Hershel took one shaky step into the room—straight toward the hanging girls. My arm shot out, blocking Hershel. I said quietly, "Don't."
Hershel's voice trembled. "T-they weren't bitten, Zephyr. How—how is this...?"
The girls groaned—not human sounds, but guttural, instinctual growls. Their fingers clawed weakly at the air as their bodies swayed with undead spasms. Maggie pressed her head into my chest, sobbing harder. I rested my chin gently against her hair, steadying her. "I know, I know."
Hershel stared, body shaking, disbelief and grief marring his features. "Zephyr… what is this? How can someone who—who dies without being bitten… turn?"
I took a breath, grounding myself. I looked Hershel in the eyes. "Because it's already in us. It doesn't matter how you die," I said quietly. "We're all infected. All of us. If the brain isn't destroyed, we turn."
The room fell into a suffocating silence.
Rick blinked. "What?"
I continued. "During my early scavenging runs… I found documents at military checkpoints. Medical reports from CDC personnel who didn't make it out, all of them saying the same thing." I gestured toward the two corpses. "This isn't a disease that spreads only through bites. The bite just kills you faster. But whatever this is… it's inside everyone, lying dormant until death."
Daryl's brow furrowed. "So you're tellin' us even if someone dies naturally—heart attack, old age—they'll still...?"
Hershel swayed, his hand gripping the door frame so tightly his knuckles whitened. "That can't be… no… no… that can't."
"I didn't want to believe it either," I murmured. "But I've seen walkers with no bite marks, only bullet holes, knife wounds. Men who clearly died fighting… and still got back up again."
Rick's face drained of color. "That… that means anybody can turn at any time."
I nodded. "And if we don't manage the bodies properly… we risk the dead killing the living."
Hershel staggered, his breath shaking. Rick reached out, steadying the old man before he fell. Maggie's sobs quieted into broken sniffles against Zephyr's chest.
I gently guided Maggie toward Patricia, who led her out of the room, then turned to Hershel. "I didn't want you to learn this way," I said softly, "but now you understand."
Hershel's voice broke. "God help us…"
I stepped forward, my expression hardened, cold, resolute. "Everyone out."
Rick swallowed. "Zephyr…"
"They're already gone," I said quietly. "This is just laying down what's left to rest."
No one argued. One by one, they backed out of the room. I closed the door behind me. Inside, only the soft swaying of the corpses remained. I whispered, almost inaudible, "…I'm sorry." Two soft, suppressed thuds. Both bodies fell still.
When I emerged, Hershel sat heavily on a chair in the hallway, staring at the floor as if the world had tilted beneath him. I crouched down beside him. "I'm sorry, Hershel."
The old man's voice cracked. "These poor girls… hanging in my home… turning to monsters… and you're telling me we've all been carrying this sickness the whole time…"
I placed a steady hand on his shoulder. "I'll help you get through this. But we can't stay here. Not with yesterday's fight, not with this place exposed."
Hershel slowly nodded, hollow and tired. "The burial… we must bury them properly."
"We will," I said.
And we did.
The morning sun had fully emerged by then. We buried the girls behind the barn, under a tall oak tree whose branches swayed gently in the morning breeze. Annette wept quietly. Maggie didn't speak; she only stood stiffly between Beth and me, staring at the freshly turned soil as if trying to make sense of something senseless. Hershel murmured scripture with a hollow voice. Patricia placed hand-picked flowers on the graves, her hands trembling the entire time. I closed my eyes. I'm sorry we were too late.
After a long silence, Hershel wiped his eyes. "We should go. Your farmstead… it's safer, more hidden. We shouldn't stay here any longer."
I nodded once. "Then we'll start moving."
The relocation became quicker after that, more solemn. No yelling, no rushing, just grim determination. Hershel supervised the final packing with a faraway stare. Annette stayed near Beth, comforting her. Maggie lingered close to me, not speaking, just… needing the grounding presence of someone who didn't crumble under tragedy. I worked methodically, helping load fence wiring, medical kits, spare fuel—anything that would matter. Rick helped Hershel double-check all locked windows and doors, even though no one would return.
By late afternoon, the Greene farm looked less like a home and more of a ghost of what used to be. Shawn locked the front door one last time. The sound was final. Hershel stood out on the porch, looking over the fields he'd tended for decades. "I always thought this place would outlive me."
I stepped beside him. "It's just land," I said quietly. "What matters is who walks off it alive."
Hershel nodded slowly. "You've seen much worse of this, haven't you?"
I didn't answer. I didn't need to.
Hershel sighed. "Lead the way, Mr. Ward."
The vehicles rumbled to life one by one. I took point with Rick riding shotgun. Daryl mounted one of the bikes that was left whole. The Greene family followed in their caravan of trucks and the old station wagon. We had to leave behind the cattle and horses until later.
As we pulled away, Beth looked back at the farm, tears running silently down her cheeks. Maggie stared silently straight ahead, jaw set, eyes cold with resolve. She rested her hand on the rifle I had given her. "We're going to be okay," she whispered to herself. "We're going to be okay…"
Behind us, the Greene farm grew smaller and smaller—until it finally disappeared behind a bend in the road, gone, left to the dead.
When the convoy reached the fortified farmstead, the sun was dipping low, painting the sky in amber and fading gold. Hershel exhaled softly. "You built all this yourself?"
I nodded. "But not alone."
Hershel's eyes wandered the property; his respect deepened. "This… this is impressive."
Maggie looked around slowly. "Feels… safe."
I glanced at her. "As safe as anywhere in the world nowadays."
(To be continued...)