Chapter Text
Gunshots thundered through the heavy quiet of the dark. Harry ducked from his position in the driver's seat of a beat up pickup. He peeked up from behind the steering wheel, swearing under his breath.
Were they firing on roamers? Through the darkness the storefronts that lined the abandoned strip of road could not be discerned. Harry could turn on the vehicle's headlights, but would that be giving away his position to the enemy? Were there even any enemies?
After the initial burst of gunfire, silence reigned, the lack of noise now cloying instead of comforting. Harry held his breath, ears straining. He reached down, the familiar sensation of his wand strapped to his ankle a steady comfort.
Two of their men, Tony and Dave, had been sent out to this location to scavenge. When they hadn't returned to the designated meetup spot by sundown, one of their men, Randall, had sworn up and down that he’d heard gunshots earlier from the direction the two had gone. Nate, their leader, had called him every name under the sun for not saying anything earlier.
Just as Harry's accelerated heartbeat began to slow, loud pops like fireworks lit up the night; the sound of gunfire was far too plentiful to belong to their group alone.
Harry cranked up the old Toyota, the engine giving a whining drone before sputtering to life. The once blackened street was bathed in light. Harry took off, praying that he wasn't placing himself into the middle of a shootout.
He had driven two blocks, storefronts giving way to a more residential district, when his headlights illuminated a man writhing on someone's lawn as though in pain. It was one of their men. Sean. Harry parked in front of him and disembarked, his hand hovering on the hilt of a gun tucked in his jeans. Harry rushed over to his fellow survivor.
“Merlin,” Harry whispered, dropping to his knees. Sean was shot in the stomach, his bright red blood shining in the moonlight. Sean moaned and clutched at his middle while staring up with blank eyes. Harry hesitated. What could he do to help?
The sound of a door slamming made Harry's heart catch in his throat. He turned and there was Nate in the driver's seat of the Toyota, a bitter scowl on his haggard features. When had he—?
*Leave him,” Nate spat. “We gotta get out of here.”
“But—” Harry looked down at Sean. He had stopped thrashing, but his lips still moved silently, his breathing raspy and weak.
“Leave him! Roamers are coming!”
Growls and snarls floated lightly on the undercurrent of the night. Harry bit his lip. He said a silent apology to Sean and swung into the passenger seat.
There was a loud squeal of rubber as Nate gunned it, the force of his takeoff sending Harry rocketing back in his seat.
“Where's Randall?” Harry asked.
He soon got his answer as Nate turned a corner and then peeled to a stop in front of what appeared to be a pharmacy. And there, on top of the pharmacy’s roof, a mop of dark brown hair peeked out before Randall revealed himself, a rifle in hand.
“Let's get out of here!” Nate called up to him. “Roamers all over the place, we gotta get out of here!”
Randall yelled down, “What about Sean?”
“They shot him! We gotta go! Roamers are everywhere!”
Randall saddled up to the edge of the pharmacy and peered over. How the hell had he even gotten up there anyway?
“Hurry up!” Nate cried, a clear lack of patience in his voice. “Just jump already!”
Harry started. Now hold on a second, surely he couldn't expect Randall to actually—Before Harry could even open his mouth to say otherwise, Randall leapt, panic forcing his mouth into a frightened ‘o’.
If Randall had been aiming for the slanted rooftop neighboring the pharmacy, he misjudged the landing, his foot slipping and his back colliding hard with the tinned roofing. He bounced, and like a Rube Goldberg machine of misfortune, he crashed onto the top of a dumpster, his leg skewered by the pointed top of a fence railing. Randall screamed.
He was pinned like a science experiment awaiting dissection. It took Harry several moments for his frozen brain to reboot. Randall was screaming for help. Harry made to open his door but Nate was already pulling off, leaving nothing behind but an insincere apology.
“What the hell are you doing?” Harry snarled, the sound of Randall’s pleas still echoing in his ears.
Nate didn't even look at him. “We had no time. He was stuck. There was no way he was getting out of there before—”
“We can't just leave him! We have to go back!” Harry grabbed for the steering wheel and the vehicle swung hard before Nate managed to right it.
“Harry! What the fuck-–” To punctuate the expletive, Nate struck Harry in the face with a backhanded fist, sending Harry reeling. Harry's nose throbbed and blood seeped down his throat, coppery and thick.
Harry scrambled for the door handle.
“Hey,” Nate said, glancing over in panic. “Hey! What the hell are you doing?”
The door popped open and Harry flung himself sideways. Fire erupted throughout his body as he crashed and spun along the gravel, momentum carrying him several feet before skidding to a stop. Nate didn't even slow down. The sound of the Toyota faded into the night.
Harry groaned and stood with great effort, new cuts and scrapes screaming as he began to move. At first his gait was just a shuffle, but as adrenaline kicked in and the fear in Randall's voice spurred him on he broke out into a run.
Randall's leg was just as bad as he feared. The fence post had pierced his calf all the way through and removing the metal piece would cause even more damage than it had going in.
“Randall, shh, Randall, I”m here.” As Randall continued to sniffle and moan and the sound of the dead grew louder all around them, the pressure began to get to Harry and he snapped, “Randall! Shut the fuck up! I'm going to save you, okay?”
Randall quieted down except for the occasional whimpering, but at least that was one problem dealt with for now.
There was nothing for it. Harry would just have to use magic to cut Randall’s leg free then ferry him around with levicorpus. He'd have to knock Randall out, of course, as he couldn't have the man wondering why he was floating. After that, Harry could only hope that things would somehow work out.
