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

Inevitability

"Isaac."

He had finished his run, worked through a series of strikes in an empty patch of ground, and spent another stretch practicing with his machete and throwing knives. When he jogged back beneath the great tree, the tent was empty.

He had just straightened when Maggie appeared.

"They went to eat," she said. Her expression was guarded.

"At your house?"

Maggie gave him a flat look. "What part of this farm isn't our home?"

She turned away.

Isaac smiled and fell into step beside her. "Beth came looking for me this morning."

Maggie's pace faltered before she caught herself.

"She wanted to know what happened," he continued. "What do you think I should tell her?"

The teasing in his voice made her skin crawl. "There's something wrong with you."

She walked faster. Isaac matched her without effort.

"What do you want?" Maggie demanded.

Sunlight caught the edge of Isaac's smile. "If you want Beth to hear what happened, I won't stop you."

Maggie stopped long enough to glare at him. "You bastard."

She strode ahead. This time he let her go.

By the time Isaac entered the farmhouse, Amy and Miana were seated at the table. A white plate waited beside them with two fried eggs, two sausages, and slices of bread soaked in sauce.

"Isaac, come eat," Amy called.

He washed his hands at the open kitchen, sat down, and picked up his knife and fork.

His body needed far more food than the plate held, but demanding a larger share would have been a mistake. The group was still too small to support visible privilege.

In a handful of people, every extra portion was noticed. Every exemption became personal. If one person consistently received more while the others rationed, resentment would not remain abstract; it would sit across the table from them.

A larger settlement could gather more resources and divide labor. In that kind of structure, unequal access would eventually emerge whether anyone admitted it or not.

Here, it would only plant a bomb inside the group.

If Isaac wanted safety and comfort, the answer was not to squeeze more from the people already around him. He needed more people, more resources, and a defensible base.

The farm could not be the final destination. At best, it was a place to rest while he decided what came next.

"Rick?" Glenn's voice pulled him out of his thoughts.

Isaac looked up. Rick was coming into the room with Lori. Rick's face was pale from the blood he had given Carl, and Lori looked as if she had not slept.

Carol rose halfway from her chair. "Lori, are you all right?"

"Rick, Lori, get something to eat," Shane said.

T-Dog lifted the untouched plate in front of him. "You can have this. I haven't started."

Rick shook his head. "No. We need to talk."

His attention moved to Shane. "I need your help."

Lori's face tightened. Before the outbreak, she would not have thought twice about Rick turning to his closest friend. Now every exchange with Shane carried the weight of what had happened between them while she believed Rick was dead.

Shane met her eyes for a brief, complicated moment, then looked back at Rick. "We're brothers. You don't have to ask it like that. Tell me what you need."

Lori crossed the room to Isaac. "Isaac, please. We need your help too."

So it had reached this point.

Isaac had expected it. Alone in the wilderness, every task had to be handled personally. A small group offered help, but it also made exceptional ability impossible to hide.

When danger arrived, everyone instinctively focused on the person most likely to survive it. The strongest member could not stay unnoticed in a small group.

His strength made him stand apart, and with each crisis the others would rely on him more.

As a group grew from weak to strong, the process was nearly inevitable.

"Tell me," Isaac said. "What is it?"

He set down his knife and fork, accepted a napkin from Miana, wiped his mouth, and looked toward Lori.

Everyone's attention turned to Rick and Lori.