Golden sunlight bathed the Greene family farm, turning the endless fields of wheat into a shimmering sea. White clouds drifted lazily across the azure sky—the kind of peaceful afternoon that made the apocalypse feel like a bad dream.
Behind the farmhouse, the illusion shattered with each hammer blow. Shawn Greene drove nails into the fence with mechanical precision, sweat darkening his shirt. Nearby, Duck perched on the idling tractor like a tiny king holding court.
"No slacking!" the boy commanded, kicking his legs against the metal seat. "This fence won't build itself, farmhand!"
Shawn wiped his brow, shooting the kid a mock salute. "Sir, yes sir!" He reached for another nail—then froze.
A shadow loomed over him, massive and sudden.
"Christ!" Shawn whirled, hammer raised, only to find Lee standing inches away, chest heaving like he'd run a marathon. "Damn it, man! Give a warning next—" He paused, squinting at Lee's ashen face. "You look like you've seen a ghost. What's wrong?"
Lee's gaze darted past Shawn to the tractor, where Duck now spun the steering wheel with gleeful abandon. The engine's growl sent visible tension through Lee's shoulders.
"Just... wanted to help," Lee managed, forcing his breathing steady. His fingers flexed like he was physically restraining himself from yanking Duck off the machinery.
Shawn followed his line of sight. "Uh huh. And the kid's got you this worked up because...?"
Lee didn't answer. Instead, he forced a smile and called out, "Hey, Duck!"
The boy barely glanced up. "What, mister?"
"How'd you like to be Clementine's hero today?" Lee's voice took on an exaggerated conspiratorial tone. "She's real lonely inside the house. Could use a tractor expert to show her around. I'll owe you one."
Duck's eyes lit up. "She likes tractors?"
"Loves 'em," Lee lied without blinking. "Probably never seen one up close before."
That did it. Duck launched off the seat like a rocket, hitting the dirt at a sprint. "You still owe me!" he yelled over his shoulder before disappearing around the house in a cloud of dust.
The moment the boy vanished, Lee's shoulders sagged. He reached out and—with deliberate care—turned the tractor's ignition key. The engine sputtered into silence.
Shawn raised an eyebrow. "You mind telling me what that was about?"
Lee stared at the now-harmless machine, his voice barely audible over the rustling wheat. "Just... preventing bad luck."
Shawn eyed Lee's tactical vest and the shotgun leaning against the post. "Right..." He dragged the word out, hammer hovering mid-swing. "Since you're here, make yourself useful. Those two-by-fours need cutting to length." He jerked his chin toward a stack of lumber.
"Sure thing." Lee swapped his shotgun for a saw, the blade biting into pine with a steady rasp. He nodded toward the half-built barrier. "Your dad doesn't seem sold on fortifications. He ever been past the property line since this started?"
Shawn drove a nail home with more force than necessary. "No. But I have." The hammer stilled. "Saw a man in Atlanta put a bullet through a kid's forehead. Didn't even blink."
Lee's saw hesitated for half a stroke. "Kid was turned?"
"Yeah." Shawn's knuckles whitened around the hammer. "Still... the way he just... watched the body drop. Couldn't eat for two days after."
The saw resumed its rhythm. "World doesn't care about our stomachs anymore. You protect what's yours—even if it means losing sleep." Wood dust drifted between them like confession smoke.
Shawn turned, really looking at Lee for the first time. "You saying you've done it? Killed someone?"
"Clem's babysitter." The saw teeth snarled through the final inches. "Put a chef's knife through her eye socket. Don't regret it." The board clattered to the pile.
"Christ." Shawn grimaced, rubbing his face like he could scrub the thought away. "But a kid... hell, imagine if it was Clementine..."
Lee's hands stilled with the saw. The image struck like a physical blow - Clem's wide eyes glazing over, her small fingers twitching as she reached for him with rotting hands. His throat locked.
Could I?
The answer came instantly, visceral and absolute: Never.