The thump of footsteps padding against pavement touched Harry's ears, too fast to be roamers. Nate? He'd come back. But no. It wasn't just one pair of footsteps, there were two. Harry's hand went for his gun as he turned. Only to find himself staring down the barrel of someone else's.
“I wouldn't do that,” a deep voice growled.
In the chaos following Randall's injury, the others had completely slipped his mind. Stupid. Careless.
Harry slowly moved his hand away from his gun and raised his hands. The man didn't lower his weapon an inch as he took Harry's gun from his waist and tucked it into his own.
Randall moaned behind him. “Harry? Harry, what's going on, man; you gotta help me, please.“
The man's eyes flicked to Randall and then back to Harry. Some of the hostility in his gaze seemed to lessen. The second man, who had stopped just outside of Harry's peripheral, stepped into view. Harry sucked in a sharp breath, an image of Dumbledore superimposing over the stranger so strongly that Harry’s knees quaked. And just as quickly as it had appeared it was gone and Harry could tell at once that the two were nothing alike except that they were both old and they were grey.
“Rick,” the old man said in a placid voice. “We can't stay here.”
This ‘Rick’ seemed to agree but something in him hesitated. He had yet to look away from Harry, as though searching for something he wasn't sure he'd find.
These strangers were going to abandon them. If Harry said nothing then they would leave and Harry would be free to save Randall. But then what? Randall would die if his leg went untreated and there was no way Harry was getting Randall back to their camp tonight.
Besides, did Harry even want to go back there? Nate had abandoned Sean, Randall and now Harry. Nate had shown what he thought they were truly worth. And what was more, hadn't Harry wanted to escape from there anyway? To find a new place for himself and Randall? Well… maybe it had just fallen into his lap.
Rick lowered his gun and made to step away.
“Wait,” Harry said, and surprisingly, Rick did. “Please. Help us.”
There was a beat of silence before Rick nodded. “Herschel. See what you can do about that leg. I'll hold off the walkers.”
The man dubbed Herschel seemed resigned but he didn't voice a word of complaint. Rick stepped past the gate into the alleyway where Randall lay trapped and gunshots rang out as he kept at bay the roamers approaching from the north. If Harry had his gun he could deal with the ones from the south. Just as the thought crossed his mind another sharp sound pierced the air and an Asian man carrying a shotgun mowed down a row of roamers as he made his way down the street toward them. Herschel poked and prodded at Randall’s leg before declaring it a lost cause.
Randall once more broke into moaning sobs. Harry tried to keep a lid on his temper as he said, “What? You barely even tried!”
The Asian man had now reached them. “What the hell is going on? Are these the bastards that shot at us?”
Rick came back from the alleyway, his furrowed brows sharp. “I'm not abandoning them. They're just kids.”
This was going nowhere fast. If they needed to cut Randall free, then Harry would do just that. As Rick and his group descended into petty arguments, Harry tried to step back so that he was more shadowed from the moonlight. He knelt down, as though going to tie his shoe and made to reach for his wand at his ankle when—
“Hey!” The newcomer cried. He upped his shotgun and Harry froze. “What the hell is he doing?”
Rick's face was thunderous. He manhandled Harry into an upright position and patted him down from his arms to his legs. Rick paused and then rolled up Harry’s pant leg. He extracted Harry's wand, a frown on his face as he straightened and showed off his finding to his compatriots.
None of them had a clue as to what they were looking at, so Rick turned to Harry, the wand held aloft as though it were contraband. The question was obvious, so Harry answered.
“It's a family heirloom,” he said blithely. “I like to hold it when I'm stressed.” Harry received naught but unimpressed stares. “Can I have it back now? Please?”
Rick considered him for a long moment. “No.” Harry could only watch, mouth agape, as his wand disappeared into Rick's pocket.
Cold began to seep into Harry's limbs and wormed its way toward his chest. He may have miscalculated when deciding to trust this group.
Rick seemed to have come to a decision. His face hardened and he gripped Randall's foot in one hand and his calf in the other. Everyone realized what he was going to do at the same time.
Randall cried, “Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait!” But Rick didn't heed him. With a harsh yank, flesh tore and blood spilled, but Randall's leg was free.
Randall’s pained cry tapered off just as Harry's shock began to fade. Rick and the Asian man were lifting a limp Randall and Rick barked at Harry to move.
Even if Harry wanted to run away, roamers were closing in on them and Rick had his wand. He was well and truly stuck between a rock and a hard place.
With no other choice, Harry followed.
Shane had thought that his life couldn't get any more complicated, and then Rick ever-the-hero Grimes brought back not just one prisoner, but two. At least Rick had the good sense to blindfold and put headphones on them before ushering them to the farm.
The entire group gathered in Herschel's dining room to discuss their new arrivals.
“I mean, c'mon man, what the hell are you thinking?” Shane asked, willing Rick to see just how reckless his actions were.
Of course, all he got was the usual bullshit justifications. ‘I couldn't just leave them there.’ ‘They're just kids.’ ‘I don't want to see any more needless bloodshed.’ And like clockwork, the flock ate up his words with nary a complaint and asked for seconds afterwards. Only Andrea offered up any type of pushback and surprise surprise she was just as much in the doghouse as Shane himself. It was quite funny how that worked.
After another productive meeting where Rick proposed something and everyone else just mindlessly agreed, it was decided that the prisoners would receive luxury VIP treatment and even be given a complimentary gift basket when their stay was completed. How fucking quaint.
By now Shane knew to just keep his mouth shut. But still he snorted and sneered and stormed off when he'd had his fill. He'd go along with it, but he would make damn sure everyone knew how much he didn't like it.
Outside, Shane paced the length of the farm's fencing, the sun beating down on him as he tried to expunge the nervous energy buzzing through him to no avail.
