Abraham and Eugene rolled up to a small brick machine shop one of the scouts had found.
It was tucked away in a forgotten town, the kind of place no one had touched in years.
The front door was solid cast iron. Abraham rattled the handle. Locked.
He grunted. "Figures."
They circled around back. Another cast iron door. Also locked.
Abraham let out a sigh through his mustache.
Eugene's eyes scanned upward, catching on an open window about twelve feet above ground.
"There," he pointed.
Abraham nodded, crouching down. "Get your ass up there, Haircut."
Eugene hesitated, then climbed onto Abraham's shoulders.
The effort was almost more than Eugen could bear. He was puffing and groaning as he scrambled up.
He just barely managed to haul himself through the window. He tumbled down with a loud crash, knocking over a stack of metal molds.
Abraham winced. "You alright up there?"
"All good!" Eugene called back, breathless. "Proceeding to secure ingress!"
Flashlight in hand, Eugene crept through the dim room. The beam skimmed across benches, lathes, and presses.
He reached a door and froze at the groans seeping from behind it.
He swallowed hard, steadied his nervous grip on his machete, then pushed the door open.
A walker stumbled in, trippong over a few tools scattered on the floor.
Iits skull cracking against the corner of a workbench with a sickening crack.
It twitched on the ground.
Eugene grimaced, then stabbed it in the head, forcing himself to calm down.
"Still good!" he shouted, voice breaking.
He stepped into the hallway, moving carefully past towering smelting equipment and dusty presses.
The sight of them made his heart race. But not with fear, excitement.
Finally, he reached the rear door and unlocked it. The second the latch clicked, a walker lunged from the shadows, grabbing his arm.
Eugene yelped.
Abraham barreled through the door like a freight train, ripping the walker off and putting it down with a knife to the skull.
Eugene sagged in relief. "Much obliged."
They both stood catching their breath until Eugene's eyes lit up.
He turned back to the presses, words spilling from him in rapid, technical jargon.
Technical words about metallurgy, casings, smelting temperatures, molds.
Abraham blinked at him, completely lost. "English, Eugene."
Eugene's grin widened. "With this equipment, I can make bullets."
Abraham's face cracked into a wide smile. "Hot diggity dog."
...
Carl and Duane followed the tracks through the tall grass, steady enough not to lose the trail but fast enough to keep their nerves taut.
They came across a man face-down in the weeds. His throat had been slit clean.
Whatever weapons he'd carried were long gone.
Carl and Duane exchanged a look, then pushed forward.
The tracks led them to a cattle ranch. The stable loomed ahead.
They ran up and froze.
There was a man in armor, fending off a walker with a spear. He shoved it back and rammed the weapon through its skull.
Then he saw them.
Carl raised his Glock instantly. The man darted behind a wall.
"Wait!" the man shouted. "I don't want trouble."
"Come out," Carl barked. "Drop your weapons."
"I can't!" the man yelled back. "Too many of them. I'm just looking for my horse. Have you seen it?"
Duane stepped forward cautiously. "No… we're looking for a friend. Have you seen her?"
The man didn't reply. Carl's voice hardened. "Have you seen her?"
"They're coming!" the man cried. "Just go!"
He burst from behind the wall, running past them. Carl squeezed the trigger...
Duane shoved his arm.
The shot missed its mark, ripping through a walker's head instead.
Carl spun on him. "What the hell, man?!"
Before Duane could answer, a pack of walkers came pouring out of the field from behind the corner.
Carl drew his machete. Duane planted his iron pike.
Side by side, they cut through the dead. Carl couldn't help noticing how good Duane actually was.
Precise, fluid, every thrust placed with purpose. For all their differences, Duane could definitely fight.
When most of the walkers were down, Carl rushed forward, only for Duane to be grabbed from behind.
Carl reacted without hesitation, burying his machete in the walker's skull before it could bite.
Duane gave him a quick nod of thanks. When they looked up again, the armored man was gone.
Carl marched forward and yanked a spear from a corpse. He held it up. "Same kind as back at the cars."
Duane frowned. "We don't know he's with them."
Carl's jaw tightened. "It's a Hilltop spear. The Saviors force Hilltop to make weapons. He must be one of them. Maybe he's after Carol too."
"Or maybe," Duane countered, "he was just looking for his horse. Could be from Hilltop, could be from anywhere."
Carl snapped, "If you hadn't messed up my aim, we'd know right now."
"And if I hadn't stopped you, he'd be dead and we still wouldn't know anything!"
Carl's eyes narrowed. "We can't take chances. This isn't a game. You and your dad don't get that."
