Gabriel's voice was low as he spoke with Rick at the altar, but the group caught enough to understand.
Rick finally turned to everyone, his voice carrying throughout the church.
"There's a food bank not far from here. This church used to supply it. Gabriel says it's loaded with canned goods. More than enough to keep us on our feet."
He paused. "Problem is, it's crawling with walkers. A dozen or more."
No one from Joe's group flinched. No protests, no hesitation. They had fought worse for less.
For the others, that wasn't the case. Some gasped and conversations arose about if it was really worth it.
Rick quelled the unrest, "Don't worry, were not gonna force anyone to come. Just do what you can to help around here if that's the case."
The conversation ended there. Weariness weighed heavier than hunger.
The group spread out through the pews and floors, laying out blankets and keeping children close.
The old church creaked, settling under the weight of too many souls.
Joe didn't lay down.
He sat with his back against a wall, his wives forming a small circle around him. Andrea shifted weakly but rested against Amy, Maggie's hand entwined with his.
The children lay nestled on a blanket at his feet, Grace's tiny breaths mixing with Julian's soft snores. Esther clinging to her brother.
Judith slept close, Carl's hand protective on her side.
It should have been peace.
But Joe's eyes stayed sharp, unblinking.
In the silence of the night, his mind churned. Terminus. The ones who got away.
His gut screamed that they weren't gone... not all of them.
He could feel it. They were out there somewhere watching. Waiting.
Until they were ash, he wouldn't rest.
…
The morning broke damp and brittle.
Rick moved quickly, gathering a crew—Sasha, Bob, Lee, Doug, Glenn, Tara, Michonne. Gabriel hovered nearby, pale as always.
"I'll draw you a map," Gabriel offered weakly, fumbling for a pen.
Rick's hand shot out, gripping his arm tight. His tone was iron. "No. You're coming with us."
Gabriel's face drained. "You saw me. I'll be no help. I'm… I'm no good around those things."
Joe's voice cut through from the pews, cold and final. "You're going."
Gabriel's head snapped toward him. Joe's eyes never left his.
The priest swallowed hard, an audible gulp, and nodded quickly. "Alright."
One by one, the group filed out the church door, weapons slung and eyes sharp. Rick lingered, the last to leave.
Joe intercepted him with a hand on his shoulder. His voice was quiet, but heavy. "He's hiding something. Be careful."
Rick met his gaze and gave a small nod. "I know." He patted Joe's shoulder once, firm, before stepping out into the pale morning light.
Joe stayed behind, watching them go. His instincts flared. The air was too still.
Something was coming.
...
Gabriel led them with quick, nervous steps, his black collar damp with sweat.
The woods thinned, giving way to the edge of a forgotten town. Stores sagged in on themselves, glass long shattered, ivy crawling up brick walls.
Rick kept just behind Gabriel, revolver loose in his grip.
Michonne and Glenn flanked them, eyes sharp, blades and guns at the ready.
Sasha and Bob covered the rear, while Lee, Doug, and Tara spread out in between, moving quietly.
No one said it aloud, but every sound. The crunch of leaves, the creak of rusted metal.
It made their stomachs tighten. They all knew the truth now, no matter how many people you walked with, you were never safe.
Gabriel stopped at a rusted garbage container in a narrow alleyway. He climbed awkwardly, nearly slipping before Rick caught his arm and steadied him.
One by one, the others hauled themselves over, weapons clattering softly as they landed.
On the other side, Bob fell into step beside Rick. His voice was low but insistent.
"You really agree with Joe? You don't think Washington's the answer?"
Rick shook his head. "No. I don't."
Bob pressed, "But what if it is? What if Eugene really can fix this?"
Rick's face hardened. "We went to the CDC. Thought we'd found salvation. A scientist, Dr. Jenner, told us everything was gone. Every line of communication. Said the French held out the longest before they went dark. Then the fuel ran out and the place went up in flames."
His voice was flat. "That's what's left of salvation."
Bob's shoulders sank. He slowed until Sasha moved alongside him.
She brushed his arm with her fingers, grounding him. He let out a long breath and stayed quiet.
Gabriel's voice piped up nervously from the front. "It's just ahead. The food bank is right around the corner."
Rick shot him a look, not buying his calm. Gabriel swallowed, facing forward quickly.
...
The road stretched long and cracked, tree roots tearing through the asphalt. The only sound was the crunch of boots and the faint whisper of wind through the leaves.
Daryl walked with his crossbow slung low, glancing sideways now and then.
Carol kept pace, her eyes forward, shoulders set like she was carrying something heavy that she wouldn't let anyone see.
After a long silence, Daryl finally spoke. "I get it. You don't wanna talk about what happened. But… you okay?"
