The night pressed heavy around the church.
Inside, the group waited in silence, weapons in hand, hearts steady. Joe stood at the center, katana glinting faintly in the lantern light.
Outside, footsteps scraped across the gravel.
The door creaked open.
Gareth slipped inside first, pistol raised, his eyes scanning the dark pews. Mary, Greg, Kevin, and Marsha followed, their weapons tight, their faces hard.
Gareth's voice was calm, quiet. "No one needs to get hurt. Just come out. We'll make it quick. That way, everyone doesn't have to suffer."
He took another step, but froze when the lanterns flared to life.
Every shadow came alive. Guns, blades, crossbow... all trained on them.
Rick, Sasha, Michonne, Daryl, Lee, Kenny, Glenn. And Joe, standing at the front, his blade raised and steady.
Garreth didn't know there were so many of them here. He didn't expect them to stay together.
"You're surrounded," Joe said coldly. "Drop your guns and kneel."
For a moment, silence. Then Greg twitched. One shot cracked out and the church erupted.
The terminus remnants dropping like flies.
When it was over, only Gareth and his closest people remained.
Garreth dropped his pistol, hands hung weakly on each side, knees hitting the wooden floor. His breath came fast, his confidence gone.
"Wait... wait, please!" he stammered, eyes darting between them. "We can change. We don't have to do this anymore. You don't have to kill us. We were just… surviving. That's all this ever was."
Rick stepped forward slowly, machete with the red handle gleaming in his hand. His face was stone.
"You don't get to walk away."
Gareth's eyes widened. His voice cracked. "I swear... no more hunting, no more games. We'll leave, right now. You'll never see us again. You don't have to do this."
Rick's jaw tightened. "You'd do this to anybody. Besides... I keep my promises"
"No! Please!" Gareth's voice broke, desperation spilling. "We can change! We can..."
Shkk!
The red-handled machete came down, burying into his skull.
Rick pulled it free, then drove it down again. And again. Blood sprayed across the church floor as Gareth's body convulsed, then went still.
Michonne's katana sliced through Kevin's throat. Sasha's knife stabbed into Marsha repeatedly, the woman screaming.
Joe, in one brutal sweep, slashed downward. Her body split in half until her waist.
Joe pulled back his katana and kicked Mary, her body collapsing beside the altar.
...
The sound of the machete's final strike echoed through the church, then silence fell.
Rick stood over the corpse, his breathing ragged.
Joe finally spoke, his voice even. "It's finished."
The group stood in grim silence, the weight of it heavy but absolute.
The hunters of Terminus were gone.
Rick stood over Gareth's ruined body, blood dripping from the red-handled blade. His promise, fulfilled.
Joe lowered his katana, surveying the carnage. Mary's corpse slumped near the altar, Greg and Kevin sprawled in pools of blood.
The air reeked of iron and smoke, the holy ground desecrated.
Gabriel stumbled forward, horror etched across his face. His voice broke, trembling. "This is the Lord's house. This is His sacred place. You've defiled it. You've..."
Maggie cut him off, her voice flat, steady. "It's just... four walls and a roof."
The words hung heavy, stark in the silence.
Gabriel's mouth opened, but nothing came out. He sank back, stunned, while the others stood among the blood, their faces grim and unflinching.
Because Maggie was right.
The church wasn't holy anymore.
The people inside it were all that mattered.
...
No one said a word as they dragged the corpses toward the door.
Marry's body was hauled by her legs, Garreth by his arms, the others shoved unceremoniously across the floorboards.
Blood streaked the church's wooden floor as the bodies were heaved outside into the grass.
There would be no graves. No prayers. Just carcasses left to rot like the monsters they were.
Rick shut the doors firmly, the sound echoing through the nave. "We'll deal with the rest in the morning."
The group dispersed, weary beyond words. Some collapsed into pews, others laid out on the floor. The adrenaline drained out, replaced by bone-deep exhaustion.
For the first time in days, there was no waiting threat, no shadows circling the fire.
Joe leaned against the wall, his katana propped beside him.
He looked down at Grace, curled against his chest, her small breaths soft and steady.
His eyes lingered on his family, on his people, scattered but alive.
The weight that had been pressing on him for days finally eased.
Joe let out a long breath.
And for the first time since Terminus, he closed his eyes.
Sleep came.
Real, unbroken rest.
...
The morning was crisp, fog still clinging low to the ground as Abraham hauled supplies toward the bus.
The engine rumbled faintly, coughing as Eugene fiddled nervously under Rosita's watchful eye.
Tara stayed close on Glenn's heels, her decision made. Carly and Doug exchanged a look, then quietly grabbed their packs, moving to join them.
Rick stood off to the side, arms folded, jaw tight. His eyes lingered on Glenn, reluctant, but he didn't speak.
He knew nothing he said would change his mind.
Abraham approached Joe, a folded map in hand. He slapped it against Joe's chest.
"Here's our path to D.C. We'll stick to it as long as we can. If not, you've at least got the destination."
Joe took the map without a word, then passed it straight to Rick.
Abraham studied him for a beat, then continued. "Once Eugene gets to D.C., things will bounce back. Government, medicine, maybe the world. Your people should be there when it happens."