Duane's voice rose. "We get it. We just don't believe we have to kill anyone who crosses us. Human lives are precious."
Carl's anger cracked into something sharper. "Carol's life is precious. I've been with her since the beginning. There's almost no life that matters more than hers!"
The words hung heavy between them.
Duane finally muttered, "It's a cycle. Everything gets a return."
Carl scoffed, bitterness in his voice. "Don't talk to me about that karma bullshit."
He stormed off toward the car.
Duane lingered, staring at the walker Carl had saved him from. He sighed, then jogged after Carl.
...
They rolled through Alexandria's gate, the tension of the outside world finally easing, though their bodies still shook with adrenaline.
Daryl only now realized he'd been hit... one graze tearing his arm, another through his thigh.
Rosita slumped weakly in the passenger seat, blood soaking her shoulder.
The truck screeched to a halt. Sarah, on gate duty, ran up immediately. "Where's Denise?"
Rosita shook her head, eyes glossy. Her lips trembled, but no words came.
Sophia darted to Daryl's side, scanning his wounds in a panic.
Sarah grabbed her radio, shouting, "Joe! Get here now!"
Moments later, Joe came pounding down the street, Jess close behind.
He didn't hesitate. He scooped Rosita into his arms and sprinted to the infirmary. Her body went limp the moment she knew she was safe.
Tom was already waiting, table cleared and gloves on. Joe laid Rosita down, and Tom got to work without wasting a second.
Jess pulled Daryl into a chair, hands trembling as she tried to stitch his graze.
But she froze when Joe knelt beside them, his voice sharp, urgent. "What happened out there?"
Daryl's jaw was tight, voice like gravel. "It was Saviors. We took 'em out."
Joe's eyes narrowed. "Good."
Daryl swallowed hard, staring down. "Dwight was with 'em. Put an arrow through Denise's head."
Jess gasped, the suturing needle slipping from her fingers, hanginh down by the thread.
Tears welled instantly, she'd known Denise for almost two years. The grief struck her like a hammer, stealing her breath.
Her hands shook too badly to continue. Joe reached over, steady and calm. "I'll finish."
He took the sutures, threaded the needle, and stitched Daryl's wound with methodical precision.
Then he doused it with iodine, wrapped it tight, and leaned back.
The room fell heavy with silence. Jess turned away, crying softly into her hands.
Daryl clenched his fists, rage boiling beneath the grief.
Joe's voice was low, controlled, but his eyes burned. "Dwight's dead. That much is done. But this?"
He looked at them both. "This isn't the end."
...
Daryl was patched up, Rosita was stable. Joe was just about to step out of the infirmary with Jess when his radio crackled.
Carl's voice came through, urgent but steady. "Hey Joe, we just got back. We went looking for Carol… she's still out there."
Before Joe could respond, Sophia ripped the radio out of his hand. Her voice broke, "Carl, what happened?"
Carl replied, "She was attacked by some Saviors. She killed them all, but she was wounded and ran off into the field."
Sophia sobbed, clinging to Daryl.
Joe kept his voice calm. "Any clues?"
Carl answered, "We followed her trail. We saw a man in armor, but he ran off. Then we got cut off by walkers."
Joe nodded to himself. "Come to the infirmary. Sophia's here."
Sophia buried her face into Daryl's shoulder as she cried, Daryl resting a protective hand on her back.
Joe stepped out into the night with Jess. They were halfway home when his radio buzzed again.
Abraham's voice came, full of energy. "Joe, I got an early Christmas present. Gift wrapped and everything."
Joe chuckled. "What is it?"
Abraham sounded proud. "Bullets!"
Joe smirked. "Gonna need more than that, pal."
Eugene chimed in, voice smug. "Bullet production. We found the equipment to manufacture casing, slugs, primers... the works."
Joe laughed out loud. "Abraham, you weren't lying. Eugene… you're my favorite genius."
Eugene corrected, "I'm the only genius you know."
Joe smirked. "That's why you're my favorite."
Abraham barked out a laugh. "That's right."
Joe asked, "Can we move the equipment to Alexandria?"
Eugene sighed. "Possible, but impractical. We'd need a large truck or flatbed to transport the load safely."
Joe nodded to himself. "I'll have the scouts keep an eye out."
He clipped the radio back to his belt, his hand slipping into Jess's as they reached the house.
Inside, Enid sat on the couch with Clem. Between them, Miracle and Chloe were nestled safely in their arms.
Joe stepped in. "Where's everyone else?"
Enid answered softly, "Maggie's at the farm. She's still teaching Carmen how to run the tractor."
Clem added, "Beth went out with Amy for a walk. Emma and Andrea are getting things from the pantry."
