The next four months blurred into one long, cold road.
The convoy stayed to the backroads, weaving through farmland and woods, avoiding highways whenever they could.
Every time they tried to cut south, they ran into another horde. Thousands of walkers clogging whole towns, rivers of dead spilling across the asphalt.
They learned quick, when the road was blocked, they turned back. No delays, they had lost too many people.
Again and again.
The weather kept getting colder. Frost gathered on the windshields in the mornings, and the breath of the living hung thick in the air.
Fires became precious, blankets even more so. The nights stretched longer as the days passed, the cold made the nights unbearable.
The food from Crook's market ran out before the halfway through the second month.
After that, survival came down to what Joe and Daryl could hunt, and what little game hadn't already been stripped from the woods. Squirrels, rabbits, the occasional deer.
Scavenging filled the rest, cans here and there, stale boxes of crackers hidden in abandoned cupboards. Every meal was smaller than the last.
People died.
Some froze when their bodies couldn't keep up with the cold. Some fell to walkers when mistakes were made.
Others starved when sickness hollowed them out. Each loss cut deep, but the group pressed on.
The ones who survived grew sharper, harder. They learned to check every corner, to fire only when it mattered.
To run when running meant living. Weakness bled out on the roadside, and what was left was steel resolve.
...
The weeks on the backroads carved the group down to bones and nerves.
Joe changed the most. He gave away most of his share of food to his wives and to Clem, hiding it with gruff excuses. "Not hungry," he'd mutter, or, "Save it for later."
But the toll showed. His frame shrank. The muscle he'd carried from before thinned rapidly.
His face growing sharper, hollowed by hunger. The scar across his face looked deeper now, like it had been carved into stone.
Amy tried to press food back into his hands more than once. Andrea argued with him outright, calling him reckless. Emma clung to his arm, her eyes pleading. But he never wavered.
"They need it more than me," was all he'd say.
Clem noticed too. She would quietly push part of her portion onto his plate when she thought no one was looking.
Joe always caught her, always pushed it back, ruffling her hair with a faint smile.
The rest of the group watched but said nothing. They understood in their own way.
Some admired him for it. Some thought it foolish.
But no one could deny it, Joe was the one holding his people together.
Even as it burned him down piece by piece.
...
It was late evening, the group camped off a narrow backroad, smoke from the fire curling thin into the night air.
Dinner was meager again, a rabbit Joe and Daryl had brought down, stretched into strips over the flames.
Everyone got a little. When Joe's turn came, he barely took a bite before sliding the rest down the line.
Beth caught it right away. "You didn't eat anything."
Joe shook his head. "Not hungry."
Maggie put her bowl down with a thud. "Bullshit. You've been doing this for weeks."
Amy touched his arm, her voice soft. "Joe..."
But Maggie cut her off. "No, I'm done letting him brush it off. Look at him. He's wasting away."
Joe met her stare, calm as stone. "You're still breathing, aren't you? That's all that matters."
Beth folded her arms, glaring. "We're not pregnant, Joe. We don't need more food than you. Stop treating us like we're made of glass."
Joe's voice was quiet, but final. "Doesn't matter. You're still mine. That makes you my responsibility."
Maggie leaned forward, eyes flashing. "We can take care of ourselves."
"I know you can," Joe said. "But as long as I've got food to give, you'll eat before me. End of story."
Beth's voice cracked, her frustration breaking through. "You're gonna kill yourself doing this!"
Andrea cut in sharply. "She's right. You're running yourself into the ground. What happens when you collapse in the middle of a fight? Then what?"
Joe said firmly, "I won't."
Emma's voice was gentler, pleading. "Joe… we don't want to live if it means watching you starve for us. That's not what family's supposed to be."
Amy nodded quickly. "Please. Don't do this alone. Share with us."
Joe leaned back, pulling a cigar from his jacket. The flame lit his scarred face for an instant as he lit it. He exhaled smoke, his eyes hard.
"Then listen close," he said. "If I drop, I drop knowing you lived. That's a trade I can live with."
Silence fell around the fire.
Maggie finally looked away, jaw tight. Beth huffed and shoved the rest of her food in her mouth, still glaring.
Andrea muttered curses under her breath. Emma wiped her eyes and leaned against his arm, clinging. Amy reached for his hand but said nothing more.
Joe sat there, hollow frame outlined in the firelight, stubborn as iron.
...
By the end of the fourth month, the furthest south they had managed was Manchester.
By then, Joe was leaner, harder, his jacket hanging loose on his shoulders.
His face was even sharper, his frame thinned, but he still carried himself with the same strength.
