The sun was low when Joe's crew rolled back through Alexandria's gates.
The smell of cut wood still hung in the air; Tobin's people were hacking away at the treeline, trucks already stacked with logs.
Joe headed straight across town to the old utility shed Eugene had claimed as his "lab."
Inside, it stank of chemicals and burnt residue.
Eugene stood over a jerry-rigged workstation, hands smudged with soot. A notebook scrawled full of ratios.
"Progress?" Joe asked.
Eugene pushed his glasses up with one finger. "After some experimentation, I believe I've found the right mixture. Stable, long-burning, adheres well to most surfaces. I can have the batches ready by tomorrow."
Joe's scarred face eased into something rare, approval. He clapped Eugene on the shoulder. "Good job."
Eugene blinked at him, startled, then nodded quickly.
Joe stepped back out into the evening air, cutting across the street toward home.
But then he saw it... the church Deanna had given Gabriel. Lights spilled out of the windows. Inside, voices murmured.
Joe turned. Walking over to the door.
He stepped into the frame, his shadow stretching long inside. Gabriel froze mid-sermon, sweat already forming on his brow.
Joe's voice cut low and sharp. "Out. All of you. I need to talk to the preacher."
The small group of listeners exchanged looks, then hurried past Joe without a word, leaving the two men alone.
Joe stepped forward, slow and deliberate, closing the distance until Gabriel's back hit the wall.
The priest's eyes darted, hands trembling at his sides.
Joe leaned down, face hard, eyes flat. His voice was quiet, but it carried the weight of steel.
"You ever defy me again… or put my family's safety in jeopardy… I will rip your guts out and hang you with them."
Gabriel's breath hitched. His knees buckled, piss darkening his trousers as he slid down the wall.
Joe stared at him a moment longer, then straightened. His expression never changed.
He reached down, patted Gabriel's head like a dog, then turned and walked out.
The church door slammed shut behind him, leaving Gabriel collapsed in the silence.
Gabriel stayed slumped against the wall, his collar askew, breath coming in shallow bursts.
The wet stain spread across his trousers, but he didn't notice. His eyes were locked on the door Joe had just walked through.
The silence of the church pressed heavy.
The flicker of candlelight cast long, jagged shadows along the walls, and in Gabriel's mind, they seemed to crawl and twist.
He whispered, voice breaking, "Not a man… no… not a man."
He clawed at the cross hanging from his neck, knuckles white. "The devil walks among us. He hides in flesh, but I saw him. The eyes, the threat, the… the cruelty."
His lips trembled, scripture tumbling out in half-choked fragments. "The beast shall rise from the pit… the deceiver, the destroyer… yes, yes…"
Gabriel shook his head violently, rocking against the wall like a child. "It isn't my fault. I tried to warn them. I tried to make them see. But they wouldn't listen. They let him in."
His whisper rose into a strained, cracked hiss. "He is the devil. He is the devil in the flesh."
Tears streaked his face as he pressed the cross to his forehead, muttering prayers rapid and broken.
Not once did he consider his own betrayal, his own weakness. No, in Gabriel's mind, he was a prophet and Joe was the beast dragging them all to damnation.
The door creaked faintly. Gabriel didn't notice.
Carl stood just inside the church's entrance, having slipped in after the others filed out.
He hadn't heard what was said... only caught the tail end of Joe walking out, his shoulders hard, his steps heavy.
Now Carl's eyes fixed on Gabriel, who was rocking against the wall, pale and trembling.
The priest's trousers were stained, his hands shaking around the little cross he clutched like a weapon.
For a long moment, Carl just watched. He couldn't hear the words he was saying.
He only saw Gabriel's lips moving in desperate rhythm, his whole body quaking like he'd seen something unholy.
Carl's brow furrowed. He didn't know what Joe had said, but the effect was clear.
Gabriel was terrified.
The boy stepped back silently, slipping out before the priest could notice him.
Outside, Carl's hand lingered on the church door for a second. His mind wrestled with the image of Gabriel terrified, Joe walking away calm as ever.
He didn't understand it yet. But he stored it, because one day, it might matter.
Morning light broke over Alexandria. The walls cast long shadows across the grass.
The air filled with the sounds of saws, hammers, and the distant hum of life trying to push forward.
But not Gabriel.
He slipped out through a side gate under the pretense of "prayer," his Bible clutched tight, eyes darting like a guilty man.
The farther he walked into the trees, the faster his heart raced... not from fear of walkers, but from the fire of his hatred.
Hatred for Joe.
Gabriel muttered as he walked, voice low, feverish. "They don't see… they don't see the beast among them. But I see. I know. He is the devil, and the devil must be cast out."
A twig snapped.
Before he could react, rough hands yanked him down. Gabriel screamed once before a filthy hand clamped over his mouth.
A knife pressed to his throat.
Shadows emerged from the trees.
Men and women with wild eyes, ragged clothes, and Ws carved into their foreheads.
Wolves.
One leaned close, breath rancid. "What's a preacher doin' out here alone? You wanna die, old man?"
Gabriel shook his head wildly. The knife eased just enough for him to speak, words spilling fast, desperate, poisoned by obsession.
"You… you want Alexandria, don't you? You want in?"
The Wolves looked at each other, smirking. "Maybe we do."
Gabriel's voice cracked. "Then let me live. I can help you. Tonight… I'll open the gate for you."
His eyes burned, not with fear, but with twisted resolve. "Just promise me one thing."
The knife pressed again. "What's that?"
