Chapter 7

"Tomorrow, There Will Be No Shortage Of Volunteers, No Shortage Of Patriots."

- Shepherd

Rick's POV

The road stretched ahead, empty and quiet except for the hum of the engine beneath my hands. The sky was starting to lighten, but the night still clung to the edges of the horizon.

Beth was safe. That was all that mattered.

We pulled it off. No gunfire, no alarms, no blood spilled—not ours, anyway. We got in, got Beth, got out, like ghosts in the dark. And that? That was because of Price.

I glanced over at him. His eyes were closed, but I knew better than to think he was asleep. Price didn't sleep, not really. Not in a world like this. He sat there, wearing that army vest like a second skin and his hat covering his eyes, his rifle slung across his chest, ready to be used at a moment's notice.

This was only possible because of him.

I'd known it from the start—when Carl told me what he was, who he was, I believed it. And then I saw it for myself. At Terminus. At Grady. The way he moved, the way he planned everything down to the last detail, like he could see the whole damn fight before it even started. Hand signals, quiet kills, formations—I'd never worked with anyone like him before. He guided us, kept us moving, made sure every step we took wasn't wasted. Without him, this could've gone south fast. And I owed him. Not just for Beth. Not just for getting us out of there clean.

For Judith.

I tightened my grip on the wheel. If it wasn't for Price, I might've lost my little girl. He didn't hesitate. Just did what needed to be done. And now? Now he was part of this group, whether he meant to be or not. And I was damn glad for it.

In the rearview mirror, I caught sight of Beth. She was curled up, asleep, like nothing had happened. Like she hadn't just spent weeks trapped in that place, forced to play nurse under their rules. I let out a breath, remembering her back at Hershel's farm, that quiet way she'd hum when she worked, the way she looked up to Maggie, to her father.

Hershel.

I should've protected him. Should've done more. Should've seen what the Governor was planning before it was too late.

Maggie's gonna be happy to see her. She thinks Beth is dead. This—this is gonna give her something to hold onto. Something we don't get much of anymore.

Then my eyes shifted to Noah. He was quiet, staring out the window, lost in thought. Kid had been through hell. Said he and his father had come to Atlanta looking for his uncle, only to be ambushed by the people at Grady. They took Noah, left his father to die.

Richmond, Virginia in Shirewilt Estates. That's where he's from. Said his family was still there and a group of people.

Maybe there's something left for him. Maybe not.

But right now, he was with us.

And right now, we were going home.

We were close now. The church was just up ahead. The sun was rising, casting long shadows across the road, warming my face through the windshield. For a moment, just a moment, it almost felt like things were normal. Like we were just driving home after a long night.

Then I saw them.

Walkers. Dozens of them. Surrounding the church.

"Where the fuck did they come from?!" Daryl growled, his voice sharp, eyes scanning the mess in front of us.

Glenn, Abraham, and Michonne were already outside, trying to draw them away, keeping them from breaking through. But there were too many. If those things got inside, if they reached the kids, the others…

No. Not happening.

"We need to get rid of 'em before they break through," I said, already reaching for my machete. "Price, Daryl—out of the car. We help them."

I turned to Noah. "You're driving now. Take this car, honk the damn horn, lead 'em away."

He looked at me, wide-eyed, but nodded. I turned to Beth. "You stay with him."

Both of them gave a quick nod. Good. They knew this wasn't the time to argue.

We threw the doors open and moved.

Glenn was yelling something, but I barely heard him over the snarling, the moans, the shuffling of the dead. The air was thick with the smell of rot. My machete was in my hands, and I started cutting them down, one by one.

Steel met flesh. Blood sprayed. The grip of the machete was slick, but I didn't let up. Close-quarters—this was better than a gun. Cleaner. Quieter. I could feel the weight of each kill in my hands. No time to think about it. Just move.

I reached Glenn, Abraham, and Michonne. "You good?"

Michonne barely looked at me as she swung her blade that she found on a blacksmith's house at the town close to the church, cutting down another walker. "We're okay!Nobody's bitten!"

Then I heard it—Tara, shouting from inside. "They got in! Backdoor's open!"

Damn it.

I turned to Glenn, gesturing for him to follow. "Glenn, you're with me" And I tell Abraham and Michonne to stay here and don't let any walkers inside through the main door

I scanned the battlefield before heading inside. Price was in the thick of it, his combat knife flashing as he moved through the dead like he'd done this a hundred times before. Maybe he had. Daryl was at the car, crossbow steady, protecting Noah and Beth as they led the horde away.

We ran inside.

The church was chaos. Bob, Darius, Rosita, Izzy—all of them fighting, keeping the walkers from getting further in. Carol was with Tyreese, the kids huddled behind them. My eyes locked onto Judith. Safe.

Others were stabbing through the gaps in the boarded-up windows, keeping the dead from pouring in all at once while the damned priest is kneeling on the ground praying praying.

Glenn and I jumped in, pushing back the ones that had already made it inside. I swung my machete, hacking through their skulls, forcing them back. Blood coated the ground.

"Be careful to not get bitten" I barked, gripping the machete tighter. "We can get through this!"

We had to.