While Rick and the others were deep in Atlanta, running through a rescue that would've made for one hell of a story, life at the quarry camp kept turning. And not always in good ways.
"Got one!"
Carl's shriek echoed off the water, followed by a splash loud enough to startle half the fish in the lake. Shane reached into the reeds and came up with a fat, squirming bullfrog, holding it up between two fingers so Carl could see.
"That's a big one! Can we keep it?"
"Sure, buddy. Find yourself a jar." Shane dangled the frog in front of Carl's nose, and the thing let out a honking croak that made both of them laugh.
It was a good moment. One of the few they'd had since everything went sideways. The morning sun was warm without being brutal yet, the water was cool around Shane's calves, and Carl was just being a kid for once.
Shane wiped his face with the back of his hand and was about to show Carl the trick to spotting them in the reeds when a voice from the shore stopped him cold.
"Shane."
He knew that voice.
Lori stood at the water's edge, arms at her sides.
He straightened up slowly, the frog forgotten in his hand. It squirmed and he let it drop back into the water.
Lori didn't look at him. Her eyes went to Carl first.
"I told you not to wander off from Dale's sight. Head back to camp."
"But Mom, Shane said yesterday he'd teach me how to catch frogs." Carl looked between them. "Did you forget?"
"I remember." Lori's hand found Carl's shoulder, guiding him. "You've been out here long enough. Go on."
Carl read the room the way kids do when they've learned that arguing with that particular tone of voice gets you nowhere. He nodded, gave Shane one last look that said "sorry," and jogged back up the bank toward the RV.
Lori watched him go until he was out of earshot.
Then she turned to Shane, and the mask she'd been wearing for Carl's benefit didn't exactly drop.
"I want to thank you for everything you did for us while Rick was gone. All of it. I mean that."
Shane knew that tone. He had heard it before. It was the voice that came just before the knife went in.
"Lori—"
"Rick is back."
She said it flat.
"And before he came back, you told me he was dead."
There it was.
Shane had known this conversation was coming. He had been dreading it since the moment Rick stumbled into camp, looking like a ghost who had decided to start haunting the living again. He had seen it in Lori's eyes that first night. The fury. The betrayal. All of it buried beneath the overwhelming relief that Rick was alive, but not erased by it.
He'd thought he had more time. Turns out he didn't.
"I thought he was. When I left that hospital, Lori, I believed..."
"I know."
That stopped him. He blinked.
"Rick told me what happened."
Shane didn't know what to say to that. He stood there in the shallows, water lapping at his shins, feeling more exposed than he had in weeks.
"So I don't think you lied on purpose. I think you were scared, and you made a call, and it was the wrong one. And I can live with that."
The relief that started to build in Shane's chest lasted exactly two seconds.
"But that doesn't change what happened between us. What happened between us was a mistake, Shane. From the very start. It was born out of grief and desperation and a lie, even if you didn't mean it that way."
"That's not—"
"Listen to me." She stepped forward, close enough now that he could see the strain in her face. "You can still be there for Carl. I'm not asking you to disappear."
She met his eyes, and there was no anger there.
"But you and me? We're done. That's over. Do you understand?"
Shane opened his mouth. The words were right there. It wasn't fair. She couldn't just throw this away. What they had had been real. But the moment passed, and the words died in his throat.
Because she was right. And he knew it.
Rick was his best friend. The man had trusted him with his life, with his family, and Shane had...
He looked away first.
Lori turned and walked back up the bank without looking back.
Shane stood in the water for a long time after she left, listening to the frogs sing.
---
On the other side of camp, Dale was having a bad morning.
The old man sat in his usual perch atop the RV, fisherman's hat shading his eyes, binoculars raised and pointed toward the quarry entrance. It was his job to keep watch. He took it seriously.
Which is why he'd noticed Jim.
Jim had been standing at the road entrance since shortly after Rick's group left that morning. He had remained there ever since, gripping a shovel like a staff, staring down the empty mountain road.
Dale had watched him through the binoculars for the better part of two hours. Jim had not moved once. He had not shifted his weight or wiped away the sweat pouring down his face in the midday heat.
The heat was brutal, pushing past a hundred and five. It was the kind that turned the air thick, almost chewable. The asphalt at the quarry entrance shimmered in the sun, and from fifty yards away, he could see dark sweat stains spreading across Jim's gray tank top.
Something was wrong.
He climbed down from the RV, and went to find Shane.
He found him in the middle of dealing with Ed, the camp's resident piece of shit. Ed was a thick-necked man who had been caught trying to hit Carol again. Shane stood right in his face.
"You lay a hand on her again and I will break every bone in it. We clear?"
Ed swallowed hard and nodded.
Shane held the stare for another three seconds, just to make sure the message got through. Then Dale was at his elbow.
"Shane. You need to come see Jim."
Shane listened as Dale described what he'd seen. His expression shifted. He grabbed a couple of camp members who'd also noticed Jim acting strange, and they headed for the entrance.
Jim was exactly where Dale had left him. Statue-still, shovel in hand, eyes fixed on the horizon.
"Jim?" Shane kept his voice easy. "Hey, man. You doing okay? People are a little worried about you."
Jim's whole body jerked like he'd been electrocuted. He turned his head slowly, and fixed Shane.
"What?"
"Dale says you've been out here a while." Shane kept his hands visible, relaxed at his sides. "What are you looking at? Something out there?"
"Am I in your way? I'm just standing here. I'm not hurting anybody."
