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Lucille's final blow popped Eugene's eyeball clean out of his skull. It rolled across the ground to Carl's knee and stared up at him—lidless, lifeless. The Sheriff's hat toppled to the dirt, bowl side up, and Carl emptied his stomach into it. Negan chuckled at the sight. In one smooth motion he plucked up the hat and Frisbee-ed it at the RV, dousing one of the windows with vomit. He shook Lucille like a maraca and warm red droplets rained down on everyone in the line.
Rosita lay on her stomach with one hand outstretched, fingers reaching but helpless. Abraham's forehead rested on the ground as if in prayer. Into the dirt he sighed a lengthy, defeated moan. Maggie's whole body heaved with each breath. Blood coated the inseam of her jeans. "It's all right," Negan told her. With unnerving tenderness, the Savior leaned over, gently folded Maggie's hair behind one earlobe, and gave her a smile that was almost fatherly. "It's over. The worst is over."
Negan stepped back to Rick and used the sheriff's sleeve to wipe off the rest of the blood coating the barbed wire. "Do you smell it? Do you smell that stench? One of you finally pissed your pants. That's the smell of my victory." Negan took a deep breath through his nose and smiled like he was inhaling a fresh bouquet of flowers. Rick watched his jacket absorb Eugene's blood. Red mixed with brown until they became one.
Negan crouched in front of Rick. An earthy, spicy cologne flowed off his skin and stung Rick's watery eyes. "I see it," Negan whispered. He pointed Lucille at Rick's nose and squinted. "I see the defiance in you. Bet I could kill two more and it would still be there. How many more deaths would it take for you to truly give in?" Negan smacked his lips and cocked his head to the side. "I admire that defiance, Rick. I really do. I admire it, but it's gotta go. And I gotta see it go, which is why you're going to stay here with me just a little while longer." Negan reached into his pocket, took out the RV keys, and tossed them at Glenn. "The rest of you," he said, "are free to go."
"No." Dwight marched up behind Daryl. "Not him. He's mine." He aimed the crossbow.
"NO!" Rick cried.
Lucille moved cobra-fast. She butted Dwight's chest like a battering ram, and the Savior ended up on his backside, gasping for air. The crossbow hit the ground and went off. A bolt speared the RV's rear passenger-side tire. Arrows spilled in every direction with a click-clatter. Daryl reached for his weapon. The blanket covering his wounded shoulder fluttered across the ground. Negan's left boot landed hard on Daryl's fingers mere centimeters from the crossbow. Daryl grunted, then shouted in agony when Negan's other shoe rolled him onto his spine and stomped down hard on the gunshot wound. Air whistled as the tire went flat.
"You," Negan barked down at both Dwight and Daryl, "should NOT have done that." Shark-eyes settled on Glenn. "Take your lady into the RV."
Glenn shuffled forward an inch, retreated back, and then tried another few inches. When Negan nodded, confirming his offer, Glenn rushed to his wife's side and helped her stand. Glenn looked at Rick, got a slight nod, and then quickly led Maggie into the vehicle. Rosita and Aaron shadowed them at Negan's command, followed by Sasha, Michonne, and Abraham. "Go on, son," Negan called when Carl stayed put. "Daddy will join you at Hilltop real soon." Carl moved, but only after Negan swung Lucille over Daryl's body like a medieval Pendulum.
Once everyone was loaded up in the RV, Negan turned his attention back to Daryl. "What to do?" he wondered. "What to do with you?"
Rick crawled three feet forward before Dwight stepped into his path. "L-Let him g-go," he stuttered.
White teeth flashed. "You look worse off than the girl," Negan told Daryl. "Bet you don't have the strength to hold your own dick long enough to take a piss. But, I'll tell you what…" Negan stepped off of Daryl's hand, shouldered Lucille, and combed his fingers through his short salt-and-pepper beard. "I'm keeping Rick, but if you can make it to the RV in the next five seconds, I'll let you leave." Negan waited half a moment, and then said, "One…"
Daryl muscled his way up to his knees.
"Two…"
The blanket lay spread-eagled across the dirt. Daryl rolled it up against his chest.
"Three…"
"Daryl!" someone called from inside the RV.
Daryl settled on his haunches. He didn't break eye contact with Negan.
"Daryl, get up," Rick called.
Daryl didn't move.
"Four…"
Rick slammed his fist into the ground. "DARYL!"
Daryl almost glanced at his friend, but he pulled his gaze back.