Carol smirked faintly, the corner of her mouth tugging up. "Gotta be."
Daryl nodded, chewing on a stalk of grass he'd picked up somewhere, his voice low. "This is a second chance, y'know."
They rounded a bend. Up ahead, a dusty old sedan sat crooked in the middle of the road, its paint flaking, vines crawling up the wheels.
Carol lifted a hand. "I'll check it."
She jogged ahead, her knife ready. Daryl sighed, shaking his head, but followed anyway, crossbow raised.
Carol leaned into the car, checked under the seats, then stepped out to pop the trunk. Empty. Just dust and old rags. She let the lid fall with a thud.
Daryl's voice broke the silence again, a little rougher this time. "We're not dead. What happened before… we can put it behind us. Start over."
Carol turned, looking back at him. Her expression softened. "I want to."
"Then nothin's stoppin' us."
For a moment, the two of them just stood there. Then Carol stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him.
Daryl froze at first, then let out a long breath and hugged her back, his chin resting on her shoulder.
They pulled apart without a word, falling back into step together.
The road stretched ahead, the trees parting just enough to hint at the church in the distance.
For the first time in a long while, the weight on both their shoulders felt a little lighter.
...
The gunshop was half-collapsed, its ceiling sagging, dust filtering through shafts of weak light.
Every corner was thick with shadow, and Doug felt them pressing on him, ready to swallow him whole.
He drew a breath, steadying himself, and moved down the cracked aisles.
Empty racks, shattered glass cases, long-since looted shelves. Still, he searched, keeping his flashlight beam low.
Something caught his eye. Tucked in the back beneath a collapsed display stand, a metal glint.
He crouched, brushing aside the dust. A small score; a handful of suppressors, and a single box of .45 rounds.
Doug's lips twitched into a nervous smile. "Well, look at that."
He turned for the door, then his foot caught a mop handle.
He pitched forward, knocking into a stack of boxes. They crashed down with a racket loud enough to wake the dead.
"Shit..." He scrambled up, clutching his prize, bolting out the door.
Outside, Glenn and Tara were already there, guns raised at the doorway, eyes sharp.
Tara's voice was tense. "What happened?"
Doug froze, sheepish. "Uh… walker?"
Glenn arched a brow. "Really?"
Doug sighed, shoulders slumping. "…I tripped."
For a moment, Glenn and Tara just stared. Then both of them cracked faint smiles, lowering their guns.
Doug flushed, embarrassment burning in his ears. He fumbled out the silencers and ammo. "I did find these though."
Glenn's grin widened as he stuffed the silencers and box of rounds into his bag. He clapped Doug on the shoulder. "Good job."
Doug exhaled, relieved, even as Tara chuckled softly.
The three of them fell back into formation, moving down the cracked street toward the next building.
The air was still heavy, danger always close… but for just a moment, the weight eased.
The group reminded of what it felt like to smile.
...
Gabriel led them through the abandoned streets until they stopped in front of a squat white-brick building.
Its sign, faded but still legible.
"County Food Bank."
Gabriel spread his hands. "Here it is. This place fed the whole county at one point. All the cans in my church came from here."
Rick gave a short nod, then smashed the butt of his AK-47 into the glass door. Shards rained down as he reached through and twisted the lock.
The hinges creaked as he pushed the door open, rifle raised.
The group filed in cautiously, boots crunching on glass. The lobby was deserted, racks of donated clothes and bins of junk strewn across the floor.
Rick led them deeper, and the faint groaning reached his ears. He signaled for the others to hold.
Crouching low, he moved toward the sound until he a jagged hole in the floor.
Rick leaned forward and peered down.
A flooded basement yawned below, sunlight filtering in through broken roof beams. Walkers waded waist-deep in dark water, arms reaching, legs churning slowly.
Shelves sagged against the walls, stacked with cans, jars, and bags of stale chips floating in the muck.
Bob and Sasha joined him. Bob grimaced, covering his nose. "If a sewer could puke, this is what it'd smell like."
Michonne scanned the ceiling, pointing at the gaping holes where rain had poured through for months. "Water's been coming in a long time. Filled the place up."
Lee peered over Rick's shoulder. "We can use the shelves as cover. Take 'em out one at a time."
Rick nodded. "That's what we'll do."
One by one they descended, water rising to their waists.
They shoved the nearest shelf across the water, turning it into a barricade, spears and blades sliding through gaps to cut down the nearest dead.
Gabriel climbed down last, his face pale. He froze when his eyes caught a walker in the water.
Its milky eyes behind cracked glasses. His breath hitched. His hands shook.
Then he bolted.
He shoved away from the shelves, splashing toward the stairwell. He scrambled upward... only for the rotten wood to snap beneath his weight.
