The late afternoon sun slanted through the trees as Rick and Michonne moved cautiously down the cracked suburban street.
The neighborhood was quiet, but quiet never meant safe.
Rick glanced at her. "We'll sweep a few houses, then head back before dark."
Michonne nodded, katana drawn and ready. "Lead the way."
They crossed to the first house, a two-story with broken blinds and an open front door swaying in the breeze.
Rick signaled low, stepping inside first with his machete raised.
The living room smelled of rot. Furniture was overturned, and a dried smear of blood ran across the wall.
A walker shambled out from the kitchen, jaw hanging loose. Before Rick could raise his gun, Michonne was already moving.
One clean slice, and the head dropped to the floor with a dull thud. She didn't even break stride.
They cleared the rest of the house quickly, two cans of beans, a dusty box of pasta, and a half-empty bottle of aspirin. Not much, but worth taking.
Back outside, they crossed to the second house. This one was boarded up tight. Rick pried the door with the claw of a hammer he'd found.
The door creaking open, loud enough to wake the dead.
Sure enough, two walkers came clawing from a back room at the sound. Rick swung his machete, the top of the walkers head sliding off. The body slumped to the floor.
The second lunged, but Michonne cut it down before it reached them.
They searched quickly, found some bottled water, a small backpack, and a blanket that wasn't rotted through. Rick stuffed it all inside.
As they stepped back out into the fading light, Rick let out a quiet breath. "Could've been worse."
Michonne scanned the street, katana still dripping. "Could've been better too."
She smirked faintly, and Rick couldn't help but return the expression.
They continued down the street looting a few more houses before deciding to head back.
They started back toward camp, their packs heavier, the silence between them easy. The relationship between them was growing closer.
...
The street was quiet, the kind of quiet that made every shadow feel dangerous.
Glenn kept his steps light, glancing back at Mary. She held the hatchet tightly, shoulders tense, but her chin was lifted.
"You'll be fine," Glenn said with a small smile. "Just stick close, and remember—don't hesitate."
Mary nodded, swallowing the lump in her throat.
Inside the first house, the air was stale and thick. Glenn raised a finger, signaling for her to listen.
A faint shuffle came from the kitchen. He motioned for her to take the lead.
Mary's grip tightened on the hatchet as a walker stumbled out from behind the counter, arms reaching clumsily.
For a split second she froze but then she pushed forward.
One hard swing, the blade sank into its skull. The walker dropped instantly.
Mary stood over it, chest heaving, her eyes wide. "I… I did it."
Glenn grinned, genuinely impressed. "Told you. Clean hit. You're better at this than you think."
Her lips curved into a small smile as some of the fear drained from her face. Together they searched the house, stuffing cans of beans and peaches into Glenn's duffel.
The second house tested her again. Two walkers near the stairwell turned at the sound of their boots.
Glenn stepped aside. "They're yours."
Mary's heart pounded, but she didn't back down. She swung at the first, missing its head but catching its shoulder.
The walker staggered. Glenn steadied it with a shove, giving her a second chance.
She exhaled sharply, reset her stance, and buried the hatchet clean through its temple.
The second lurched forward... this time, she met it head-on, driving the blade down with enough force to drop it instantly.
Glenn clapped her shoulder, eyes bright. "That's it! See? You're getting the hang of it."
Mary wiped her brow, a shaky laugh slipping out. "I actually… I didn't freeze."
"You didn't," Glenn agreed. "You handled it."
Upstairs, they found bottles of aspirin and cough syrup in the bathroom. Mary stuffed them into the pack with a new confidence in her movements.
By the time they left, her face carried something Glenn hadn't seen in a while... pride.
She looked lighter, stronger, as if she'd taken a step closer to who she needed to be in this world.
"Think we did good?" she asked, her voice steadier now.
Glenn slung the duffel over his shoulder, nodding. "Yeah. But lets hit a few more."
Mary nodded, gripping her hatchet. "Okay. Let's keep going."