His eyes, as though magnetized, kept falling upon the shed which housed their new prisoners. An uncomfortable mixture of curiosity and rage had him marching toward the shed before he could talk himself out of it.
The door to the shed opened with a bang. Inside was a small space, barely big enough for the two prisoners inside to lay down fully, which the one with the wounded leg was doing now, his eyes closed. For a moment Shane wondered if the bastard had kicked the bucket when the prisoner snorted loudly. It seemed he was asleep.
Laughter chimed from the corner of the shed. Whoever laughed was blanketed in darkness, Shane’s frame in the doorway blocking the light from reaching them. Shane stepped inside and light illuminated the figure.
The greenest pair of eyes Shane had ever seen peered up at him from behind shabby circle spectacles. The boy looked young. Or maybe youthful was a more apt term. Underneath a mop of jet black hair that touched his nape the young man's face was smeared with dirt and grime, but beneath that Shane knew he would find pale and unblemished skin. A pair of dangerously pink lips gave a light smile.
Jesus, even Shane had to admit it. It would have been hard to leave the kid for dead. Almost sacrilegious, like killing Bambi.
“Whatever your doctor gave him to knock him out is very effective.”
Their voice broke Shane from his stupor. They spoke with a heavy accent. British maybe?
The sight of their bound legs was what, at last, reminded Shane that he was looking at their prisoner. It was the enemy sitting against the shed, their hands tied behind their back.
Shane gave himself a mental shake. A disarming presence was a threat’s greatest asset. He was a Sheriff's deputy. He knew first hand. A man arrested for slaughtering his whole family could be the same man having the entire precinct yucking it up in the integration room.
That was the sort of threat Rick had invited into their home.
As Shane continued to stare in silence, the young man's smile fell away and he cocked his head. They cleared their throat.
“I'm Harry, by the way.”
“I don't give a damn what your name is.”
Harry raised a brow but said nothing. His expression had changed. Wary. Watchful. It spoke of a demeanor that belied his innocent countenance.
Shane nodded. Good. He could see through the mask.
“I don't mean you any harm,” Harry tried, voice even.
“That may be true. But that doesn't mean your group don't. You see, our group killed two of yours. And then one more for good measure the way I hear it, so three in all. And you mean to tell me you're gonna let that just be water under the bridge?”
Harry looked him dead in the eye and said, “Honestly? Yes.”
It was so bold that it surprised a laugh out of Shane. He leaned back against the wall of the shed and crossed his arms, wondering what game this devil with an angel's face was playing.
“I find that hard to believe,” Shane said.
Harry's mouth twisted. “Didn't Rick say? I want to join your group. Randall would agree if he was conscious enough to say it.”
Shane snorted. “Rick might have mentioned it. You know there's no way in hell that's happening, right?”
Harry didn't argue the point. He just sighed, his shoulders dropping in resignation. Something about Harry tickled the lizard part of Shane’s brain that thought things with big eyes and helpless faces needed to be protected. Shane decided to throw him a bone.
“Don't worry,” Shane said. “Your pardon from the warden came through. As soon as your friend here is up and running you'll be on your way with a goodie bag.” Shane couldn't hide the bitterness that crept into his voice.
If Harry noticed he didn't let on. He just nodded. “Thank you.”
Something like nausea twisted in Shane's stomach and he pushed off from the wall. This meeting hadn't gone at all like he'd expected.
“Don't thank me,” Shane said, heading toward the door. “Thank Rick.”
Shane made to leave when a sudden cry from Harry stopped him in his tracks. Shane glanced over his shoulder.
“Tell… Rick, was it? Tell Rick to take good care of my wand. It's very precious to me.”
“Wand?” Shane waited for a punchline that never came. In fact, Harry's face was dead serious.
“Rick will understand.”
Shane tried to puzzle out whatever the hell that meant for several moments before giving up. He stared at Harry one final time, taking in that vibrant shade of green that made Shane think of danger. Of vipers and acid and death.
When Shane shut the door to the shed and wandered off in a daze he could still picture those jade chips in his mind's eye, like the eyes of a predator gazing at him from the brush.
“Sirius!” Harry cried as the fluttering curtain fell back into place. He was running, ignoring the cries calling his name and ducking under spells of red and green that slung overhead.
Harry didn't think. He leapt, arms outstretched hoping to grasp his godfather before he disappeared too far out of reach.
The veil swallowed Harry whole, and he collapsed face first into the dirt.
Harry awoke with a start, trying and failing to blink away the pitch blackness that surrounded him. His heartbeat spiked as he struggled in vain to move, his limbs aching. He tried to yell for help, but only a muffled moan was able to leak past his constricted throat.
What was going on? Where the hell was he? Why couldn't he see?
“Harry?” came a quiet voice from the darkness. A familiar voice which acted like a stopper to Harry's rising panic.
Little by little, the previous day's events came back to him and Harry stamped down on the fear that threatened to consume him.
“Randall? Are you okay?”
“I guess so. My leg fucking hurts.”
Harry huffed out a laugh. It was pitch black, which meant it was the middle of the night. Randall had been in and out of consciousness for the past forty-eight hours, but it seemed that at last he was coming to.
“Thank Herschel you even have a leg.”
“Herschel? That name sounds familiar.”
“Yeah. That's the name of the guy who took care of you.”
“Huh.” Randall fell silent for several moments. “So on a scale of one to ten, how fucked are we?”
Harry sighed and thunked his head backwards against the shed wall. “Maybe like a seven?” Randall groaned. “I've tried to convince them to let us join their group, but they don't seem too keen on the idea.”
