Concrete bases had cured strong, the rebar cages jutting like skeletal roots waiting for flesh.
Tobin's crew, with guidance from Reg and Noah, began assembling the frames. Heavy timber was hauled into place, bolted and braced.
Hammers rang through the air, drills buzzing, sawdust floated on the breeze, spreading the smell of fresh-cut trees mixed with sweat and steel.
Joe made the rounds each morning, eyes sharp. He never hovered, never wasted breath on praise or small talk.
He inspected welds, tested braces with a hard shove, and gave curt nods when things held. If they didn't, his voice cut through the worksite like a blade:
"Do it again. We're not building lookout stands. We're building lifelines."
The Alexandrians, though, carried themselves differently now. With barbed wire in place and towers rising, they weren't just hiding behind walls anymore.
They were building them stronger. There was pride in their movements, steadiness in their work.
The sounds echoed through Alexandria as Carl sat on the porch steps, watching men and women raise the skeleton of the first new watchtower.
Clem and Sophia were nearby, chatting about a book they were reading, their laughter carrying over the work noise.
But Carl wasn't smiling.
He rested his chin on his palm, hat tipped low, eyes drifting toward the church at the end of the street.
Its doors stayed shut. The bell rope hung still. No one went in or out.
"Hey," Clem said, patting his shoulder. She hit against his shoulder again, but Carl didn't move.
"You okay?" she asked.
Carl's eyes stayed locked on the church. "Don't you think it's weird?"
Sophia tilted her head. "What's weird?"
"Father Gabriel. He's just… gone." Carl's voice was low, heavy. "Nobody's asking. Nobody's looking. People just act like he wasn't even here."
Clem frowned. "Maybe he left. He was always kind of… out there."
Carl shook his head slowly. "No. I saw him. The night before he disappeared. Joe was in the church with him."
Both girls froze. Clem asked carefully, "What did you see?"
Carl adjusted his hat, jaw tightening. "I didn't hear what he said. But Gabriel looked… terrified. Like he'd seen a monster. And then the next day... nothing. He's just gone."
Sophia whispered, "You think Joe…"
Carl cut her a sharp look. "I don't know. But nobody else seems to care. And that scares me more than anything."
He stood, brushing dust from his jeans, eyes narrowing on the silent church. "I'm gonna figure it out."
...
That night, the house was quiet. Judith slept upstairs, Maggie and Beth whispered down the hall, and the lantern on the kitchen table flickered low.
Carl sat there in silence, hat pulled low, eyes fixed on the flame.
Rick came in, rubbing his neck. He stopped when he saw his son's face. Heavy, pensive, older than it should've been.
"You alright, son?" Rick asked, sitting across from him.
Carl looked up, his eyes sharp. "What happened to Gabriel?"
Rick froze. He'd been waiting for this.
"I saw him," Carl pressed. "The night before he disappeared. He was with Joe. Looked… scared. Next day, he's just gone. Nobody's asking questions."
Rick let out a long breath, rubbing a hand over his beard. "Gabriel opened the gate, Carl. He let the Wolves in. Wanted them to kill Joe. To kill all of us, really."
Carl blinked, disbelief flashing across his face. "What?"
Rick's voice was steady, but low. "We stopped them. Joe had a trap ready. The Wolves never made it past the gate. But Gabriel… he didn't make it out."
Carl sat back slowly, jaw tight, fists curling on the table. His voice dropped to a whisper. "So he tried to get us killed."
Rick nodded once.
Carl's chest heaved, but there was no sadness in his eyes, just a coldness settling in.
"And I thought he was a man of God." He spat the word God like it was sour. "Guess he was just a coward. A traitor."
Rick reached across the table, resting a hand on his son's arm. "You needed to know the truth. Don't carry his weight with you. He made his choice."
Carl pulled his arm back, not in anger, but with resolve. He adjusted his hat, voice firm. "Then he got what he deserved."
Rick stared at him for a long moment. The boy he'd tried to protect was long gone.
Sitting across from him was someone harder.
...
A week passed, and the settlement looked different already.
Two of the three new watchtowers now stood tall, timber frames reinforced with steel plates rising over the walls like silent sentinels.
The third had its bones laid out, the ground ready, but the pace of work had slowed.
It was partly because Joe hadn't been as present at the site.
Instead, he'd been home.
Joe spent most of his days with the kids, the rifle set aside for bottles and blankets.
He took shifts on diapers and feedings, making sure Maggie and Beth weren't left drowning under the weight of newborns.
