<span style="text-decoration: underline">The previous dayâ€¦</span><br/><br/><br/>Barefoot and weary, Jacob hurried down the road toward Shabby Town, hoping to beat the falling night. The sun was but a bloody smear on the horizon, chased from the sky by the advancing dark. Soon, the settlement would close its gates, leaving the wayward survivor to spend another night under the open sky -- and he had gotten quite enough of that lately. Since the raiders attacked his settlement. He pulled his tattered tan duster tight around him as the chill infected the air.<br/><br/>â€œCome on, mule.â€ He gave the sluggish, blind animal a tug by the harness. The beast was the only other survivor of the attack, though Jacob had yet to give it a name other than â€˜Muleâ€™. At times, he fancied himself akin to an ancient Shoulin Monk, traveling shoeless through the countryside, wooden staff in hand, and the last of his belongings tied to the back of a scrawny mule. Romanticizing his predicament rarely made him feel better about it, though.<br/><br/>He reached the entrance of Shabby Town as the last light fled the sky, just as the guards prepared to close the rickety metal gates. He spotted three guards in the failing light. Two he could not distinguish beneath their layers of grime, but he recognized Cowboy Hat man from his previous trade visits over the years. Jacob tried to recall his name. Something with an S, he thought he recalled.<br/><br/>â€œHold the gate!â€ he shouted. The guards glanced toward him warily as he approached. The two unrecognized men lowered pitch forks like villagers on a witch hunt, but Cowboy Hat waved them down.<br/><br/>â€œJacob?â€ The captain came out to greet the visitor. The two shared a firm handshake.<br/><br/>â€œI see you recognized me.â€<br/><br/>â€œDonâ€™t get many visitors with bare feet, a walking stick, and a mule.â€ Cowboy Hat smiled. â€œHere to trade, I take it? Come on in.â€ Jacob followed the three guards into Shabby Town. â€œHowâ€™s everything going back at that village of yours?â€<br/><br/>â€œWe can talk about that tomorrow,â€ Jacob replied, fighting to keep his face level. He wasnâ€™t ready to relive the attack yet. Plus, he didnâ€™t want the whole town realizing that he was desperate before he had a chance to barter for supplies. His voice took on a cold, formal quality. â€œIâ€™m travel weary and require lodging.â€<br/><br/>â€œWell alright then. The hotel isâ€¦â€<br/><br/>â€œThe third building on the right,â€ Jacob finished. â€œThey have booze, food, and water, but it isnâ€™t cheap, so I had best have something good to give them. Andâ€¦â€ He paused for a moment, â€œYou have men all over this town, so I behave myself and you wonâ€™t have to kill me.â€ He grinned. â€œI know the routine, Sam. â€¦Steve?â€<br/><br/>â€œCarl,â€ Cowboy Hat sighed. â€œNow off with yaâ€™.â€<br/><br/>The two laughed and parted ways and Jacob headed toward the hotel. He made a brief detour, entering a tiny, ramshackle barn, empty save for a single sturdy plow horse. He led his mule inside. A young guard stood watch inside, though he was oblivious to his visitor, instead intent on leaning out the window and<span style="font-style: italic">watching</span>a pretty girl feed chickens.<br/><br/>â€œHey.â€ The guard jumped at the sound of Jacobâ€™s voice. â€œI have a job for you.â€<br/><br/>â€œWhat kind of job?â€<br/><br/>â€œI need to keep my mule here for the night, and I also need to make sure that he stays here, and not cooking over somebodyâ€™s fire.â€<br/><br/>â€œUh, okay.â€<br/><br/>â€œSo hereâ€™s how itâ€™s going to work.â€ He fished through his packs and produced an ear of corn, handing it to the guard. â€œLooks good, doesnâ€™t it? How often do you get to eat something that isnâ€™t from a can?â€<br/><br/>â€œNot very often,â€ the young guard replied, peeling back the husk to reveal the gold beneath.