“That fucker Nate left me,” Randall said suddenly, sounding scandalized.
“He left both of us.”
“Fuck! I'm sorry, Harry.”
“Sorry for what?”
“The only reason you got dragged into this is because you were trying to help me. And I know the only reason you were sticking around those other assholes was because of me as well.”
“Don't mention it,” Harry said, a bit of warmth blossoming in his chest. “You're the closest thing to a friend I've ever had in this godforsaken world.”
Randall probably thought Harry meant since the dead began to rise. But Harry meant even before then. Two years prior, when his world truly came to an end.
“Thanks man,” Randall said, his voice quiet. “But what's gonna happen to us now?”
“They said they'd let us go. They went through all the trouble of making sure you'd live. I don't think they were lying.”
“Shit, man, are you serious? The two of us out there? Alone? We’d be screwed.”
Harry agreed, but he tightened his jaw and said, “Don't worry. We'll protect each other. We'll be okay.”
Randall didn't respond.
Shane hadn't returned to the shed once since he'd talked to Harry. Hadn't even accepted a guard duty post. If someone claimed it was his turn he always came up with a new problem that needed fixing or a new location he needed to check to make sure things were in working order.
Shane wouldn't admit it to anyone—hell, he didn't even want to admit it to himself—but something about Harry stoked his curiosity in the most unusual way.
He found himself thinking of Harry, often. Where was he from? What was he doing in America, in Georgia of all places? What sort of life had he lived prior to the world ending—because he hadn't gotten eyes like that in the past three months. No, those were the eyes of someone who'd lived a troubled life from birth.
“--ne. Shane.”
Shane returned to himself. It was dark out, Rick little more than an outline as he sat on the bottom step of Herschel’s farmhouse. Shane pushed off from where he was leaning against the porch and waved Rick to continue.
“I asked,” Rick said slowly in a tone that implied he knew Shane hadn't been listening at all, “what do you think?”
Herschel had been giving them status updates on the injured one, Randall, and his fever had finally broken. He would live, although he'd probably have a limp for the rest of his life. Still, Herschel wanted to watch him for one more day, make sure there wasn't any lingering infection, and then Randall and Harry would be out of their hair for good. For better or for worse.
As such, Rick had thought it prudent to come up with a course of action on how to handle the removal of their unwanted visitors.
Of course, Shane hadn't been listening, but he said the magic words that always worked when talking to Rick: “I think you're exactly right.”
And just like that, Rick's eyes cleared and he gave a nod, standing to his feet.
“Just two more days,” Rick said and clapped Shane on the shoulder.
“Just two more days,” Shane parroted, voice droll.
Rick gave his shoulder a squeeze and made to leave. It was pure impulse that made Shane stop him.
“Hey,” Shane said. “Did you take something from the kid in the shed?”
“Randall?”
“The other one.”
Rick frowned as he considered it. “I took his gun when we first... Oh. It completely slipped my mind. He had a… a piece of carved wood strapped to his leg. Said it was a family heirloom or something like that.”
Huh. So Harry hadn't been lying when he said Rick had something important to him.
“Can I see it?” Shane asked.
Rick seemed nonplussed, as though he couldn't fathom why Shane would even care, but shrugged his shoulders and said, “Yeah, it's in my tent.”
Shane followed Rick across the grassy plane, the waning moon a poor source of light.
What was Shane hoping to even accomplish with this? Did he think that whatever this was would act as some sort of clue? A clue to what, even? Harry’s past?
Rick entered the too small tent he shared with Carl and Lori. The tent made rustling sounds as he rummaged around inside. When Rick emerged, in his hand was what could only be described as a stick.
Shane took it from Rick and held it up to his face. He twisted it this way and that, trying to glean some meaning from this wholly unremarkable item.
“Harry called this a wand,” Shane said, flicking the piece of wood through the air as though it might emit sparks.
“Oh yeah?” Rick took a closer look and nodded. “I can see that. I guess his father or someone was a magician.”
Was that it? Something as quaint and boring as that? Shane remembered the intensity of Harry's gaze as he'd asked that this simple piece of polished wood be kept safe.
From the darkness, they could hear faint footsteps mere moments before Lori appeared. She stopped when she saw Shane, her gaze flicking between the two of them.
“Rick, I need to talk to you,” she said in a quick rush. Then her eyes bored into Shane and his heart thumped hard inside his chest.
“I'll get out of you two’s hair,” Shane said.
It was only when he was halfway back to his own tent that Shane realized he was still clutching Harry’s wand in a white-knuckled grip.
Thoughts of Harry immediately chased away the storm clouds stirred by Lori as something in his mind clicked.
Inside his tent, Shane turned on a battery-powered lantern to allow a little light. He began digging through his meager belongings until he unearthed a simple oaken jewelry box.
He popped open the box to reveal several ornate pieces of feminine jewelry that he ignored. He pawed through its contents; it only took him a moment to find what he was looking for. Shane held up a silver chain link necklace, on its end a jewel encased in silver that shone as it reflected the light. The pendant was a vibrant emerald that glowed in the same hue of Harry's eyes.
The breath left Harry's lungs as he was thrown unceremoniously to the ground. Headphones blasted loud rock music into his ears, his eyes and mouth were covered, and both his hands and feet were bound.
Harry's heart thundered in his ears, a distant knowing that this was the end on the edge of his consciousness. They had said that they would let them go free. They had said. But what if it was all a lie? What if it was all just empty promises to make sure they'd behave? So they didn't try to run away or revolt.
Harry let out a low moan, trying to reign in his rolling emotions.