Joe nodded. "Good. Thank you."
Clem shook her head. "It's no problem."
Jess crossed the room and carefully lifted Chloe from Clem's arms. Clem said gently, "I'm going to check on Sophia."
Jess told her, "She was at the infirmary last I knew." Clem nodded, hurrying out.
Joe leaned against the counter, watching Jess hold Chloe, her face soft. "You look good."
Jess smiled faintly. "We might have one soon. After all…"
Enid coughed loudly, muttering, "Gross."
Joe barked out a laugh. "Don't tell me you haven't been messing around with Carl, young lady."
Enid turned bright red, standing quickly. "I'm gonna get Miracle a bottle." She disappeared into the kitchen.
Joe and Jess exchanged a soft laugh, Chloe squirming in her arms. The baby turned her shining eyes toward Joe.
Jess cooed, "Aww, she wants her daddy."
Joe grinned, reaching for her. "Of course. That's my little girl."
Chloe melted into his chest, blinking up at him for a moment before her eyes fluttered shut.
...
Carol limped into a small town just as the sun began to dip, the sky painted in bruised purples and fading orange.
She found an empty house on the edge of the street, pushed the door closed behind her, and collapsed onto the couch.
Her side throbbed where a graze had torn through her jacket, and her legs felt like lead.
She stripped down her sleeve, cleaned her wounds with the little water she had, and wrapped them tight with torn fabric.
By the time she stumbled upstairs and dropped onto the bed, the weight of exhaustion pulled her under.
The sound of a door creaking jolted her awake.
Her hand shot to the knife under her pillow.
A figure froze in the entryway of the bedroom. He was young, dressed in scavenged leather and cloth, holding no weapon in his hand.
"I don't mean you harm," the man said quickly, raising his palms. "You're hurt. We can help you. Come to the Kingdom."
Carol's eyes narrowed. "No. I'm fine here."
"You're not," he said, glancing at her side. "You need treatment. Please."
Carol's grip tightened on the knife. Her voice was cold, final. "I said no."
The scavenger hesitated, then dipped his head and backed out without another word.
She listened to his footsteps fade, knife still in her hand long after the silence settled.
A few hours later, just as dusk turned to full dark, she heard a knock at the door.
Slow. Deliberate. Her body tensed, every nerve ready.
She crept downstairs and waited. No voice followed, no sound of footsteps.
Cautiously, Carol cracked the door.
A wicker basket sat on the porch.
Inside, wrapped neatly in cloth, were antibiotics in blister packs, bright apples, a handful of vegetables, and strips of cured meat tied with string.
Carol scanned the street, but the man was gone. The town was still.
She pulled the basket inside, set it on the counter, and stood there for a long moment staring down at it.
Her lips pressed into a thin line. She hated that part of her was grateful.
She hated even more that another part of her felt happy.
...
Joe and Jess sat together on the couch, the soft static hum of the baby monitor keeping them tethered upstairs to Chloe and Miracle.
The two babies were sleeping soundly in their cribs, little murmurs filtering faintly through the speaker every now and then.
A movie played on the TV, flickering light washing across their faces. Jess leaned into Joe's side, her head on his shoulder.
He was half-watching, half-listening for the monitor, his mind wandering as much as the movie's plot.
The front door opened quietly.
Beth and Amy stepped inside, cheeks pink from the evening air. They joined the couple on the couch, Beth slipping in beside Jess while Amy sat cross-legged on the rug.
Not long after, Andrea and Emma came through the door, their arms full with baskets of food and supplies.
They set everything down in the kitchen, putting things away before making their way into the living room.
Emma didn't hesitate; she dropped herself unceremoniously into Joe's lap.
The other women glanced over at the sight, but no one said a word.
The movie held their attention, or at least gave them something to stare at while their thoughts drifted.
Joe stifled a yawn. He was about to drift off when the door creaked again.
Rick stepped in, his eyes cutting past the others until they landed on Joe. He gave a subtle nod toward the kitchen.
Joe gently lifted Emma off his lap and followed Rick. She pouted slightly before cuddling up to Jess.
The kitchen was quieter, dimly lit by the bulb over the sink.
Rick poured whiskey into two glasses, sliding one across the counter to him. Joe raised a brow, puzzled. "What's the occasion?"
Rick took a sip before answering. His voice was low, careful. "There's been Savior activity, closer and closer to Alexandria every day. Some scavenging teams had run-ins with them."
Joe sighed, rolling the glass in his hand before taking a drink. "I figured as much. Did you hear about Daryl and Rosita? …Carol?"
Rick frowned. "No. What happened?"
