TWD: Awakened As Rick

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Somewhere East of the River.

The smell of ash clung to the wind as Reed crouched beside the fire, running a whetstone down the edge of his blade. Sparks danced like fireflies. Behind him, the rest of the Vultures gathered, loud and careless — passing a half-empty bottle of bourbon and laughing about a recent raid.

They were a mix of ex-cons, deserters, drifters. People who didn't fit into the old world — and had no intention of playing along in the new one.

Reed didn't look up.

"You hear it?" he asked quietly.

Lobo, his second, frowned. "Hear what?"

"The silence. Real silence. No rules."

He stood, sheathing the blade. "We didn't survive the end of the world just to start pretending again. We don't rebuild. We don't plant seeds. We take what's left."

Around the fire, heads nodded.

"We're Vultures," Reed continued. "We don't circle the dying. We kill what's still breathing and take the rest."

They cheered.

Later That Night – Planning the Hit

Reed unrolled a map on the hood of a rusted-out truck. A convoy route was marked in red.

"Three vehicles. Light guard. Runs supplies between that farm camp and another up north — Homestead."

Lobo tapped the route. "Same time every trip."

Reed smirked. "gets people killed."

He looked up at the others.

"We hit fast. One group blocks the road with spikes. The other circles behind. No mercy."

"What if they fight back?"

"Then they die fighting. Makes no difference to me."

The Ambush

When the convoy appeared through the trees, Reed was already waiting, perched on a small ridge, rifle resting across his lap. The sky was just starting to darken, gold bleeding into purple.

The first truck hit the spike strip and skidded sideways, crashing into a tree.

Gunfire burst from the treeline.

Screams followed.

Reed walked slowly down the hill as his crew closed in. One Right Arm man fired back — shot Lenny in the thigh — but a Molotov ended him seconds later.

Two civilians ran. Reed didn't follow. Let them carry the message.

He stepped over a corpse, picked up a satchel of medical supplies, and slung it over his shoulder.

"This is how you survive," he muttered. Not in walls.

The job was done in under seven minutes.

Back at Camp – Vultures' Fire

That night, the fire roared again. Crates of stolen food and medicine were piled high. The men drank. Someone found a guitar and played something broken and ugly.

Reed sat a few feet away, sharpening his blade again.

Lobo walked over. "You think they'll come for us?"

"They will," Reed said.

"You worried?"

Reed looked up.

"No. They're settlers. We're the future."

He stood and tossed another log into the fire.

"If they come…" he shrugged, "they die".

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