The wind bit hard as Arthur and Joel pushed their horses back toward Jackson, hooves crunching over old frost and fresh powder. The cold nipped at their faces, but the heat of the encounter with the infected still lingered in their blood.
Arthur kept glancing over his shoulder, as if expecting the horde to come pouring over the ridge any second now.
"What in the hell were those mushroom things…i fought some like those on the way to the town as well." he muttered.
Joel looked over. "Infected. Runners, mostly. Maybe a stalker or two."
Arthur shook his head slowly, eyes distant.
"I seen men in worse shape tryin' to crawl outta gunfights… but them things? That ain't no sickness I ever seen. That's somethin' else. Somethin'... wrong."
He let out a breath, pulled his horse to a brief stop.
Joel turned his mount to face him. "You alright?"
Arthur didn't answer right away. Instead, he swung a leg off his horse and unbuckled his satchel. He crouched near a flat patch of snow, brushing it aside with a gloved hand before opening the flap.
Inside, the familiar creak of old leather greeted him. But what he saw made his brow furrow deep.
He pulled out a box of repeater cartridges — untouched. Full.
Then a box of revolver rounds. Full.
Shotgun shells. Dynamite. A can of beans. A health tonic. Even a few old letters.
He dug deeper, brow knitting tighter with every item. "That ain't right..."
Joel watched him, frowning. "What is it?"
"This stuff…" Arthur murmured. "I've been usin' it. All of it. Shot six rounds clean outta this repeater not more than ten minutes ago. And now…"
He turned the box over and caught the weight of it in his hand.
"It's like it never left."
Joel dismounted, crouching beside him.
Arthur set the satchel down gently, staring at it like it was something alive. He leaned back, gaze distant.
"I had a feelin' I wasn't the same since I woke up in this world. Thought maybe I'd just been given a second chance… y'know, new lease on life or some such foolishness."
He glanced up at Joel.
"But I ain't coughed once. Ain't felt the ache in my bones. My lungs feel… clean. Stronger than I've been in years. Like all that sickness just up and died when I did."
Joel was quiet.
Arthur looked back down at the satchel. "And now this damn thing's actin' like it's got a mind of its own. Ain't natural. Feels like I brought somethin' else with me… not just my sorry hide."
Joel stood slowly, brushing snow off his jeans. "You're not wrong. This world's been full of things that stopped making sense twenty years ago."
Arthur zipped the satchel closed and slung it back over his shoulder. He stood up, placed a hand on his horse's neck, and exhaled.
"They ain't sick," he muttered. "Not really. They're gone. Ain't no man left in them. They're walkin' corpses. Undead."
Joel tilted his head. "Undead?"
"Yeah," Arthur said, climbing back onto his horse. "Where I'm from, we had tales of men crawlin' back from the grave. I never gave 'em much thought. Just drunken nonsense by the fire. But now?"
He stared out toward the horizon, where that screech still rang in memory.
"I reckon this world's built on nonsense."
Joel mounted beside him, and the two pressed on, hooves falling into rhythm.
Behind them, the trees swayed gently in the wind. But something else moved too — not a horde. Not a screech. Just the sense of something watching.
Something… waiting.
After some while---
The wind was colder now.
Not just in temperature — it felt colder, like the trees themselves were holding their breath.
Arthur's hand hovered near his revolver as he and Joel rode through the thinning woods, the walls of Jackson just visible beyond the frosted ridge. Snow whispered through the trees, stirred by nothing seen.
But Arthur knew better.
"Somethin's followin' us," he muttered, eyes scanning the treeline.
Joel glanced over. "You sure?"
Arthur didn't answer at first. His eyes were narrowed, jaw tight. His horse shifted beneath him, ears twitching toward the dark.
"Call it a feelin'… gut never steered me wrong before."
Joel grunted, adjusting the grip on his rifle. "Let's keep movin'. If it's out there, we'll find out soon enough."
They rode faster, but Arthur never stopped looking back. A shape moved between the trees once — too quick to see clearly — but it was there. Not a runner. Not a stalker. Not anything Joel had warned him about.
Something else.
As they crested the last hill, the walls of Jackson came into full view. Two guards stood at the lookout tower, rifles aimed outward.
Joel stood in his saddle and waved once.
Tommy's voice came from the top of the rampart.
"Open up!"
The gates groaned and parted just enough for the two horses to slip inside. Joel gave the signal, and Arthur followed close, his eyes still scanning the shadows behind them.
Once they were inside, the gate shut with a thunderous clang.
Arthur finally exhaled, but his hand didn't leave the butt of his revolver.
Tommy walked up quickly, glancing between the two men. "What happened? Y'all were supposed to be back an hour ago."
Joel dismounted, his expression grave. "Saw infected. A lot of 'em. Out way too far."
Tommy's brow furrowed. "That don't make sense. It's the middle of winter, they shouldn't be movin' out there."
Arthur swung down from his horse, boots thudding against packed snow. "We saw more than just infected," he said, voice low. "Somethin' unnatural. Somethin' watchin'. Didn't show itself… but it was there."
Joel nodded. "Felt it too. There was a bear we saw — it wasn't just killed. It was torn apart. Like something used the runners to do it."
Tommy looked between them, suddenly serious. "Alright. Let's talk inside."
They made their way toward the patrol center, snow crunching beneath their feet. The lanterns on the walls cast long shadows across Arthur's face. His eyes never stopped scanning.
Inside, the warm wood-and-brick structure gave brief comfort, but neither man relaxed. Not Joel. Not Arthur.
They entered the patrol meeting room, a long table in the center with a map pinned across it, markers showing routes and known activity.
Tommy shut the door behind them.
"You think it's a new strain?" he asked Joel.
Joel shook his head. "Don't know. But this ain't just infection. This was organized. Intentional."
Arthur stepped up to the map, fingers brushing the edge.
"I've been hunted before… men, beasts, even the law. This felt worse. Like whatever it was... it weren't just followin' us to feed."
He tapped the far ridge just west of their patrol path.
"It was studyin' us."
Tommy's expression hardened. "Then we need to get ready. If they're movin' in packs this far out... we might not have long before they try to come through those gates."
Joel nodded.
Arthur looked at both of them, his voice low and steady.
"Whatever's out there… it ain't done yet."