fiercely, eyes wet. "No. I need to tell you this."
Joe studied her a moment, then gave a small nod. "Okay."
She drew a shaky breath. "It was my sister. The brunette. She's the one who shot you… nearly killed you."
Joe's expression didn't change. He just nodded, calm.
Tara swallowed. "And I. When I saw her go down... I raised my gun. I almost shot you."
Joe sighed through his nose. "But you didn't. Why?"
Her voice cracked. "Because I didn't think you'd survive anyway. And… it wasn't your fault she died."
She blinked, tears slipping. "And then you saved me. You didn't have to, but you did."
Joe smirked faintly, tilting his head. "And here I am. Guess you should've taken the shot."
Tara shook her head, stepping closer. "No. You're not who I thought you were. I saw you with the kids. You're a good man."
Joe's smile faded. He looked away, voice low. "I'm not. Haven't been in a long time. I'd kill anyone that crossed my path, if it meant keeping my own safe."
Tara nodded, staring at the dirt. "Then, maybe I shouldn't be here. I can leave if you want."
Joe frowned at her, then shook his head. "No."
She looked up, confused, voice breaking. "Why?"
Joe's expression softened just slightly. He patted her shoulder. "Because you're one of mine now."
Tara froze, stunned. Her lip trembled, then she threw her arms around him, hugging him hard. "Thank you."
Joe gave a small smile, awkwardly patting her back. "Come on. I'm sure Glenn's looking for you."
Tara blushed, wiping her eyes quickly. "Okay." She jogged ahead, heart pounding.
Joe watched her go, then turned back, lengthening his stride until he was at Andrea's side again.
He slipped his arm around her waist, steadying her, giving Tyreese a nod of thanks before taking her weight back himself.
He said nothing more, but in his silence the truth was clear.
Joe's circle had grown.
And he would kill the world before letting it be broken again.
...
An hour into their march, the forest was quiet save for the crunch of boots and the occasional cry from the children.
Then...
"Help! Somebody help me!"
The cry rang through the trees. Everyone froze.
Joe didn't slow, didn't even turn his head. "Keep moving," he said flatly, tightening his grip on Andrea's waist.
Rick fell in step with him, mirroring the instinct to ignore it. But Carl's voice cut sharp through the silence. "Dad, come on. We should go help."
Rick's face hardened. "Carl..."
Carl interrupted, eyes blazing. "We're strong! We can still save people!"
The words hung there. Rick's breath caught, his gaze drifting from his son to Joe.
Joe studied Carl for a long moment, then gave Rick a small nod.
Rick nodded back, jaw tight. "Alright. Let's go."
Rick, Carl, and a few others charged ahead into the woods. Joe stayed with Andrea, supporting her, the rest of the group close behind.
They emerged at the base of a rocky outcrop. At the top, a man in a priest's collar clung desperately to the stone, trying to climb down.
A half dozen walkers sprawled dead on the ground, Rick and Carl's handiwork.
The priest slipped, tumbled down hard, landing in a heap. Joe scanned the treeline, katana loose in his grip. "Clear," he called.
Gabriel's eyes darting to the blood smeared across the rock. His face went pale, queasy.
Carl tilted his head. "You alright?"
Before he could answer, he staggered to the side, and vomited violently into the brush.
Joe's eyes narrowed, noting the sheer amount. He's been eating well, he thought grimly.
The stranger wiped his mouth, straightened weakly, and spoke with an awkward smile. "Sorry about that. I'm Gabriel."
Joe's voice cut sharp. "You carrying any weapons?"
Gabriel chuckled nervously. "No. Do I look like I have any weapons?"
Rick stepped in, hard edge in his tone. "I don't give a damn what it looks like. Answer."
Gabriel held up his hands. "I have no weapons. None. The word of the Lord is the only protection I need."
Abraham scoffed. "Yeah? And how's that working out for you?"
Gabriel looked around at them all, his lips twitching. "Pretty well. I called for help, and… help came."
Glenn gave a short, humorless laugh. "Can't argue with that."
Gabriel's gaze drifted downward, back to his vomit, then up again, softer. "Do you have any food? What I had left… it's on the ground there."
