6 Months Later – "Farm Life"
The farm stands fortified. Wooden walls line the perimeter, metal spikes piercing the ground to keep the shamblers out. Smoke rises lazily from a chimney. Life has returned… if survival counts as life.
John sits on the porch, small bushy beard framing his face. Lean, but with a hint of bulk now—muscles toned from months of defending the homestead. He watches the horizon, ever-alert.
Inside, Archer Freeman polishes his shotgun. Kelsey and Bob huddle over maps and plans, plotting crop rotations and defensive positions. The air hums with quiet productivity.
Shawn bursts in, dragging young Cainen, sixteen but capable, into the mix. They bicker like siblings.
"I caught that damn possum—it's mine, you mutt!" Shawn yells."SHOW ME! I'M A MUTT!" Cainen snaps back, voice sharp, no emotion.
John steps between them. Calm. Deadly. One shot strikes the ground at their feet."Shut the fuck up," he mutters, then walks outside, settles back on the porch, and scans the farm.
Kelsey tends the garden. She started a few months ago, grateful for life after winter nearly destroyed them. Rows of vegetables stand vibrant, a rare spark of normalcy.
In the sandbox, John spots JackJack—the orphan boy who arrived with the group. Something about him… reminds John painfully of his own lost son. A tight knot in his chest, he walks over and starts building sandcastles with the boy, actually enjoying the moment, allowing himself a fragile sliver of peace.
Elsewhere, Cainen sits on a tree stump near the crops, temper flaring. Recent months have amplified his moods, mirroring John's own volatile streak."This damn group always treating me like a kid!" he mutters, sharpening a knife, sending sparks into the air.
A small boy appears silently beside him."Oh… brother, it's just you," Cainen startles, voice softening.
Through a window, Welsey watches, noting Cainen talking to himself. A quiet reminder that even in this fragile bubble of safety, the trauma of the world beyond the walls lingers.
Life continues on the farm—quiet, tense, human. But even in calm, the shadow of the apocalypse is never far, and John's eyes never leave the horizon.