The campfire crackled in the center of the quarry camp. Rick sat with Lori on one side and Carl pressed against his other.
Shane stood across the fire. The rest of the camp had settled into an uneasy quiet.
"There's something else," Rick said, breaking the silence. "Before I came here... I met Morgan and his family. They're holed up in a farmhouse off Highway 85."
The group's attention shifted toward him. Carol, sitting across the fire with her daughter Sophia, looked up. "They're alive?"
"Last I saw them, yeah." Rick rubbed his face. "I promised I'd come back."
Morales looked up from where he sat with his own family. "Then we gotta go get them. We can't leave people stranded, not when we know where they are."
"I agree," Carol said quietly. "We can't just abandon them. We'd want someone to come for us too."
"But we can't all go," Morales said. "Someone needs to stay here and keep the camp secure." He stood, brushing dirt from his jeans. "I'll take one vehicle tomorrow morning. Follow 85 to the farmhouse and bring them back."
A few people nodded. Dale, the old man who seemed to have appointed himself the camp's moral compass, spoke up from his perch on top of the RV. "That's the right thing to do."
Rick waited for the murmurs of agreement to die down. "There's one more thing. I need to go back to Atlanta."
The camp went silent.
"My gun bag's still there," he continued before anyone could object. "Next to the tank where I got trapped. It's got weapons, ammo, and, most importantly, a walkie-talkie. The only way to contact Morgan and coordinate the pickup."
"We can manage without—" someone started.
"There's also Merle," Rick cut in. "I left him handcuffed on a rooftop. And Lucien... He's still in the city somewhere. I can't leave them there. Merle's an asshole, but I'm the one who cuffed him. And Lucien... That kid saved my life. I can't abandon him."
The fire popped, sending sparks spiraling into the dark.
"I'll go with you." Glenn stood up, his hands shoved in his pockets. "I know the city. You'll need someone who can navigate."
"Glenn, you don't have to—" Rick started.
"Yeah, I do. I'm not gonna sit here while a kid's lost in that city."
T-Dog had been sitting apart from the group. Now he stood too. "I'm coming."
Everyone looked at him.
"What happened to Merle... That was on me. I had the key. But I dropped it. If he's dead because of that..." He shook his head. "I have to at least try."
The plan settled into place. Rick, Glenn, and T-Dog would leave at first light, heading back into the city none of them wanted to see again.
---
The next morning came cold, dawn breaking over the quarry. Morales was already loading supplies into one of the vehicles when the sound of footsteps crunching through the woods made everyone turn.
Daryl emerged from the tree line, a crossbow slung over his shoulder and a string of squirrels hanging from his belt. His face was set in its usual scowl, made worse by whatever he'd encountered in the forest.
"Goddamn walkers," he muttered, dumping the squirrels on the ground near the fire pit. "I spent all night tracking a deer, finally got a shot, and the bastards got to it first. Wasted my time."
He looked around the camp, his eyes scanning for a familiar face. "Merle! Get your ass out here!"
No answer.
"Merle! I got squirrels! You gonna help me cook these or what?"
Still nothing.
His expression shifted, irritation giving way to something harder. He started walking through the camp, checking tents, looking between vehicles. "Merle! This ain't funny!"
Shane stepped forward. "Daryl—"
"Where is he?" Daryl's eyes were sharp. "Where's my brother?"
The camp had gone quiet again. Rick moved to stand beside Shane, and Daryl's attention locked onto him.
"Where the fuck is Merle?"
"He's not here," Shane said, stepping forward.
Daryl turned to look at him. "What d'you mean he's not here? Where the hell is he?"
Shane opened his mouth.
"We left him in Atlanta on a rooftop," Rick said, moving to stand beside Shane. "He was handcuffed to a pipe."
For a moment, Daryl just stared at him. Then his face twisted into something ugly.
"Say that again."
"Your brother was a danger to the group," Rick said, keeping his voice level. "He was high, waving a gun around, threatening people. I had to restrain him."
"And then you left him there." Daryl's hands were clenching and unclenching. "You left him chained up like a dog in a city full of the dead."
"It wasn't supposed to—"
"You left him!"
The scream tore out of Daryl's throat at the same moment he moved. His hunting knife was out and slashing toward Rick's face before anyone could react.
Shane tackled him from the side. They hit the ground, Daryl twisting like a wildcat. Rick dove in to help, catching one flailing arm while Shane pinned the other.
"Let me go!" Daryl was thrashing. "I'll kill you! I'll kill all of you motherfuckers!"
"Calm down!" Shane grunted, taking an elbow to the ribs.
"Calm down?! You left my brother to die! Fuck you! Get off me!"
It took both of them plus Morales to keep Daryl pinned long enough for him to stop struggling. When he finally went still, he was breathing hard, dirt smeared across his face.
"He's my brother," Daryl said quietly. "He's all I got."
