Hey guys! Sorry for the long hold up, stuff got a lot hectic lately and still is but it is what it is! So here's a new chapter hope you enjoy!
I woke up to the sun raising over the hills. The farmstead was stirring, smoke rose from the chimney, faint chatter, the clatter of pots. I finished checking my rifle one last time, then slung it over my shoulder and grabbed the map. Ghost paced beside me, tail flicking with restless energy. "Yeah, I know," I muttered. "We'll go stretch our legs in a bit."
I went to the kitchen for a light breakfast. Gale handed me a medical kit, some painkillers, and some antibiotics. "Just in case you find someone out there," she said.
"Thanks, Doc," I said, stashing the items in my pack.
I walked out of the porch. Morgan stepped out of the barn, shotgun in hand. "You sure you don't want company?" he asked.
"Not this time. Gotta move light and quiet. I'll mark anything later for light scavenging."
He nodded slowly. "Just… don't take risks you don't have to."
"I stopped taking unnecessary ones a long time ago," I replied, and whistled to Ghost.
We set off eastward, the dirt road stretching like a scar through the land. A couple hours in, there it was: the Greene family farm came into view. A two-story building with dark green roofing, a red barn, and a shed to the side. Green fields dotted with cattle, fences repaired, and smoke curling from the chimney. Signs of life.
I slowed down a notch, motioning to Ghost to stay low, and approached with caution. My hand stayed near the pistol, but I didn't draw it. The closer I got, the clearer it became: crops still tended, livestock healthy.
That's when I heard it, a voice firm and wary. "Stop right there, stranger!"
I turned slowly. A young woman stood on the fence line, a rifle aimed squarely at my chest. Black hair tied back, green eyes sharp but not cruel. She looked like she hadn't slept much but still carried an edge of readiness.
"You're trespassing," she said.
"Didn't mean to," I replied, hands open. "Name's Zephyr. Just scouting the area for survivors."
Her grip didn't relax. "You alone?"
"Yeah, for now," I answered. "Got a group a few miles west. Food, water, walls. Thought you'd like to know there are more of us trying to live."
She hesitated, studying me. "You from the city?"
"Not anymore," I said. "Too many walkers. Too many people worse than walkers."
Her eyes softened slightly, curiosity replacing suspicion. "I'm Maggie Greene."
"Pleasure, Maggie," I said, nodding. "You mind if I talk with your dad? Trade supplies or information?"
She frowned, hesitated for a bit, but nodded toward the farmhouse. "Follow me, but don't try anything."
"Wouldn't dream of it."
Hershel Greene met me on the porch. He looked weathered, proud, unyielding—a man used to thinking his farm could outlast the world. "What brings you here, son?" he asked.
"Found your place while scouting," I said. "You've got a strong setup: livestock, crops, fences."
"Looks like you're holding your own, for now," he responded. "We've got faith and hard work. Don't need much else."
"Faith's good," I replied, "but faith doesn't stop a walker's teeth."
That made him bristle. "You think I don't know what's out there? My family's safe. We don't need outsiders bringing trouble."
I gazed at him steadily. "You don't know what's out there, Mr. Greene, not really. You think it's just walkers I'm talking about? No. They're the least of your concerns. I'm talking about other people: desperate people, the psychopaths, rapists, cannibals, looters, gangs. Each and everyone of them will want what's yours, Mr. Greene. And I'm not offering trouble, Mr. Greene, I'm offering numbers, security. We've got food, weapons, a doctor, a mechanic. You've got farmlands and livestock. We could help each other."
Maggie stood to the side, arms folded but eyes flickering between us. There was something in her gaze: curiosity, maybe something more.
His jaw tightened. "You said your piece. You should leave."
I nodded. "I hope you're right, Mr. Greene, truly. But if you're not—if things go south—you know where to find us."
As I turned to leave, Maggie stepped forward. "You really have a doctor?"
"Yeah, a former hospital staff I rescued two days ago. Knows her stuff."
Her expression softens. "Then maybe we'll see you again."
"Maybe," I replied, meeting her gaze a moment longer than expected before turning down the road.
Hershel's POV
The sound of Zephyr's footsteps faded down the road until only silence remained. Hershel stood on the porch, his fingers tightening around the wooden railing. Patricia and Beth came out, both anxious, looking at him for guidance.
"Who was that, Daddy?" Beth asked quietly.
Hershel exhaled through his nose. "A soldier by the looks of him. Says he's leading a group nearby."
Patricia frowned. "He seemed… capable. Lord knows someone like that might do us good."
"I'm not bringing strangers here," Hershel replied, his voice hard. "This farm stood for more than three generations. We've got food, fences, and faith. That's enough."
Maggie crossed her arms, stepping closer. "You didn't see his eyes, Daddy. That man's seen things. He knows what's coming."
"What's coming is God's test," Hershel said firmly. "And I intend to pass it by keeping this family together, not by running with gunmen."
Beth looked between them nervously. "But what if he's right about people being dangerous?"
Hershel sighted, the weight of responsibility pressing heavy. "We can't save everyone, Bethy, and we can't let fear dictate our faith."
Maggie glanced back toward the load where Zephyr had disappeared. "Maybe not, but faith won't stop a bullet either."
Her father didn't respond for a long moment. Only the sound of cattle lowing in the distance broke the silence. Then Hershel turned back toward the house. "Come on, we've got work to do. The farm won't run itself."
But as he walked away, even Hershel couldn't shake the unease curling in his gut: the quiet certainty that the world outside was about to test every belief he had left.
(To be continued...)