...
The third house was half-collapsed at the porch, the front door hanging off its hinges.
Inside, a walker dragged itself across the floor, one leg broken, nails scraping against the wood.
Glenn pointed at it. "Easy one. Finish it."
Mary stepped forward, her swing sharp and decisive. The body stilled instantly.
She didn't flinch this time. Instead, she yanked her hatchet free with a grunt, almost casually.
They searched the cabinets and found several cans of corn and soup.
Glenn stuffed them into the duffel, nodding in approval. "See? You're moving like you've done this for years."
Mary let out a short laugh. "I never thought I'd be good at… this."
...
In the fourth house, two walkers waited for them in the living room, snarling as soon as the door creaked open.
Mary hesitated only a second before charging the first, swinging with both hands. The hatchet cleaved through its skull.
The second lunged, catching Mary off guard. Glenn moved forward slamming his crobar down, and dropped it cold.
Glenn's said. "Gotta be careful."
Mary stood over the bodies, chest rising and falling, but she was smiling over at him. Her nerves replaced by adrenaline. "I love you!"
Glen smiled, "Love you too."
Upstairs, they uncovered a stash of medical supplies. There were bandages, a bottle of rubbing alcohol, and more cough syrup. Glenn held the finds up with a grin. "This is a gold mine."
...
The last house they hit was smaller, but still intact. The kitchen cupboards held three more cans of food and, tucked behind a stack of plates, a dusty bottle of multivitamins.
As they were packing up, a walker banged against the back door, drawn by their noise.
Mary glanced at Glenn. He simply tilted his head toward it. "Your call."
She opened the door, waited until it stumbled inside, and met it head-on.
One clean strike. It collapsed without so much as brushing her.
She exhaled slowly, lowering the hatchet. "Didn't even hesitate that time."
Glenn smirked. "Told you, you're a natural. Keep this up, and you'll be teaching the others."
Mary smirked, "Not the only thing I'm a natural at." She glanced at him, before walking to the stairs, shaking her hips.
Glen gulped, rushing after her.
By the time they stepped out onto the street again, the sun was setting. Both of them had satisfied expressions.
Their duffel bags were heavy and clinking with supplies.
Mary walked taller now, though with a slight limp, hatchet dangling loosely at her side, not from fear but from comfort.
She wore a look Glenn recognized, confidence earned.
"You did good today," Glenn said quietly.
Mary smiled, almost glowing despite the grime and sweat. "You too. Thanks. For pushing me."
Glenn shook his head, smirking.
Together, they started back toward camp, their packs heavy but their spirits a little lighter.
...
The growl of Daryl's motorcycle cut off outside the "Crooks In & Out Food Market."
The building looked oddly untouched, its windows grimy but not shattered, the sign above the door still intact.
Carol slid off the bike behind him, clutching her jacket close. "You think there's anything left?"
"Only one way to know," Daryl muttered, crossbow in hand.
They walked through the open doors and froze dead in their tracks.
Shelves upon shelves were still full. Canned goods, dried pasta, bottled water, even medicine lined the pharmacy aisle.
For a moment it was like stepping into a memory of the old world.
Carol gasped, tears pricking her eyes. "It's… all here."
Daryl let out a low whistle. "Hell. Thought this place would've been stripped clean by now."
Overcome, Carol turned to him, grabbing his collar and pressing her lips to his. It was raw and sudden, a mixture of relief and disbelief.
Daryl stiffened at first, then steadied her with a hand at her waist before they broke apart, both breathing heavy.
Before the moment could sink in, a wave of stench hit them.
The produce section reeked, rotting fruits and vegetables collapsed into black sludge in the bins, the air heavy with rot.
Carol gagged, covering her nose.
The noise drew shuffling steps. A walker stumbled out from an aisle, groaning.
Daryl's bolt dropped it quick, but more followed. He motioned Carol forward. "Knife. Aim high. Don't hesitate."
