Lucien kept his face neutral, nodding slightly but saying nothing.
This hadn't happened in the show. In the original timeline, the group had been hit hard by the walker attack and didn't leave the quarry until the next day. But because of his interference, they'd packed up and left the same afternoon.
One small change in timing, and now they were dealing with a lone survivor who definitely hadn't been in the script.
He settled back against the RV's window, watching the scene play out in the fading light.
Rick and Shane had positioned themselves on either side of the kid. It wasn't obvious unless you knew what to look for, but they'd boxed him in.
The teenager called himself Martin. His face was streaked with what might have been tears or sweat, and he was putting on one hell of a performance.
Lucien had done his share of lying to survive. He recognized the tells.
Martin's voice cracked at all the right moments. His hands shook when he described the attack. His eyes went distant and haunted when he talked about his "friends" dying. Every beat was perfect.
But something was off.
When he described watching people get torn apart by walkers, his fear looked real enough. Underneath it, though, there was nothing.
Maybe Lucien was reading too much into it. Trauma did strange things to people. Maybe Martin was still in shock, running on autopilot while his mind tried to process what he had seen.
Or maybe he was a very good liar who cared more about saving his own skin than mourning the dead.
The interrogation continued. Rick kept his voice gentle and almost sympathetic, while Shane played the harder role. He was skeptical, demanded details, and pushed for specifics that might trip up a liar.
"So you were out looking for supplies," Rick said. "How far from your camp?"
"Maybe... maybe two miles? Three?" Martin's answer came quick but uncertain. "We'd been walking for a while."
"We?" Shane jumped on it. "How many people with you?"
"Two others. Marcus and... and Jenny." Martin's voice caught. "They wanted to find medicine. Jenny's little brother was sick, and Marcus thought maybe we could find a pharmacy that hadn't been looted yet."
The details were good. Names, motivations, specific enough to sound real without being so detailed it felt rehearsed.
Lucien frowned. Either this kid was telling the truth, or he'd had time to prepare his story. And if he'd had time to prepare...
"And you just happened to find a police car?" Shane's tone made it clear what he thought of that coincidence.
"It was in a ditch, off the side of the road. Hidden by brush." Martin looked between them earnestly. "We almost missed it. Marcus saw the bumper reflecting sunlight and we went to check."
"Uh-huh." Shane crossed his arms. "And it was just sitting there, full of guns? Nobody else had found it?"
"The officer was still inside." Martin's voice dropped. "He'd... the walker was still buckled in the driver's seat. We had to..." He swallowed. "We had to kill it to get the weapons out."
Rick and Shane exchanged a look.
"How'd you kill it?" Shane asked.
"A crowbar. Marcus had one in his pack." Martin touched his temple. "Right here. It took three tries."
"So you got the guns," Rick continued. "Why didn't you go straight back to camp? If your people were under-armed and vulnerable—"
"We were going to! But Jenny wanted to check one more building. She said as long as we were out here, we should maximize the trip. And I thought... I thought we had time. The camp had lookouts. We'd set up barriers. I thought we were safe for a few more hours."
Martin rubbed his eyes, smearing dirt across his face.
"By the time we got back, it was already over. The barriers were knocked down. There was blood everywhere. Some of the tents were on fire. And the walkers..." He shuddered. "So many walkers."
"Where were Marcus and Jenny when this happened?" Rick's voice stayed gentle, but his eyes were sharp.
"They went looking for their families. They ran into the camp screaming names." Martin's voice went flat. "I tried to stop them, but they wouldn't listen. Then the walkers came after them, and I… I ran."
The admission hung in the air.
"I ran," Martin repeated more quietly. "I'm a coward. I left them. I left everyone."
It was a smart move, Lucien had to admit. Confessing to cowardice made him seem more honest. People lied to make themselves look better, not worse. By admitting he'd abandoned his friends, Martin made the rest of his story more believable.
Unless, of course, that's exactly what he was counting on.
"I know you don't trust me. I wouldn't trust me either. But I'm telling you the truth."
He shrugged off his backpack, and held it out toward Rick and Shane.
"You can search me. Search my bag. Take everything I have. I just... I just don't want to die alone out here."
Shane's hand went to his sidearm. But Martin's hands were already up, his body language screaming non-threatening.
