Daryl stared at Magnus Vane for several seconds before glancing toward Merle.
When his older brother finally gave a reluctant nod, Daryl tightened his grip on the crossbow and climbed back into the SUV without another argument.
He was still furious about the stolen motorcycles, chewing aggressively on a strip of meat from the rabbit he had hunted that morning as though it had personally offended him.
Magnus exchanged a brief look with Merle before getting into the passenger seat.
Magnus understood exactly what the missing motorcycles represented.
This was the first real problem he had to solve as the leader of his small group, and failing would cost him more than two vehicles.
Merle and Daryl had followed him because he had proven useful, capable, and willing to stand beside them when things went bad.
If he couldn’t handle something this basic, eventually both brothers would start wondering why they should listen to him at all.
Merle was difficult enough on a good day, and Daryl was nobody’s obedient follower either.
Magnus had no intention of demanding loyalty simply because he had rescued Merle from the rooftop.
Respect had to be maintained through action, especially with men like the Dixon brothers.
He would find the motorcycles—or whoever had taken them.
“Let’s move,” Magnus said.
“Next stop, the farm.”
Andrea started the SUV, and the vehicle rolled away in a cloud of dust.
Warm morning sunlight spread across the open fields surrounding the Greene farm.
Maggie Greene leaned low over her horse as she rode toward the farmhouse, her expression tense and her eyes repeatedly shifting toward the road behind her.
The sight of the familiar white house ahead seemed to loosen something in her chest.
Before the horse had even fully stopped, she was already shouting.
“Dad!
Dad!”
The farmhouse door opened within seconds.
Hershel Greene stepped outside first, his white hair bright beneath the morning sun, followed closely by Patricia and Otis.
Beth appeared at an upstairs window, while Jimmy hurried toward the house from farther across the property after hearing Maggie’s voice.
Whatever disagreements existed among them, a possible threat brought everyone together immediately.
“What happened?” Hershel asked as he hurried toward his daughter.
Maggie swung down from the saddle and pulled a rifle from its leather scabbard.
“There’s a vehicle coming straight toward the farm.” She moved closer to her father, keeping the rifle ready while the others looked toward the dirt road.
Living so far from Atlanta had spared the Greene family much of the chaos outside, which only made unfamiliar visitors more unsettling.
A silver-gray SUV appeared beyond the fields moments later, throwing dust behind it as it approached the farmhouse.
Hershel narrowed his eyes while Maggie, Otis, and Jimmy raised their weapons.
The SUV slowed as it reached the yard and finally stopped in front of the house.
Nobody lowered their gun.
The passenger door opened.
Magnus stepped out first.
At roughly six-foot-three, he was tall even by American standards, with black hair, brown eyes, and a lean frame made noticeably more powerful by his recent Strength upgrades.
His blood-marked combat uniform did little to make him look friendly, and the massive Horse-Bone Sledgehammer in his hand made the situation considerably worse.
Hershel’s expression immediately hardened.
Then Merle and Daryl climbed out.
That did not improve matters.
Daryl carried his crossbow, while Merle looked exactly like the kind of man Hershel would have preferred never to see walking toward his house.
When Andrea and Amy emerged from the SUV afterward, however, some of the tension left Hershel’s face.
A group traveling with two women—one of them young and clearly frightened by the armed reception—looked slightly less like a raiding party.
“Keep your guns down unless they give us a reason,” Hershel told the others quietly.
He pushed Maggie’s rifle barrel lower before stepping forward himself.
“This is my property.
What do you want?”
Magnus almost smiled at the directness.
At least the old man wasn’t wasting time.
“My name’s Magnus Vane,” he said, gesturing to the others one at a time.
“Merle Dixon, Daryl Dixon, Andrea Harrison, and Amy Harrison.” Magnus intentionally introduced everyone before making any request.
They had arrived on private property without warning, and starting the conversation with a threat would accomplish nothing.
“We need somewhere to stay for a while,” Magnus continued, pointing toward an open stretch of ground near the farmhouse.
“We can camp over there.
We’ll provide our own security and help protect the farm.”
Hershel’s answer came almost immediately.
