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There was a time Harper Graves could walk the length of the farmland and hear nothing but cicadas and the whistle of wind through the soy. Now, every breeze carried questions. Every silence came with tension. Even the chickens clucked quieter these days.
She stood atop the watch platform overlooking the Homestead's eastern boundary, her eyes scanning the treeline. In the far distance, faint smoke curled into the sky—too thin for a wildfire, too deliberate for an accident.
"Third morning in a row," Isaac said, stepping up beside her, rifle in hand. "Same smoke column."
"Same distance?" Harper asked.
"Maybe, Isaac said"
She nodded, fingers tapping the railing. Smoke meant people. People meant trouble—or a chance. She wasn't sure which was worse anymore.
Behind them, the Homestead bustled in its modest rhythm. Children ran between repurposed greenhouses and a half-restored barn. Adults tended crops, rotated patrol, and boiled water from their last rain catch. Everything was built with scavenged materials, patched over ten times.
And still so damn fragile.
That Night
Harper walked the fenceline alone, flashlight off, boots crunching against dried gravel. Her hand hovered over the grip of her revolver—more habit than necessity.
She paused at the edge of the old cornfield. Looked up at the stars.
Before all this, she was a logistics coordinator for a trucking company. Twenty-seven employees under her. Two kids. One husband. All gone now.
Only this place remained.
The Homestead.
A battered fence. A garden of stubborn vegetables. Sixteen people looking to her every morning to tell them what came next.
She never planned to be a leader. But in the ruins of the old world, no one had time for plans.
The wind pushed through the rusting buses that lined the Homestead's southern wall, sending loose canvas flapping like ragged flags. Harper Graves stood on the highest bus roof, rifle slung across her shoulder, scanning the forest line through binoculars.
There it was again, movement.
A flicker of fabric. A shape slipping through the brush. Two of them. Armed.
Scouts.
She lowered the binoculars.
They didn't see her.
Not yet.
The Homestead, One Hour Earlier
Inside the makeshift community hall—a once-abandoned bus garage now stacked with supplies and maps—Harper met with her inner circle. Isaac, Nora, Reggie, and Old Dom.
"They're watching us," Isaac said. "Two men. Been circling for a day now."
"Scavengers?" Nora asked.
Harper shook her head. "Too clean."
Reggie grunted. "Could be prelude to a raid."
"Or… an offer," Harper replied, half-thinking aloud. "They haven't tried to breach. No marks on the fence.
Dom spoke softly from the back. "You gonna meet them?"
Harper paused.
"Not yet. I'll let them get close enough to feel comfortable. Then we talk."
That Afternoon – The Forest Edge
She found them.
Slipping through the trees, hushed voices.
She raised her rifle before they heard her.
"Don't move," Harper said calmly, stepping from the brush.
The one with the hat—the quiet, wary one—froze, bow ready. The smaller one slowly raised his hands, holding binoculars.
"We're not here to fight," he said.
"I saw your tracks yesterday," Harper replied. "Didn't think you'd get this close."
The tall one—with the crossbow—didn't lower his aim.
"Who are you?"
"Harper Graves," she said plainly. "I lead this camp."
The one with the binoculars—Glenn—lowered his arms slightly.
"We came to talk."
Harper nodded once. "Then talk."
The Next Morning
Rick Grimes stood at the edge of her gate, flanked by others from his side. Glenn and Daryl stood behind him.
Harper approached with two of her own.
There was no shouting. No weapons raised.
Just two leaders, facing each other.
Rick offered his hand. "Rick Grimes. I lead The Right Arm."
Harper shook it. "Harper Graves. This is The Homestead."
They spoke for over an hour—on trade, territory, risk, and mutual survival.
When it was over, they agreed to an exchange.
A week later, the first trade was made: water for medicine.
And so it began.
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If you enjoy my work, consider supporting me on Patreon for early access, exclusive chapters, and more:
patreon.com/Jayzero