"Five." Negan smacked his lips, amused. "Damn," he sighed, impressed. "What to make of that show, huh?" He nodded at Dwight. "Haul him into the van."
Daryl climbed up onto his feet before Dwight could touch him. "I'll walk," he grunted. Something in his eyes made Dwight step back and just hold a gun on him while he moved, swaying a bit, past the RV and into the van. Eight faces watched from the windows, terrified.
Negan stood in front of Rick. "You and I will chat some more in the morning," he said. Fabric ripped as Negan dragged barbed wire across Rick's collar. "The rest of you can get going now," Negan called to the RV. After a wave from Rick, the vehicle started up and limped north on three strained wheels.
Brief relief turned Rick's legs numb. His son was safe. Most of the group got away…
There must've been a slope in the ground and a slight breeze in the air. Eugene's eyeball rolled past Rick's kneecaps like a tumbleweed in the desert…
"You have a nice nap," Negan said. Lucille descended like a guillotine and mashed Eugene's eye into the dirt. And with that, Negan set the bat on his shoulder and strolled past Rick, whistling.
Rough hands yanked Rick up and over to the van. Men laughed as they shoved him into the vehicle, sending him sliding across the floor on his stomach. Bullet-riddled double doors shut and locked behind him.
"Daryl?" Rick scrambled up to his knees and reached for his friend in the van's dim light. "DARYL!"
Daryl lay on his side against the wall with his eyes closed and his arms wrapped around the blanket. "Keep your voice down," he groaned. "Echoes like crazy in here."
Rick wiped Daryl's hair out of his face. So much heat radiated from his feverish skin that Rick briefly recoiled as if from a hot stove. "What happened to you?"
"Assholes snuck up on us," Daryl said. "Bullet went clean through."
"You're bleeding."
"Michonne's all right. Glenn, Rosita—they weren't hurt. Maggie…what's wrong with Maggie?"
"Daryl, let me see."
"Behind you." Daryl cocked his head at the back left corner. "There's water. Supplies. A flashlight."
Rick reached around the semidarkness until his fingers bumped against plastic. He turned the light on—just a small stick running on a couple double-A batteries—and gasped when he saw Daryl's wound up close. The sheriff's eyes immediately registered that Daryl was shot at close range. The others had clearly cleaned the wound as best they could, but Negan's boot reopened it. Daryl's red handkerchief slid down his arm and soaked bits of rolled up bandages landed in his lap.
"You need stitches, antibiotics," Rick said. He found half a bottle of water and wetted one corner of the blanket to use as a washcloth. "You should've gotten in the RV. Dammit, Daryl, why the HELL didn't you get in the RV?"
Daryl winced. Sweat replaced the blood Rick wiped away. "What do you want me to say, man? I lost a lot of blood. Couldn't boot it."
"Bullshit." Rage boiled up from Rick's toes. "You might die here, Daryl. You CHOSE to stay here with me. DAMN you for that!"
Daryl countered anger with anger. "Screw you," he hissed. "Everything we've gone through, everything we mean to each other…Why are you so surprised?"
Rick found a semi-clean bandage in their meager supplies. "I don't want you to die for me!"
"I won't let YOU die!" Daryl spat back. Emotion spiked his adrenaline and he sat up against the wall. "Not alone with some psychopath… Not—Not like Merle!" Sitting took too much effort, and Daryl started to teeter. Rick caught him, righted him, pressed the bandage against the wound and tightened the bandanna around it. Noise sputtered between Daryl's clenched teeth.
"Sorry." Rick's anger deflated at the sight of his brother in pain. "I'm so sorry." He pressed his forehead against Daryl's temple and sighed. "God, you're burning up."
"By the way," Daryl managed between gasps, "I got…I got one…" He started to unravel the blanket but it took too much strength, so he just pointed at it. Rick shook the blanket and an arrow clattered to the floor. "Thought you might put that to good use," Daryl mumbled.
"Holy shit." Rick's jaw dropped. "I could kiss you, man."
Daryl rolled his eyes. "Please, don't. Ain't got the energy to sock you." He shivered. Goosebumps blossomed across his skin.
"Let's get you warmed up." Rick unzipped his coat and ripped it off.
Daryl waved Rick's hand away. "I'm fine," he muttered.
"Dammit, Daryl, for once in your life will you let someone take care of you?"
Daryl scowled. "Ain't no baby."