When they drifted into exhausted naps, he was the one pacing the floor, a tiny bundle cradled against his chest.
Neighbors started noticing his change.
A man who could gut a Wolf without blinking now sat quietly on his porch with a baby on his knee, singing softly to keep her calm.
Jess dropped by often, sometimes with baskets of food, sometimes just an excuse to hover at the doorway and smile at the sight.
"You're better at this than half the dads in town," she teased once. Joe only smirked, brushing Miracle's dark hair as she slept against him.
While he kept the home front steady, others carried the search outward. Daryl, Aaron, Eric, Lee, Abraham and to Joe's quiet surprise, Eugene.
They had taken the trucks further beyond the safe radius, scouring for survivors. They came back dusty and tired, but not empty-handed.
A handful of new faces trailed in behind them... wary but alive.
A wiry woman with a hunting bow, a middle-aged man clutching his daughter's hand, a pair of brothers who claimed they'd been living out of a half-collapsed barn.
They weren't soldiers, not yet, but they were bodies, hearts, and hands. And Alexandria needed every one of those.
Each night, as Joe rocked Chloe or watched Miracle curl against Maggie's chest, he kept the same thought close.
They were building something real now. Something worth every ounce of blood it took to protect.
...
Daryl, Abraham, and Sasha were out scouting for survivors.
Daryl rode point on his new bike... a trophy courtesy of the dumbasses who'd tried to block them on the road.
Abraham and Sasha followed in a car, keeping pace.
They were about forty miles out, rolling through a small town when the chaos erupted.
Automatic fire rained down from a rooftop, bullets sparking off asphalt. Abraham floored it, Sasha ducking as glass shattered.
Daryl swerved hard, gunning the throttle.
The ambush didn't let up. A black sedan peeled out from behind a building, giving chase and spraying rounds.
Daryl leaned low, weaving between abandoned cars, but the sedan clipped the back wheel of his bike.
The Harley fishtailed, throwing him hard onto the pavement.
He slid across the asphalt, leather jacket sparking, until he crashed against the curb. Pain flared hot through his arm... scraped raw, blood oozing, but not broken.
The car didn't even slow. It roared after Abraham and Sasha, gunfire still chasing them down the road.
Daryl forced himself up, teeth gritted. He didn't get two steps before a man lunged from behind a rusted Buick.
Daryl barely reacted in time, stabbing his hunting knife up under the man's jaw. The body collapsed, twitching, blood pooling dark on the street.
Daryl yanked the man's AK-47 from his hands, then staggered back to his bike.
He heaved it upright, mounted fast, and tore off just as another car came screaming around the corner after him.
The chase was on.
Daryl gunned it down the main drag, weaving between half-rotted walkers that stumbled into the street.
He led the car right through them, then cut left. The sedan plowed into the herd, bodies crunching against the hood.
It skidded out of control and slammed head-on into a brick wall.
Daryl smirked through the pain until he saw the SUV still hot on his trail.
He fired the AK one-handed behind him, bullets tearing into the hood. His aim was off, rounds sparking wild, but one lucky burst punched through something vital.
The SUV belched smoke, oil spilling as it swerved to a dead stop.
Daryl didn't wait to confirm. He roared on, pushing another mile before rolling off into a burned-out forest.
Charred trees rose like black teeth around him. He killed the engine, dragged the bike onto the ashy ground, and finally let himself breathe.
His arm throbbed bad. He stripped off the leather jacket, groaning as dried blood tore with it.
A four-inch gash split his tricep, angry and raw. He popped open his saddlebag, pulling out a med kit.
That's when he heard it... the crunch of ash under feet.
Daryl spun, AK raised. Two young women froze in his sights. A blonde and a brunette, hands up, eyes wide.
"We don't want any trouble," the blonde said quickly. "We earned what we took. We just wanted to leave."
Daryl's eyes narrowed. He was so focused on them, he didn't notice the shadow creeping from his blind side until...
Bam!
A fist smashed into his jaw.
Daryl stumbled but stayed upright. Another hit came, full body, and the weight drove him into the dirt.
He and the man grappled, fists flying, blood smearing the ash. They rolled, each clawing for control.
Daryl's rage surged. He twisted, got on top, and wrapped his hands around the man's throat.
He squeezed, hard, the guy's gasps cutting short.
And then...
Wham!
White-hot pain exploded across Daryl's skull as the brunette cracked him in the back of the head with a heavy stick.
...
