Shane didn't hear about it right away.
Things like that never came directly. They seeped through the camp in fragments—half-finished sentences, lowered voices, sudden silences when he stepped too close.
"…a sword at his throat…"
"…Carol was crying…"
"…they let him go…"
Shane stood beside his car, slowly cleaning his fingernails with a knife. His face was calm. Too calm.
"Where's Ed?" he asked casually.
"Back," someone replied. "Banged up. Sober now."
"And the newcomers?"
"Still here."
The knife slipped a little deeper than necessary.
"What happened?" Shane asked again.
The answers came reluctantly.
"He showed up drunk."
"Demanded food."
"Went after them."
Shane nodded, as if this matched expectations.
"And?"
"They stopped him. Fast."
"Merle first."
"Then… the leader. With a sword."
Shane looked up.
"A sword?"
"Yeah. He didn't yell. Didn't threaten."
"He just asked why Ed shouldn't be killed."
A faint smile touched Shane's lips.
"And?"
"Carol stepped in. They saw the bruise."
This time, the knife stopped moving.
The plan hadn't failed.
It simply hadn't worked.
And that was worse.
Consequences
The camp grew quieter.
Not calmer—quieter.
People spoke in whispers.
Children stopped running between tents.
Eyes drifted toward the newcomers, then quickly away.
They talked about them carefully.
"They could've killed him."
"But didn't."
"Not out of fear."
Carol no longer sat openly by the fire. She stayed close to Sophia, as if the camp itself had become too exposed.
Ed walked with his head down. Drank less. Yelled softer.
But now people feared more than just his temper.
The Attempt
Shane acted in the morning.
When people were half-awake. When words felt heavier than violence.
He approached the newcomers' camp alone.
"We need to talk," he said.
Harry looked up.
"I'm listening."
"What happened last night…" Shane began. "That could've ended badly."
"It could," Harry agreed.
"We're trying to keep order here," Shane continued. "If everyone starts handling things their own way—"
"He attacked first," Harry cut in.
Shane stiffened, but kept his voice level.
"I'm not threatening you," he said. "I'm offering an arrangement. No… displays."
Harry rose slowly.
"We didn't touch anyone."
"We didn't take anything."
"And we didn't start this."
He stepped closer—just enough.
"But if someone comes at us like that again, there will be no discussion."
Shane held his gaze—for a second.
"You think you can set terms?"
"No," Harry replied. "I'm telling you what will happen."
Shane stepped back.
"We'll talk again."
"Maybe," Harry said. "But not like this."
Carol
Carol packed quietly.
Not much. A blanket. A child's backpack. A few cans she'd hidden "just in case."
Sophia watched her with wide eyes.
"Are we leaving?" she whispered.
Carol nodded.
"Just moving a little," she said. "Somewhere quieter."
Ed was asleep. For once—deeply. Empty bottles at his feet.
Carol looked at him for a long moment.
Then at the bruise reflected in the window of an old car.
She took Sophia's hand.
And stepped away.
No one stopped her.
Dale saw—and said nothing.
Andrea looked away.
Others understood—and stayed silent.
It wasn't an escape.
It was a first step.
End
That day, the camp changed.
No gunfire.
No shouting.
No speeches.
Just a shared understanding:
boundaries existed;
violence had consequences;
and not everyone was willing to keep pretending.
And Shane realized something else:
Those people didn't bend under pressure.
Which meant the game would have to change.
End of Interlude