Finally alone, I pulled out the radio and tried to reach Chicken. Static. They should have been here by now.
I considered going out to look for them, then stopped myself. The sun was setting. Chicken and Jerry were more than capable. I held onto that.
I tried the camp next. Nothing. Even with the large radio tower, getting a signal this far out had been difficult for days. Still nothing.
It had been almost a week since I'd heard Clementine's voice. I just hoped she was sleeping, that she wasn't missing me as much as I missed her.
I started training, then stopped and shifted to flexibility work instead. Without added weight, calisthenics did little for me now. I built muscle slowly, frustratingly so. Even heavy lifting every day produced almost nothing. Still, I was stronger and faster than Agent 47. I didn't have to hold back. I didn't have to maintain the appearance of a normal person.
I wasn't an assassin.
"Are you doing yoga? You know that's what women do."
I recognized the voice without turning. A boy in a cowboy hat. Carl.
A beat passed.
"Beth said you're a good doctor. Is that true, Max...or are you just a good liar?"
I didn't answer.
Most people fill the silence. He didn't—not yet—but I could feel him fighting the urge. His body language made his feelings about my presence obvious. I had a good idea why.
"Are you deaf? Answer me, damn it!"
I stopped, not abruptly, but deliberately, and turned to look at him.
He held my gaze for less than a second before stepping back, his hand drifting toward his gun a reflex he probably hadn't noticed. His instincts were good. If he hadn't moved when he did, I might have put his head through the wall. Even now, I had to restrain myself.
"You should lower your voice around strangers," I said. "They might be crazy."
I turned back to my stretching.
"And I'm not interested in your crush."
He left, moving with an urgency just short of running.
Not many people talk to me like that and walk away. He was one of them now.
It had been a while since I'd last killed someone. That wasn't what I was used to. Controlling myself was getting harder. I needed to meditate more. I just hoped no one got in my way.
I was about to resume when Carl came back.
He walked steadily, chin up, stopping a little farther away than necessary. His eyes moved over me, searching for something solid to hold onto.
I hadn't expected this kind of courage from a thirteen-year-old.
"I'm Carl Grimes." The words came quickly, as if he were afraid of losing his nerve. "I'm sorry. Can you tell me your name?"
He extended his hand.
"You already know my name. Why ask?"
He hesitated. "Because I have a feeling you're stronger than me. So I want to hear it from you."
I shook his hand. "Max Walker." A faint smile tugged at the corner of my mouth.
His gaze wavered just slightly.
I let go and returned to my stretching. He lingered for a moment, then left, and I noticed he didn't turn his back on me until he was several steps away.
Before he disappeared, he paused, hearing the priest's footsteps approaching. Carl glanced at him, said nothing, and moved on.
The priest stepped into the doorway and knelt, head bowed.
"My lord. I have news."
I sat on the edge of the bed. "Get up. Tell me."
He rose. "Rick Grimes went out to scavenge propane tanks... residential ones. No one knows when he'll return."
Residential propane. Not a bad idea. Most tanks within range would already be empty or gone, but far enough from town, where gas lines never reached, some houses might still have full tanks, untouched because the distance made them dangerous to reach.
Rick had decided it was worth the risk.
That didn't sit well with me. If Rick died out there, my best lead to finding my father died with him.
I slowed my breathing. Beside me, the priest did the same, though his was uneven. I let out a short laugh. He went still.
"What is it?"
"Are you all right, my lord? You don't seem like yourself."
"What makes you think that?"
He paused. "You haven't slept in a week, and you're showing more emotion than usual."
A quiet laugh escaped me. "I do show emotion at camp."
"Yes, my lord. But only ever in front of Lady Clementine."
He hesitated, choosing his words carefully. "What concerns me is the fear. You've been showing fear...and it's costing you sleep. The same fear I saw when you were searching for Lady Clementine."
His gaze dropped to the floor. "Is something troubling you, my lord?"
This is what happens when someone spent years observing you, writing everything down. Eventually, they knew you better than most.
"You have good eyes, priest." I let the silence settle. "Do you remember the military base I raided?"
"The weapons and vehicles were a tremendous help."
"I found files there. Intelligence on several organized factions—each led by former U.S. military commanders, each trying to impose order on what's left." I paused. "One stood out: the Civic Republic Military. Over two hundred thousand survivors. Military-grade equipment. Hundreds of vehicles." I looked at him. "The base I raided belonged to them. And compared to the other factions, they aren't even the strongest."
The priest went still.
"Are you worried about them, my lord?"
"No." I let the word settle. "Excited. I wanted to find them...take what they have and kill anyone who resisted." My hand tightened. "But I stopped."
He waited.
"When I heard Clementine was pregnant."
The room held that.
"That," I said quietly, "is what worries me."
I continued, slower now.
"I built Angel Blood to protect Clementine. That was the foundation... everything else is secondary. But against factions like the CRM, it isn't enough." I exhaled. "And now the baby ."
Silence.
"That scares me. Not the factions. Not the war." I looked down at my hands. "I don't know what I'm doing. I don't know how to handle this. The closer the baby gets, the more afraid I am. Sometimes I think the easiest thing would be to disappear… pretend the rest of the world doesn't exist."
I didn't say it with shame. Just plainly.
"I'm not even an adult, and I'm supposed to raise a child." I found it weird saying it out loud. "Can I be a good father? Can I protect them? Can I give them something worth living for?" I went quiet. "There's one question I can't shake."
I looked at him.
"What happens if they're hurt while I'm away?"
The room held the weight of it.
"That's what keeps me awake."
The priest sat beside me.
He didn't ask anything. He just sat.
"Nobody knows how to raise a child," he said finally. "Everyone pretends they do. But in reality, none of us know what we're doing." He paused. "I used to have two children of my own, and what I learned is this: the fear you're feeling right now isn't weakness. It's one of the best qualities a parent can have. The fear of falling short. The fear of not being enough. The fear of what you can and cannot do for them."
He met my eyes.
"So don't worry," he said. "Just pretend... like the rest of us."
I let out a short laugh. " Thanks....But I don't like pretending when there's a threat in front of me. I remove it. I have to make Angel Blood strong enough to protect my only weakness." I glanced at him. "And I think I've found a way."
He smiled knowingly. "Does it involve acting like a normal, kind person who helps those in need?"
I didn't deny it.
"I came here for two reasons: to find my father and to deal with Negan. He hurt Clementine, so I can't let him go. And he's been absorbing nearby communities. I need those communities. The faster Angel Blood grows, the sooner I can face the CRM without worrying about her and the baby." I paused. "But then I heard about the infection here. I started thinking about how to use it... turn it into something that works in my favor. The problem is, I need to know how to cure it first."
The priest's expression shifted, uncertain.
He didn't know everything. I'd made sure of that.
No one here understood how dangerous the infection really was.
No one knew the cure.
No one except Hershel. He might figure out the cure again, just like in the original timeline.