The Humvee rumbled steadily along a rural road, kicking up dust as it trailed the flatbed truck carrying Rick and a few others. Trees arched overhead like a slow-closing canopy, and the last edges of Atlanta had long faded behind them.
Grant sat in the passenger seat, his elbow propped against the open window as the wind teased the edge of his sleeve. He was quiet, eyes on the road, mind clearly elsewhere. He hadn't spoken since they left the water break.
In the back, Jack finally broke the silence.
"You think these people are worth it?" he asked, his voice calm but probing. "The time, the resources, the risk? All of it?"
Grant didn't look back. "They're good people," he said plainly. "And good people are getting rare. Every week that passes… it gets worse."
Jack gave a short nod, accepting that answer.
"Besides," Grant added, "we need more hands. If we want to expand Fort Emberfield, we need fighters, workers, decent folks who can still give a damn about something."
Just then, the radio unit crackled to life, a bit of static slicing through the air before a familiar voice came through.
"Leo McGarry here. What's the status on Rick Grimes' family?"
Grant reached forward, pressing the transmit button.
"Found survivors connected to him. They're from the same camp—quarry outside Atlanta. We're en route now."
There was a pause, then Leo's gravelly, thoughtful voice returned:
"Huh. Honestly… I had my doubts. Didn't think he'd find them alive in this shithole. But I'm glad. That kind of hope, it's not something you ignore."
Grant allowed himself a faint smile.
"Glad to hear it."
Then he added, changing the subject:
"How's construction on the cisterns and the eco-filtration system? And the residential complex?"
"Progress is good," Leo replied. "The cisterns are nearly complete. The eco-based sewage filtration's coming together. As for the two-story residential building, we've got the frame set on the first level. That structure's gonna guarantee independent electricity, heating, clean water, sanitation… and rooms."
He paused, then continued with subtle pride.
"Families will have their own space—compact, efficient. Once we increase population density, that'll matter. People feel like they have a home now, Grant. A purpose. Not just survival."
Grant leaned back slightly in his seat, nodding.
"You have the materials to keep going?"
"For now. But if it runs low, there's a depot—untouched as far as we know—on the Georgia-Tennessee border. Just outside Trenton, in Dade County. Old commercial site. Heavy supplies. Building-grade."
Grant's brow furrowed slightly.
"You planning to hit it?"
"Yeah. Supply team's forming. Morgan volunteered to go."
Grant didn't seem surprised, but his voice was firm.
"Make sure they're well-armed. Anyone guarding a depot now won't be friendly. You'll need more men and bigger rigs if you want to loot it clean. If Morgan's good with it, fine but send at least a couple of our heavy hitters with them."
"Already on it. Sending some former SF guys with the crew."
A short pause.
"That's all I got."
Grant nodded and keyed the mic one last time.
"Copy. Over and out."
The radio fell silent.
The Humvee's engine hummed in rhythm with the road. Grant flipped open a touchscreen panel on the dashboard—a HUD only visible to him. It displayed a name: Grant Cooke, a total summoning point balance, and a multi-tab interface divided by two major categories.
The first: Fighting Force — subdivided into Tier I and Tier II, separating non-fictional operatives from fictional operative, the latter often costing dramatically more to summon.
The second: Professional Class — including engineers, doctors, nurses, architects, logisticians, psychologists, and others. This category lacked tiers, and yet its value was undeniable.
What puzzled Grant was the strange inconsistency of these summons.
Some fictional characters—like Jack Reacher, a towering retired MP major once infamous for a wrongful framing (as had once gripped national headlines)—seemed to exist fully formed with their original backstories.
So did Ghost, who told him he had worked alongside the U.S. Army in a joint NATO operation when the Wildfire Virus began to spread. He mentioned a lab outbreak in France and believed Price had returned to the UK before the collapse. Others in his team, Ghost thought, are probably scattered across Europe.
But then there were others such as Laura Montez, who in another world would've been the first female president, was now just a sharp-minded civilian who lived at the Tennesse border. And Leo McGarry, instead of being a seasoned Chief of Staff, had emerged as a community coordinator with eerily similar talents in civil infrastructure and administration.
What confuses Grant is the contradiction because many of them weren't summoned at all. Heck, it could be all of them. They already exist here in the US, in the TWD universe as people with their backtories intact or not intact. The system has an option for survivors may it be fictional characters or non-fictional to find their way into fort emberfield, or any location of Grant's choice. But it could take days, or even weeks if they're far unless Grant sends himself or a team to fetch them.
What worries Grant is that if some of the characters from the Left 4 Dead exists here in TWD. Would the special zombies/infected also exist here?