"It's okay," Rick said, though whether he was talking to Shane or Martin wasn't clear. "Go ahead. Open it."
Martin knelt down and slowly unzipped the backpack, making sure both men could see his hands the entire time.
The contents spilled out beneath the gas station's flickering lights.
Two pistols came first, one that looked like a Glock and the other a revolver. There was a well-maintained pump-action shotgun. There was also an AR-15, or something very close to it.
Then came the ammunition. Boxes of it. More rounds than any civilian should realistically have.
The mood shifted immediately.
Shane's entire body tensed, his hand hovering near his weapon. Rick stepped forward.
"Where'd you get all this?" Shane's voice had lost any pretense of friendliness.
"I told you! The police car!" Martin backed up a step, hands still raised. "I swear, that's where we found them!"
"A patrol car doesn't carry this much hardware," Shane said flatly. "This is a police station's worth of gear."
"The trunk was full of it! I don't know why, maybe the officer was transporting it when everything went bad. I'm telling the truth!"
Rick crouched down, examining the weapons.
"These are police issue," he said after a moment. "County stock. Serial numbers are filed off some of them, but the rest check out."
"I know how this looks. I know you think I'm lying, or dangerous. But those guns? That ammo? It's all yours. Take it. I don't even know how to use most of them properly."
Martin pushed the backpack toward Rick.
"Just let me come with you. Please. I'll do whatever you need. I'll take any job, any watch shift. If you want, I'll sleep outside. Just don't leave me out here alone."
The kid was crying now. His whole body was shaking.
Rick and Shane stepped away. The debate didn't last long, maybe thirty seconds. Shane did most of the talking. Rick listened, then shook his head, then made a gesture that looked like "we don't have a choice."
When they turned back, Rick's face had softened slightly.
"Alright, you can come with us for now."
Martin's relief looked like it might knock him over. "Thank you. God, thank you—"
"But," Shane cut in, "you step one foot out of line, give us any reason to think you're a threat, and you're gone. Understood?"
"Yes. Yes. I understand."
"And we're searching you thoroughly."
"Of course. Whatever you need."
Shane went through Martin's pockets, checked his boots, and ran his hands along his jacket lining looking for hidden weapons or contraband. Rick collected the guns from the backpack, checking chambers and safeties.
Martin stood through it all with his hands on top of his head.
Something about this whole situation felt wrong, but Lucien couldn't put his finger on what. The story had holes, but not obvious ones. Martin's behavior was suspicious, but trauma did weird things to people. The weapons were a huge red flag, but they'd also just been handed a massive advantage.
Maybe he was being paranoid. Or maybe his instincts were right, and they'd just invited a snake into the camp.
Rick gestured toward the RV. "You can bunk in there for tonight. We'll figure out arrangements tomorrow."
"Thank you," Martin said again. "Thank you so much. You won't regret this."
He climbed into the RV, still murmuring his thanks, and took a seat near the front where Rick had assigned him.
The group settled in for the night. Dinner was cold and unremarkable, consisting of canned food and stale crackers. Watch assignments were made, with Dale taking the first shift, followed by Glenn and then Daryl. Martin was excluded. His injury provided a convenient excuse to keep him away from weapons and to limit his freedom of movement overnight.
The kids were already asleep, worn out by the day's travel. Carl was curled up against Lori, Sophia tucked beneath Carol's arm, and Duane sprawled across a bench seat.
Lucien lay in the back with a blanket pulled up to his chin. His eyes were closed, but his mind refused to slow.
He could hear the adults speaking in low voices. Weapons clinked softly as they were cleaned and checked. Every so often, footsteps scraped past the RV as someone made their patrol.
Hours passed. The camp quieted. Even the adults' conversation died down as exhaustion took over.
Lucien drifted in and out of a light doze. His subconscious kept nagging at him, insisting that something was wrong, but he could not identify what.
Then he heard movement from the front of the RV.
His eyes opened.
A window slid open, probably the one on the driver's side.
"Sorry, I need to use the bathroom."
"Oh, Martin." Glenn's voice came from outside. "Yeah, sure. Be careful out there."
Footsteps followed. Martin was moving toward the door.
"Hold up." A wary voice suddenly rang out.
It was Daryl.
Martin stopped. "I just need to—"
"The RV's got a toilet. It's right there in the back. So why the hell you need to go wandering off in the dark?"