The market squats were bustling with people. From a distance, it sounded like a low, constant murmur, voices bargaining, metal clinking, someone coughing, or inspecting an item. I looked at the stalls closest to the entry gate. These were the first ones a person saw when entering the Common Ground, so vendors were charged hefty daily fees to set up there. Those who couldn't afford the cost were forced to sell or trade their goods at the far end of the market.
The vendors sold almost everything that still mattered. Pallets overflowed with canned food, mostly dog food, but food nonetheless. Some stalls even offered homemade jarred goods, clearly marked with warnings. There were bottles of water and dried meat hanging from hooks. Other stalls displayed Ziplock bags of seeds, carefully labeled and heavily guarded. The prices were steep: four credits, or the equivalent of four meals, for just twenty seeds.
As we passed, my eyes landed on a medical supplies stall. It wasn't a regular booth, it looked more like a small house crammed with medical equipment. Bandages, antibiotics, and painkillers lined the shelves. Some items were expired, discounted accordingly. Two armed men guarded the place as if it were a national treasure. Inside were two doctors and five nurses, the Common Ground medical team. They ran the stall and were willing to treat anyone, but only in exchange for credits.
Nearby were numerous clothing stalls selling everything from boots with mismatched laces to leather jackets reinforced with duct tape and gloves. Another vendor offered improvised armor: hockey pads, motorcycle helmets, and chest plates hammered out of street signs. None of it interested me, so I moved on.
As we continued, we came across a large crowd gathered in one area.
"Get the hell out of here if you're just going to stare!" a woman's voice rang out as she dispersed the onlookers.
I pulled Clementine in the opposite direction. She looked at me, confusion flickering into curiosity.
"I want to see what's going on over there."
Before I could respond, she suddenly grabbed my hand and dragged me toward the area.
Several beautiful women stood there, barely wearing anything despite the cold. The only thing keeping them from freezing was a nearby burn barrel. They called out seductively to passing men, their voices slipping through the crowd like hooks. Laughter followed—low, practiced, inviting—promises wrapped in honeyed tones. A sway of hips, a lingering glance, fingers tapping a tabletop in a rhythm meant to be noticed.
"Can you do two credits for today? It's my birthday," a young man asked.
"Okay, birthday boy. Come inside," one of the women replied, leading him into a nearby tent, followed by another.
That's when Clementine realized what was happening. She immediately slapped her hands over my eyes, her face burning red.
"Nope. We're leaving. And don't even think about looking," she said firmly.
One of the women, still flirting with customers, spotted me and shouted, "Are you the famous Max Walker?" She called out, already stepping closer.
"Back off, you bitch!," Clementine snapped angrily, shocking me. She rarely cursed—most of the time, she even stopped me from swearing. Hearing her curse now, I could tell it wasn't embarrassment anymore. She was angry.
She dragged me away, glaring at me.
"Hey, don't look at me like that. I didn't want to go there—you were the one who dragged me," I muttered.
"You're all the same," she said, still tugging me along. "It's gross."
I honestly had no idea what I'd done wrong.
We finally stopped at another stall where I could sell fur and meat. I turned to her.
"I'm going to sell the fur and meat here. Why don't you look for those cooking books you wanted? I'll meet you at the weapons shop."
She nodded and let go of my hand.
"Okay. I'll meet you there… but I don't have anything to trade for them."
I pulled out my stamp and placed it in her hand.
"Use this. There's enough credit for whatever you want."
She smiled, leaned in, and gave me a kiss.
"Never go near there."
I nodded, smiling back, and waved as she headed off to search for her books.
After selling the fur and meat, which earned me about 100 credits, I walked toward the weapons shop. It was located on the left side of the corner. People weren't allowed to sell weapons directly, but they could sell them to Common Ground for slightly less than market value. Those same weapons were then resold at a higher price. One thing was certain, if a weapon existed, you could find it inside that shop.
As I passed the medical store, someone caught my eye. A woman with long, thick black dreadlocks held back by a headband and missing one ear. Her presence was quiet but powerful. I knew her instantly.
Michonne.
She was locked in an argument with a nurse.
"Listen, I don't have the credits you're asking for. Here's everything I have. Take it and fix her," Michonne said as she placed her backpack on the table.
Beside her stood another woman. Her left hand had been cut off, and both of her feet were cuffed. The injuries looked a few weeks old and poorly treated. I wondered if the wounds had even been closed properly. Looking closer, I realized who it was.
Andrea.
"What is wrong with you people?" Andrea snapped. "First, you cuff my feet before I can even enter, and now you won't treat me because we don't have credits?"
She was shaking with anger.
"You can go over there and exchange your supplies for credits," the nurse said, pointing in a direction.
They looked. A long line stretched across the market, people waiting, tired, and desperate.
"That'll take hours," Michonne said. "You can't just take the supplies and treat her?"
"I can't," the nurse replied. "Those are the rules. I'm sorry."
Michonne's jaw tightened. Then her eyes found me.
"Hey, boy, do you want anyth—"
She stopped midway, suddenly cautious after noticing I had weapons inside Common Ground and wasn't wearing a muzzle. She quickly looked away, not wanting trouble.
The nurse turned to me, suddenly eager.
"Sir, can I help you with something?"
"Yes," I said with a smile. "If you don't mind, could you take their supplies and treat her?"
The nurse blinked, then smiled.
"Of course, sir."
The nurses began taking supplies from the backpack.
Michonne and Andrea just stared, confused and stunned. Andrea opened her mouth to say something, but I turned and walked away before either of them could speak. Their confusion only deepened as I walked off.
I hesitated before helping them, but I lost nothing by doing it. Maybe I even gained some favor. It's better to make a friend than an enemy. With that thought, I headed toward the weapons shop.