153 - The Walking Dead: Warlord of the Apocalypse (Patreon)

A Strange Dream

By nightfall, the broad tree outside the white farmhouse had become the group's campsite.

Tents of different sizes stood in uneven rows beneath the branches. Their fabric walls were thinner than anything surrounding the old RV, yet the survivors felt safer there than they had behind steel.

Safety was never only a matter of walls.

Beyond the farm, the world belonged to the dead. Here there were fields, warm food, lamplight, and people who had lived on the same land for years. Hershel's property felt like an island separated from the nightmare outside.

Everyone had spent the day exhausted and afraid. Carl was still fighting for his life upstairs, leaving no appetite for conversation after dinner. One by one, the newcomers withdrew to their tents and tried to sleep.

Miana and Amy arranged blankets, cups, and pillows inside the tent they shared with Isaac.

Isaac remained outside for a few minutes, smoking beneath the tree. The night breeze carried grass and damp soil instead of rot. He drew it deep into his lungs, grateful for the absence of decay.

Miana's head appeared through the tent flap. "Isaac, come rest."

"I'm coming."

He dropped the cigarette, crushed the ember under his boot, and ducked inside.

From a second-floor bedroom, Maggie watched the tent beneath the tree.

She wore a simple athletic top and stood too close to the window, staring long after Isaac disappeared from sight. She had seen Miana call him in. She knew Amy was already there.

Her mind supplied possibilities she had no reason to imagine and no desire to examine.

"What am I doing?" she whispered.

Maggie dropped onto her bed and stared at the ceiling. The afternoon returned in fragments: the misunderstanding, the blade, the humiliation, and the point when the danger had ended but Isaac had still crossed a line.

His apology had not made the memory harmless. Anger and a confused awareness remained tangled together, and she resented the confusion.

"That bastard is probably enjoying himself," she muttered.

Then she remembered how dirty all three travelers were after the road. The thought gave her a petty burst of relief.

They smelled awful. Surely nothing was going to happen tonight.

A knock interrupted her.

"Come in."

Beth opened the door. "Maggie, I need to ask you something."

"At this hour?" Maggie sat up, already wary. "What?"

Beth's gaze moved to the clean men's shirt hanging near the bed. "What's going on between you and Isaac Lee?"

A man's shirt had been carefully washed and hung beside Maggie's bed. It did not look like evidence of an ordinary acquaintance.

"It's an ordinary relationship," Maggie said.

That answer only made Beth more certain that Maggie was hiding something. It was the kind of certainty sisters sometimes reached without proof.

Later, inside the tent, Isaac's thoughts kept returning to what had happened with Maggie.