"Kill Joe. Kill him first. Burn him. Tear him apart. He is the devil in flesh. Promise me you'll destroy him."
For a moment, silence hung. Then the Wolves burst out laughing, a guttural, animal sound. One leaned down, grinning wide.
"You got yourself a deal, preacher man."
Gabriel sagged in relief, tears streaking his face. He thought he'd won, that he'd struck a holy bargain.
But the Wolves saw something else entirely. A weak man, blinded by his own hate, ready to hand them the keys to paradise.
The Wolves let him go just as suddenly as they'd grabbed him.
A shove sent Gabriel stumbling into the dirt, knees scraping, Bible tumbling from his grasp.
He clutched it back to his chest like armor and bolted through the trees, lungs burning, heart hammering.
Behind him, laughter echoed.
A cruel, animalistic laughter that chased him all the way back to the wall.
When Alexandria's palisade finally loomed into view, Gabriel sagged against a tree, gasping.
The guards at the gate barely spared him a glance; he was just the odd preacher, always wandering for "solitude" or "prayer."
They opened the gate, and he shuffled inside.
He walked fast through the streets, head down, eyes wild. He didn't see the people working, the kids playing, or the fresh logs stacked from the tree-clearing.
All he saw was Joe's shadow in every corner, Joe's voice in every whisper.
Gabriel muttered under his breath as he reached the steps of his church. "They won't see. They won't understand. But tonight… tonight, the devil falls."
He sank to his knees in front of the altar, trembling, and pressed the cross hard against his forehead until the metal bit his skin.
"Lord, forgive me," he whispered. "For this is not betrayal. This is holy work. I will open the gate, and Your justice will be done."
In his mind, he wasn't handing Alexandria to killers. He was delivering it from evil.
And no one else knew what he'd promised.
...
Engines growled as three trucks rolled out of Alexandria, dust curling up behind them.
The beds were stacked high with freshly cut logs, barrels sloshing with napalm secured under tarp.
Men and women rode in the back, rifles across their laps, eyes scanning the tree line.
Joe rode shotgun in the lead truck, eyes catching the morning light, his katana resting against his leg.
His gaze stayed fixed on the road ahead. Beside him, Heath drove, jaw tight, knuckles white on the wheel.
"Can't believe we're really gonna burn thousands of 'em at once," Heath muttered, half to himself.
Joe didn't look away from the horizon. "Believe it. You've seen what happens when you let 'em pile up. This time, they don't get the chance."
In the truck bed, Kenny cracked open a canteen and took a swig, passing it to Abraham. "Gonna be one hell of a fire," Kenny said with a grin.
Abraham chuckled. "Hell, it'll be a goddamn fireworks show."
Laughter rippled through the group, but Joe stayed silent, eyes narrowing as the quarry's ridge came into view.
The sound hit first. a low, endless roar that grew louder with every turn of the wheels.
When they finally parked along the ridge, the sight stretched out below them.
Thousands of walkers pressed together in the pit, the semi still teetering, the horde clawing mindlessly against the rocky walls.
Joe stepped out of the truck, the others following. He let the wind whip through his shirt as he stared down at the mass of walkers.
"Unload the logs," he ordered. "Stack them where we marked yesterday."
The crew moved quickly, rolling logs into place. Carrying the containers filled with napalm over as well.
Joe motioned to some men and they started pushing logs over the edge.
The logs thundered over the ridge, crashing down into the pit. The walkers clawed and groaned, arms reaching up toward the sound.
Their bodies pressed so tightly together that the wood barely had room to settle before it was swallowed in the sea of rot again.
"Again," Joe ordered, voice calm but sharp.
Another round of logs tumbled over.
More thuds. More groans. The pit churned with movement, a tide desperate for flesh it could never reach.
"Now the mix," Eugene called out, his voice strained as he guided the crew with shaking hands.
Barrels were tilted, napalm sloshing out in thick sheets. The smell was acrid, burning the back of their throats as it spilled over the edge.
The napalm rained down onto the logs and the crowd of dead.
The horde moaned louder, arms flailing as the sticky fuel coated them. Some snapped at the air, jaws clacking uselessly.
Joe raised a hand. "Hold." He waited until the last barrel was empty. The logs glistened, and the pit stank like death and gasoline.
He nodded once. "Light it."
Rick pulled a flare from his belt, cracked it alive with a hiss. The bright red glow painted his face as he looked once at Joe. Joe didn't blink.
Rick tossed the flare.
It spun down into the pit, a streak of red fire through the air.
WHOOOMPH!
Flames erupted, racing across the logs, clinging to the fuel-soaked corpses. Fire crawled up their skin, spreading from one body to the next.
The pit became an inferno, the roar of fire drowning out their groans.
Every sound, every snap of burning wood, every scream of a walker... drew the horde deeper into the flames.
They pressed forward, compelled by instinct, throwing themselves into the fire without hesitation.
The smell was horrific. Black smoke curled upward, thick and choking, but the sight was undeniable.
Thousands of walkers turning to ash in one place.
The crew shielded their faces, coughing, some gagging. Abraham grinned through it. Kenny just muttered, "Hot damn."
Joe stood at the ridge, eyes locked on the pit. Flames reflected in his eyes, his gaze steady.
"This," he said, voice low but carrying, "is what it means to take control. Not just survive. Dominate."
Rick stood beside him, shotgun in hand, watching the fire consume the dead. "Hell of a sight."
Joe didn't answer. He only watched the pit burn, knowing it was one less threat waiting outside the walls.