"There's no need to point a gun. Let's talk," I said with a friendly smile, trying to put them at ease.
"Shut up, kid, and answer me. Who are you, and what are you doing here?" Daryl's crossbow remained trained on my head, his eyes fixed on my weapon.
"I'm Max Walker. I came looking for my father and uncle. Andrea told me they're with your group, so I came to find them."
"You're John Walker's son?" Carol asked, lowering her pistol slightly.
"Can you tell me where my father is?" I asked, hope creeping into my voice.
"Sorry… after the farmhouse, they went their separate ways, trying to find you. They didn't stay with us. But I think Rick might know where they went."
"Can you take me to him?" I stepped forward, but Daryl blocked my path, his crossbow still aimed at me.
"Before that, I've got three questions."
"I don't think that's necessary," Carol said.
"I don't think it's smart to bring someone we just met back to camp without asking a few questions," Daryl replied.
Carol studied us...our weapons, my military gear, and the severed pig's head...then gave a small nod.
"How many walkers have you killed?"
I hesitated, weighing whether to tell the truth or lie. Before I could answer, the priest spoke.
"About sixteen walkers."
Carol and Daryl glanced at him, then back at me.
"I don't know the exact number," I said calmly, "but it's over a hundred thousand."
I chose honesty. From their expressions, it wouldn't matter either way.
They exchanged skeptical looks but didn't press further.
"How many people have you killed?" Carol asked the priest.
"I've killed no one with my own hands," he replied without hesitation.
Now it is my turn. Irritation crept in... They were wasting my time... but I answered anyway.
"A few thousand."
"Stop lying and tell me the truth," Daryl said, his voice hard. "I'm not joking."
I met his gaze. "That is the truth. Whether you believe it or not is your choice. Next question… please."
He studied me, as if trying to peel me apart layer by layer.
"Why?" he demanded.
I smiled faintly.
"Because they dared to take what's mine… or stand in my way."
Annoyed, he glanced at Carol. They exchanged a look, then turned back to me.
"Come with us," Daryl said. "But you're not entering our camp with those weapons."
"That's ridiculous. My lord will not—"
I raised a hand, cutting the priest off.
"I agree. Let's go."
Daryl picked up the dead pig, and we headed toward the prison.
We moved quietly, avoiding walkers and keeping out of sight. From the way they navigated, it was clear this was their hunting ground—they knew the safest routes.
"You said you met Andrea. How is she? After her sister's death, she's never been the same."
"She's okay. She came with us."
Daryl and Carol stopped, turning to me.
"I was with the group, but a horde blocked the road, so I left Andrea and the others in the vehicle. Only the priest and I continued on foot."
After hearing my explanation, they resumed walking.
"Sorry about that. That was us," Carol said, scanning the woods.
"Care to explain?" I asked.
"It's safer this way. Before the rain, we used a car siren to draw walkers onto the road so we could hunt in the forest without dealing with too many. And when it rains, they don't respond to sound as much, which makes things easier."
Daryl shot her a quick glance, a silent warning not to say too much.
"I see. It's a good plan. What do you do if it doesn't rain for a month?"
"We try not to get killed," Daryl replied before Carol could answer.
"Tell me, kid...why does this priest call you 'Lord'?"
"Because my lord is the savior of this world, the one who—"
I cut him off at mid-sentence.
"He just likes calling me that. Is there a problem?"
"No problem. I've seen a lot of weird crap. This isn't even close," Daryl said.
Curious, I pressed further. "What kind of weird things?"
"Why do you want to know?"
"Just curiosity," I replied.
"A few months ago, I met a guy who called himself a king. There were also people who called themselves 'Purists.'"
"Purists… why?"
"They think they're some kind of pure race. They believe the outbreak happened because of other races. Really, they're just a bunch of redneck idiot clinging to old-world nonsense."
"You mean something like the KKK?"
Daryl nodded. "Yeah, something like that. There's also another group calling themselves the Black Panthers."
"And who are they?"
This time, Carol answered. "From what we know, they're a group black extremist who think it's their time to rise."
I let out a small laugh.
"What about Asians? Any groups like that?"
"I don't know, but there probably are. There are racist people everywhere," she said with a faint, uneasy laugh.
"Humans really are united in one thing... hating each other for their differences, even in a disaster," the priest said, dissatisfaction etched across his face.
"Yeah… sounds about right," Carol agreed.
As we walked, I suddenly stopped, scanning the forest.
Sensing it, the others halted as well.
"Is something wrong?" Daryl asked.
"Get down," I said quietly.
Without question, they crouched, taking cover behind the bushes. All eyes followed my gaze.
Moments later, the sound reached...barking.
"ARF!"
"ARF!"
"ARF!"
A pack of dogs burst through the forest, their noise cutting through the rain.
"There are so many… in this weather?" Carol said, concern in her voice.
Even Daryl looked uneasy.
"Those dogs aren't from this area," he said.
"What do you mean?" Carol asked.
"It means they've taken over this territory. The original pack is probably dead. These ones are claiming it now."
Carol frowned. "Does that mean more packs will come? Fighting over territory?"
"From the look of it, yeah," Daryl replied.
"Damn. We won't be hunting here for a while. Who the hell wiped out the original pack?"
I looked at my stomach and stayed silent.
So did the priest.
Without another word, we backed away and continued.