Blinding light assaulted his eyes as the blindfold was removed. Then static as the earbuds were yanked from his ears and tape peeled away from his mouth. His glasses were placed skewed over his eyes, but through the lenses he could make out the man from the shed's burly frame. The man he'd deemed Buzzcut.
Some distance away, he could hear Randall receiving similar treatment from Rick.
Harry drew in a shuddering breath. They were letting them go. Thank Merlin, they were letting them go.
Randall didn't sound so appreciative.
“C’mon man,” Randall whined, on his knees with hands and feet bound. “What is this?” He gave a pointless spiel about joining their group and helping them out—the same useless pleas Harry had already tried.
“Randall,” Harry choked out, getting to his knees. Rick and Buzzcut were already walking away. “Just… just let them go.”
They were in what appeared to be some sort of junkyard if the abandoned vehicles and rusted machinery everywhere was anything to go by. Then again, in the current world, almost everything gave off that appearance.
“Hey!” Harry called, before the two could get too far. “What about my wand?”
Rick looked at Buzzcut.
“About that,” Buzzcut began, appearing somewhat sheepish. “I forgot it.”
“You—” Harry didn't know whether to laugh or cry. “You forgot it?”
Buzzcut shrugged. “Sorry. Here, a consolation prize.”
The man unhooked a knife from his waist and threw it into the dirt. Harry just stared, the numbing shock starting to give way to a rising tide of righteous indignation.
Rick and Buzzcut once more turned to walk away.
Randall continued to plead, his voice falling on deaf ears. “--I lost her like you lost people!” Randall cried. “I went to school with Maggie for God's sake!”
Rick and Buzzcut stopped and exchanged looks. Harry perked up. Had Randall actually gotten through to them?
And then Rick and Buzzcut were trekking back, only they didn't look too happy. In fact, they looked downright pissed.
“You went to school with Maggie?” They both asked at nearly the same time. In an instant they were hounding Randall, demanding he answer their question.
Harry held his breath, his eyes flicking between Rick and Buzzcut.
“Yeah,” Randall said, hope coloring his voice. “I-I knew her.”
Buzzcut and Rick did not like that answer. They began to pace, their foreheads creased and fingers twitching.
Harry didn't get it. His mind worked double time, trying to figure out what this Maggie had to do with Randall or with Rick and Buzzcut. All the while, Randall continued to blather.
“I knew who her dad was,” he said. “There is no way I would ever do anything to hurt her or her family. Or you. Or your people!”
Ice began to crawl its way through Harry's stomach. Idiot! Randall had realized where they were being held captive!
“Randall!” Harry cried, but he knew it was far too late. “Stop! Stop talking.” He turned pleading eyes to Rick and Buzzcut, but they weren't even looking at them. They were engaged in hushed conversation, the tightness of their shoulders obvious.
“You bloody idiot,” Harry hissed. Randall just blinked, still unaware of his blunder. “All you had to do was keep your mouth shut and we both could have gotten out of here!”
Could they talk their way out of this? Unlikely. But talking was all they had. But Buzzcut was reaching for his gun and Harry realized that they weren't being given a choice.
Buzzcut was quick. Too quick for Harry to do more than suck in air to scream. The barrel of the gun pointed straight at him, Buzzcut’s finger already on the trigger. Buzzcut’s eyes were hard. Determined.
“Shane, no!”
Rick sprang forward to knock the gun off course. A loud bang rang out. And Randall screamed. There was a thump as Randall fell forward to the ground. Red bloomed from the lower left side of his back. At first a small circle but then it expanded, more and more until it was pouring down his side to stain the hungry dirt a deep crimson.
Harry's vision blurred, only a vague choking sound able to leave his clogged throat.
In the background, he could hear Rick and Shane—not Buzzcut—fighting. Not just screaming, but grappling and coming to blows. It was difficult to walk on his knees so Harry had to crawl like a snake over to Randall, unable to even reach out and comfort his only friend.
Randall looked up at him with squinted eyes, his teeth clenched. “H-Harry,” he managed to gasp. “It… hurts.”
“You're gonna be okay,” Harry said, although he didn't know how that could possibly be the case. First the poor bloke had been stabbed through the leg and now he was shot! Harry would have laughed if the entire situation hadn't been so fucked.
He glanced up just in time to see Shane knock Rick to the ground before attempting to climb on top of him. Rick kicked Shane’s legs from under him and then tried to kick Shane in the face, but Shane blocked it with his forearm.
Mental. These people were mad. They weren't content to just kill outsiders, they were turning against each other as well.
Something glinted in the dirt. The knife. Harry crawled over to it, throwing curses at Shane and Rick and dammit even Nate for placing him in this predicament. Harry’s hands were tied behind his back so he had to flip over and search through the dirt blindly. He grasped the knife by the handle, triumphant, but… now what? He didn't have the dexterity required to cut anything with his hands in that position.
With some effort, Harry was able to bring his arms down enough to be able to be able to step over them. Then, holding the knife downward and getting almost into a fetal position he was able to saw through the bindings on his leg.
A guttural scream split the air; Harry looked up just as Shane threw a massive wrench through a building’s window, the glass shattering like a crash of thunder.
For a moment it gave everyone pause. Then the groans of roamers began leaking from inside the building.
The situation had just gone from bad to worse. Harry's feet were free, but he had no idea what to do with his hands. He tried to hold the knife almost sideways and angle his wrists upward to saw himself free, but he couldn't exert enough force against the rope without the knife moving. He gave up before he accidentally sliced his wrists open and returned to Randall's side.
Randall’s eyes were open and he continued to curse and make pained moans, which was hopefully a good sign.
