The sun was dipping low when Arthur spotted the two-story brick building sitting lonesome on the edge of the city. Its windows were mostly intact, a rare thing these days, and the faded sign over the door read "Marlow's Hardware."
He reined the horse toward it, gravel crunching under the hooves. "Reckon this'll do for the night," he muttered.
Rory slid off the saddle as Arthur dismounted. He led the horse to a leaning post out front, looping the reins tight and giving the animal a firm pat on the neck. "You stay put, boy. We ain't done yet."
Inside, dust hung in the air like it'd been waiting years for someone to stir it. They cleared a spot near the back where the counters and old shelves gave them some cover. Rory dropped into an old chair with a tired groan.
Arthur stood for a moment, eyes unfocused, Meeve's voice still fresh in his head. Take care of him.It wasn't a request — it was a command, one she'd given with her last breath.
"Arthur?" Rory's voice broke through the haze.
Arthur blinked and looked down at him. "Yeah, kid?"
"You… just went all quiet for a second there."
"Just thinkin'." He crouched, pulled his satchel around, and started digging through it. "Here. Ain't much, but it'll fill the hole." He handed Rory a wrapped piece of jerky and a dented tin of beans.
Rory took them but didn't open either right away. His gaze dropped to the satchel. "How… how do you even have that much stuff in there? I've seen you pull out ammo, food, explosives… it doesn't even look full."
Arthur gave a small smirk. "Let's just say… I came by it in a way I can't rightly explain. Back where I'm from, you'd call it a miracle. Here… well, maybe it's just one more strange thing in a world full o' strange things."
"So it's… infinite?" Rory asked, half skeptical, half hopeful.
"Seems that way. Don't mean it makes me invincible though." Arthur's tone hardened just enough to carry weight. "A gun with no bullets still won't shoot itself. You get me?"
Rory gave a slow nod, finally opening the tin and eating in quiet. Arthur ate alongside him, keeping his eyes moving toward the shadowed corners of the store, the boarded windows, the city skyline peeking through gaps in the boards.
When the food was gone and Rory stretched out on a pile of old blankets, exhaustion finally catching him, Arthur pulled his journal from the satchel. The cover was worn smooth, the pages crinkled from years of weather and travel.
He flipped to a blank page, lit a stub of candle, and began to write in his careful, deliberate scrawl:
"Today I met three people. Now there's only one. Clayton and Meeve bought us time with their lives… time we spent runnin' from somethin' too big to fight head-on. The kid's name is Rory. Nineteen. Looks younger when he's scared. I reckon Meeve saw somethin' in me worth trustin', 'cause she made me promise to look after him. Guess that's what I'm doin' now. I've seen enough graves in my time. Don't aim to see his."
Arthur paused, looking over at the boy — chest rising slow, hands curled lightly near his chin.He closed the journal, the scratch of leather on paper almost loud in the stillness, and sat with his back to the wall.
The skyscrapers in the distance caught the last light of day, their jagged shapes cutting into the fading sky. Tomorrow, they'd head toward them. But tonight, Arthur Morgan kept watch.
Arthur sat there for a long while, watching the candle burn lower. The city skyline was a jagged shadow now, and Rory's breathing was the only steady sound in the room.
Then something clicked in his mind.
He reached into the satchel again and pulled out a small, boxy contraption — the radio thing Joel and Tommy had given him before he left Jackson. Two stubby antennas, a row of switches, and a little metal button on the side. Arthur turned it over in his hands like it might bite him.
"Alright… let's see if this devil machine still works."
He flipped one of the switches. A faint hiss of static came to life, like wind through a crack in the door. Arthur pressed the button and spoke low:
"Uh… Joel? Tommy? You fellas hear me?"
Nothing but static at first. He tried again, turning another switch.
"This is Arthur… anyone there?"
The reply came after a long, gritted few seconds.
"Arthur? That you?" It was Tommy — his voice was sharp with relief.
Arthur gave a half-smile. "Reckon so. Glad to hear someone answerin'."
A beat later, Joel's voice cut in. "Arthur, how's the trip goin'? You makin' good time?"
Arthur leaned back against the wall. "Trip's been… eventful. Met up with a group headin' the same way. Good folk. One named Clayton, the other Meeve… and a young fella named Rory. Well… Clayton and Meeve ain't with us no more."
Silence on the other end.
"They bought us time," Arthur went on, his tone quieter. "Made sure the kid got out alive. Guess that means he's my responsibility now. Don't know him long, but… I know I ain't lettin' him wind up like the rest."
There was a pause. Joel's voice came back softer, almost distant. "…I know what that's like."Arthur could hear the weight in it — the same kind of weight he'd heard when Joel spoke about his past.
But Arthur's tone shifted, leaning forward into the serious part. "There's somethin' else. We ran into one o' them big infected — the real big ones. Twice the size of a man, skin all torn up and covered in… hell, I don't even know what to call it. Took bullets like they were nothin'. And the others with it — they were movin' faster than they oughta. Didn't even care about obstacles, just smashed right through 'em."
The radio crackled with a sharp exhale — Tommy this time. "That ain't good. Sounds like… well, we call the big ones 'bloaters.' But not like what you're describin'."
Joel's tone turned grim. "If what you're sayin' is true, things are changin'. Evolving. That means we got bigger problems than we thought."
Arthur glanced over at Rory, still asleep under the blanket. "Yeah… that's what I figured."
The three men sat in silence for a moment, the static filling the space between them.
Finally, Tommy spoke again. "You two just stay alive. Get where you're goin'. We'll figure the rest out."
Arthur gave a short nod, even though they couldn't see it. "Copy that… whatever the hell that means."
He switched the radio off, set it aside, and let the room fall quiet again — only this time, the weight of what was coming pressed a little heavier on his shoulders.