Color clouded Rick's cheeks. He changed tactics. "In the morning, the Saviors are going to put me on my knees in front of Negan again. Are you going to be there beside me, or are you going to freeze in here?" Daryl's nostrils flared. He didn't speak. "Just hold still." Daryl obeyed, allowing Rick to gently guide his arms through the coat sleeves. They each took a sip of water, and then Rick sat down and wrapped the blanket around both of their knees. In the silence they settled into, both men heard the echo of Lucille crushing Eugene's skull. Outside, the Saviors clinked their beers together in celebration.
Daryl licked his lips, hesitated, and then said without looking at his friend, "Rick whatever those pricks have in store for us, we can handle it. Whatever they do to me…I can take it. You hear me? I can take it."
Rick stared at a bullet hole in the opposite wall. His mind conjured a brief image of Lucille striking Daryl, and he shook his head as if shooing away a fly. "One arrow against a hundred Saviors…"
"Better make it count," Daryl sighed.
Rick tapped the tip of the arrowhead with his finger. "Cut off the head of the snake, and the body dies."
"Nah," Daryl whispered, "the body doesn't always die."
"What?"
"You cut a snake's head off. That don't always kill it."
"It's just an idiom, Daryl."
Daryl had started to slide down the wall. He gathered his strength and adjusted his weight as he said, "Me and Merle were out hunting when we were kids. Rat snake got into our tent. I took a machete to it, thought it was over with. Five minutes later the head jerked and bit Merle right on the ass." One corner of Daryl's lips twitched in a slight smile. "Weirdest thing I ever saw until all this shit started. Even if you cut off the snake's head, that might not kill the body, Rick." Daryl blinked over at him. "…But what do you say you and me give it a try?"
Rick nodded. "We take out Negan and that might just be the end of the Saviors."
"Best shot," Daryl muttered. "Might just be our best shot. Or at least a shot for Carl and Carol and the others—" A sudden cough wracked Daryl's entire body. He moaned. Trembling fingers clawed at the bandage.
Rick slid his arm behind Daryl. "Come here," he whispered, urging Daryl to relax against his shoulder. "Come on." Daryl hesitated, but exhaustion caught up with him. His body went limp. His cheek landed on Rick's sternum. "Try to rest, Daryl."
"We both saw what that asshole did to Eugene…" Daryl shivered, then trembled.
"Shhh," Rick soothed. "Rest," he whispered. "Just rest."
"But you heard me before, right?" Daryl's eyes shut. His breaths evened out. "I can take it, Rick. I can take it…"
Rick's stomach squirmed. The tears came then—hot, small drops that trickled off his nose and landed in Daryl's hair. The hunter didn't stir. Rick shut off the flashlight and surrendered to the sobs.
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Rick wasn't sure what he expected to see when the Saviors opened up in the van in the morning, but it definitely wasn't a circular mahogany dining room table and three matching, cushioned chairs sitting in the middle of the woods. Negan sat at the twelve o'clock position with his fingers steepled beneath his chin. He smiled at Rick and Daryl like they were old friends. "You must be hungry," he said. And then he lifted his elbows so that Dwight could lay out a pristine white tablecloth.
Daryl was forced into the nine o'clock position on Negan's right, and Rick on his left. One Savior even scooted Rick's chair in behind him like they were on a date. Around the perimeter of the clearing, various men and women sat in lawn chairs and open car doors munching on cereal, apples, and sandwiches. Nobody sipped from their bottles of water—it was all gulps and swigs. A woman with Tara's built and Carol's haircut walked up to the table with a first aid kit. "Which one?" she asked.
"This is Courtney," Negan said. He nodded at Daryl. "One of our nurses. She's going to stitch you up."
Courtney rolled up her sleeves and took a syringe out of the kit. Daryl recoiled from her like it was a gun. "No way," he grunted.
"It's just some local anesthesia," she said. "Small dose. It'll wear off in ten minutes, so I suggest you hold still so that I can get the job DONE in ten minutes." When Daryl clamped his hand protectively over his shoulder, Courtney put her hands on her hips and huffed.
"Dwight," Negan called, "give Courtney a hand."
Dwight perked up. "With pleasure." With the gentleness and precision of an angry drunk, Dwight yanked Daryl's right arm out of Rick's coat sleeve, and used a knife to rip open his shirt. Courtney stabbed the needle into the center point between the entry and exit wound, and then picked up a sewing needle and thread. Daryl squirmed at first, but went still after a nod from Rick.
Rick winced and looked away when Courtney started stitching. "So this is how you operate?" he asked Negan. "You shoot people and then you stitch them up? You terrorize them and then let them go?" He looked around for Eugene's body, but it was gone. Someone had even raked leaves over the residual blood.
