Chapter 6

"You know what they say about revenge: you better be ready to dig two graves... (long pause) Go ahead and end it. It won't change anything. (long pause) Hmph. I know you couldn't do it. (long pause) You're a good warrior, but you can never take that extra step to do what was absolutely necessary."— Shepherd

We kept moving. Step after step, mile after mile, the sun beat down on us like it had a grudge. Sweat, dirt, and exhaustion clung to everyone, but nobody complained. You don't complain when you've been through what this lot has. You just keep walking.

Rick's group… they'd seen hell and lived to tell about it. He told me about their time in Newnan, Georgia. How they'd taken over a prison, turned it into something safe. How it worked, for a while. Then some bastard calling himself the Governor showed up.

A Governor—what a bloody joke. A name like that? Man thought he was a king. Thought he could play god. But from what I heard, he was just another power-hungry lunatic with a death wish. And he got what was coming to him.

Then there was Tara. She used to be with that lot, the Governor's people. But she switched sides. Saved Glenn's life, apparently. Rick kept her on. I could see why—she didn't strike me as a threat. Just another survivor trying to make it through.

My thoughts drifted to Darius walking beside Tyreese and Sasha. Poor bastard. When I first saw him with Sasha, I assumed she was his sister. Looked like him, had that same fire in her. But she wasn't. Just someone who reminded him of the family he lost. And Sasha, she'd seen another group taken to the slaughterhouse before Rick and his lot. More victims of those Terminus bastards.

Price also noticed that the big man Tyreese is actually a gentle soul, only his size was making him intimidating.

Caleb and Carl had taken to each other quick. Same age, same kind of past. Kids forced to grow up too fast. Izzy was chatting with Rosita, something about where they were headed. Good to see them getting along. A little bit of normal in a world that had lost all of it.

We spotted a lone walker shambling ahead. Michonne stepped forward, muttering, "I got it."

Her hand twitched toward where her sword used to be. Only it wasn't there. Terminus took it.

She sighed, then cracked the walker in the skull with the butt of her gun. Quick, clean. But I saw it—the frustration in her eyes. That blade was part of her. Without it, she felt… different.

The sun was starting to set. No point in pushing on through the night, not with this many people.

"We'll camp here," I said.

Rick gave a nod, and we set up. Fire crackled in the center, casting flickering shadows on the tired faces around me.

Rick turned to Carol, voice quiet but firm. "I owe you everything."

Carol shook her head. "You owe Tyreese. He was at the prison. And Price… for killing Martin before he got to the gun." Rick stared at Price then nod, he didn't forget to thank the man before.

She pulled something from her bag—Rick's watch. She handed it back to him. Then another—Daryl's crossbow.

Daryl took it slow, his fingers curling around the grip. He swallowed, gave Carol a small nod. No words, just understanding.

Rick glanced toward Caleb, Darius, and Izzy. "You three never really introduced yourselves. Go on."

They did. Quick and simple. Their names, where they came from. Survivors, like the rest of us.

Then Rick turned to me. "What about you, Price?"

Before I could answer, Carl jumped in, eyes lit up with excitement. "Caleb already told me! Price was a Captain in the SAS! British Special Forces! He was sent to the US for a joint operation"

Eyebrows raised. Abraham gave me a long look—man had served in the U.S. Army, so he understood what that meant. And Eugene? He damn near squirmed. Nervous type.

I sighed, flicked the cigarette between my fingers. "Kid's got it right. Captain John Price, SAS."

Silence for a moment. Then a few nods.

Didn't need to say more.

Morning came, and we moved out.

Sunlight filtered through the trees, the air still cool from the night. Birds chirped—probably the only ones left that hadn't been eaten yet. Then we heard it.

"Help! Somebody help me!"

A voice, desperate.

Carl's eyes darted to Rick. "We have to help him."

Rick looked at me. I gave him a nod.

We followed the sound and found him—a man in a preacher's garb, up on a rock, surrounded by walkers. He had nowhere to go.

The group made quick work of them, blades and bullets cutting them down in seconds. When the last one fell, we turned back to the man. He was still frozen in place, shaking.

"You can come down," Rick said.

The man climbed down, then immediately doubled over and threw up. Looked too clean, too put-together to have been out here long.

"You alright?" Rick asked.