"I know," Rick said. "And we're going back for him."
Daryl twisted his head to look at him. "When?"
"Right now."
Some of the fight drained out of Daryl. Not all of it, but enough that Rick and Shane could ease off slightly.
T-Dog stepped forward. "It wasn't Rick's fault. It was mine. I had the key to the handcuffs and I dropped it."
Daryl's head snapped toward him. "Then pick it the fuck up!"
"I couldn't. It fell down a storm drain. I tried, man, I swear I tried to get it, but—"
"You tried." Daryl's laugh was ugly. "Oh, well that makes it all better. You tried. Merle's probably dead, but you fucking tried!"
He surged against Rick, Morales and Shane's hold, nearly breaking free before they slammed him back down.
"I chained the roof access door before we left," T-Dog added desperately. "Walkers couldn't get through. He had a chance..."
"A chance?! A chance at what? Dying of thirst? Starving? You call that a fucking chance?!"
"We're going back," Rick said again. "We'll find him."
Daryl looked at him for a long moment. "I'm coming."
"Daryl—"
"I'm coming," he repeated. "Or I go alone and take every weapon in this camp with me. Your choice."
Rick and Shane exchanged a glance. Shane shrugged slightly.
"Fine," Rick said. "Get your gear. We leave in ten."
---
The drive back to Atlanta was tense and quiet.
Glenn navigated from the passenger seat, directing Rick through back roads and side streets. T-Dog sat in the back with Daryl, both of them staring out their respective windows. The silence was broken only by Glenn's occasional directions and the rumble of the engine.
When they finally pulled up outside the department store, the street was empty. A few walkers shambled in the distance, but nothing like the horde from before.
"They dispersed," Glenn said. "Probably following noise somewhere else in the city."
"Lucky us," Daryl muttered, already checking his crossbow.
They moved through the building, weapons up, eyes scanning every shadow. The stairwell leading to the roof was dark.
T-Dog went first, bolt cutters in hand. The chain he'd wrapped around the door was still there.
But something was wrong.
The lower half of a walker was wedged in the doorway. Everything above the waist was gone, torn away, leaving intestines and shredded meat hanging from the door frame.
"Jesus," Glenn breathed.
Daryl shoved past him and grabbed the chain. "Open it."
T-Dog's hands were shaking as he positioned the bolt cutters. The chain snapped with a loud crack that echoed through the stairwell.
Daryl kicked the door open and burst through onto the rooftop, his crossbow up and ready.
The rooftop was empty.
Bright sunlight poured down, illuminating the scattered debris and the metal pipe jutting up from the framework near the edge.
He ran to it, the others following close behind.
The pipe was still there. The handcuffs were still there, one cuff locked around the pipe, the other hanging open.
But Merle was gone.
What was there instead made everyone stop dead. A pool of dried blood, dark and wide, staining the rooftop surface. Beside it lay a hacksaw.
And the handcuffs, Rick crouched down for a closer look, weren't intact. There was a jagged gap in one cuff, like something had hacked through the metal.
"No," T-Dog whispered. His legs gave out and he dropped to his knees. "Oh God, no."
Daryl was standing frozen, staring at the blood. His crossbow hung loose in his hands.
"He cut it off. He cut off his own hand to get free..."
Rick examined the cuff more carefully. The break was rough and uneven. It had not been sawed through. It had been chopped.
"I don't think so," he said slowly.
Daryl's head snapped around. "What?"
"Look at the handcuffs." Rick pointed to the jagged gap. "This wasn't done with a hacksaw. Something hit it. Like an axe or something similar."
"Someone cut the cuffs."
Daryl crouched beside the bloodstain and touched it with his fingertips. He brought them to his nose, sniffing. "Smells like medicine. Someone treated his wound."
"Who?" Glenn looked around the empty rooftop. "Who would help Merle Dixon?"
Rick stood, his eyes scanning the rooftop, looking for other signs.
Near the fire escape, he found boot prints in the dried blood. "Someone saved him."
Daryl was still staring at the bloodstain. "Then where the hell is he now?"
---
---
So, here's the conclusion.
Most people were in favor of me dropping it, because I said I would reduce the chapters of my other projects. I thought about it, and if I can still maintain the release rate, I could continue posting chapters for TWD. I'm also kind of interested in the story myself.
The plan is 1ch/day. At the same time, I would accumulate more chapters for members.
If you only care about release speed, I suggest going to wtrlab. Why? Because in the picture, translators #1 and #2 are very likely copying from wtrlab, only changing names occasionally. #3 is directly from wtrlab. To check whether they actually translated it themselves using chatgpt, I tried translating the same chapter several times. The results were always different. That's why I can say with 99% certainty that #1 and #2 are copying from wtrlab, because if they had used chatgpt on their own, the results would not be nearly 100% identical.
If you like my version, some support would be appreciated, so I know whether I should keep going!