Carl dug in his pocket and pulled out a handful of pecans he'd scavenged earlier, holding them out.
Gabriel's eyes widened. "Thank you." He took them, but his attention snapped sideways at the sound of soft coos.
His gaze fixed on the cluster of infants and children behind Joe, his expression shifting.
Joe stepped smoothly between them, body a wall, his eyes sharp. "Got a problem?"
Gabriel blinked, shaking his head quickly. "No. They're… beautiful."
Amy smiled softly from behind Joe. "Thank you."
Gabriel turned toward Rick, assuming he was in charge. "Do you have a camp?"
Joe answered first, voice clipped. "No. Do you?"
Gabriel hesitated, glancing between them, then shrank a little against the rock. "I… I have a church."
Joe scoffed, turning toward Rick. "Check him."
Rick patted him down thoroughly, then shook his head. "Nothing."
Joe's eyes narrowed. "How many walkers have you killed?"
Gabriel shifted, uncomfortable. "…None."
"How many people?"
Gabriel's voice sharpened, defensive. "None."
"Why?" Joe asked, his tone cutting deeper, blade still loose in his hand.
Gabriel met his stare and swallowed hard. "Because to kill is a sin. The Lord abhors violence."
Rick leaned in close, voice low, dangerous. "We've all done something. So what have you done?"
The weight of the group's stares pressed down. Gabriel stammered, voice thin. "I… I am a sinner. I sin almost every day. But those sins… I confess to the Lord, not men."
Silence followed, heavy and distrustful.
Michonne finally broke it. "You said you have a church?"
Gabriel nodded quickly. "Yes."
"Would you take us there?"
Gabriel hesitated, then nodded again. "Sure."
Joe stepped forward, katana shifting on his shoulder. His voice dropped to a growl. "Listen to me. If there's no church, if you're leading us into a trap… I'll kill you. Collar or not."
Gabriel's throat bobbed. "Luckily for me, that's not my intention."
Joe smiled thinly, eyes hard. "Hope so. My blade's getting a little thirsty." He chuckled as he turned back to Andrea.
Gabriel started off down a faint path, his pace uneven. Carl asked, "How did you survive this long out here?"
Gabriel's voice came thin, almost apologetic. "I kept to myself. People are just as dangerous as walkers."
Daryl muttered under his breath, "People are worse."
Gabriel nodded nervously. "I wouldn't know. I don't go out much. In fact… today is the farthest I've ever been from my church."
That got a few skeptical glances.
Gabriel raised his hands, chuckling weakly. "Or maybe I'm lying. Maybe I just want to steal your squirrels."
No one laughed.
His face flushed. "Members of my congregation used to say I had a terrible sense of humor."
"Rotten," Daryl muttered.
Rick's voice cut through. "How much further?"
Gabriel jumped to answer quickly. "A few more minutes."
Joe's tone dropped cold. "You've got five."
Gabriel swallowed hard and picked up his pace, the group followed close behind him.
...
The trees thinned out into a small clearing, and there it stood.
A white wooden church, its paint chipped and faded but still standing tall among the pines. The sign out front swaying faintly in the breeze, letters worn but legible.
"Welcome, Saint Sullivan's Church."
Gabriel stepped forward eagerly, fishing keys from his pocket. But Rick's voice cut sharp.
"Don't." Rick raised a hand. "We'll take a look first. We just wanna hold onto our squirrels."
Gabriel froze, the awkward joke from earlier still stinging. He gave a tight nod and extended the ring of keys toward Rick with trembling fingers.
Rick passed them to Daryl. "Together."
The two slipped inside, weapons drawn.
The church's interior was dim, shafts of light cutting through stained-glass windows fractured by age. Dust lingered in the air.
Empty cans and bottles were stacked neatly against one wall.
Rows of open Bibles lined the pews, each marked with highlighter, words circled in fervent strokes.
Verses about sin, confession, forgiveness.
Rick frowned, flipping a page. 'Doesn't seem like he's lying.'
Meanwhile, Daryl rummaged near the altar, finding notebooks stacked in a small crate. He flipped one open.
Inside was a hand-written copy of Genesis. He grabbed another—Exodus. Another—Leviticus. Each book painstakingly copied, word for word.