Gabriel crashed back into the water with a scream, a walker stumbling toward him.
Rick hesitated only a moment, Carl's words echoing in his head, 'We're strong. We can save people.'
"Move!" he shouted. "Save him!"
Bob splashed forward, confused. "What happened?"
Rick slashed down another walker, his voice clipped. "Don't know. Just help!"
They shoved their barricade into the herd, pinning two of the dead against a wall before wading toward Gabriel.
The water dragged at their legs, debris tangling underfoot.
Michonne sliced through one walker's neck, but slipped on a floating beam. She went down hard, another corpse lunging.
She yanked her knife free and rammed it into the skull just in time, gasping as she hauled herself upright.
Rick was almost to Gabriel now, two walkers lunging for the priest. Rick hacked one down, then ripped the other back by its collar.
He shoved his machete into its skull just as its jaws closed inches from Gabriel's face. Blood sprayed across the priest, warm and thick.
Gabriel collapsed, sobbing.
Meanwhile, Bob was dragging food containers toward the edge when something grabbed him.
A hand shot out of the water, yanking him under. Sasha screamed and splashed toward him. "Bob!"
He surfaced, thrashing, the walker clamped on his arm. Sasha and Michonne couldn't get a clear strike.
Bob roared, lifting the corpse, and drove it down onto a jagged rebar post. It growled, thrashing before Michonne's blade finished it.
Sasha hauled Bob against her, frantic. She tore at his sleeve, searching for bites.
Nothing. Relief shook her shoulders as she hugged him hard, crying into his neck.
Bob pressed a hand to her arm, whispering hoarsely, "I'm okay. I'm okay."
They regrouped, hacking down the last of the walkers.
Then, one by one, they hauled crates and cans to the upper level. Lee was waiting above, hauling the supplies out.
By the time the basement was cleared, carts upstairs overflowed with cans, jars, and plastic bags.
They salvaged what they could from the floor. Stacks of donated sgirts, pants, and coats found their way into the carts.
They pushed the carts up the street, weary but satisfied.
Gabriel walked in silence, dripping wet beside Rick. His voice cracked softly. "I'm sorry. I panicked. I told you I'm no good around them."
Rick looked at him, eyes sharp. "You remembered when she was alive."
Gabriel flinched, shrinking back, eyes down.
Rick's voice stayed low, but there was steel in it. "You only confess to God. I get it."
Gabriel said nothing more, but the weight in his silence was heavier than any words.
...
The group rolled the carts of food up the church steps, weary but triumphant.
Joe was crouched beside the old church bus, grease streaked on his arms, tools scattered at his side.
With a cough and a shudder, the engine turned over. Joe gave the hood a firm slap, satisfaction in his eyes.
Rick started toward him, but noticed Carl lingering near the side of the church.
The boy's eyes weren't on the food, or the bus, or even Judith. He was staring at the wood paneling of the shutters.
Rick walked over. "What's wrong?"
Carl pointed to a line of deep gouges raked across the frame. "These scratches. Look at them."
Rick crouched, running a hand across the grooves.
They weren't random claw marks. Walkers didn't scratch like this. These cuts were deliberate, angry.
Human.
Carl moved further along the wall. "There's more. Come here."
He stopped at the doorframe, gesturing to a patch of darkened wood. Carved deep into it, weathered and rough with age, were words:
"YOU'LL BURN FOR THIS."
Rick's stomach tightened. The edges of the letters were splintered, worn smooth by years of sun and rain. Old, but not forgotten.
Carl's voice was low, thoughtful. "It doesn't mean Gabriel's a bad guy for sure. But it means something."
Rick stood there in silence, hand brushing over the words. Old or not, whoever had written it had meant it with rage. Enough to scar the church itself.
Behind them, Joe slammed the hood shut, wiping his hands on a rag.
He glanced over, catching the way Rick and Carl were standing. His eyes followed theirs to the carvings. His jaw tightened.
The others laughed softly inside, unloading food, grateful for a brief moment of normalcy.
But Rick and Carl just stood at the doorway, staring at the old message.
The past clung to this place like rot.
And Gabriel was at the center of it.
...
That night, the church was alive with warmth for the first time in years.
The pews had been turned into benches, and the food they'd scavenged filled tin plates. Corn, peas, mashed potatoes, canned beef, and chicken.
Children laughed, bellies full for once. Glenn and Tara swapped jokes with Doug. Even Abraham cracked a grin.
Joe sat with Esther in his lap, his bruised, bandaged hands carefully scooping mashed potatoes to her tiny mouth.
She giggled, smearing some across his shirt, and he just chuckled, kissing the top of her head.
For a few brief hours, the group felt human again.
But not everyone was smiling.
