I searched the entire building and found nothing, so I headed outside, hoping to find Beth. Luckily, she was doing laundry with a few other women.
I had never seen anyone wash clothes by hand before. Watching them work was surprisingly satisfying.
As I walked over, I noticed Carl nearby, staring at a pig in a pen.
The prison housed thirty to forty people. After asking around, I learned that most of them had been here when criminals ran the place. Rick's group had taken it over by killing them.
Most of the survivors had never killed a walker. They avoided fights and ran whenever possible. Talking with them, I learned that many had spent months hiding in a single location, starving and only venturing out when absolutely necessary. Some had sheltered in trees, others beneath buildings, but almost none had ever fought the undead directly.
Everyone here understood the same unspoken rule: never fight unless you have no other choice. Hide instead.
It might look like cowardice, but that was exactly why they were still alive. They knew when to bend rather than break, and there was something worth respecting in that.
The brave and fearless were already six feet underground.
I used to think the apocalypse would belong to soldiers. I was wrong.
The people who truly mattered were farmers, tailors, doctors, blacksmiths, and carpenters. Without them, everything collapsed. A society couldn't survive on fighters alone.
That was why I had only accepted skilled, productive people into the Blood Angel Community. The elderly, children, the disabled, and the chronically ill were burdens on resources that a young settlement simply couldn't afford.
It was also why the community had remained relatively small, around five thousand people. I hadn't wanted to dilute what little we had.
I would have preferred to enforce that policy without exceptions, but people aren't logical. They want to protect their children and care for their aging parents. Enforcing a hard line would have bred resentment quickly.
So I made a compromise.
Each person could vouch for one additional individual, provided that person was healthy, under sixty-five, and neither disabled nor terminally ill.
It worked well enough, though not everyone accepted it. Michonne had opposed the policy openly. Even so, the council approved it, and the law was implemented.
"Is there anything you need, Max?"
Beth's voice pulled me back. The women around her were watching me with quiet curiosity. I'd been so lost in thought that I hadn't noticed I was already standing in front of her, saying nothing.
Well, this is awkward.
I cleared my throat.
"Your father told me to gather elderberries to help bring down the fever. I don't know what they look like, so I was hoping you could help me identify them."
Beth dropped the cloth she was holding and wiped her hands.
"Elderberries? It's been a long time since I picked them with my mother. I hope I still remember what they look like."
She stood and started walking toward the prison.
"Hey...where are you going? I asked what they look like, not for you to lead the way," I called after her.
She kept walking.
"I don't remember exactly, but I'll recognize them when I see them. So I'm coming with you."
Great. Now I have to babysit her.
"It's dangerous out there. Are you sure?"
Beth glanced back, a faint smile tugging at the corner of her lips.
"You're starting to sound like my dad. I've been sneaking through those woods for a while now, and I'm still standing. Worry about yourself, Doctor."
She put particular emphasis on the last word, clearly enjoying it.
I let it go. She clearly didn't need me, and she certainly didn't want to think she did.
"Okay, you're the leader. Lead the way," I replied.
She seemed satisfied with that and quickened her pace toward the armory.
I grabbed my bow and Desert Eagle. Beth emerged a few minutes later with a handmade bow slung across her back and thick leather clothing for protection.
At the gate, she hesitated.
"Wait...we're going alone?"
She looked around as if expecting someone else to appear.
"Yes. Everyone's either busy or out scavenging."
She pressed her lips together but said nothing. The nerves were obvious in her eyes.
"It would be safer to bring someone with more experience fighting walkers."
I didn't respond. Instead, I stepped through the gate and stopped outside.
"Didn't you say you've been sneaking through the woods by yourself? Why are you hesitating now?"
"I'm not hesitating. I just thought it would be better for you, so you don't panic without an adult around."
She walked past me and took the lead.
The moment we reached the treeline, however, she slowed until I caught up.
Not scared, huh.
The deeper we moved into the woods, the harder she tried to hide it and the less successful she became. Her breathing was uneven. Her eyes constantly scanned the trees, expecting something to emerge from the shadows. She held the basket against her chest as though it offered protection.
I stopped and extended my senses, listening for anything out of place. After a moment, I was satisfied.
Almost.
Carl had been following us the entire time. He was crouched behind a tree, watching. The brim of his cowboy hat, along with his scent and footsteps, gave him away immediately.
Brave kid and stupid, too.
Bravery without understanding your limits wasn't courage, it was a quick way to get yourself killed. But that was his father's problem, not mine. I ignored him and kept walking.
I wished I could keep my senses extended indefinitely, but there was a cost. If I tried to process every sound, scent, and movement around me at once, the overload would shut me down instead of sharpening my awareness. The human brain filters out most of what it receives for exactly that reason. It's why you can hold a conversation in a crowded room without going insane.
My ability worked on the same principle.
The difference was that when I reached my limit, the consequences were far worse than a headache.
We moved deeper into the woods. The canopy thickened overhead, reducing the sunlight to scattered slivers.
"Max! Look...over here!"
Beth broke into a run toward a bush heavy with dark berries. She was already picking them before I reached her, her nervousness replaced by something bright and genuine.
I let her work while I watched the perimeter. A few walkers drifted aimlessly in the distance, far enough away not to matter.
My eyes drifted back toward Carl's hiding spot.
The tip of his hat was visible.
Beth's basket was already half full.
Then she lunged for another cluster a few feet away, caught her foot on something, and went down hard.
"Damn it, that hurt," she muttered, grabbing her ankle.
The complaint died in her throat.
Her face went still.
Then she screamed.
I was beside her in seconds.
She was pointing at the ground at what she'd tripped over.
A body.
Half its skull had been blown away.
But the thing that held my attention wasn't the wound.
It wasn't a walker.
Someone had killed this person.
And recently.
The blood hadn't dried yet.