Those Who Remain

CHAPTER FIVE

We've been driving down 23 North for what feels like an eternity. I sit in the car, my heart pounding in my chest, with Aaron beside me. Iris is in the driver's seat, her grip on the steering wheel tight, and Rick sits next to her, his gaze fixed ahead. The darkness outside only adds to the growing sense of unease that fills the car. The silence is deafening, suffocating, and it feels as though the weight of the world rests upon our shoulders.

Suddenly, Rick's restless hands rummage through the car, searching for something amidst the tension. He discovers a stack of license plates and begins flipping through them with a peculiar satisfaction. Turning his head, he looks at Aaron, a glimmer of pride shining in his eyes as he speaks, "I'm trying to collect all 50 states. Put them all on a wall in my house." A faint smile graces his lips, revealing a glimpse of normalcy amidst the chaos.

Curiosity gets the best of me, and I can't help but inquire, "You have your own house?"

"Mm," he responds, a hint of mystery in his voice. "See for yourself." He hands me an envelope filled with photographs, and I delve into them eagerly. The pictures depict a fenced area, houses nestled within, and my eyes are drawn to the imposing barriers that surround the camp. Aaron's gaze lingers on me, and he offers a warm smile that momentarily eases the tension.

As I sift through the photographs, I notice something peculiar. There are no images of people—no glimpses of the community he claims to belong to. The question escapes my lips before I can stop myself, "Why don't you have any pictures of your people?"

Aaron's response is tinged with regret, "Oh, I took a picture of the whole group, but I didn't get the exposure right. When I tried to develop it later, it just..." His words trail off, leaving a sense of unfinished business lingering in the air.

Interrupting him, I turn to Rick, my voice filled with urgency, "Did you ask him the three questions?" The routine has become second nature to us, a way to gauge the trustworthiness of those we encounter.

Rick's gaze shifts momentarily towards Iris, his hesitation evident, before he answers, "No..."

My focus returns to Aaron, a knot tightening in my stomach. I need to know where he stands. "How many walkers have you killed?" I ask, my voice steady but brimming with an undercurrent of intensity.

Confusion clouds Aaron's expression as he stammers, "I'm sorry, what?"

"How many?" I repeat, my determination unwavering.

He takes his time before finally responding, "I don't know, a lot." The atmosphere in the car grows thicker, the weight of his words hanging in the air.

Pressing on, I move to the next question, my voice resolute, "How many people?"

"Two," he admits, his tone laced with an underlying sorrow.

"Why?" I demand, the final question leaving my lips with a sense of urgency.

"Because they tried to kill me," he confesses, his eyes meeting mine in a moment of shared understanding.

Rick's attention shifts, and he retrieves a peculiar device from the front seat—an apparatus used for eavesdropping or surveillance. Iris catches sight of it and disbelief floods her voice, "You were listening to us?" Her eyes dart between Rick and the road ahead, her role as the driver demanding her focus.

Aaron stammers, his voice betraying his nervousness, "I already said I was watching you. Yes, I was listening."

Rick interrupts, urgency coursing through his words, "It means his people could have one too. They could've heard our plan. This isn't safe!" Rick's voice carries a sense of alarm and realization.