A Savior walked over with three white glass plates, crystal-clear clean glasses, and freshly washed silverware. "No," Negan said as the Savior put a white napkin in his lap, "we do all that, AND we feed them."
Rick smelled it, then. It had been so long—so very long that he'd almost forgotten. Memories of Lori smiling at him across their breakfast nook came unbidden to his mind. For the love of God, the Saviors were cooking BACON. By the time Courtney was finished with Daryl, the Saviors had covered the table with fresh warm breads, pancakes, sausage and gravy, bacon, fruit, eggs, and goblets of water. Water with ice cubes.
Negan made sure that both Rick and Daryl were watching when he scooped up a hash brown and a random waffle from the bottom of the pile and started chewing. "It's not poisoned," he assured them. "If I wanted you dead, you'd be dead a dozen times over."
Rick couldn't stop staring at the butter melting on a piece of wheat toast and the umbrella sticking out of a carafe of orange juice. His stomach rumbled and betrayed how hungry he was. To cover the sound, he coughed against his fist, and said, "This is all stolen, isn't it? The bounty you've reaped from your bullying."
Strawberry jelly leaked into Negan's beard. "This," he said, "is the profit of various business transactions I've arranged. I don't eat like this every day—only when there are guests to impress. And I do want to impress you, Rick."
Daryl snorted. "We ain't your guests. We're your prisoners." Courtney finished the final stitches and applied a fresh bandage. Dwight remained at Daryl's side after she walked away.
Negan kept his attention on Rick. "When was the last time your son ate like this? Huh? When was the last time any of you ate until your bellies were full?" Negan jabbed a knife into a stack of pancakes and deposited them on Rick's plate. "We have to get your energy up, Rick, or this chat will be no fun at all."
"Is this the same man from last night?" Rick asked. "Then your only interest was taking half of the food out of our hands. Now you're giving us more than we could eat all day. Why is that?"
Negan wiped maple syrup and peanut butter off of his chin. "I wanted to show you what we have access to. What the Saviors can get for you. I can put food in your son's belly," he said, gesturing at the buffet, "and medicine in your friends' veins," he said, gesturing at Daryl's shoulder. "That's what Saviors can do. Whether or not you agree with my methods, that's what I can do."
Rick's mouth watered so much that he had to swallow twice before speaking. "This whole circus is because you want me to be a Savior, too?" he asked. "You just killed my friend, threatened my son, locked me in a van all night, and you expect me to thank you for breakfast and take your side?" Rick scooted half a foot back away from the table and folded his arms against his chest. "Fuck you."
Negan poured salt and pepper on his scrambled eggs, dipped them in ketchup and said, "Maybe it would help to hear from a recent recruit. Dwight?"
"Yes, Sir?"
"Are you alive?"
Dwight scratched the side of his head where his ear used to be. "Yes, Sir."
"Did I kill you when you disobeyed my orders last night?"
"No, Sir. Thank you, Sir."
"Did I kill you when you refused to turn over that motorcycle?"
"No, Sir. Thank you, Sir."
"Do I give you food? Cigarettes? Did I give you the weapons and manpower to hunt down your friend Daryl, here?"
"Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir."
Daryl looked sidelong at Dwight through his matted hair. "And where's that woman you were with. Sher, wasn't it?"
"Dwight." Negan said the man's name so loud that he jumped. "Are YOU alive?"
Dwight's eyes darted from Daryl to his boots. "Yes, Sir," he said quietly. "Thank you, Sir."
Negan wiped his mouth with a cloth napkin and belched. "You really should eat something, Rick. Now. You'll be in a much better mood once you do."
Rick's fingers twitched. The smell of bacon overwhelmed every other scent in the forest. "No."
"I'm asking you kindly, Rick. Put that food in you."
Rick pursed his lips and held his arms tighter together.
"Morning-Negan is getting frustrated, Rick. Does Night-Negan have to step in?"
Out of the corner of his eye, Rick spotted Lucille sitting propped up against a table leg.
"Last chance. This is a very simple request, Rick. It's you who's making it difficult. If you're not going to take this one direction, then our talk might already be over." Negan sighed. "Have if your way." He checked his watch. "Dwight, it's been ten minutes."
With fingernails like claws, Dwight ripped Daryl's stitches right out.