The strength of a man running on willpower alone.
He had gone from 6 foot 4 inches tall and 250 pounds of pure muscle to 195 pounds. He had lost most of his muscle mass.
Manchester was no prize though.
The town was half-empty, streets littered with wrecks, windows blown out, cold wind howling through the skeletons of old houses.
Smoke stains marked buildings long burned, the smell of ash still clinging to the ruins.
The map said Fort Benning wasn't far beyond, but the road between might as well have been another country.
Every mile had been fought for, bought in blood and cold.
And winter was only just beginning.
...
The small house in Manchester was cramped, drafty, but it kept the wind out. The group huddled inside, lanterns flickering as Hershel finally broke the silence.
He, Rick, and Joe had carried the truth for months, ever since that night at the bar.
When they'd met Dave. His words had been clear enough, Fort Benning was gone.
Fire, bombs, and soldiers scattering.
Nothing left to run to.
They'd kept it quiet, holding the dream up like a torch in the dark to keep everyone moving.
But now, with Manchester empty and their bodies worn thin, there was no point in hiding it anymore.
Rick's voice was heavy, almost ashamed. "Fort Benning's gone. We knew. We just… we didn't want to take away the only hope we had until there was somewhere else to go."
The room erupted.
Lori's face twisted with anger. "You lied to us? You let us drag ourselves through hell chasing nothing?"
Carol clutched Sophia close, her voice shaking. "My little girl's been starving and freezing on those roads for nothing? You let us put our kids through that?"
T-Dog stepped forward, his jaw tight. "Man, you don't get to play God with us. We should've known. We had the right to know!"
The noise swelled, frustration and betrayal boiling over.
Then Joe stood up, his frame shrunken but his body still strong.
His glare cut through the room like a blade. Silence fell, the only sound the crackle of the fires burning.
"We kept it alive because without hope, some of you wouldn't have made it this far." Joe said flatly.
"You'd have given up, or gotten yourselves killed." He looked at each of them, his voice cold.
"We did what we had to do to keep you moving. And it worked. You're alive."
Nobody spoke.
Lori's mouth opened like she might argue, but she shut it again under Joe's stare.
He let the silence hang a beat longer, then continued. "Now the question is simple. Do you want to keep living? Or do you want to sit here and bitch about the past while winter buries us?"
Rick finally spoke, his voice quiet but firm. "We've been blocked at every turn going south."
Joe said, "We head north. Hogansville."
It wasn't much, but it was something.
...
By morning, the group was back on the road. Headed to Hogansville.
The convoy slowed to a halt, engines idling low. Up ahead, the road was clogged with a knot of walkers.
Twenty, maybe thirty, shuffling across the cracked pavement, arms reaching. A thin layer of snow dusted the ground, crunching faintly under their dragging feet.
Rick's voice crackled over the radio. "That's too many. We should turn back."
Glenn came in next, tense. "We don't have the ammo to waste on this. Not with what's left."
Daryl growled through static. "If we turn back again, we'll run dry before we hit Hogansville."
The debate swelled, voices overlapping, fear bleeding through.
Then Joe's voice cut in, steady. "Stay put."
The radio went silent.
Joe stepped out of the Silverado, his door creaked open, boots hitting the snow covered asphalt.
His jacket hanging loose on his frame, breath fogging in the frigid air. A cigarette burned between his lips, the tip glowing against the gray sky.
He drew the chrome 1911 with one hand, the black-laced katana with the other.
He didn't rush, didn't shout. He just walked.
Calm. Controlled. Each step crunched in the snow-dusted road.
The first walker lunged, teeth snapping. The katana whispered through the air, and its head dropped before the body hit the ground.
Another staggered forward, Joe pivoted, blade slicing clean through its neck.
Again. Again. A rhythm, precise and brutal.
The horde turned into a slaughter.
Joe's movements were leaner than before, sharper, like the hunger had stripped him down to nothing but muscle, instinct, and fury.
His face was set in stone, the cigarette still burning from the corner of his mouth, breath steady, eyes cold.
The pistol stayed in his hand, but he never had to fire. Not once.
By the time he reached the end of the road, twenty-odd corpses lay sprawled behind him, black blood staining the snow in wide arcs.
Joe stood among them, blade dripping slowly, the blood already starting to freeze.
He stood still a moment, chest rising and falling slowly.
He drew in one last drag, smoke curling out of his nose in the frozen air.
Then he plucked the cigarette from his lips and flicked it into the snow at his feet, the ember hissing out beside the bodies.
Message sent.
Joe turned, walking back toward the convoy, leaving faint bootprints across the thin sheet of white.