Carol gripped the knife with shaking hands. When a walker lunged, she thrust forward, blade slipping straight into its temple.
The body dropped, and she stood frozen, chest heaving.
"You did it," Daryl said, his tone firm but approving.
The next walker came out from the produce section, its jaw sagging.
Carol didn't wait this time... she stepped in and drove the blade through its skull in one clean motion.
She pulled back, steadier than before.
Daryl smirked. "Knew you had it in you."
With the building clear, they stood before the treasure trove of supplies.
It was overwhelming, far too much to carry between the two of them.
Carol ran her hand along the shelves, eyes wide. "We could feed everyone for a month"
"Yeah," Daryl said, slinging one of the biggest duffels off the shelf.
"But we ain't makin' it back with all this on the bike. We take one bag for now. Rest'll keep 'til we come back with the group."
They filled the bag with canned goods, bottles of water, and some basic medicine.
Once it was stuffed full, Daryl hefted it onto his shoulder.
As they stepped back out into the cooling evening air, Carol glanced back at the untouched store.
Her lips curving into a small, hopeful smile. "They're not gonna believe this."
Daryl kicked the motorcycle to life, giving her a sidelong glance. "Then let's get back an' show 'em."
With the bag strapped tight behind them, they rode off, the promise of plenty waiting to be shared.
...
The streets of the small town were quiet, lined with shuttered windows and cars that hadn't moved in months.
Hershel and T-Dog moved carefully, checking a few houses as they went.
Most were empty, though they managed to gather a few cans of food and a box of bandages.
It wasn't until they turned a corner that they saw the faded "Baker's Pharmacy" sign hanging above a squat brick building.
The front windows were boarded, but candlelight flickered behind the cracks.
T-Dog frowned. "Place ain't empty."
Hershel adjusted his grip on the shotgun and walked up slowly, knocking on the frame. "Hello in there. We mean you no harm."
For a tense moment, nothing. Then the door cracked open, revealing a frightened woman clutching a kitchen knife.
Behind her, two other women stood protectively over four children, all of them wide-eyed.
"Please," she said shakily. "Don't hurt us."
Hershel raised his free hand gently. "We're not here to hurt anyone. My name's Hershel, this is T-Dog. We're with a group. We just… we saw the light."
It took time, but his calm voice eased them enough to open the door fully.
Once inside, Hershel and T-Dog listened to their story. The military had come weeks ago, evacuating most of the town's people to Fort Benning.
But when they tried to join the convoy, the soldiers turned them away.
Two of the children had fevers, and sick folk weren't allowed.
"So we stayed," one woman explained softly. "Been here since. Just us and what medicine we could find."
Hershel's jaw tightened with quiet sympathy. "No one should be left behind like that. You're welcome to join us. We have shelter, food… safety."
The three women huddled together, whispering among themselves. At last, the eldest nodded. "Alright. We'll come."
Relief softened Hershel's face. He helped gather what remained of the pharmacy's medicine while T-Dog found a few old shopping carts.
Together, with the women and children, they loaded everything up.
When they pushed outside, the kids laughed, running in little circles, giddy to be out in the open for the first time in weeks.
Their joy carried down the street... until a lone walker emerged from between two cars, staggering toward the group.
The women froze, clutching the children close. Hershel started forward, but T-Dog was already moving.
He swung his bat hard, caving the walker's skull in one brutal strike. The corpse dropped instantly.
The women gasped, then exchanged looks of awe. One whispered, "Did you see that?" Another muttered, "He's so strong."
The third giggled, cheeks flushed.
Hershel cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable as the women began praising T-Dog with every step of the long walk back.
The children stuck close to him too, treating him like some kind of knight in shining armor.
T-Dog shook his head, embarrassed but secretly pleased. "Aw man… y'all are makin' me blush."
Hershel gave him a sidelong glance, muttering under his breath, "Lord give me patience."
Together, they led the little group and their carts full of medicine, back toward camp.
The sound of children's laughter echoing down the empty street.