The man wiped his mouth, eyes darting between us. "I—I'm fine. Thank you. Thank you so much."

"Who the hell are you?"

"Father Gabriel Stokes."

A preacher. That explained the collar.

"You got any weapons?" Rick asked.

Gabriel shook his head. "No. The Word of God is the only protection I need."

Daryl let out a dry chuckle. "Sure didn't look like it."

Gabriel shifted, uncomfortable. "I called for help… and God answered with your arrival."

He spotted Judith and smiled. "She's a beautiful child."

Rick wasn't convinced. None of us were.

"Hands up," Rick ordered, stepping closer. He patted him down, checking for weapons. Nothing. Then came the questions.

"How many walkers have you killed?"

Gabriel hesitated. "Not any, actually."

"How many people have you killed?"

"None."

Rick's jaw clenched. "Why?"

"Because the Lord abhors violence."

I nearly scoffed. That might've worked once. Not anymore.

Rick narrowed his eyes. "What have you done? We've all done something."

Gabriel looked away. "I am a sinner. I sin almost every day. But those sins… I confess them to God. Not strangers."

I watched him carefully. Man was hiding something.

Rick glanced at me. I gave him a look that said exactly what I was thinking: He's full of shit.

We didn't trust him. But for now, we needed to know more.

Rick sighed. "Alright, preacher. You said you had a church?"

Gabriel nodded.

Rick looked at the group. "Then take us there."

The place looked abandoned, covered in dust and decay, but that didn't mean it was safe. Places like this—quiet, still—tended to have surprises lurking in the corners. So, I took point, clearing room after room, finger resting lightly on the trigger.

No movement. No sounds. No bodies, dead or alive.

After a final sweep, I stepped into the main hall and called out, "It's safe!"

Rick signaled the others, and they filed in cautiously, weapons still drawn. Even after all this time, they weren't ones to trust their surroundings. Smart.

Abraham was quick to make his pitch—fix up the church's short bus, head straight for Washington. Said it was the only way forward.

Michonne wasn't having it. "We need to rest, resupply first."

Rick agreed, and I could see Abraham biting back his frustration. Man was in the, used to moving forward. But this wasn't some battlefield where orders had to be followed.

Glenn shut it down before it got out of hand. "One way or another, we're following Rick. We're not splitting up."

Tara chimed in with a quick, "What he said." Even Bob backed Rick.

Abraham didn't like it, but he wasn't about to argue with the whole room.

Gabriel, the so-called man of God, sat at the front of the church, hands folded like he was waiting for divine intervention. He said he'd been living off canned food donations and scavenging whatever he could find. Claimed there was only one place left with food nearby, but it was crawling with walkers.

Rick nodded. "We'll check it out."

Bob and Sasha volunteered to go with him, and Tyreese agreed to stay behind and watch Judith.

Rick clapped him on the shoulder. "Appreciate it."

Then he pulled Daryl and Glenn aside, speaking low enough so the others wouldn't hear. "I don't trust Gabriel."

Neither did I.

Carl overheard and piped up. "Not everybody's bad."

Rick sighed. "Maybe. But he might have friends. And I need you to stay here, help Tyreese protect Judith."

Carl nodded, but before Rick left, he called him back. "We're strong enough to help people. We don't have to hide. We don't have to be afraid."

Good lad. Still had hope in him. A rare thing these days.

Rick nodded, but I could see it in his eyes—he wasn't convinced.

I chose to stay at the church. Told Rick, "If there's another hostile group out there, I'll handle it."

He gave me a look, understanding but firm. He knew I wasn't one to stay put when things got messy, but this wasn't about pride. Someone had to guard the place.

Rick and his lot went to that food bank, bringing Gabriel along. If the priest had secrets, maybe they'd find them there. Meanwhile, Carol and Daryl headed off together—probably for their own scouting run.

Night fell, and one by one, they returned. Rick's group came back with carts loaded full of food, enough to last a good while. Whatever mess they had to wade through, it paid off.

For the first time in a long time, people smiled.

The fire crackled, and for a moment, the weight of the world eased just a little.

Abraham stood, lifting a makeshift cup. "A toast. To what comes next."

Then he started his speech, selling his mission like a general rallying the troops. "Eugene's a scientist. He can stop all this, make the dead die and give the world back to the living. That's not a bad takeaway for a little road trip."

People listened. Some nodded.