The radio buzzed with nothing but static.
No one spoke. No one dared.
The convoy sat frozen as Joe walked back, the katana slick with blackened gore. His boots left a trail of rot and snow behind him.
He slid the blade back into its scabbard with a soft click, holstered the chrome 1911, and climbed into the Silverado.
His jacket sagged off his thinner frame, but his eyes burned sharper than ever.
"Road's clear," he said flatly.
The radio crackled but no one answered. No debate, no questions. Just silence.
In the other vehicles, heads turned, eyes wide.
Carol whispered, "He cut through all of them… like nothing."
T-Dog muttered back, "Man's starved, but he fights like the devil himself."
Beth sat pale in the back, clutching Maggie's hand. Maggie didn't pull away.
She was staring too, not in fear, but in something heavier. A familiar heat spreading through her groin, she was turned on.
Even Rick sat stiff behind the wheel, hands tightening on the steering wheel. He had seen Joe fight before, but there was something different now.
Something colder. Sharper. As if the hunger hadn't weakened him, but burned everything unnecessary away.
Then a small voice broke the silence.
From the back seat of Joe's truck, Clem leaned forward with wide, admiring eyes. "That was awesome, Joe."
Amy and Emma both exhaled sharply, tension breaking. Andrea chuckled once, shaky but real.
Joe glanced at Clem through the rearview mirror. For a moment his hard features softened, just slightly.
He reached back and ruffled her hair. "Glad you think so, sweetheart."
The radio finally clicked. Rick's voice came steady, low. "Let's keep moving."
Engines roared back to life, the convoy rolling forward past the field of corpses.
No one said it aloud, but the message was burned into every mind
Joe might be starving, but he was definitely no weaker than he was before.
...
When they reached Hogansville, it was nothing but ash and charred wood. Another ghost town.
The wind howled through blackened frames of houses, the smell of old smoke still clinging to the ruins.
Cars lay melted in the streets, their metal warped and frozen stiff, as if the fire had only just died.
The convoy slowed, eyes peering out windows at the husks of a town that once had life.
But there was nothing here. No shelter. No supplies. Just another reminder that the world was dead.
They didn't even stop.
The convoy pushed on, gas tanks low, morale lower, the cold creeping deeper into their bones.
Breath fogged in every vehicle, blankets wrapped around shoulders, stomachs growling.
Whispers started. They were running on fumes, both fuel and faith. Fort Benning was gone. Hogansville was gone.
Every road south was blocked, burned, or teeming with walkers.
Everyone was starting to lose hope.
But Joe kept them moving.
Even half-starved, even lean and hollow-eyed, his presence was enough to push the doubt down.
When he glanced into a rearview, or walked past their cars during stops, heads lifted. People straightened.
He didn't need to make speeches. He didn't need to shout. His silence, his steel, and the katana at his side were enough to remind them.
They were still alive.
And as long as Joe kept going, so would they.
The convoy rolled on through Hogansville's ashes, tires crunching over frozen debris. No one spoke. The silence was heavier than the cold.
Finally, at the next stop, Lori snapped. She climbed out of the car, voice breaking the still air.
"This is pointless!" she shouted, hands shaking as her breath turned to white clouds. "Fort Benning's gone, Hogansville's gone! Where the hell are we even going anymore?"
A few of the rescued women murmured in agreement, one nodding quickly, another folding her arms like Lori had spoken the truth they were all afraid of.
Joe stepped out of the Silverado, a cigarette smoldering between his lips. His gaze swept over them, hard enough to freeze the whispers dead.
"Sit down," he said, voice low.
Lori bristled, "No, I won't just sit down! We're freezing, starving, driving in circles for nothing! My baby..."
Joe's glare cut her off. His voice dropped even lower, sharp enough to carry through the cold.
"You think screaming about it helps? You think quitting keeps your baby alive?"
The rescued women fell silent, eyes darting to the ground.
Lori's mouth opened, then closed. The fire in her eyes sputtered, her voice catching in her throat. She turned away, muttering under her breath, but she sat back down.
Joe flicked his cigarette into the snow and looked over the group, one by one.
"We keep moving. We stop when I say stop. You live because I tell you to live! We keep moving forward!"
No one argued after that.
Engines started back up. The convoy pushed north, leaving Hogansville's ashes behind.
...
Snow drifted across the frosted road, muffling the sound of tires.
Inside the Silverado, Emma sat close to Joe, her hand resting over her bulging stomach.
She stared out the window, lips pressed tight. He hadn't yelled at her, but his voice still rang in her ears. They were cold, sharp, and unforgiving.