A long silence stretched between them, filled only by the creak of wire tensioning in the wind. Shawn cleared his throat, hastily shifting gears. "Anyway... glad we're getting this fence up. Dad's convinced the real danger's gonna come knocking someday - all smiles and pressed shirts instead of groans and rot."
Lee stacked the cut lumber neatly. "Walkers are predictable. Always hungry, never clever. People?" He met Shawn's gaze. "Never know what's behind their eyes."
"That include you?" Shawn's grip tightened on his hammer.
Lee smirked, hefting another board. "Thought we settled that when you invited the armed stranger home yesterday."
Shawn snorted, tension bleeding from his shoulders. "Yeah, yeah. Just keep cutting, Rambo."
Lee's chuckle died in his throat as two small figures rounded the farmhouse - one bouncing like a hyperactive puppy, the other trudging with the world-weary patience of a much older soul.
"...and then there's monster trucks! They can crush whole buildings! Do you like crushing things? I bet you do! Girls like crushing things right? My mom says—" Duck's endless stream of consciousness washed over Clementine, who looked at Lee with the wide-eyed desperation of a hostage negotiator.
That expression turned to pure terror in a heartbeat as her arm raised and pointed to the fence. "LEE!"
The shotgun was in his hands before he'd fully turned. Three walkers pressed against the unfinished fence, their rotting fingers clawing through the gaps. Fresh blood streaked their jaws - they'd fed recently.
"Move!" Lee barked.
Shawn scrambled backward just as the first rotted forearm splintered through the wooden slats. Lee's shotgun roared three times in quick succession:
BOOM - The first walker's skull vaporized in a black mist.
BOOM - The second collapsed with a fist-sized hole through its temple.
BOOM - The third's face peeled away like rotten fruit as it toppled forward, snapping the weakened boards beneath it.
"Goddammit!" Shawn crab-walked backward as the faceless walker lunged for his ankle, its teeth snapping inches from his boot. A desperate kick sent it sprawling. "LEE!"
The final shotgun blast turned the creature's head into crimson shrapnel that peppered the wheat stalks.
Chaos erupted as the rest of the farm's occupants came running. Kenny reached Duck first, yanking his son backward so hard the boy's eyes were nearly left behind. Katjaa gathered Clementine against her chest like a human shield. Hershel arrived last, his hunting rifle sweeping the tree line for more threats, his jaw set in grim confirmation of every warning he'd ignored.
In the sudden silence, only Clementine noticed Lee's hands trembling around the shotgun's pump. She reached out and hooked one small finger around his belt loop - not quite holding on, but ready to.
That's got some kick to it, Lee thought, staring at his trembling hands. The shotgun's recoil still vibrated through his bones. Small fingers tugged at his sleeve.
"Lee?" Clementine's voice was barely audible over the ringing in his ears.
He forced a smile, ruffling her cap. "I'm alright, sweet pea."
Hershel came storming across the yard, his boots kicking up dust. "What in God's name happened here?" The old farmer's hands shook as he wiped blood from Shawn's face. The silence stretched until Shawn gently caught his father's wrist.
"Lee saved me." Shawn's voice carried a weight that silenced even the crickets. "I'd be dead if not for him."
The screen door slammed. Two girls came running - Maggie, all sharp angles and burning intensity, and Beth, soft where her sister was hard. They descended on Shawn like protective hawks.
"Are you bit? Look at me!" Maggie demanded, turning her brother's face toward the fading light.
Beth covered her mouth at the carnage. "Lord have mercy..."
Hershel's voice cut through the chaos. "Maggie, get your brother cleaned up. Beth, put together supplies - enough for three days' travel."
The girls hesitated only a moment before obeying, Maggie half-carrying a shell-shocked Shawn toward the house.
"They your daughters?" Lee asked, though he knew the answer.
"Haven't been anything else for twenty years," Hershel said softly, staring at the corpses like they might rise again. When he turned to Lee, his eyes were ancient. "You saved my boy. For that, you have my thanks. But you can't stay."
Kenny nodded before Lee could respond. "We understand."
"I'll not send you away empty-handed. Beth's packing food enough to get you to Macon."
"Damn decent of you," Kenny said, herding Katjaa and Duck toward their truck.