But then, Eugene broke.

He slumped forward, shaking, tears in his eyes. "It was a lie."

Silence.

Abraham just stared. For a few long seconds, the man didn't move, didn't even breathe. Then his face twisted with rage, and before anyone could stop him, he lunged.

His fist crashed into Eugene's face, knocking him flat.

The group jumped in, wrestling him back, holding him down. He fought like a man betrayed, because that's exactly what he was. He'd risked everything for a lie.

"People died believing in you, Eugene!" Rosita shouted. She then followed by reciting their names.

Price thought to himself "Good that he told them the truth, If he lied, and they arrive at Washington, and saw nothing. I would have put a bullet in that bugger's fat head" 

Hours passed. The fire burned low. Most were asleep, but I kept watch. Habit, more than anything.

Then, the church doors slammed open.

Daryl stormed in, frantic. "I saw it!"

Rick was on his feet in an instant. "What?"

"The car—the one that took Beth! It's the same one I saw before we got to Terminus! I tracked it, took one of 'em out. They've got her at Grady Memorial Hospital in Atlanta."

A rescue mission.

I stepped forward. "I'll go. It's what I do."

Rick nodded. "I'm going too."

Daryl didn't hesitate. "Me too. I know Atlanta. I know Beth."

Three-man team. The right number.

"We'll leave now," I said.

Rick nodded. Daryl clenched his fists, jaw tight with determination.

The hunt was on.

The city was still. Morning hadn't come yet, but the sky had that deep, pre-dawn blue, like the world was holding its breath. We crouched in the shadows across from the hospital, eyes scanning every window, every rooftop.

"Quiet. Controlled. In and out." That was the plan. No unnecessary noise. No heroics. Just grab the girl and go.

I signaled Rick and Daryl to close in.

"Alright, listen up," I murmured, voice low. "Daryl, show me that map."

He pulled it out, traced a rough layout of the hospital with his finger. Two floors. Multiple rooms. No clear idea where Beth was. We'd have to search it all.

I pointed to the corners of the building. "We'll clear the first floor first, then move up. Keep it slow, keep it quiet."

They nodded.

I went on, "I'll take point. Watch my hands—these signs mean stop, move, or cover. No talking unless absolutely necessary."

Daryl grunted in agreement. Rick gave a sharp nod.

Right. Time to move.

The hospital was in better shape than I expected. Didn't have the usual stink of rot—had actual doctors, nurses. A working system. But that didn't mean it was safe. The wrong people in power could turn anything into a prison.

And from what I'd heard, that's exactly what this place had become.

We moved in the shadows, hugging the walls, avoiding open spaces. I raised a fist—stop.

Listened.

Footsteps. Distant voices.

Not coming our way.

I motioned—move.

One door at a time, checking rooms. Most were empty. Some had patients, unconscious or too sick to move. No sign of Beth.

Then we hit one of the patient rooms.

I eased the door open.

There she was.

Beth.

She was setting up an IV for some poor sod in a hospital bed. Then she turned and saw us.

Her breath hitched. Eyes went wide.

Daryl moved first. Stepped right up to her, wrapped her in a hug. "Carol missed you."

She choked on a sob. "I wanna go home."

"That's what we're here for, love," I muttered, scanning the room.

That's when I noticed him—the young black lad standing just behind Beth, tense but not hostile.

"Who's this?" I asked.

Beth sniffled and wiped her eyes. "This is Noah. He—he wants to leave too. He was taken by force. He's not one of them."

Noah met my eyes, nervous but determined.

Rick studied him, jaw tight, considering. Then he nodded. "Alright. Let's move."

Getting in was one thing. Getting out was another.

We moved like shadows, slipping through the halls, past rooms filled with sleeping bodies, past guards who had no idea death was walking right by them.

We reached the exit.

I cracked the door. Checked outside.

Clear.

We stepped out, one by one, slipping into the alley behind the building. Then we ran.

Didn't stop till we hit the car.

I turned, scanning the hospital's windows. No movement. No alarms.

We were ghosts.

Beth slid into the seat, tears still glistening on her cheeks. Noah exhaled, shoulders finally relaxing.

I looked east. The sun was rising, spilling gold over the horizon.

"Let's go home," I said.

Rick started the engine. Daryl sighed, running a hand through his hair.

Mission accomplished.