Amy leaned forward from the back seat, her hand touching Emma's shoulder. "Hey. Don't let it get to you. You know he doesn't mean us when he talks like that."
Andrea added quietly, sitting beside Amy, "He's carrying everyone on his back right now. If he doesn't stay hard, this whole group falls apart."
Emma nodded, but her eyes were still glassy. "I just… I've never seen him that harsh. Not with me. Not with any of us."
Amy leaned closer, her voice softer. "That's because with us, he doesn't have to be. With them, he does."
Andrea smirked faintly, though her voice carried a weight of truth. "If it weren't for Joe, we'd still be back in that hell, or dead in a ditch. Don't forget that."
Emma breathed deep, some of the tension in her shoulders easing. She leaned against Joe's arm, her voice barely above a whisper. "I just want him to know he doesn't have to carry it all alone."
Joe glanced over at her from the driver's seat, eyes softening for just a heartbeat. He didn't say anything, but his free hand left the wheel long enough to squeeze hers.
For Emma, that was enough.
The Silverado kept rolling, its exhaust steaming against the frozen air, the convoy trailing behind them.
...
The convoys tires hummed over the frozen road. Inside, the air was warmer than outside, but heavy with the weight of silence.
Emma leaned against Joe's arm, his hand wrapped around hers, the small gesture softening the edge of his glare from before.
Amy and Andrea watched from the back seat, satisfied that Emma's trembling had finally eased.
Beth sat wedged beside Maggie, quiet as ever.
She had heard every word.
Amy's gentle comfort, Andrea's blunt reminder, Emma's whispered fears. She had seen the way Joe's hand left the wheel just to squeeze Emma's.
As if even half-starved and exhausted, he'd never let her doubt him.
Beth's lips pressed tight. She knew Joe cared for her, she'd already confessed her feelings, already stepped into that circle of women he called his.
But seeing Emma so close, seeing Amy and Andrea so protective, made something inside her twist.
Did he love them more? Did he trust them more? Was she just the youngest, the one who still had to prove herself?
Beside her, Maggie shifted, pulling Beth's hand into her own without looking. A silent reminder that she wasn't alone.
Beth squeezed back, forcing a small smile. But when her gaze flicked to Joe's hand wrapped around Emma's, she couldn't stop the shadow of doubt that whispered in the back of her mind.
She said nothing.
But in her silence, her insecurities grew roots.
...
The convoy had pulled over at a cracked rest stop off the backroads. The snow had thickened, engines shut off to conserve gas.
They built fires to keep the chill off while people stretched legs and checked their gear.
Joe stood outside the Silverado, leaning against the door, smoking one of his last few cigarettes. His breath fogged in the cold as he watched the treeline, always alert.
Beth slipped out quietly. She walked up slow, arms wrapped around herself, boots crunching the thin layer of snow.
For a moment she just stood there, next to him, watching the same trees.
Then, she softly said, "Joe?"
He glanced at her, then back to the woods. "Yeah, Libby?"
Beth hesitated, biting her lip. The words caught in her throat before spilling out in a rush.
"Do you… do you love me and Maggie the same as you do Amy, Andrea, and Emma?"
Joe turned his head fully this time. The cigarette smoldered between his fingers, his sharp eyes landing on hers.
She looked small, nervous, but there was steel behind the question... the kind that wouldn't let her sleep without an answer.
He exhaled smoke, slow. "That what's been eatin' at you?"
Beth's cheeks flushed, but she held his gaze. "I see how you look at them. How you touch them. I… I just don't want to be the one you care about less. The one you keep at arm's length."
Joe studied her for a moment. Then he flicked the cigarette into the snow, crushing the ember under his boot.
"You listen to me," he said, voice low but firm. "I don't measure love in ounces. I don't split it up like rations. You're mine, Beth. Same as them. Don't ever think you're less."
Beth's eyes welled, her lip trembling just slightly. "But I'm younger… I'm not as strong as them…"
Joe reached out, hooking a finger under her chin, making her look up at him. His voice softened. "Doesn't matter. You're strong in ways they ain't. And I love you for you. Not for what you can or can't do."
The tension broke in her chest... a sob, a laugh, relief all tangled. Beth leaned into him, burying her face against his chest.
Joe wrapped an arm around her, pulling her close, steady as stone despite his thinner frame.
After a long moment, she whispered into his shirt, "I love you too, Joe."
He kissed her lips gently, holding her there in the cold. "I know, darlin. And that's enough."
Behind them, the convoy stirred, people getting ready to move again. But for Beth, the world was quieter now.
She had her answer.