The gunfire behind them had been relentless. The black sedan stuck to their bumper, rounds chewing through the rear windshield, sparking off the frame.
Sasha gritted her teeth, knuckles white on the wheel as Abraham loaded another mag.
"You keep her steady," he barked.
"I am keeping her steady!" Sasha snapped, swerving around an overturned bus. The sedan clipped the edge and nearly flipped, but it powered through.
Abraham leaned halfway out the window, rifle braced tight. He waited for the car to line up, then squeezed the trigger in short bursts.
Sparks danced across the hood, a few shots piercing through the windshield. The sedan swerved, but didn't quit.
"Persistent little shits," Abraham muttered.
Another car pulled out from a side street, trying to cut them off. Sasha cursed, jerked the wheel, and clipped the corner of a brick storefront.
Metal screamed, the mirror shattered, but she punched the gas and tore free.
The new car lined up behind them. Two vehicles now.
"Alright," Abraham said, eyes narrowing. "Time to thin the herd."
He waited, and waited... then let off a full-auto burst. The second car's windshield spiderwebbed, the driver slumping.
The vehicle fishtailed, skidded sideways, and smashed into a light pole.
"One down," Abraham grinned.
The sedan still chased. Sasha swerved again, luring it closer. "Take the shot!"
Abraham aimed low this time, rounds punching into the front tire.
The sedan wobbled, fishtailed, then rolled, metal crunching, glass spraying across the road. It slammed roof-first into the pavement and didn't move again.
Silence fell, just the roar of their own engine and Sasha's ragged breathing.
"You good?" Abraham asked, still scanning.
Sasha exhaled sharp. "Yeah. You?"
"Better than those poor bastards." Abraham reached back for another mag, then smirked. "Let's go see what's left."
They doubled back, cautious, rifles up. Walkers already stumbled toward the wrecks, drawn by the noise.
Abraham and Sasha picked them off quick before checking the bodies.
Three men, all armed with military-grade rifles. Abraham kicked one over and whistled. "Hell of a haul."
Sasha grabbed one of the rifles, checking the action. "This isn't scavenger gear. Whoever these people are, they're organized."
Abraham nodded grimly, loading up what they could carry. "And they'll be pissed when they realize some of their boys ain't coming back."
They packed the weapons into the trunk, then slid back into the front seats.
Sasha drove them onto the open road, exhaling slow. "Daryl will have shaken them. He knows what he's doing."
Abraham lit a cigar, staring out the cracked windshield. "Yeah. He'll be back on his own two feet. We gotta tell Joe."
...
Joe was sitting cross-legged on the floor, Julian in his lap, building a shaky tower of blocks while Miracle and Chloe napped in their crib.
Grace and Esther were watching Nemo, staring at the vibrant colors.
Maggie and Beth were resting, the weight of new motherhood easing for a rare moment.
The house was calm.
Then came the knock at the door. Heavy, urgent.
Joe sighed, kissing the top of Julian's head before setting him down gently. "Stay here, champ." He walked to the door and opened it.
Abraham stood there, shirt torn and blood-stained, Sasha at his side. Both of them looked wrecked.
Joe's chest tightened. "Where's Daryl?"
Sasha hesitated, then said, "We got hit. Automatic fire, two cars on us. Daryl went down. We couldn't circle back."
Joe's hands curled into fists. "And you left him?"
"We didn't have a choice," Sasha said firmly. "He'll have gotten clear. He always does."
Joe's jaw worked, teeth grinding. He glanced back into the house. At the crib, at Maggie stirring slightly, and at Julian babbling to himself on the floor.
Then he turned back, and his whole face changed. The father was gone. What stood there now was the man the Wolves, the Hunters, and God knew who else had learned to fear.
"Get Rick," Joe said, voice low but sharp enough to cut. "Tell him he's in charge till I'm back."
Abraham frowned. "Back from where?"
Joe pulled his jacket from the hook, strapping his favorite knife to his belt.
His voice was cold, flat. "The ambush site. If Daryl's alive, I'll find him. If he's not..." his eyes flicked between them, dark as pitch, "I'll find the ones responsible."
Sasha shifted uneasily. "Joe, you sure about this?"
He didn't answer her. He stepped past, already moving, every ounce of his body screaming purpose.
Behind him, Maggie whispered from the hallway, "Joe?"
He turned just enough to meet her eyes. For a moment, the mask cracked, and the father shone through again. "I'll be back home soon."
Then he was gone, walking into the night.