Bob sat near Sasha, his laughter forced, his eyes darting to the floor whenever she looked his way.
The truth weighed on him like stone. When the walker had dragged him under at the food bank, its teeth had found his flesh.
The bandages on his shoulder weren't just scrapes.
He knew what was coming.
He didn't want Sasha's tears. He wanted her to hate him, not mourn him. He wanted to disappear.
When the plates were empty and the laughter softened into tired chatter, Bob slipped out.
No one noticed at first.
He walked into the cool night, through the tall grass behind the church. Every step was heavy, final.
He didn't look back.
A rustle broke the silence.
Bam!
Something cracked against the back of his skull. Bob hit the ground hard, darkness closing in.
When his eyes fluttered open, shapes loomed. Gareth's face appeared in the faint moonlight, calm, almost smug.
Two men hauled Bob up, one by the arms, the other by the legs.
"Shh," Gareth whispered as Bob slipped under again. "It's alright. We've got you."
They carried him through the woods, away from the church, until the outline of a high school came into view.
A fire crackled in the courtyard, smoke rising into the night.
Bob was dropped near the flames. Mary stepped forward, her face twisted.
She tied a tourniquet tight around his leg, then hefted a hatchet.
The blade fell.
Bob's body convulsed, his eyes snapping open for a second, a strangled cry escaping his throat before he blacked out again.
Mary lifted the severed leg, still warm, and handed it to Gareth. He crouched by the fire, smiling faintly as he set the flesh over the flames.
The smell of roasting meat filled the air.
…
Back at the church, the laughter had died down. People were stretched out on pews and blankets, bellies full, voices low.
Rick sat beside Gabriel at the altar. The priest poured the last of the communion wine into tin cups, pushing one toward Rick.
Rick swirled it, watching the dark liquid catch the candlelight. "Thanks for the hospitality. Surprised you gave us your communion wine."
Gabriel's eyes dropped. "There's no one left to take communion. Wine's just wine until it's blessed."
Rick studied him, silent for a moment. Then his voice dropped low, sharp as glass.
"You're hiding something. Pretty obvious you can't hide it forever. And it's not my business…"
He leaned in closer, his words edged with steel. "But these people are my family. If whatever you're hiding hurts them. If it touches them in any way... I'll kill you."
Gabriel's lips trembled. He nodded once, eyes down.
Rick leaned back, sipping the wine, his gaze never leaving the priest.
Outside, somewhere beyond the trees, the fire burned brighter.
And Bob's nightmare was just beginning.
...
The night was cool, fog beginning to pool along the road as Carol and Daryl walked side by side.
The quiet of the woods wrapped around them, broken only by the steady crunch of gravel beneath their boots.
Carol exhaled shakily, her shoulders sagging. She wasn't hiding what she'd done. The others knew, but that didn't make it easier to bear.
They came upon the same old sedan they'd checked earlier, its paint dulled, vines crawling across the tires.
Without a word, they climbed onto the trunk, the cool metal under them as they looked up at the sprawl of stars cutting through the mist.
Carol leaned against him, her voice trembling. "I keep replaying it, over and over. Pulling the trigger. Lizzie collapsing to the floor."
Tears streaked her cheeks. "I know she was gone long before then, but… it doesn't make it easier. I didn't want to do it. But I had to."
Daryl's hand found her back, rough fingers rubbing gently. "Ain't nobody thinkin' less of you for it. You saved Emma, Esther, Judith. You did what needed doin'."
Carol's voice broke. "I just keep asking why it had to be me."
Daryl sighed, leaning closer, his words low and steady. "Because you were strong enough to do it. That's all. If I was there, I would've done the same."
Her eyes lifted to meet his. For a moment, the weight she carried eased just a little.
She nodded, resting her head against his chest, his steady heartbeat grounding her.
They stayed like that for a long time, just two people leaning into each other in a broken world. The air grew colder, fog rising thicker off the ground.
Then...
Vrmmm!
A car engine split the silence.
Headlights cut through the fog, a police cruiser tearing down the road.
Daryl's head snapped up. His face darkened instantly. He grabbed Carol's wrist, pulling her off the trunk. "Come on."
They dove into the sedan. Daryl jammed the key forward.
The engine sputtered, then roared to life. Tires screeched as he swung onto the road, keeping the headlights off.
Carol braced herself, eyes wide. "What are we doing?"
Daryl's jaw was tight, eyes locked on the faint red taillights in the distance. "That car. It's the same one that took Beth."
Carol's stomach dropped. "Then catch them!"
Daryl's lips curled into a grim smile. He pressed the pedal hard, chasing into the fog.
The cruiser's taillights were all they had to follow.
Two red eyes glowing in the dark, leading them straight into whatever hell waited ahead.