Blood splashed across Rick's untouched plate. A frustrated Negan rose from his chair, snatched up a carafe of freshly squeezed orange juice and launched it at the wounded archer. Acid hit the open wound, and Daryl's howls echoed across the woods.
Rick wrapped his arms around his head—elbows against his ears—and pressed his nose into the white tablecloth. "Please," he groaned. "No more. Stop it, please."
"I will!" Negan bellowed. "If you eat some damn scrambled eggs, and swear on his soul that you'll devote yourself to the Saviors for the rest of your piss-poor life!" Negan smashed the glass carafe against the table, and then pressed the largest shard against Daryl's throat. "NOW!"
Rick couldn't read Daryl's eyes. It was almost like he wasn't behind them anymore. The only reason why he was even conscious was because of Courtney the nurse's shots of adrenaline. Daryl's blood had turned a whole corner of the tablecloth red. Untouched pancakes and waffles were ruined. Blood had pooled in the bowl of his spoon, decorated his silver fork, and his butter knife…
Where was the knife?
Rick's own adrenaline soared. He and Daryl shared a look, and the briefest nod.
In one fluid move, Rick plucked up his silver fork and launched it across the table. Negan didn't even flinch. He barely blinked when it soared past his right ear. Chuckling, he turned half way around and watched the utensil smack against some faceless Savior lounging in a lawn chair. Daryl took the knife out of his pocket and shoved it into Negan's thigh. It was then that Rick sprang around the table and stabbed Daryl's arrow into Negan's chest.
Gasps from every direction. Men got to their feet and raised guns. Rick took a step backwards and—after a brief, desperate look at Daryl—closed his eyes and waited for the bullets.
Laughter. Deep belly-rolls of laughter. Rick's heart sank into his stomach, and his stomach sank to the dirt. He opened his eyes and found Negan practically giggling at the sight of the arrow sticking out of his leather jacket. "You, Rick Grimes," Negan said as he wrapped his fingers around the shaft, "owe me a new suit." He yanked the arrow out and fingered the tear it left behind. He wiggled his leg and the knife thudded to the ground. "And some new body armor. I think you boys scratched it."
Rick's legs felt boneless. He leaned against the table and stared, unmoving, at the wasted weapons in the dirt. "Ah, shit…"
Daryl slouched in his seat. Negan yanked on his hair like it was the reins of a horse, and pressed the glass against his Adam's apple. A light stream of blood trickled down to Daryl's collarbone. "In ten seconds," Negan said so quietly that Rick almost couldn't hear him, "when you're watching your friend bleed to death, remember this: I gave you a chance."
Daryl blinked at Rick. He shut his eyes. "No!" Rick cried when Negan's hand tensed.
"Orange!" a voice suddenly squawked from Dwight's walkie-talkie. "Code Orange! Runners!"
Negan glared at Dwight, who nearly dropped the walkie twice as he raised it to his lips. "Say again?"
A female voice, stunted and out of breath, shouted back, "The Philly survivors are all making a run for it! They raided the whole freezer. We need back up at the county line!"
Negan tossed the glass over his shoulder and swiped the walkie out of Dwight's hands. "T, you and H take care of it! We're in the middle of something here!"
"Negative, Sir, we're being overrun by—" Garbled gibberish preceded static—and then silence.
"Shit!" Negan hissed. He let go of Daryl, marched back to his chair, and hoisted Lucille. "Mount up!" he ordered. "Take them back to headquarters," he ordered Dwight while pointing the bat at Rick and Daryl. "When I slit their throats I want to take my time and enjoy it! Move out!"
Dwight pointed Rick's own Colt Python at him. He spoke, but Rick couldn't hear him through a rushing sound of relief in his ears. He stumbled to Daryl's side and helped him stand. When Daryl couldn't, Rick summoned all his strength and lifted Daryl over his shoulders in a fireman's carry. "Oh, good," Daryl muttered against his sleeve, "that doesn't hurt at all…"
"Hang in there. Stay with me." Rick winced when he felt warm blood on the back of his neck. He couldn't help but smile a bit though as Dwight shepherded them back to the van. At least they were alive…
"Didn't cut if off…" Daryl mumbled when Dwight shut the doors behind them, leaving them alone in the semidarkness.
Rick only paid Daryl half his attention as he ripped up his own shirt to bandage the shot-up shoulder. "Cut off what?"
"The head of the snake." Daryl sighed.
"Nope," Rick said. "No, we didn't."