Joe stayed silent, his expression unreadable. Finally, Abraham gave a stiff nod and turned away, striding back toward the waiting bus.
The group gathered to watch as the engine revved, coughing once before roaring to life.
The tires crunched over gravel, and slowly the bus rolled down the road, disappearing into the mist.
Maggie's hand slid around Joe's arm. Her voice was quiet. "Is this the right choice?"
Joe looked down at her, then out toward the empty road. A faint smile tugged his lips. "I'm sure."
She nodded, leaning against him, holding tighter. Together they watched until the bus was nothing but a shadow, then gone completely.
For a moment, the churchyard was still. One path had been chosen. Another remained.
And the weight of what came next settled on them all.
...
The church smelled of soap and wood polish.
After hours of scrubbing, the blood was gone from the pews and floorboards, but not from their minds.
They moved about in silence, every scrape of a brush against wood heavy with the memory of what they'd done.
No one knew how long they'd be waiting. For Daryl. For Carol.
Then, late into the night, the low hum of an engine broke the quiet.
Everyone froze.
A pair of headlights swept across the churchyard before shutting off. The group rushed to the door, weapons raised, hearts hammering.
A blue Prius rolled to a stop. The door creaked open.
Daryl stumbled out.
Gasps rippled through the group. His shirt was soaked dark on one side, his face pale.
"Daryl!" Maggie rushed forward, but Joe was already moving, grabbing him under the arm. Daryl hissed in pain, clutching his ribs.
"Bullet," he grunted. "Went clean through. Ain't fatal."
Joe got him inside, laying him out on a pew. With steady hands he tore open the shirt, checking the wound. "He's right. In and out. No major arteries hit." Joe tore a strip of cloth, pressing it firmly against the hole. "You'll live."
Daryl groaned, jaw clenched tight. "Don't feel like it."
Rick crouched beside him, relief plain in his eyes. "What happened?"
Daryl looked around the group, his voice rough. "Beth's alive. She's at a hospital in Atlanta. Place still has power, uniforms runnin' it. Cops."
Eyes widened. Whispers spread.
Daryl continued, forcing the words out between breaths. "Carol's in there too. We were shadowin' their car, tryin' to figure it out. She pretended to be hurt… let 'em take her inside."
Sasha shook her head, stunned. "She let them take her?"
Daryl nodded. "Yeah. Only way to get close. They don't just let people walk in. You either work for 'em… or you're a ward."
His hand tightened on Joe's arm. His voice dropped, urgent. "Beth's in there. I know it. Carol too, now. We're gotta get 'em back."
Joe pressed the bandage harder, meeting his eyes. "Then we'll plan for it. But first, you rest."
Daryl smirked faintly despite the pain. "Ain't much for restin'."
Rick leaned forward, his voice calm but iron. "Doesn't matter. We're not leaving them. We'll get them both out."
For the first time since Terminus, the group had a direction.
Beth was alive.
Carol was inside.
And they were going to war to bring them home.
...
The bus had carried them far through the day, humming along stretches of empty highway until the light began to bleed out of the sky.
When dusk settled in, Abraham finally pulled them off the road.
The small farmhouse sat crooked at the end of a dirt drive, its windows smashed, its porch sagging under years of rot.
The bus hissed as the brakes released, the sound echoing into the still evening.
"Alright," Abraham barked, climbing down first. "We clear it, we crash. No noise, no half-assin' it. Let's move."
Rosita hopped down after him, rifle raised. Glenn and Tara followed, tired but ready. Doug and Carly exchanged a nervous glance before stepping off as well.
Eugene was the last to shuffle out, clutching his pack like a shield.
The front door creaked on its hinges as Abraham shouldered it open. Dust poured out, the smell of mildew thick.
Inside, shadows sprawled across peeling wallpaper and sagging furniture.
"Check the corners," Abraham ordered.
Rosita and Glenn moved through the kitchen, while Tara swept the stairs.
Carly and Doug followed Abraham into the living room, their flashlights cutting through the gloom.
One walker stirred in the back hallway, its jaw hanging loose, half its scalp gone. Doug froze, but before it could reach him, Abraham's knife drove into its skull with brutal force.
"Keep movin'," he growled, yanking it free. "Ain't no time for freezin'."
Within minutes, the house was clear.
They gathered in the living room, pushing furniture against the doors, boarding up what windows they could.
The bus was too obvious to sleep in, but this house would hold for the night.
Abraham sank onto the old couch, wiping blood from his knife. "Not bad. Place'll do."
Rosita set her rifle down, rubbing at her sore shoulders. Glenn glanced around at the others, offering a faint smile. "Better than the bus, at least."
Tara chuckled softly, though her eyes were heavy. Doug and Carly sat together near the boarded window, whispering to each other quietly.
Eugene stayed by the door, shifting uncomfortably, as though he wanted to disappear.
Abraham looked at each of them in turn. His voice softened, just a little. "Get some rest. Long day tomorrow."
The house creaked in the night wind, but for now, it was quiet.
For the first time since they left the church, the smaller group had four walls around them.
And in the silence, each one wondered if they'd made the right choice.