Episode 8 – "Officer Friendly"
Bob huddled near the small campfire, speaking low to Kelsey."We need to find him. If we're gonna survive… we can't do it without him."
Kelsey shrugged, unconvinced."Uninterested."
Bob shook his head."He can be a great leader. Think about it—we've got two kids with us, an old man, and a woman to look after."
Slowly, Kelsey nodded, the weight of survival pressing down. They warned the rest of the group—they'd be gone for supplies. Armed with only a six-shooter and a baseball bat, they set off into the night.
Not even thirty minutes in, gunshots echoed over a distant ridge. They raised their binoculars—and Bob's yell of joy cut through the night:"IT'S HIM! WE FOUND HIM!"
Through the lenses, they saw him: John, in the midst of shamblers, moving like a whirlwind of precise violence. Adrenaline surged as they descended to help.
Suddenly—a scream. They froze, turning to see a Feral. Bob and Kelsey froze, then stumbled down the hill as the creature gave chase. Their hearts pounded. The Feral saw them as prey, playful in its bloodlust. It lunged, missing them, crashing into a tree and shaking its head before chasing again.
Yelps echoed. John ran to intercept. Bullets flew. Bob's shots missed. Kelsey swung at empty air. Then—one calm, perfect shot from John's Colt Python. The Feral collapsed. Relief washed over them.
"Excuse me," John said casually. He lifted the revolver, black metal glinting in the moonlight.
"WAIT—you saved us," Bob stammered.
"Maybe I'm not feeling like a goddamn hero today," John replied, shrugging."Why are you here? We have people we're trying to protect—woman, child—"
"Fine," John interrupted, voice clipped.
Bob blinked, confused. Then he noticed the farmhouse in the distance."Woah… you staying here?"
John's smirk was faint but real."Only 'cause there's plenty of room—four bathrooms, five bedrooms, working water, beds, food… five months' worth if you ration it right."
Tears welled in their eyes. Grateful. Overwhelmed.
"Are you gonna patronize me, or are you gonna get your people?" John asked, standing firm.
They wasted no time, sprinting up the hill, falling briefly in exhaustion, then disappearing into the night.
An hour later, they returned, bringing the old RV with them. John welcomed them in his own way: a silent nod as he settled on the stairs, lighting a cigarette. Kelsey whispered to Bob:"Well… he's no longer hot."
Bob, confused, frowned."What do you mean?"
"He smokes. Cigarettes. Ew."
Bob shrugged."Well… he saved us. I don't think he'd want you anyway."
Kelsey scowled."Wait… what the fuck? I'm hot as fuck."
John merely nodded, walking away.
The old man, introducing himself as Archer Freeman, came forward, followed by a small toddler clutching John's leg. John knelt, patting the boy's head as a tear slipped down his cheek. He excused himself to the barn, seeking solitude.
Inside, he opened his journal. New entry:
Two survived. I saved, and they sought me out, saying I was the key to survive. But truth be told…I couldn't save my family. A boy no older than a toddler clings to me. He reminds me of Jack, my boy…no older than a toddler. The group is with me now. We're in a farmhouse I cleared a few days ago.
He wrote the time, no date. Closing the journal, he exhaled slowly, the weight of the past and the responsibility of the present pressing down—but for the first time in long while, he allowed a quiet sense of hope to exist.