Joe set his glass down, his jaw tightening. "Daryl and Rosita were ambushed. They killed the attackers, but they came back hurt. Carol… she ran off. Saviors intercepted her. Carl and Duane went after her, but hit a dead end."
Rick's face darkened. "Damn it." He shook his head. "We need to hit back. Take out more Savior bases, maybe even snipe a few teams when they're leaving headquarters."
Joe nodded. "Yeah. We need to be more aggressive. It'll be easier to strike while we're still in the shadows. Unknown."
Rick met his eyes over the rim of his glass. "That's what we do then."
He turned, as if ready to leave, but Joe stopped him. "We need to have a chat with Deanna."
Rick paused. "Why?"
Joe's voice was firm. "Dwight was with the Saviors that ambushed Daryl. That proves every loose end is a liability. We need Deanna to understand that we can't afford to leave anyone alive right now."
Rick gave a slow nod. "We'll talk to her first thing in the morning. Try to convince her."
Joe downed the rest of his whiskey. His eyes were hard when he spoke next. "And if she can't be convinced… then I'll have to cut her out of our discussions."
Rick didn't hesitate. He nodded once. "That's how it'll have to be."
...
Joe and Rick walked straight from Deanna's house to the gate, the conversation already settled in Joe's mind.
She could handle new groups coming in, sure, but decisions about war, about enemies, and captives? She was out.
Now their focus was elsewhere.
Their first stop was a small community called "The Library". It was just a town over from the Kingdom.
Jesus had only recently told them about it, and Joe wanted to see for himself who these people were.
Two transport trucks rolled out of Alexandria, armored Alexandrians in full kit riding inside.
Joe and Rick sat up front, weapons ready, their convoy moving calmly, but they were all alert.
When they reached the town, the sound of gunfire cut through the air. The trucks slowed, stopping a few blocks back.
Joe led the team on foot, boots crunching trash as they approached.
Ahead, a pack of Saviors stood outside a crumbling brick library, firing bursts into the sky.
It wasn't an attack... it was intimidation, theater.
Rick muttered, "Fear tactics."
Joe nodded. "That's what they thrive on. Strip it away, and they're nothing."
He signaled. Alexandrians melted into the shadows, circling the perimeter.
Sure enough, just as Joe had guessed.
There were more Saviors lurking in the alleys, hidden muscle waiting to spring.
They never saw thwm coming
Joe's crew slit throats or broke neck, silencinh them before they could ever raise alarm.
Then Joe moved his squad into position behind the main Savior pack. Twenty in all, twice their number.
He gave the signal.
A soft whistle, caused a chorus of suppressed fire.
Half the Saviors dropped before they even knew death was on them. The rest turned, weapons half-raised, cut down in the next volley.
When the smoke cleared, the Library's residents had their faces pressed to windows, clutching whatever scraps of courage they had.
They looked down on the strangers who had just slaughtered their oppressors.
One Savior still gasped on the pavement, cursing them.
Joe walked over, his boots crunching glass. He didn't even think, one clean burst tore the man apart.
The Library people flinched as blood sprayed across the road.
Their leader, Xavier, stepped forward, his voice tight. "Who are you? What do you want?"
Joe's shadow stretched long in the early sun. "We want you to crawl out from under Negan's thumb. Join us."
Xavier's face twisted. "Negan will kill you all."
Joe's crew laughed. Spilling out wild, unrestrained.
Some doubled over clutching their sides, others wiped tears from their eyes. The sound filled the street, a mockery that sent shivers through the Library's residents.
Joe lifted his hand, and silence fell instantly. His voice cut like a blade. "Negan will die by my hand soon enough."
The Library group froze, terror and awe in equal measure.
Rick stepped in, softer, steadier. "You've seen what we can do. We don't bow to him. Will you join us?"
Xavier hesitated, pulling a few of his men into a huddle. Their voices rose, some whispering Negan's name like a curse, others daring to hope.
Finally, Xavier turned back, shoulders heavy. "…We'll join you."
Rick nodded. "Pack what you can. You don't want to be here when the Saviors send more."
Inside, people scrambled. Outside, Joe and his squad moved with mechanical efficiency.
Collecting the fallen weapons, loading them into duffels and carrying them to the waiting trucks.
Carl and Duane pulled the transports closer.
Minutes later, the Library emptied.
Over thirty people emerged. A rough count showed, twelve men, fifteen women, and the rest children and teenagers.
Packs weighed them down, eyes full of grief for the home they never thought they'd abandon.
Joe watched the children climb onto the trucks, wide-eyed and silent.
His face didn't soften, but the thought crossed his mind, 'This is why we fight. For them. So they never have to kneel.'