The Lucky One//twd

036. That Which Burns

Madison's POV

I always thought the world would end with a bang.
An explosion. Sirens. Fire in the sky.

But instead, it ended with a conversation.

"You trust him?" I asked Rick quietly, keeping my eyes on Randall's hunched figure across the yard.

Rick didn't answer right away.

"I trust the man he might be," he said finally. "But not the one he is right now."

I nodded slowly. That wasn't an answer — not really. Just another page in Rick's endless book of moral riddles.

Still, I appreciated him telling me at all.

Rick had been opening up to me more lately. Maybe it was because I wasn't afraid to challenge him. Or maybe because I reminded him of Carl in a parallel universe — older, angrier, carrying more knives than emotions. I didn't ask. I just listened.

Because I wanted to believe in the world he was still trying to build.

Even if I didn't think it would survive the winter.

⸻

I started bringing Randall food at night. Not out of sympathy — not entirely. I just couldn't stop thinking about how close we all were to becoming him.

One wrong turn. One bad hour. One person deciding you weren't worth saving.

He asked me questions sometimes. About the group. About the farm. About Shane.

Especially Shane.

"Is he your boyfriend or something?" Randall asked once, smirking through a wince as he adjusted his injured leg.

I nearly gagged.

"He's my brother."

Randall's face went pale.

"Shit," he muttered. "I didn't know."

"You didn't ask."

He gave a bitter laugh. "Guess that explains why he looked at me like I spit in his food."

I leaned against the barn wall, arms crossed. "He's got a short fuse these days."

"Short fuse, long gun," Randall muttered.

It wasn't funny. But I smiled anyway.

⸻

I found Shane by the well the next morning, sharpening his knife.

He didn't look up when I approached. Just said, "You think Rick's doing the right thing, keeping him alive?"

"I don't know what the right thing is anymore," I said honestly.

He stopped sharpening. Looked up at me with something like disappointment in his eyes.

"Then you better figure it out," he said, "because people are watching. You're not invisible, Mads. They look at you. They wait to see which way you lean before they choose."

"I didn't ask for that."

"Doesn't matter. You've got it."

I was about to reply when Blake came jogging up.

"You might want to come see this," he said, a strange tension in his voice.

⸻

We followed him past the barns, through the back field, to the edge of the woods.

There, in the tall grass — were tracks.

Fresh ones.

Boot prints. At least three sets. Headed straight toward the farm. Then looping back. Watching. Scouting.

"Shit," I whispered.

"They know about us," Shane growled, his hand instantly on his gun.

Blake crouched beside one of the prints. "Could be anything."

"No," Shane snapped. "It's them. It's whoever Randall was with."

He looked at me.

"We have to deal with him now."

I didn't say anything.

Not yet.

⸻

That night, the air felt heavier than usual.

Something was about to happen. I could feel it. Taste it.

Blake stopped me by the well on my way to the barn.

"You think he's gonna do it?" he asked.

"Shane?"

Blake nodded.

"Yeah," I said. "I think he already has a plan."

He looked at me. "Then what are you gonna do about it?"

I didn't have an answer.

⸻

I heard them before I saw them.

Shane's voice, angry and low. Randall's — terrified.

I ran.

I burst into the woods just as Shane shoved Randall to his knees in the dirt.

"What are you doing!?" I screamed.

Shane turned around, face lit by the pale moonlight. His gun was already out.

"Doing what Rick won't," he snapped. "Protecting you."

"By executing a kid?" I said. "Jesus, Shane—"

"He's not a kid. He's a threat. You don't understand what's coming. They know we're here. They're probably already planning an attack."

"And this helps?!"

He stepped closer. "You don't get it. You never did. I'm doing this for you, Madison. So you don't end up like them. So you don't have to carry the weight."

I stepped between him and Randall.

He stopped walking. But he didn't lower the gun.

"You're in my way," he said.

"I know."

His eyes were wide, trembling. Not angry. Just desperate.

"Move."

I shook my head. "No."

Silence. A long, horrible silence.

Then: Blake.

"Shane," he said, stepping out of the trees, crossbow in hand. "Put it down."

"You shoot me?" Shane asked, voice breaking.

"If I have to."

For a second, I thought Shane was going to do it. I thought he was going to raise that gun and end it all right there.

But then he looked at me.

And something in him cracked.

He dropped the gun.

Not in surrender — in defeat.

⸻

We dragged Randall back to the barn. Shane walked ahead of us, shoulders heavy, silent.

I stayed behind to lock the door.

And then I cried.

Finally. Silently. With my face against the wood.

Because I'd saved a life.

But I'd lost something, too.