A peaceful silence settled over the church.
Joe sat on the floor against the cold wood, Maggie on one side of him, Beth on the other. Both leaned into him, their breathing steady, their warmth pressed close.
His arms wrapped around them, pulling them in tight as if he could shield them from the world just by holding them.
Beth's head rested on his shoulder, her fingers laced with his. Maggie leaned against his chest, her eyes finally closing in peace.
The children slept nearby, bundled together beneath spare blankets. Their soft breaths rose and fell, small bodies safe for now.
Joe's eyes traced over them all... his wives, his children. His brothers. His sisters. His family.
For the first time since the prison, he felt whole.
His mind eased, the constant weight of rage and survival slipping just a little.
Virginia, Noah's community, the promise of walls and food.
Maybe it would work. Maybe it wouldn't.
But none of that mattered tonight.
He tightened his arms around Maggie and Beth, kissed the top of Beth's hair, and whispered softly enough that only they could hear:
"If Virginia ain't the answer, I'll find somewhere else. Somewhere better. I don't care where. As long as I've got you, that's all that matters."
Neither of them replied, but they didn't have to. The way they nestled into him, clinging just a little tighter, told him they felt the same.
Joe leaned his head back against the wall, his eyes closing.
For tonight, he could rest.
Tomorrow, the road would call again.
...
The morning came with gray skies and a damp chill.
No one lingered in the church. They gathered their packs, loaded weapons, and filled the U-Haul with crates of food and their blankets.
The children were bundled tight, kept warm in the arms of their mothers.
When everything was ready, the engines rumbled to life. The caravan rolled out, the U-Haul in front, Rick's truck following behind.
In town, they scavenged another pickup, so no one had to ride cramped on the floor. There was room enough for everyone to breathe.
The convoy stuck to the highways, the empty asphalt stretching long and lonely ahead.
They only broke from the road when they had to, weaving through collapsed overpasses or fields where the dead clustered too thick.
By nightfall, the road signs told them what their eyes already knew. They'd crossed into South Carolina.
Georgia was behind them.
As the trucks rolled steady through the fading light, quiet fell over the group. Each of them stared out the windows, minds turning back.
Atlanta, the city where it all began.
The quarry, where they thought they might've found something like peace.
The CDC, where the last promise of science went up in flames.
The Greene farm, lit with fire as they ran into the night.
The CROWS — a storm of helicopters and screams.
Woodbury, with its walls that hid rot.
The prison, their first real home, torn away.
Terminus, the cannibals waiting with butcher's tools.
The Church, once holy, reduced to blood and ash.
And the people.
So many gone. So many who had bought their survival with their own lives.
The wheels hummed against the road. They didn't say it out loud, but everyone felt the same weight.
They weren't going back. Atlanta... Georgia was finished. That chapter was over.
Ahead lay North Carolina, and finally Virginia. Noah's community.
A chance.
The past would always follow them.
The faces, the ghosts, the scars. But as the convoy cut through the darkness, Georgia shrinking behind them, it was clear.
They were moving forward.
...
By the time the sun dipped below the horizon, the convoy slowed to a crawl. The U-Haul rattled tiredly, headlights cutting across empty road signs and cracked pavement.
Rick leaned out his window, scanning the tree line. "We'll pull off here. Don't want to drive blind in the dark."
Joe nodded from the passenger seat, his eyes hard but steady. "Find cover. Woods are thick enough. We'll keep the trucks hidden."
They veered down a dirt road, the engines groaning, until they found an old rest stop.
Overgrown and half-swallowed by vines. The buildings were nothing but collapsed roofs and moldy walls.
But, the tree line provided cover, and the asphalt gave them a place to park in a tight circle.
Engines cut. The night closed in.
The group moved quickly, working by instinct. Tarps stretched between the trucks, a few lanterns lit low.
Emma and Amy gathered the children into the driest corner, spreading out blankets.
Maggie sat close to Beth, their shoulders touching, neither willing to drift too far from the other now.
Tyreese started a fire in a barrel, the flames rising just high enough for warmth.
Michonne sat nearby, sharpening her blade with slow, steady strokes. Glenn checked the perimeter with Daryl and Kenny.
Rosita quietly cleaned the blood off Abraham's knuckles as he sat silent, eyes fixed on nothing.
No one asked him to speak.
Noah stood a little apart, gaze fixed northward. He whispered almost to himself: "Won't be much longer now."
Joe heard him. He stepped closer, his voice calm. "Don't let hope carry you too far ahead. We'll see what's there when we get there. Until then, stay sharp."
Noah nodded, though his jaw was tight.
As the fire crackled, the group slowly settled in. They ate sparingly, canned goods, crackers, water passed hand to hand.
The children fell asleep first, bundled together under the tarps. Then one by one, the others drifted into uneasy rest.
Joe didn't sleep. He sat with his back to the U-Haul, a rifle laid across his lap, his eyes scanning the treeline.
The sounds of the forest pressed in. Owls, crickets, and the distant groans of scattered walkers.