Harry sawed Randall's legs and hands free, but the man just continued to lay there. From the broken window, a large number of roamers began to pour out. Thankfully, Shane ran away, drawing the attention of the majority of the horde.
“Randall,” Harry said, voice carrying a tinge of desperation. “I need you to get up. I need you to take the knife and cut me free.”
Randall let out a pitiful whimper. “I can't.”
“Randall, yes. Yes you can.” One of the roamers' head turned and Harry's breath stopped short as its milky eyes noticed them, its teeth gnashing as though it could already feel living flesh between its lips. Harry's fingers tightened on the knife, his eyes never leaving the roamer as it broke off from the pack and shambled toward them. “Randall, I don't mean to be a prick but roamers are on their way and if you do not get up right now they're going to make your chest cavity into a kiddy pool.”
That seemed to light a fire under him as Randall used his freed hands to push up off the ground, sweat beading on his forehead. He released a low scream of effort. His arms trembled. And then he crumpled to the ground. Randall closed his eyes and shook his head into the dirt desperately.
“I can't!” he cried. “Oh God, I can't!”
The roamer snarled, close enough now that the scent of Randall's blood sent it into a frenzy.
Harry didn't even think. He charged up to the roamer and evaded its groping swipe. Then, he kicked the roamer as hard as he could in its left calf. The bone didn't break, but it was enough. The roamer stumbled forward and fell on its knees. Harry raised his arms high, the knife positioned downward in his hands, and stabbed the roamer through the crown of its skull. There was a sickening squelch and then the roamer stilled.
It took some effort, but he was able to retrieve his knife from the roamer and watched impassively as it fell on its face.
Harry used his foot to flip the roamer onto its back and dropped down to his knees. Desperate times called for desperate measures. Once more he raised his arms high and drove the knife into the roamers chest. He removed the knife and nodded to himself.
He flipped the knife so he was holding the blade in his hands with the handle sticking down. He lined up the handle as best he could and then thrust it down into the hole he'd stabbed into the corpse. He pushed the handle down as deeply as he dared and then used the exposed blade to begin sawing the bindings on his hands. With the knife lodged between the roamers ribs and flesh, the knife had enough hold to not budge as he worked.
One more roamer was heading his way and Harry focused on freeing his wrists, biting his lip so hard he was sure to draw blood. The ropes snapped free just as the roamer lunged and Harry dodged to the side, narrowly avoiding its swiping arms.
He had to keep the thing’s attention. All it would take was one bite on the prone Randall to seal his fate and Harry was not about to allow that to happen. His eyes flicked down to the still propped up knife.
He let the roamer take one step toward him. Two. And then he rushed forward and this time kicked the roamer in the knee. It kneeled but didn't fall. Harry grunted as he reared up and planted the bottom of his foot into the roamer's chest and launched it. There was a satisfying wet sound as it fell onto its buddy, the glint of the knife visible in its groaning mouth.
Harry walked up to the grasping creature and gave it a final stomp, the knife driving upwards into its brain.
It wasn't pretty work, but he needed that knife, so grimacing, he pried the roamer off the knife and tossed it aside. It gleamed with black blood and viscera and Harry groaned as he used the bottom of his shirt to pluck the knife free.
Harry made his way over to Randall and breathed a sigh of relief to find him still conscious.
“I thought you'd abandon me,” Randall whispered.
Harry let out a little chuckle as he ducked down to help Randall to his feet. “Sorry. You're not getting rid of me that easily.”
It was slow going, but with some effort he was able to drag Randall into a standing position. Although Randall was upright, he had to lean almost all of his bodyweight on Harry's smaller frame.
“C’mon,” Harry grunted. “Let's get the hell out of here.”
Each step was a herculean effort, and after only minutes of trying to find a way through the gated maze they found themselves in, Harry could already feel his meager energy reserves floundering.
They weren't going to make it. It was just a matter of what would take them out first. Shane and Rick, the roamers, or the wound through Randall's body.
“I'm not gonna make it, am I?” Randall asked and a shiver ran down Harry's spine. It was as if Randall were reading his thoughts. Or maybe it was such a forgone conclusion that anyone would have thought it. Either way, it was something Harry couldn't accept.
“Of course you are,” Harry said, trying to inject some conviction into his voice. All around him he could hear the predatory rumbling of the roamers. “We’re getting out of here. I promise.”
Randall said nothing and Harry peeked to make sure he was still okay. Randall’s face was dangerously pale and his lips had taken on a blue tint.
They couldn't run. Randall didn't have the energy, not to mention the fact that he was still actively losing blood. The only option was to hunker down. To treat Randall's wound and only move on once Randall had properly regained his strength.
In the distance was a yellow school bus, its sliding door open as though to welcome them inside. The growling of the roamers was getting louder. Closer.
“We’re hiding in there,” Harry said.
Harry was coasting on adrenaline and the simple wish to protect Randall. His tanks were empty but still he put one foot in front of the other, his teeth clenched as every step was like an uphill battle.
Blessedly, Harry managed to drag the both of them into the bus. Barely holding back a scream as his muscles protested any further movement, Harry got Randall into a seat where Randall lay almost bonelessly.
Harry nearly fell to his knees but caught himself on the seat behind him, watching the rise and fall of Randall’s chest. He checked through the rest of the bus, praying that roamers weren't already aboard. Thankfully there weren't. Harry dragged his feet to the front of the bus so that he could close and lock the sliding door.
He adjusted his glasses and stared at the bus’ console. He tried buttons and levers and his stomach sank with the possibility that the door didn't work at all.
The rapid padding of footsteps made Harry look up and his mouth almost dropped when he spotted Shane making a beeline straight toward them, a mob of roamers on his heels.
