It's been about two weeks since the Vatos gang debacle.
I've spent half of that time on the road, either killing walkers or looting whatever I could find. Since I was still within radio range, I've kept in contact with the farmstead and the prison.
Rick and the others weren't happy that I just suddenly left without telling them in person, but they quickly relented afterwards.
Though, it was Maggie who hogged the radio most of the time. Not that anyone faulted her—she's just worried about me.
A couple of things happened during this time period, however. I happened upon Tyreese and Sasha Williams and their group mates—Allen, Donna, and their son Ben—as well as Abraham Ford, Rosita Espinosa, and Eugene Porter.
I met Tyreese, Sasha, and the others by happenstance when I was on one of my looting escapades. They were understandably jumpy at first. I mean, who wouldn't be if you encounter a six-foot-four, jacked white dude armed to the teeth? But they mellowed out a bit after I invited them for a meal.
They were looking worse for wear; their last group just got overrun and now they were the only ones left alive.
I introduced myself to them, told them about my settlements, and asked if they wished to join. They were hesitant and distrustful at first, which was understandable, but they quickly agreed once they heard we had kids.
It's always mentioning the kids that sways everyone.
I then rigged them a vehicle, marked the prison's location on a spare map I retrieved from my inventory that I pretended to grab from my car, and sent them on their way. Then I called in Rick to inform him of their arrival before continuing on my journey.
Abraham, Rosita, and Eugene, however, were a different situation entirely. That situation was a hair's breadth away from turning real ugly.
(Flashback)
I pulled my truck into the overgrown parking lot of a motel just west outside of Atlanta. I parked near the far wall, stepped out of the vehicle, and proceeded to head inside to scavenge.
That's when I heard a noise inside one of the ground-floor rooms.
I grabbed my suppressed pistol and slowly proceeded to investigate the noise. I took two quiet steps past the door, only to be ambushed by this massive ginger guy with a reddish mustache who stepped out from the shadows and pointed a gun right at my head.
"Don't move," the dude warned, his voice low and hard.
I didn't pause. I disarmed him with lightning speed, twisting his wrist hard until his grip broke, slamming him against the wall, and pressing my pistol under his chin.
"Who're you?" I asked coldly.
Abraham didn't answer; he just snorted, glaring back at me. I sneered and cocked the gun.
"Wait! Don't shoot!"
I glanced to where that shout came from. It was a somewhat pudgy guy with a classic mullet haircut, followed by an armed Mexican-American woman rushing out of the next room.
"Damn it, Eugene! I told you to stay put!" Abraham roared from his position against the wall. "What the hell, Rosita!" Abraham added, looking at her.
"I tried, but he wouldn't listen!" Rosita argued back, her gun raised.
I froze for a moment before recognition flashed in my eyes. 'Oh, so it's them', I thought to myself.
"Don't shoot! Don't shoot!" Eugene came running toward us, waving his hands frantically.
I grabbed my pistol from my hip holster and pointed it straight at Eugene, who froze in his place and paled instantly.
"Ah, ah, not another step, friend," I said.
Rosita then aimed her gun straight at my head. "Drop it!"
"Hey, hey! Point at me! Only me!" Abraham shouted, trying to shield them despite having a barrel pointed at his forehead.
"Who are you?" I asked again, despite already knowing the answer.
"M-my name is Eugene Porter," Eugene stammered, his voice trembling. "They're Abraham Ford and Rosita Espinosa, t-they're my escort. I-I'm a government scientist on a secret mission to Washington D.C. to find a cure."
"Bullshit," I retorted instantly, causing Eugene to flinch hard.
I wanted to recruit them, and for that, I had to expose Eugene first.
"It's the truth!" Rosita snapped from the side, her gun still trained on me.
"I said bullshit!," I snapped back at her, keeping my gun trained at Abraham. "I have a highly decorated scientist back home and a skilled doctor. Both said synthesizing a cure is nearly impossible, if not impossible at all."
Abraham and Rosita were stunned on the spot, while Eugene paled even further.
"N-no, you're lying! He's lying!" Eugene stuttered.
"Guess you guys didn't check the military checkpoints along your trip, huh?" I said.
Abraham's head snapped toward me. "Checkpoints?"
"Yeah," I nodded. "You would have found documents regarding the validity of my words. All of us are infected."
That made them go completely pale in the face.
"Turning doesn't just happen through bites and fluid transmission," I continued, making sure every word hit them. "Any form of death, even natural ones—if the brain's not destroyed, they will get back up again as walkers. They always do."
Rosita turned her head slowly, looking at Eugene. "Eugene?" she whispered.
"I-I..." Eugene stuttered nervously before he lowered his head, unable to look either of them in the eye. "He's right," he whispered. "I was never a government scientist. I was just a high school science teacher before the apocalypse."
"You son of a bitch!"
Abraham went a dangerous shade of red in the face as he broke away and sprinted toward Eugene with pure rage in his eyes.
"Hey!"
My voice snapped him right out of his rage as he remembered his situation. Abraham stopped dead in his tracks, his fists clenched tight, taking deep breaths to calm himself down before he did something he couldn't undo.
Silence fell for a moment in the small room before I broke it.
"Why not join my group?" I asked, lowering both of my guns and holstering mine.
Abraham blinked, looking at me like I had two heads. "What?"
"We could use your help," I said. "We have a farmstead that's producing a continuous, steady amount of food and dairy produce, and a fortified prison turned fortress. We have families and kids, plenty of supplies, and my scientist is neck-deep in research in hopes of turning the situation around."
I nodded toward Eugene and continued, "Although he lied to you, he's still a valuable asset because of his knowledge as a high school science teacher. So, what do you say?"
The three of them fell into complete silence as they contemplated what I just threw at them. Abraham looked at Rosita, then down at Eugene, the fire in his chest slowly dying down into pure exhaustion.
"How about we talk about it over a meal?" I offered with a faint smirk. "My treat."
(Present)
That was four days ago. They took the offer once they saw the hot food and the heavy gear in my truck. Abraham didn't need much more convincing after the whole shtick with Eugene, and Rosita naturally followed Abraham.
Thought that didn't stop the dirty glares they sent Eugene's way.
I drew them a route to the prison on their map, gave them enough fuel to make the drive, and called Rick to let him know three more were coming in—including a guy who knew how to build water filters and reload ammo from scratch.
Right now, I was sitting in the driver's seat of my truck parked on a high ridge overlooking the state border line. The engine hummed softly beneath me, the heater blowing a thin stream of warm air against my boots.
I picked up the CB radio mic from the dash and clicked the button. "Farmstead, prison, this is Zephyr. You copy?"
A few seconds of static buzzed through the speaker before Maggie's voice came through, clear and sharp. "I copy, Zephyr. Where the hell are you? You're hours late from your usual check-ins!"
"Just crossing past the state line. Sorry, been a bit busy," I said, a small smile tugging at my lips. "Everything alright there? How are our new residents?"
"They're doing alright," Rick's voice cut in over the signal. "They're settled in the cell blocks now. Tyreese is already helping clear the walkers that stray toward the prison. Abraham and Rosita have integrated in the watch duty. Eugene's settled right in teaching the kids. They're good people."
"Told you," I said. "Keep the gates locked. I'm pushing further west. I'll be offline for a while from now on."
"Don't stay offline for too long! Just make sure you bring your ass back here in one piece," Maggie snapped over the mic, though I could hear the relief in her tone. "You hear me?"
"Loud and clear, honey," I replied. "Over and out."
I hung the mic back on the clip, shifted the truck into gear, and let the truck roll down onto the open, empty highway ahead.
(To be continued...)