Before Grant could finish that train of thought, the Humvee slowed, the rough terrain of the quarry entrance jostling the suspension.
Ghost steered carefully through a narrow gap, following the truck until the caravan rolled to a gentle halt.
They had arrived.
Grant looked out the window. The light outside was golden, slanting across the rocky clearing in long streaks. He glanced at his watch.
4:17 PM.
From the truck ahead, survivors began stepping down.
Amy spotted Andrea and immediately ran to her sister. The two collided in a tight hug, tears on both their cheeks.
Morales's kids screamed his name, and he bent to scoop them up, kissing their faces with a wild, desperate joy. His wife clung to his shoulder, overwhelmed.
Rick stepped out of the cab last, scanning the open camp.
Then—Carl saw him.
"Dad!" the boy cried, already sprinting.
Rick dropped to one knee just in time to catch him, wrapping his arms around his son as Carl sobbed into his shoulder.
Lori was right behind, covering her mouth with both hands as tears fell freely. She slowed as she approached, then rushed the last few steps, throwing herself into Rick's arms, pressing her face into his neck like she never wanted to let go.
Nearby, Amy turned to Andrea.
"Who… who is that?"
Andrea smiled softly, eyes wet.
"That's Lori's husband."
Across the camp, Shane stood frozen, watching it all. His jaw clenched. There was relief in his face that Rick was alive but also something else. Something tighter. Sharper. Something being pulled away.
Finally, Grant opened the Humvee door and stepped out. Ghost and Jack followed. They waited a few moments, letting the family reunion run its course before approaching.
Glenn noticed them. He waved the group over and turned to the rest of the quarry survivors.
———
The air was warm and still, the sun sinking slowly past the ridge above. Dust hung in the air like memory.
Shane, still stunned by Rick's return, finally took a breath and stepped forward.
Rick saw him. Without hesitation, he handed Carl back to Lori and walked across the dusty ground to meet his old friend.
They stopped in front of each other—seconds of silence—and then hugged, hard, like brothers who'd survived separate wars.
"Damn, Rick," Shane said, his voice rough. "You look like hell."
Rick chuckled, clapping Shane's back. "You should see the hospital."
They broke the embrace, both men stepping back with crooked smiles and red eyes.
"Thanks for keeping them safe," Rick said, turning serious. "My wife, my son. I owe you."
Shane shook his head. "You don't owe me a thing. We're partners. You'd have done the same."
They stood like that for a moment longer, until Shane glanced past Rick toward the Humvee, where the trio of strangers now stood in full view.
"So," Shane said, wiping his hands on his jeans, "who are your guys?"
Rick turned back, gesturing toward the three.
"That's Grant. And with him, Ghost and Jack. Without them, I wouldn't be here."
Grant approached first, calm and composed, his boots crunching on gravel. He extended his hand toward Shane, who accepted it with a firm grip.
"Good to finally meet you," Grant said. "Heard a lot."
"Appreciate what you did for Rick," Shane replied. "For all of them."
Behind Grant, Jack gave Shane a nod, his expression impassive but respectful. Ghost followed, silent behind his skull-patterned mask, nodding politely as he scanned the camp with a soldier's discipline.
Grant and his men began making their way around the quarry, greeting the rest of the survivors, offering firm handshakes and words of introduction. Some people were wary; others, openly thankful. But all eyes were on them, new arrivals who didn't just survive… they thrived.
Meanwhile, Rick returned to Lori and Carl, who were still processing the moment.
"Come on," he said, guiding them toward Grant's group. "I want you to meet them properly."
They stopped before the trio.
"This is my wife, Lori, and our son, Carl," Rick said.
Lori stepped forward first, her voice quiet but heartfelt.
"Thank you," she said, her eyes flicking between Grant, Jack, and Ghost. "For bringing him back. For saving our people."
"Glad we found him when we did," Grant replied. "He held on longer than most would."
Carl stepped forward, his small face serious but his eyes lit up when they landed on Ghost.
"Cool mask," he said, pointing. "Are you a ninja or something?"
Ghost tilted his head slightly, the only giveaway of amusement behind the mask. "Something like that."
Grant looked around the camp—exhausted faces, sunburnt and weathered by worry and hunger. He raised his voice so that most nearby could hear.
"Anyone hungry?"
A few heads turned.
Then T-Dog raised a hand. "Hell yes."
Others began murmuring in agreement.
"We've got some rations in the Humvee," Grant said. "Its not steak, not potatoes nor meat, but enough to fill your stomachs. Let's get something going before nightfall."
A collective murmur of relief and anticipation rippled through the quarry camp.