Harry frantically began trying every mechanism he could get his hand on, his heart beating a crescendo inside his chest. His hand grabbed a previously hidden lever underneath the steering wheel and the sliding doors groaned as they closed. Right onto Shane.
Shane grunted as the door pinned him against the frame, half of his body inside the bus and half out. Shane clawed at the door, trying to push it open to no avail.
“Let me in!” Shane demanded, his voice boarding on hysteria. “Goddammit, please!”
Harry held onto the lever with all his might, trying to crush Shane to death in the doorjam. Shane let out a bestial scream and used his fingers to grasp where the door was digging into him. The metal of the door groaned.
The roamers were getting nearer. If they managed to drag away Shane, that would be one problem solved.
Shane roared and the metal of the bus grinded. The lever in Harry's hand slipped, just an inch, but it was enough for Shane to slide his entire body inside and fall to the ground right at Harry's feet. But Shane was looking over his shoulders at the approaching roamers.
“Close the door!” Shane cried.
Harry snapped back to reality and slammed the door shut just as the roamers reached the doorway. They pounded on the door, the entire frame of the bus rattling as they piled up outside.
“Lock it,” Shane said, standing to his feet. He was still looking at the door, sneering at the rowdy roamers as they let out moans of desire to get inside.
Harry looked down at the bus console. The last thing he wanted was to press a button that inadvertently opened the doors.
“I don't know how.”
Shane turned that sneer onto him and goosebumps sprung up all along Harry’s body. When Shane told him to move he did so without hesitation and the door gave a hiss of air as Shane pressed something that secured the door.
Harry and Randall were free from one danger, but an even greater threat had gotten inside.
Shane stood up from the driver's seat and turned. His eyebrows rose. Harry was pointing a knife at him, prepared to kill him if need be.
Roamers pounded on the bus and continued to groan, but there was silence inside the bus, the atmosphere heavy.
Randall let out a pitiful cough and Shane’s eyes flicked toward him. There was absolutely no pity or remorse to be seen on his countenance.
“Where did I get him?” Shane asked, as though inquiring about the results of last night's game.
Harry bared his teeth, a simmering of rage boiling low in his gut.
Shane sighed and ran a hand over his head. “Just tell me and I'll let you know whether he'll live or not.”
Fuck. There was no guarantee that Shane would tell him the truth let alone if the man even knew what he was talking about. Still… Harry had to know.
“In the side. I think the bullet went all the way through.”
Instead of answering Shane whistled and Harry’s heart sank.
“Is that bad?” Harry asked.
“Yeah, it is.” Shane gave a slight chuckle. “For him.”
It took everything in Harry not to launch forward and stab Shane in his pompous face. Even at his best Harry knew he was no match for Shane's physical strength. If they were going to get out of this alive, it would have to be through a different method.
“Leave,” Harry said and Shane looked at him as though he were an idiot. “Through the back. There's an emergency exit. The roamers shouldn't have surrounded the bus yet. That had been the plan from the start, right? To just… leave us. Have us fend for ourselves. We can still do that.”
Shane’s face twisted as though he'd tasted something sour. Still, his eyes drifted to the side, seeming to consider it. Harry waited, praying that Shane would conclude that they would die anyway and just take his leave.
But then the look on Shane's face shifted and Harry knew he was a fool to have ever considered otherwise.
He didn't even give Shane a chance to speak. He rushed forward, the knife in his hand poised to strike. Shane's eyes widened, caught off guard, but still he deflected Harry's arm, earning only a shallow cut to the shoulder. Shane grabbed Harry's outstretched hand and twisted painfully, sending the knife clattering to the ground. Shane reached out to grab him and Harry knew from years of fighting his cousin Dudley and his favorite game of Harry hunting that as soon as he was grabbed it was over.
Instincts kicked in and Harry dropped like a rock. He picked up the knife and used his small frame to scurry underneath the seats of the bus, uncaring of the dirt and gunk as he crawled on his elbows to create distance between himself and Shane.
When he emerged halfway up the bus, his entire body shivered and the knife in his hand almost slipped from his slack grip.
In the interim of Harry's escape, Shane hadn't given chase. He stood now with Randall’s limp body in a chokehold and the look on Shane's face made Harry's blood freeze. Randall didn't struggle; Harry wasn't sure if he was still conscious, let alone breathing.
“Drop the knife,” Shane snarled, his forearm bulging around Randall's throat. “Drop it and then kick it toward the front of the bus!”
Harry tried to swallow, but his tongue was suddenly too thick for his mouth. He let the knife drop to the floor and then sent it skidding across the ground as requested.
Shane began walking backward, Randall's limp legs sliding across the floor. What was he doing? Harry had not a clue.
“Let him go,” Harry said, hating how weak his voice sounded.
“Okay.” Shane reached for something underneath the bus’ steering wheel and something in Harry's brain clicked. He took a single step forward, a wave of horror rocking him so hard that the air stuck in his lungs.
The door to the bus hissed. There was a groan of metal as the door retracted. Randall’s eyes fluttered open. And then Shane pushed him into the waiting arms of the clamoring roamers.
Kill the spare.
Harry didn't wait to see what happened next. He rocketed toward the back of the bus, away from the maniac who had just murdered his only friend. He didn't dare glance back. He just twisted the handle to the emergency exit and blasted out of the door.
A single roamer turned and Harry ducked under its grasping arms. He ran, his legs pumping and his thighs burning, but still he ran.
And then there was a thundering of footsteps behind him. Harry’s vision began to blur as tears rose unbidden to his eyes.
They were gaining on him, their breath so close that Harry could almost feel it on the nape of his neck.