"No one's saying you are." Shane took a half step closer. "But it's hot as hell out here, Jim. You're going to cook yourself alive. At least come get some water."
"Oh for Christ's sake." Dale had followed them over and was hovering nearby. "Jim, it's nearly a hundred and five degrees. You can't keep standing here in the sun like this. You'll get heatstroke."
Lori appeared too, drawn by the commotion. She took one look at Jim and frowned.
"Jim, this isn't normal. You're going to frighten the children."
Something in Jim snapped.
"I didn't do anything wrong!" The words exploded out of him with enough force to make everyone take a step back. His grip on the shovel tightened. "Why can't you people just leave me alone?! Just let me stand here!"
"Alright, let's all just calm down—" Shane started, hands raised.
"Why should I listen to you?" Jim's voice rose another notch. "Who are you? You the boss now? The judge?"
He swung.
The shovel came around in a wide, vicious arc aimed at Shane's head.
Shane had spent years training for exactly this kind of situation. His body moved before his brain finished processing the threat. He sidestepped the swing, let the momentum carry Jim forward, grabbed the shovel handle with one hand, and drove his knee into the back of Jim's leg.
Jim's knee buckled. He went down on the blistering ground with a grunt, the shovel ripping free from his grip as Shane wrenched it away and sent it spinning across the dirt.
Shane didn't let up. He dropped his weight onto Jim's back, one knee planted firmly between his shoulder blades, pinning him face-down.
"Rope! Someone get rope!" he called out. "He's having a heatstroke episode!"
The camp erupted.
People scrambled in every direction, some looking for rope, others grabbing kids and pulling them back from the scene. Within a minute they had Jim tied up and dragged into the shade of the big oak tree at the center of camp, the rope wrapped around his chest and the trunk in enough loops to hold a man twice his size.
Jim stopped fighting almost immediately. The fight had drained out of him. He sat slumped against the bark.
The camp went quiet after that. Adults exchanged uncomfortable glances. A few of the kids peeked out from behind their parents' legs.
The afternoon dragged on.
Then, around mid-afternoon, the distant rumble of an engine broke through the tension. Shane was on his feet instantly, hand moving to the weapon at his hip. Others grabbed whatever they had and turned toward the quarry entrance.
"Stand down!" Dale's voice rang out from the RV roof, binoculars pressed to his face. "It's Morales! He's back!"
Morales' vehicle pulled into the camp, dust kicking up behind it. He killed the engine and climbed out, followed by three others. One was a tall man. Beside him was a dark-haired woman, one hand resting protectively on the shoulder of a boy who looked about Carl's age.
"Morgan, Jenny, and their son Duane," he said, gesturing to the family. "The ones Rick asked us to pick up."
Morgan shook Shane's hand with a firm grip. "I heard this is a safe place."
"It is," Shane said. "Welcome."
The arrival of new faces did something good for the camp's mood. People came out of their shells, offering food and water to the newcomers, asking about the road conditions. Morgan and Jenny answered, sharing what they'd seen on the way in.
When they learned Rick had gone back into Atlanta, Morgan's face tightened. "Why?"
"Lucien is still in the city," Shane said.
Morgan nodded slowly. Jenny pressed her lips together but said nothing. They both knew what Atlanta meant now.
Duane, meanwhile, had already spotted Carl and the other kids. Within ten minutes, the initial awkwardness had melted away and the boys were chasing each other around the camp like the apocalypse was someone else's problem.
Kids were good at that.
---
Shane couldn't settle.
He kept glancing at Jim, tied beneath the oak tree, muttering to himself in the shade. The man's color had improved slightly. He grabbed a bucket of water from the pump and walked over.
"Here." He crouched down and held the bucket close enough for Jim to drink. Jim took several long gulps, water running down his chin and soaking into his already ruined shirt.
"Pour some on my head."
Shane scooped up a handful and tipped it over Jim's scalp. The water ran down through his greying hair, and Jim shuddered. Some of the fog cleared from his eyes.
"Better?" Shane asked.
Jim nodded. He sat there for a moment, breathing steadily, before his gaze drifted toward where Lori and the other parents were watching the kids play. Something shifted in his expression.
"Sorry," he said quietly. "For scaring your kids."
"You had heatstroke. Nobody's holding it against you."
"Yeah." Jim let out a hollow laugh. "Sun cooked my brain."
Dale, who had been hovering nearby, couldn't help himself. "What were you doing out there? What were you looking at?"
Jim's brow furrowed. He opened his mouth, closed it, tried again. "I had a reason. I know I did. But I... I can't remember."
He stopped looking at them.
"I had a dream last night," he said. "A long one."
No one interrupted him.
"I was digging. Right here, in this camp. I was digging holes. So many holes." His breathing began to pick up, subtle at first, then faster. "The sun was burning hot. I was so goddamn thirsty, but I kept digging anyway."
His eyes were losing focus.
"Then I saw a truck coming down the road. Rick came back."
Shane leaned forward. "Jim? You still with me?"
Jim didn't hear him. Or if he did, it didn't matter.
"It's different now," he murmured, his head tilting to one side. "Those holes... they weren't needed. It changed."
His breathing hitched. His eyes went wide for a second.
"Rick brought back..." His voice was fading, the words dissolving into breath. "Hope..."
His head dropped. His chin struck his chest, and his body went completely limp against the tree trunk
"Jim?!" Shane grabbed his shoulders and shook him, but there was no response.
"Jim! Hey!"