<br/><br/>â€œThatâ€™s part of your payment. If the mule is still here and intact come tomorrow, youâ€™ll get another one, and one of theseâ€¦â€ He revealed a tiny bar of soap nicked years ago from a run-down motel. â€œSoap. Maybe between this and the corn, you could impress a certain young lady.â€ He nodded toward the window, and the boy blushed through the dirt on his face. A few implied threats and a handshake later, Jacob left for the hotel, confident in his muleâ€™s safety.<br/><br/>The hotel was more of a bar with rooms, an inn if one wanted to get technical and anachronistic. A few quiet conversations buzzed, but the place felt quieter, emptier, and more subdued than normal. He approached the counter.<br/><br/>â€œBeen a while, eh Barkeep?â€ said Jacob, taking a seat and propping his elbows on the counter with the casual familiarity that had to be earned, or rather purchased, over a few years of visits. He let the calm comfort wash over him. He even savored the lingering repulsive smell.<br/><br/>â€œJacob!â€ the barkeep boomed, slapping the visitor on the shoulder. â€œHavenâ€™t seen you in ages, since they started sending that Michael boy out here for trade. What happened to him.â€<br/><br/>â€œIâ€™ll talk about it tomorrow.â€ He placed his canteen on the counter. â€œFor now, I just need a room, some water, andâ€¦â€ He cringed. â€œSome of that swill you brew and pass off as alcohol.â€<br/><br/>â€œWhatâ€™ve you got?â€ asked the barkeep. Jacob replied by placing a sturdy combination padlock on the counter. â€œNot bad at all. You know the combination for that?â€ With a few twists and a smirk, he opened the lock. The barkeep picked it up and inspected it. â€œPretty good. Should be worth the water and the room. What else do you have?â€<br/><br/>â€œNow, now, I know you donâ€™t have much worth locking awayâ€¦â€ The two shared a laugh. â€œBut a piece of that quality is easily worth a room, the water, and a full bottle of your disgusting booze.â€<br/><br/>â€œDear god, son. You just got here and youâ€™re already trying to rob me.â€<br/><br/>Jacob grinned wider. â€œJust consider it practice for tomorrow.â€ The two haggled for another couple minutes. Jacob tossed in six fast food packets of ketchup and an ear of corn, and the barkeep promised him a boiled egg in the morning to seal the deal. Neither man looked happy about the arrangement, but they agreed, both thinking that he had gotten the better of the other.<br/><br/>â€œFifth door on the left, right?â€ asked Jacob, heading toward the stairs.<br/><br/>The bartender shook his head. â€œThird door tonight.â€<br/><br/>â€œThatâ€™s new.â€<br/><br/>â€œThings have gotten a bit crowded. Apparently Shabby Town is the center of the damn world, and all the walkers want to come here and cause trouble.â€<br/><br/>â€œThose bastards!â€ Jacob laughed, heading up the stairs. â€œThatâ€™s my job.â€ He retreated to his room and finally let the fake smile melt from his face. He forced down a few hearty swigs of the bartenderâ€™s brew and fell into a mercifully dreamless sleep.<br/><br/><br/><span style="text-decoration: underline">The next morning:</span><br/><br/>Jacob rose at first light. There one of the barkeepâ€™s daughters, the prettier one if his memory served him, served him the previously promised boiled egg. He sat alone in the empty barroom, enjoying the simple, wholesome snack when Cowboy Hat and three armed men rushed in and up the stairs. He watched but did not stand up. One of the wanderers the barkeep mentioned had probably just stolen something or made a pass at one of the women, he imagined. Whoever it was would receive a good beating and get tossed out. Jacob had seen it happen before.<br/><br/>Some shouting and the sounds of struggle followed. And then a gunshot. Then silence. He heard the captain shout something. Finally, a rugged man with a martial bearing came down the stairs, all too eager to leave. Jacob stood, positioning himself between the stranger and the door.<br/><br/>â€œWalker,â€ he said simply, his voice level and calm, yet as unyielding as stone. â€œWhat are you doing?â€