Daryl whistled low under his breath. "Guy's been busy."
Rick scanned the room once more. No traps. No signs of an ambush. Just obsession, solitude, and dust.
…
Outside, Joe had gently lowered Andrea onto the steps, adjusting her so she could sit comfortably.
He brushed her shoulder once, then straightened.
"I'll check the perimeter."
Andrea's tired hand caught his wrist briefly. He squeezed her fingers, then jogged off into the trees.
He moved in steady circles around the clearing, eyes sweeping over brush, tree lines, animal tracks.
He crouched low at one point, dragging his fingers through the dirt. No footprints. No discarded wrappers. No shell casings.
Nothing.
He paused at the far side of the clearing, eyes narrowing. It was quiet.
But quiet wasn't always danger... it could be peace, rare as it came.
He jogged back to the front, Andrea's eyes following him as he approached.
Joe gave a sharp nod to Rick as the man emerged from the church doorway. "Clear."
Rick gave one in return. "Same in here."
The group began filing slowly inside the church, still wary but pulled by the promise of four walls and a roof over their heads.
...
By the time Joe stepped inside, everyone had already gathered in the sanctuary.
The old wooden pews groaned beneath the weight of tired bodies. Weapons leaned against walls, children nestled into laps.
For the first since their rescue from Terminus, the group allowed themselves to sit.
The air smelled of old wood, wax, and dust.
Stained-glass windows threw fractured beams of red and gold light across the floor, bathing the room in a strange, almost holy glow.
For once, there was no gunfire. No screaming. Just the sound of steady breaths and the faint creak of wood.
Joe's eyes swept the room as he entered, always checking exits, counting faces.
Once he was satisfied, he leaned his katana against the nearest pew and eased Andrea down beside Amy and Emma.
He stood for a moment, arms folded, before lowering himself onto the bench behind them.
Lee rose to his feet, drawing attention. "Since we've all been through hell together… I should introduce my people." He motioned to the faces around him.
"This is Lilly. Carly. Doug. And Kenny..." he clapped a burly man on the shoulder. "... along with his wife, Katjaa, and their boy, Duck."
The names passed through the room like sparks, new faces meeting old with cautious nods.
Rick leaned forward, brow furrowed. "How'd you get here?"
Lee sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "We boarded a train. Thought it was luck when it stopped for us. Looked like salvation. But the tracks only led one way."
His jaw tightened. "To Terminus."
Kenny spat to the side, shaking his head. "We should've known better. Nothing good comes easy anymore."
Katjaa's hand settled on his arm, steadying him, while Duck fiddled with a toy car he'd been clutching tight.
Glenn leaned forward, curious. "So… you rode the train here? It was still running?"
Doug nodded, adjusting his glasses. "Yeah. Somehow. Whoever had control of it… they knew what they were doing. But it wasn't for us. It was bait."
The group shifted uncomfortably at that word. Bait. It was exactly what Terminus had been.
Silence fell again, heavy but not hostile. For the first time in a long while, they weren't fighting to survive.
They were just… sitting. Breathing. Looking at each other like maybe, there was still a chance to build something out of the ashes.
Andrea leaned against Joe's shoulder, eyes closed, her bandaged side rising and falling gently.
He stayed still, letting her rest, but his eyes never left the doorway.
Even in the Lord's house, Joe trusted nothing.
The group sat scattered in the pews, catching their breath, the weight of survival pressing in.
Conversation finally turned toward what came next.
Abraham stood tall, chest out, his booming voice echoing through the church. "We have a mission. That man..." he pointed to a long-haired figure in the back."Is Dr. Eugene Porter. He can end this nightmare."
Eugene stepped forward, his eyes darting nervously over the faces staring back.
Joe leaned back against a pew, arms folded across his chest. "End it? No offense, but I've heard that song before. Jenner at the CDC said everyone's infected. Ain't no magic cure for that."
His eyes narrowed. "So tell me, how exactly is he gonna pull it off?"
Abraham's glare sharpened. Joe shrugged. "Tell me."
Abraham shoved Eugene forward. "Go on."