“No.”
Magnus had expected that.
He raised both hands before the older man could continue.
“I’m not asking you to decide right this second.
Let’s sit down and talk first.” His eyes moved briefly toward Maggie’s rifle and then back to Hershel.
“If we wanted to take your farm by force, we wouldn’t be standing in the open asking permission.”
Hershel’s expression turned colder.
For several seconds, he looked as though he wanted to order them off the property immediately.
Instead, age and caution won out over pride.
Five armed strangers were standing in front of him, and three of them clearly knew how to fight.
Starting a confrontation simply because he disliked Magnus’s wording would be foolish.
“Fine,” Hershel finally said.
“We’ll talk inside.”
He looked toward the weapons.
“But they stay out here.”
Hershel gave Otis a subtle nod.
Otis stepped toward Daryl and Merle, reaching for their weapons.
Both brothers reacted instantly.
Daryl pulled his crossbow back, while Merle knocked Otis’s hand away with the stock of his rifle hard enough to make the heavyset man stumble.
“Hey.”
Magnus’s voice stopped them.
Daryl looked toward him, jaw tight.
Magnus didn’t need to repeat himself.
After a long second, Daryl reluctantly handed over his crossbow, bolts, and knife.
Merle stared at Otis with barely concealed hostility before finally surrendering his rifle as well.
His chest rose and fell heavily, and Magnus could tell how close the older Dixon was to losing his temper.
First his motorcycle disappeared.
Now strangers were taking his guns.
For Merle, that combination was almost designed to start a fight.
Magnus stepped beside him and lowered his voice.
“Give me a little time.
I haven’t forgotten the bikes, and I’m not letting whoever stole them walk away with them.” He gave Merle a light pat between the shoulders.
“Right now, we need a base.
Keep it together until I handle this.”
Merle’s eyes remained fixed on the Greene family for another moment.
Then he spat into the dirt and followed Magnus inside.
A short time later, both groups were seated in the farmhouse.
Small glasses of warm milk had been placed in front of the visitors, a simple luxury that felt almost unbelievable after several days of canned food and bottled water.
Andrea and Amy exchanged polite smiles with Maggie before slowly drinking theirs.
Daryl and Merle said nothing, having already emptied their glasses almost immediately.
Hershel sat across from Magnus with his hands resting together.
“So, Mr.
Vane,” he said stiffly.
“You wanted to talk.
Talk.”
Magnus set his glass down.
“Fine.
I’ll get straight to it.”
His eyes moved around the room.
Hershel’s household was small: his daughters Maggie and Beth, Otis and Patricia, and Jimmy.
Compared with the quarry camp, the farm had remarkably few people, which explained why its food and supplies still seemed plentiful.
They had land, livestock, water, and distance from the city.
They also had almost no real defenses.
“You don’t leave the farm much,” Magnus began, “but I’m assuming you know how bad things are outside.”
Hershel’s expression remained guarded.
“Walkers are everywhere,” Magnus continued.
“They attack anything alive, and they don’t stop because somebody begs or because they recognize a familiar face.
I’ve watched them rip people apart in the street.
Whatever they used to be, that’s what they are now.”
Beth visibly stiffened.
Maggie instinctively moved closer to her younger sister.
Hershel’s face hardened.
“They’re sick.”
Magnus looked directly at him.
There it was.
“They are sick people,” Hershel repeated.
“Not monsters.”
Magnus leaned back slightly in his chair.
He had known Hershel would believe this, but actually hearing it was another matter.
Life on the farm had isolated the old man from the worst of what had happened in Atlanta, and he was still interpreting the outbreak through the rules of the old world.
Magnus raised an eyebrow.
“Then answer me something.”
Hershel said nothing.
“If one of them bit you and you turned,” Magnus said evenly, “do you honestly think you’d recognize Maggie afterward?
Do you think being her father would stop you from tearing into her if she stood close enough?”
Maggie’s face went pale.
Beth pressed closer against her.
Hershel abruptly stood.
“If you came into my home just to frighten my family,” he said, his voice sharp with anger, “then you can leave.”
[Goal Tracker]