South Carolina. Another nameless stop on a road that never seemed to end.
But for tonight, they were alive. And that was enough.
...
Four Hundred Miles and 3 Weeks Later...
The convoy had ground to a halt just outside Richmond, engines ticking as they cooled.
Ten miles. That's all that separated them from Noah's community.
Joe stood at the front of the lead truck, staring down the stretch of road. His jaw was tight, but his eyes gave nothing away.
Noah climbed down beside him, clutching the strap of his pack.
"Why're we stopping?" Noah asked.
Joe's gaze stayed fixed on the horizon. "No offense, kid, but this group hasn't had the best track record meeting strangers. We move careful."
Noah hesitated, then nodded. "I get it."
Joe turned back to the others. "Everyone stays put. I'll take a crew to scout. Noah, Rick, Glenn, Ty, Doug, Michonne."
He pressed a radio into Daryl's hand. "We'll update you as we go."
Daryl clipped it to his vest, giving a sharp nod. "We'll be ready if things go sideways."
The scouting team piled into an old station wagon they'd picked up two towns back.
Its suspension creaked under the weight, the smell of mildew strong inside, but it ran.
The miles ticked by slow, the road narrowing as Richmond's outskirts gave way to broken suburbs.
Noah sat fidgeting, staring at the map in his lap, worry etched deep into his face. Tyreese noticed.
"You're thinking about your family," Ty said quietly.
Noah nodded, his voice raw. "My dad… I lost him in Atlanta. But my mom, my brothers... They were still there. If they're alive, they're waiting for me."
Ty tried to ease the weight, his tone low and steady. "My dad used to tell me, it's our duty as citizens of the world to pay attention. When I was little, he always had the news on. Murders, disasters, horrors I couldn't understand. I'd ask him to change it, but he wouldn't. He said you can't turn away from the bad. You face it. Conquer it."
Noah exhaled slowly, nodding. "I think my dad would've liked yours."
The wagon jostled over a crack in the asphalt. Rick's hands stayed firm on the wheel, eyes scanning the horizon.
"How far?" he asked.
Noah checked the map, his voice almost breaking. "A mile. Just one more mile."
The car went quiet, the weight of hope pressing down on all of them.
Joe leaned forward from the backseat, his hand resting briefly on Ty's shoulder. "Pull into the woods. We walk from here."
Noah turned, startled. "Is that really necessary?"
Rick chuckled grimly. "We don't like surprises."
Doug snorted. "Yeah. Not a fan."
Even Michonne cracked the faintest smile, shaking her head. "You'll get used to it."
Noah sighed, clutching the map tighter, but didn't argue.
The car bumped off the asphalt, weaving through weeds and rusted wrecks half-buried in the brush.
It crunched to a stop against an old crash site, blending in with the wreckage.
The doors creaked open. The group climbed out, weapons in hand, boots sinking into soft earth.
Joe gave a single nod, his eyes sweeping the treeline. "From here, we walk."
And with that, they set off through the woods.
...
The woods were thick, their boots crunching over dry leaves, cicadas buzzing high in the branches.
For a few minutes, the only sound was the group's breathing and the occasional snap of a twig.
They came to their first obstacle.
A tangled curtain of sharp, heavy wire strung between trees, sagging but still biting.
Rick eyed it warily. "This yours?"
Noah squinted, brushing his fingers over the rust. "Yeah. Must be. It's been… almost a year."
The group crouched low, pushing through the dense wire. Doug cursed as it nicked his arm, leaving a bloody streak.
Noah grazed his forehead on a loose coil but pressed forward, his pace quickening.
"It's not much further," Noah said breathlessly.
Joe caught his arm before he could dart ahead. His eyes were sharp, scanning the treeline. "You've got spotters. Snipers?"
Noah froze, then nodded reluctantly. "Just one. We built a perch on top of a truck. But that was at the main gate."
Joe released him with a nod. They moved forward until the woods thinned, revealing the edge of the community.
Crouched in the brush, they studied it.
A weathered sign leaned crookedly against the gate.
"SHIREWILT ESTATES"
Glenn narrowed his eyes. "No guard today."
They crept closer, tension in every step. The gate loomed ahead, chained and padlocked.
Noah rushed forward, smacking the metal bars. The hollow clang rang across the empty street. The lock still held.
"Glenn," Joe said, crouching low and lacing his fingers together. "Look around."
Glenn nodded and stepped onto Joe's hands, hoisting himself up. He peered over the gate, and his face fell.
His hand smacked the concrete column in frustration.
"Something happened here."
Noah's voice cracked. "What is it?"
Glenn didn't look down. "An attack. Could've been walkers." He climbed over and unlatched the gate, swinging it wide.
They stepped inside. The silence was suffocating.
Bodies lay strewn on the pavement, dried blood painting the cracked asphalt. One of the houses was nothing but a charred skeleton, its blackened frame clawing at the sky.
Noah broke into a limp run, desperation pushing him forward. The others followed, Joe pausing just long enough to shut the gate behind them.