Eugene adjusted his glasses, swallowed, and finally spoke. "My name is Dr. Eugene Porter. I was part of a ten-person team that worked on the Human Genome Project. A division tasked with combating disease by weaponizing diseases. I am familiar with delivery systems that could..."
He hesitated, "Wipe out all living organisms on this planet. But with a little recalibration on the terminals in D.C., I believe we can reverse it. Fire with fire. Eradicate the infected."
The room was silent.
Joe snorted. "Sounds like a stretch. What if you screw it up? What if you mutate them? Stronger, faster. Smarter. You ready to live with that?"
Eugene froze, fumbling for words. Abraham stepped forward fast, chest pressing into Joe's.
"He doesn't owe you an explanation. As far as I'm concerned, your opinion doesn't matter."
Joe chuckled, leaning in close. "That so?"
"Damn right," Abraham growled. "We're taking that bus outside. It'll carry Eugene to Washington."
Joe's face hardened. "No. That bus is mine."
Abraham smirked. "Does it got your name on it?"
Joe's smile was sharp, dangerous. "No. But I can write it in your blood."
The tension snapped.
Abraham's fist clenched. "I'd like to see you try."
Rick, Glenn, Daryl, and Rosita surged forward, trying to cut between them. "The bus doesn't even run right now," Glenn insisted.
"Yeah," Rosita nodded quickly. "Let's just... take a breath."
But Joe and Abraham locked eyes like no one else existed.
"You don't get what's at stake here," Abraham spat.
"And you don't get what you're risking," Joe snapped back. His voice dropped low, cutting. "Glenn told me you started with twelve. How many more will die before you realize this is a false hope?"
Abraham roared and slammed Joe to the floor, driving fists into his ribs.
Joe laughed through gritted teeth. "Not bad."
Bam!
Joe's elbow cracked against Abraham's skull, snapping his head sideways. Abraham staggered, but Joe mounted him in an instant, fists hammering down.
Abraham bucked, throwing a brutal punch into Joe's temple. Joe toppled, dazed.
For a second, the fight looked over. Abraham hauled himself up, face bloodied but standing. The group was stunned.
Then, Joe rose.
His eyes were different now... glazed, empty. A mask of pure violence.
He surged forward with inhuman precision.
Fists blurred, each strike smashing into Abraham's face, nose, jaw, ribs.
Abraham reeled, unable to block, his strength fading under the relentless assault.
Joe didn't stop. He didn't even breathe.
It was like watching a demon wear a man's skin.
Abraham's arms sagged. His body slumped under the blows. Still, Joe rained punches, each one crunching flesh and bone.
"Joe! Stop!" Rick barked. Glenn grabbed his shoulder, Daryl moved in, but none of them could pry him loose.
Then...
A sharp cry split the air.
Grace.
Her little voice cracked through the madness. Joe's head snapped up, the glaze in his eyes breaking.
His chest heaved, fists trembling mid-swing. Slowly, he turned, staggering toward the sound.
He scooped her up from Amy's arms, holding her tight. His face softened instantly as she giggled, tiny hands reaching for his bruised cheek.
The room was silent, every eye locked on him.
Lee muttered under his breath, "Guess he is a demon."
No one disagreed.
Rosita and Eugene dragged Abraham's battered body to a pew. Rosita glared at Joe, voice sharp. "Seriously?"
Amy stepped forward fast, protective. "He started it."
Rosita's mouth opened, then shut. She said nothing more.
Amy guided Joe to a bench, pulling at his shirt. Maggie gasped when she saw the dark bruises on his ribs, the reopened wound bleeding down his abdomen.
"That bastard reopened it," she hissed.
Joe chuckled, wincing. "Yeah. But it felt good. Haven't been pushed that far in a while."
Emma slid in close, brushing his hair back from his sweaty forehead. "It didn't need to happen."
Joe's eyes hardened again. "It did. I'm the leader. He needed to learn that. One way… or the other."
Emma sighed, her hand stilling in his hair. "…I guess so."
Joe's gaze shifted across the pews.
At the altar, Father Gabriel spoke low with Rick, wringing his hands. The priest's voice trembled with nerves.
Joe's jaw clenched. His mind might've been soft for Grace a moment ago... but the storm was still there.