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“Ain’t nobody touched this? Smells like a trap.”

Hershel glances at Rick’s hip. No gun. Just a gardening trowel.

“We’re low on antibiotics. Sasha’s pregnancy is high-risk. If she gets a fever…”

EXT. PRISON - DUSK The supply team returns—but Zach is gone. Rick’s face is stone. Daryl is furious. Michonne carries only the antibiotics.

Inside, a walker is chained to a radiator. But it’s not dead. It’s sick . Its eyes are milky, but it’s crying. Black, tarry blood oozes from its eyes and mouth. It sees them. It doesn’t snarl. It speaks —a wet, gurgling whisper: “Don’t… let me… turn…”

“And the fences? We lost three feet of the north perimeter yesterday. The mud is pushing them over.”

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