"Failed Eugene…"
Rick's fingertips found Daryl's chin. They could barely see each other, but Rick wanted Daryl's eyes pointed at him anyway. "No, we didn't," he said firmly. "We didn't give in. You didn't. That's how we honor him, Daryl. That's how we honor them all."
The van started up. It lurched forward over hundreds of tree roots before it reached a road and picked up speed.
"You grinning?" Daryl flapped his hand in the darkness until it smacked against Rick's cheek. Like a blind man trying to interpret someone's facial expression, he slid his fingertips across Rick's lips to confirm that there was a smile there. "You're grinning. Why are you grinning?"
"You didn't recognize that voice?" Rick asked with a hint of laughter in his voice. "You didn't recognize her voice over the walkie? T?"
"T?"
"Tara," Rick chuckled. "That was Tara. I know it."
Daryl frowned. He licked his dry lips. "Tara's a Savior?"
"If I'm right, she's about to be our savior."
Daryl snorted. "The hell are you talking about—"
Suddenly, the tires squealed. The van swerved left, right, and left again. Daryl started to slide, but Rick already had both of their bodies braced for it. They heard shouting, guns going off, more shouting, and then an abrupt hush. The pair waited, hearing nothing but their own gasps, for a full three minutes before human hands fumbled with the lock on the door. A key turned, the doors flew open and there, standing in a halo of sunlight, stood Tara and Heath.
"Rick!" Tara scrambled into the van, slid across the floor on her knees and practically scooped Rick up into a hug. "You're ok," she gasped, and kissed his cheek before launching herself at Daryl.
"What the—" the shocked Daryl stuttered when Tara planted a wet kiss right on his lips. "What the hell are you guys doing here?"
Heath held his hand out, palm up, and helped Rick out of the van and into the middle of a back road. "You're ok, now," the Alexandrian announced. "We'll get you to the Hilltop in twenty minutes."
Rick clapped Heath's back. "How'd you find us?"
Tara helped Daryl slide out of the van. "Had a successful supply run, you could say. Met a new group—these Amazon-like chicks who have been slowly building a rebellion in the next county to take out Negan and his guys. We agreed to help them by infiltrating the Saviors. Joined Negan a week ago. We've been spying and reporting in every day and then, last night, when our friends visited Hilltop, they heard about you. And," Tara said, clapping her hands together once for emphasis, "we planned a rescue mission and here we are!"
"Son of a bitch," Daryl whispered in awe.
"Can't thank you enough," Rick told them both. "If you hadn't walkie-ed when you did, we'd both be dead."
Tara flinched a bit. "Sorry we didn't intervene sooner. It took a while to come up with a distraction and set up the ambush." Near the front of the van, a woman called Tara's name. Tara waved back. "Come meet our new friends," she said. "Then we'll get to the Hilltop."
----------
Dawn had just peeked over the horizon when Daryl woke up. He was in a bed so soft he thought he might sink right through it. Clean sheets covered his clean clothes. He wiggled his shoulder. Where he expected a sharp throb to be, there was only a dull ache. He cleared his throat and directed his question at the man half-dozing in a nearby chair. "How long was I asleep?"
Rick slid his boots off the bed and sat up straight. "Two days," he said through a yawn and a mighty stretch of his arms. "You snored so loud a herd showed up at the gate."
"Liar," Daryl grumbled. Rick didn't deny it. "Carl? Maggie?"
Rick nodded. "They're ok. Everyone's ok. And I told Tara about Denise. She's…she's coping." Rick squinted at Daryl. "Think you can stand? I want to show you something."
Daryl brushed his bangs out of his eyes and frowned. "Better be a toilet or a glass of water."
Rick gave his friend a fond smile. "It's better. Come on."
With Rick's help, Daryl shuffled to the window and looked down. Below in the grass and gravel between the building and the gate, people were gathering to eat breakfast together. They came out of tents, off wagons, and from the insides of half a dozen RVs. Daryl spotted Michonne and Carol passing out bowls of fruit while Glenn and Spencer roasted a pig over a fire. More and more people came up the hill. Men and women on bicycles, on motorcycles, in cars and trucks, and on horseback. One family arrived on a golf cart towed by a cow. Members of Alexandria, the Hilltop, the Kingdom, and half a dozen more camps of survivors gathered to eat.
"Holy shit," Daryl whispered. He looked at Rick with a slight glaze in his eyes. "We have an army."
"Groups from three counties have joined forces. It's just a matter of time now before we cut off the head of the snake, Daryl," Rick said. He put a hand against Daryl's spine and nodded at him. "We're fighting back."
The End