As they pressed deeper into the neighborhood, the evidence only grew worse. Corpses rotted in the streets.
Children's toys lay abandoned, sun-bleached and broken.
A lone walker shambled toward them, its face half-melted by fire. Michonne's katana flashed, the body crumpling in two pieces. She flicked the blade clean with a sharp twist.
At the next intersection, Noah stopped. He froze, eyes wide, chest heaving. Then he broke.
He collapsed to his knees, sobs ripping from his throat. His fists slammed against the pavement as tears streaked his face.
Tyreese knelt beside him, placing a heavy hand on his shoulder. "It's okay," he said softly. "You're with us now. You're not alone."
Rick's face was grim, his voice low. "I'm sorry, Noah. Truly."
Joe stood behind them, his expression unreadable, eyes sweeping the ruins of Shirewilt.
He spoke like stone. "We search the houses. Anything we can use, we take. Then we head back."
Michonne spun on him, her voice sharp, almost pleading. "And then what? Where do we go from here?"
Joe's gaze locked on hers, unflinching. "Then we survive."
Michonne's jaw tightened, but she didn't argue. She turned away, storming down the street, katana flashing as she cut down another walker.
Glenn and Doug broke off together, moving toward the burned-out homes. Rick followed after Michonne, calling her name. Ty stayed at Noah's side, steady and grounding.
Joe walked on alone, boots crunching over the ruins, his hand brushing the hilt of his katana.
Shirewilt Estates was gone. Another hope burned out.
But the road stretched on. And Joe's eyes were already searching it.
...
Joe moved through the dead neighborhood, boots crunching over shattered glass. Every direction he'd tried so far was fire and corpses, ruin and silence.
So he turned to the nearest house.
The front door hung half-broken from its hinges, the wood splintered and gouged. Joe stepped inside, katana ready.
The stench hit him first.
A handful of bodies lay slumped in the entryway, stacked in an ugly pile. Their flesh was gray and sunken, flies buzzing over them.
Joe didn't hesitate. He raised hit katana and stabbed into each skull.
He stepped over them, scanning the dim living room. Couches overturned. Drawers yanked open. A trail of blood smeared across the carpet leading deeper inside.
Whoever had done this, it hadn't been long ago.
Joe muttered to himself, voice flat. "If we'd been here days earlier… maybe."
He shook his head. "No going back."
The rest of the house was torn open, picked clean. No food, no ammo, no medicine. Just echoes of lives that hadn't made it.
Until the last bedroom.
Joe slid open a drawer of a nightstand and froze.
Inside were three hershy kisses.
Old, dusty, but still wrapped.
He stared at them a moment, then slipped them into his coat pocket. Grace, Julian, Esther would get to have chocolate for the first time in weeks.
Joe straightened, pulling his radio from his belt. He realized he hadn't checked in for a few minutes.
He pressed the button. "Daryl, you copy?"
Static, then Daryl's gravel-rough voice. "Here. What's up?"
Joe kept his voice even. "Bring the others closer. Just stay in the cars. Place is overrun."
"You need help?" Daryl asked.
Joe looked down the hallway, where a walker dragged itself from a bedroom, jaw snapping weakly. He drew his katana and split it down the middle in one fluid strike.
"No," he replied. "It's just a few."
"Alright," Daryl said. "We'll be on our way over soon."
Joe clipped the radio back to his belt, wiping blood from his blade on the curtains.
The house was empty now.
But in his pocket, he carried a small piece of the old world. A treat for his kids.
...
The cul-de-sac was silent except for the buzz of flies.
Rick and Michonne stood in front of a wrecked house, the corpses they'd just put down sprawled in the yard.
Michonne ground her boot down, the crack of glass snapping sharp in the air. Rick glanced over at her, eyebrows furrowed.
She was staring at the shards of a frame, her katana still in hand. "Clean shirt," she muttered.
Rick studied her for a moment, trying to read what was beneath those two words. "We'll figure it out," he said gently. "We always do."
Michonne let out a breath, eyes distant. "I know."
She stepped through the doorway, sword tip trailing along the wood, pushing deeper into the house.
Rick followed, watching the way her shoulders carried the weight of the moment.
"Beth wanted him to get back home," Rick said quietly, his voice carrying through the ruined living room. "She owed him. And it just so happened… we needed direction."
Michonne didn't reply. But he could feel something shift in her, an ache buried under her silence.
They swept through the house together, moving with practiced rhythm. Doors were opened, rooms checked, drawers emptied. Nothing left but broken furniture and dust.
On the way out, Michonne slipped her hand into his. Her voice was softer now, tinged with sorrow. "I'm sorry. This place… it reminded me of the start."
Rick squeezed her hand, the ghost of a smile on his lips. "It's okay. Won't be rid of me that easily."
That drew a real smile from her. She bumped his chest lightly with her shoulder, then leaned in, kissing him gently.
It was brief, but in the ruins of Shirewilt, it was enough.
For just a moment, they weren't soldiers in a graveyard.
They were two people still alive. Still holding on.