A powerful force tackled him from behind and slammed him to the ground, all of the air rushing from Harry’s body. A strong hand flipped him over and Harry's eyes flicked up to the knife raised high to take his life and then over to the man who would be the one to deliver it. Shane's eyes were wide and crazed, his mouth parted as he exhaled with great huffs.
Harry didn't beg for his life. He just glared, praying that if hell existed, when Shane met his end that he would rot there for eternity.
Shane's hand tensed around the knife. His bicep bulged. Then a sound like lightning split the air and Shane froze.
Off to the side, Rick’s gun was raised in the air, the barrel still smoking. He then aimed the gun at Shane.
Shane rolled his neck and worked his jaw. He looked as if he couldn't believe what he was seeing.
“What the hell do you think you're doing?” Shane asked.
“That’s enough, Shane,” Rick said, his voice gravel. “Enough. Drop the knife.”
Shane chuckled but tossed the knife. He stood with his hands raised, a sardonic smile on his face.
Rick didn't take his gun off Shane and to Harry asked, “Are you okay? Can you stand?”
Harry managed to drag himself to his feet. Shane had tackled the ever-loving piss out of him, but aside from some bruising, he was okay.
The sound of roamers was beginning to converge.
“We’re leaving,” Rick said in a tone that brokered no argument. “All of us.”
No one dared disagree.
Fury radiated off Rick in waves. It was a physical thing, like cloying smoke that made it difficult to breathe in the cramped confines of the car. Shane longed to roll down the window, let a little fresh air cool the sweat beading across his brow, but he didn't dare. Not with Rick in a mood like this.
Shane glanced at the backseat through the rear view mirror. Harry was once more restrained, blinded and gagged with music blaring in his ears. Not that it even mattered at this point. That little rat Randall had known Maggie. Known the whole damn family. It was just as likely that anything Randall knew, Harry knew as well.
Shane had made the right call. As always. The tough call. Rick would just have to understand that sometimes things didn't go his way.
Shane dug into his shirt to reveal the emerald pendant that he'd unboxed some days ago. On a whim, he'd decided to start wearing it under his shirt and hadn't taken it off since. Gazing at the jewel now calmed a bit of the turmoil inside his head.
When the SUV crawled to a stop, Shane didn't question it. He just tucked his necklace back into his shirt and followed Rick out of the vehicle.
They'd stopped in the middle of the road, forest on either side of them for miles.
“I saw what you did to Randall,” Rick said and suddenly Shane began to sweat for an entirely different reason.
“He—I—” The words jumbled up and stuck in Shane's throat. Shane hadn't meant Rick to see that. He wiped a hand down his face, trying to reorient himself after Rick's proverbial sucker punch.
“What, am I next?” Rick asked, his eyes hard like steel. “First Otis, then Randall, and me next, huh?”
All Shane did was shake his head, as if the action would keep the idea from ever taking hold. Only, the idea had long since taken purchase. Before Randall. Even before Otis. All the way back to when he'd first seen Rick exit that van at the quarry and Carl and Lori ran to him. The only thing he'd been able to think at that moment was: ‘Aw, shit.’
And now here he stood, having to deny that he'd ever had the desire at all when it was more apt to ask when he didn't have the desire. When he wasn't imagining a world without Rick.
“I asked you a question,” Rick said, stepping into Shane's personal space. “I asked if you were going to do the same to me!”
Shane's silence was answer enough and Rick began to cut a path up and down the asphalt. Rick's face looked as though somehow had mowed down his childhood dog. He ripped at his hair, still pacing. Finally, he stopped and faced Shane fully.
“I can't do this anymore,” he said simply. “I've tried and I've tried to… to give you chance after chance and I—” Rick huffed out a frustrated breath. “You have to leave. Both you and Harry have to leave.”
Shane stared. He tried to give a hangdog smile but couldn't manage it. He scoffed, waiting for the ‘just kidding!’ that didn't come.
“C'mon, man,” Shane said when he at last realized that Rick was serious. Truly serious. “I–I messed up. I messed up killing that kid, is that what you want me to say? Don't do this. You're my… you're my brother.”
“Who do you think is the father of that child in Lori's belly?”
Shane knew the answer Rick wanted him to say, but he also knew the truth.
“This is crazy,” Shane said instead. “You're not thinking straight!”
“Who’s. The. Father?”
Fine. If that was the game they were going to play.
“I am.”
Even knowing it was going to happen didn't let Shane block the punch that followed but he retaliated quickly and tackled Rick in the stomach, trying to drop him to the ground. Rick didn't let him. He braced himself and elbowed Shane in the back of the head. Twice, three times until Shane was forced to back up, only to receive a left hook to the jaw so severe that for several moments the world darkened.
When Shane came to, he was on the ground, Rick was straddling him and pulling him up by the collar.
“That child is mine!” Rick roared, spittle flying into Shane’s face. He thumped Shane hard against the ground before punching him in the face. Pain crawled along Shane's skull, the taste of blood on his tongue. “That child will never know your name!” Rick struck him with the opposite fist, and at last Shane had the good sense to try to buck Rick off of him, but it was already too late.
Rick was a man possessed.
“Lori is mine!” The sound of Rick's fist impacting flesh wrung out. “Carl is mine!” Another. “I trusted you!” Thump. “You were my brother!” Rick roared but the barrage of blows continued until Shane was a bloody mess beneath him, his entire face a web of burning pain.
“I—I’ll go,” Shane managed to mutter, hot tears leaking from the corner of his eyes. One eye was already swelling shut and he had to constantly swallow to avoid choking on his own blood. “I'll leave.”
Rick just stared before giving a single nod.