We weren't alone on that road for long. Two days later, while we were arguing over where to go next, a rifle cracked in the woods and the ground jumped near Carl's feet.
"Everybody down!" Rick yelled.
"That wasn't a walker," I said. "That was a person."
A tall man stepped out of the trees with a shotgun, white hair and a stern face. Behind him, a young woman with a crossbow, who looked about my age. Rick put up his hands. I had my rifle up, and the dogs had gone silent.
"That's close enough," the old man said. "State your business."
His name was Hershel Greene. His farm was a mile behind him. He said he had no room for strangers, and then Carl stumbled on the road, and Lori said "Please," and the old man's face changed.
By sunset, we were all sitting on Hershel's porch while his daughter Maggie poured coffee. His other daughter, Beth, ducked behind the kitchen door, staring at the dogs. He never mentioned his wife, and Maggie changed the subject whenever anyone asked. The farm stretched for acres: green pasture, white fences, a red barn at the edge of the property, and a pond with ducks. It was the first place I'd seen since the quarry where the air didn't smell of smoke.
When the system pinged, I knew what it would say.
Territory detected: Greene Farm. (Not yours.) Note: You may only claim territory that is undefended or abandoned.
I dismissed it. This wasn't mine, and I wasn't going to take it.
Hershel let us stay, on conditions. We would respect his land, stay clear of the barn, and work. I volunteered for the fence line, and Walt's builders and I spent a day patching the posts. Daryl and Merle hunted. Glenn, to everyone's surprise, spent more time with Maggie than with a shovel.
The dogs found the barn first. They pawed at the ground and whined, with their ears flat, and when I checked their feelings through Taming, I found something I had never seen in them before: fear.
"Dad," Rose said quietly, "they don't want to go in there."
"I don't either," I said.
I stood at the edge of the field and looked at the barn, the big sliding door padlocked and chained from the outside. I knew exactly what it held. In the show, this was the turning point for Hershel, for Rick and for Shane. If I did nothing, I knew how this would play out.
At supper, Rick pulled me aside.
"You know what's in the barn," he said.
"I do."
"Can you handle it?"
I looked down at my hands. "I can handle the barn. I'm not sure Hershel can handle me handling it."
Rick almost smiled. Then Shane walked through the door, looked at the two of us whispering, and I saw the old suspicion flash across his face.
I picked up my fork. This was going to be a long week.
The Barn
Hershel's wife had been bitten weeks ago, and Hershel had never accepted what that meant. That was the first thing I understood when I stood in front of the barn door with the old man's hand on my arm.
"They're sick," he said. "They're not dead. A doctor can treat sickness."
"They're infected," I said. "And they're past help."
Hershel looked at me for a long time. "You can't know that."
"I can," I said. "I can see it."
I hadn't planned on using the screen again. It was a cost of five coins and a risk that Hershel would think me mad. But I'd thought about it all night. Hershel was a doctor, and a good man, and he would believe what he saw. I took a deep breath and opened the share window.
One look through the crack in the barn door was all it took. A blue window hung in front of Hershel's eyes, showing the nearest walker in the barn.
Subject: Annette Greene. Condition: Deceased. Animated. Infection: 100%.
Hershel's face collapsed. He said nothing for a long time. When he finally spoke, his voice shook. "How is that possible?"
"I don't know," I said, which was true. "But it's real, and I'm sorry."
He looked at the barn, then at the doorway, and finally let me lead him back to the porch. Maggie was waiting there, tears in her eyes. Neither of them said anything for a long time.
It was Hershel who gave the order. "Do it quietly. Do it fast. Don't let them suffer."
We did it right. No guns, no noise, no show. Daryl on the loft with his crossbow, Merle and Rick at the doors, me in the middle with my knife and the squad. There were eighteen of them inside, and when the doors opened the walkers came out slowly, then all at once. We dropped each one where it stood.
Shane had wanted to use guns. He had argued, loudly, until Rick had put a hand on his chest and told him no. For a moment I thought Shane would swing at him. Instead, he went quiet and walked away, and I realized I'd been holding my breath.
The last walker was Annette. Hershel asked to be the one. I handed him a knife, and he did it himself, then sat in the grass with his hands over his face. Maggie knelt beside him. Beth wept beside her.
I left them alone.
That night, I sat on the fence rail and watched the sun go down. Eighteen coins ticked into my wallet, which I hardly noticed. The number was 609, and I thought it was the least important number on the farm.
Behind me, a voice said, "Hey, kid."
I turned. Shane was leaning against the barn wall with his arms crossed. He looked tired.
"I need to talk to you," he said.
What Shane Wanted
We walked to the pond together. Shane was quiet for a long time, watching the water.
"I know there's something you're not saying," he finally said. "I've watched you for weeks. The way you look at me, like you're checking for a bomb. You know things. About me. About what I did."
I didn't deny it. "What do you think you did?"
He let out a laugh without humor. "I left him. Rick. At the hospital. I told Lori he was dead because I thought he was. I made a choice, and then he walked back out of that place and everything I'd built went up in smoke." He looked at me. "I didn't want him to die, Jake. I swear. I just wanted her to be safe. And Carl."
"I know," I said.
"No, you don't."
"I do," I said. "I know you love them. I know you love him. I know that if you hadn't been so afraid of losing everything, you would've been the best friend he ever had."
Shane stared at me. Then, very slowly, he sat down on the dock and put his head in his hands.
"Lori's pregnant," he said into his palms. "She told me last week. I don't know whose it is."
I knew exactly whose it was. I also knew that telling him wouldn't help. "It doesn't matter," I said. "It's a baby. It needs a family."
"Rick will never forgive me."
"Rick doesn't know what you've been thinking," I said. "Tell him. All of it. Tonight."
Shane looked at me with a naked, startled hope that I'd never seen on his face before. "You really think he would?"
"I think you owe it to yourself to find out."
He was quiet for a long time. Then he nodded once, stood, and walked back up the hill.
I watched him go. I had changed his story, or at least bent it. I'd tried to be kind and honest with the man who, in the show, had died with a knife in his chest. For the first time, I thought he might have a chance.
The argument that followed was long and ugly, and it happened in the barn, where Rick and Shane were left alone. I didn't listen to it. I didn't have to. When the doors opened at dawn, both men walked out looking like they'd spent the night in a fistfight. They hadn't. Shane's eyes were red. Rick's hand was on his shoulder.
"We're good," Rick told me quietly. "We've got a lot to fix. But we're good."
I let out a breath I'd been holding for a month.
That was when Fenrir lifted his head, his ears twitching. The squad froze together, the way they only did for one thing.
"Dad," Rose said, "something's wrong."
The wind shifted. Far to the north, there was a low, steady, rhythmic sound, like a river over stones. I closed my eyes, listened, and counted.
Thousands. All of them heading our way.