Lee turned to follow when Hershel's hand gripped his shoulder. "A moment, son." The farmer's face was grave. "I owe you an apology."
Lee blinked. "For what?"
Hershel exhaled slowly. "I knew who you were the moment you showed up. Your face was all over the news before... well, before everything went to hell." His grip tightened. "Last night, I nearly put a bullet between your eyes."
The admission hung between them. Lee had sensed the man's distrust but not its depth.
"And now?" Lee asked.
Hershel's smile was like sunrise after a storm. "Now I'm glad I didn't. What you did today..." He shook his head. "That wasn't the act of the man they described on TV."
Lee shifted uncomfortably. "Anyone would've—"
"Don't." Hershel thrust out a calloused hand. "Just take the thanks you've earned."
Lee grasped it, feeling the old man's strength. "You stay safe, Hershel."
"You too, Lee. God be with you."
By the truck, Kenny was loading a crate overflowing with fresh bread, jars of preserves, and ripe fruit. "Y'all done with your heart-to-heart?" he called, slamming the driver's door. "Daylight's burning!"
Lee slid into the passenger seat, the crate balanced on his lap. He passed an apple to Clementine, its skin gleaming like her wide eyes, then tossed a pear to Duck.
"What?" Lee smirked at Kenny's raised eyebrow. "Jealous he liked me better?"
Kenny snorted, firing up the engine. "Keep dreaming, city boy. Next stop - Macon."
---
The truck rolled past the "Macon - 5 Miles" sign as the sun bled orange across the horizon. They'd burned daylight stopping for gas cans at abandoned stations, each pause tense with the possibility of walkers, but luck had held. Now the city's silhouette rose ahead, its skyline a jagged shadow against the dying light.
"Bet you're glad to see this place," Kenny said around a mouthful of cheese cracker, steering one-handed. Crumbs dusted his beard like artificial snow.
Lee exhaled, surprised by the tightness in his chest. The original Lee's memories surfaced unbidden—Saturday mornings at the farmers' market, the smell of peach cobbler from Miss Eula's window, the way summer heat made the pavement shimmer. It felt less like recalling someone else's life and more like rediscovering his own.
Am I possessing Lee... or did Lee wake up knowing too much?
A soft snore drew his attention to the backseat. Clementine had slumped against Katjaa's shoulder, her cap askew, lashes fluttering with some dream. The sight untangled his thoughts.
Didn't matter who he'd been before. Only who he chose to be now.
"Y'know," Kenny wiped his hands on his jeans, "we've jawed about everything from baseball to barbecue, but you never said what kept the lights on before all this."
"History professor. University of Georgia."
Kenny's eyebrows shot up. "No shit? Had you pegged for a cop with that vest-and-shotgun look."
"Just lucky scavenging." Lee's gaze caught on a dilapidated cinema flashing by. Flickers of memory—first dates in sticky seats, matinees with his brother—before Kenny's chuckle pulled him back.
"Damn sight luckier than my haul. Commercial fisherman—snapper, yellowfin, once hooked an octopus big as a tire." He caught Katjaa's eye in the rearview, grinning. "Though that led to my best catch yet."
Katjaa's cheeks pinked. "You came barreling into my clinic screaming, 'Save him, doc!' I thought, This man loves sea creatures more than his own mother."
"Romantic as hell, ain't it?" Kenny winked.
Lee smirked. "Sounds like you're marshmallow-soft under all that bluster."
"Bull. She meant cool—ow!" Katjaa had flicked his ear. Their laughter faded as the engine sputtered. The gas gauge needle trembled on E.
"Show's over, folks." Kenny coasted to the shoulder. "Welcome to Macon—walking tour edition."
While Katjaa roused the kids, Lee stepped onto cracked asphalt. His breath caught.
Across the street, its neon sign dark but its awning still defiantly red, stood the pharmacy. His father's. A lifetime of memories lived in those aisles—stealing candy as a boy, filling prescriptions as a teen, the last screaming match before he left for college. The past and present collapsed together like a fist around his heart.