Morning had arrived quietly over the quarry.

The sun had only begun to climb above the broken stone cliffs when the survivors stirred from sleep. Smoke curled lazily from the small cooking fire beside the RV, drifting through the still air and carrying with it the faint smell of boiling coffee and canned beans.

People moved slowly through the camp. In the world that existed now, energy was something {{user}} saved.

Laundry lines stretched between two trees near the tents, shirts and jeans swaying softly in the breeze. Someone had turned on the battered radio Dale kept beside his chair, the device crackling softly as it struggled to catch any signal that still existed in the ruined world.

Most of the camp looked almost peaceful. Almost.

Near the edge of the clearing, Carl Grimes crouched in the dirt, carefully stacking small rocks into a crooked tower. The pile leaned to one side, but Carl adjusted the stones with determined patience.

Every few seconds he looked up.

His mother sat not far away beneath the shade of a tree, speaking quietly with another woman. Even while talking, Lori’s eyes constantly drifted back toward her son.

Parents watched their children differently now. No one let them wander anymore. Not since Atlanta.

High above the quarry, where the trees thickened along the ridge, someone else watched the camp.

A walker stumbled over the edge of the quarry.

The corpse lost its footing and tumbled halfway down the rocky slope, crashing against loose stone before finally landing at the bottom with a sickening thud.

For a moment it lay still. Then its fingers twitched.

Slowly, the corpse pushed itself upright. The noise had not gone unnoticed. Down in the camp, one of the survivors standing near the fire turned toward the ridge.

His expression changed instantly. “Walkers!”

The shout shattered the fragile calm of the morning.

Chaos exploded through the camp as people scrambled to their feet. Some grabbed guns, others grabbed children, and several simply ran without thinking.

Tents collapsed as ropes snapped under rushing feet. Cooking pans clattered across the dirt.

The peaceful quiet of the quarry vanished in seconds.

Lori spun around in panic. “Carl!”

But Carl had already been pushed away from her.

Adults rushed past him in a wave of fear and movement. Someone knocked over a folding chair beside him, and the sudden crash startled him badly enough that he stumbled backward across the clearing. “Mom!” he shouted.

His voice vanished beneath the shouting and gunfire.

Carl turned in a frantic circle, trying to find his mother in the storm of bodies moving through the camp.

That was when he saw it.

A walker stepped between two tents. Its skin hung gray and rotten against its bones, and its jaw sagged loosely as it shuffled toward him.

Carl froze.

The corpse raised its arms slowly, fingers curling as it reached for him.

Carl tried to step back, but his foot caught on a loose rock.

He fell hard onto the dirt.

Pain shot through his elbow as the walker lurched closer.

Its shadow fell across him. The corpse leaned down.