Rick stood on the main watchtower, arms crossed, watching the sunrise over their growing community. Below, people were beginning their daily routines — Clara distributing food, Old Man Ramirez barking orders to the new farmers, and Morales leading weapon maintenance with Joel and Sarah.
It almost felt… normal.
But Rick knew better. The world outside their walls was still rotting.
Down below, Carl ran across the open field with a big grin on his face. Rick couldn't help but smile. For the first time since waking up in the hospital, his son looked like a kid again.
Carl ran up to him, carrying a slingshot.
"Dad! Look what Daryl gave me."
Rick raised an eyebrow. "A slingshot, huh? What are you planning to do with that, son? Hunt squirrels? Start a rebellion?"
Carl smirked. "Maybe both."
Rick chuckled and kneeled down to his level. "Alright, soldier. Rule number one: you're only allowed to practice with supervision."
Carl pretended to salute. "Yes, sir."
Rick leaned in, lowering his voice dramatically.
"But if you accidentally take out any windows… you blame Merle."
Carl laughed. "Deal."
From a few feet away, Daryl called out with a grin.
"Hey, don't be teaching the boy to frame people, Rick."
Rick waved at him. "You were the one who gave him a loaded weapon. Don't start acting innocent now."
Merle, leaning against the fence nearby, just shook his head. "I can already tell this kid's gonna be more trouble than you ever were, Sheriff."
Rick smiled. "Good. Trouble means he's alive."
The entire camp was settling into assigned roles:
Guillermo oversaw security with Morgan and Antonio.
Morales, Joel, and T-Dog led scavenging and maintenance.
Jacqui and Clara ran medical and childcare.
Shane, under watchful eyes, trained patrol teams and guarded the perimeter.
Lori, while distant from Rick, took care of the younger children.
Merle and Daryl handled hunting and trapping.
Old Man Ramirez ran the farming crew.
Rick made sure everyone stayed busy. Idleness bred conflict.
That evening, as the community gathered for dinner around the large communal fire, Rick spotted Shane standing nearby. Lori was sitting on a log, Carl close by, laughing with Amy and Clara.
Rick approached Shane calmly.
"You've been keeping busy," Rick said.
Shane grunted. "Doing my part."
There was a long pause before Rick spoke again, his voice low and direct.
"I'm keeping my distance, Shane. I expect you to do the same. Whatever you and Lori were... it's over. My focus is Carl. And this community."
Shane's jaw clenched, but he didn't argue.
Rick continued.
"If you cross any lines, I won't hesitate."
Shane nodded stiffly, his eyes filled with frustration but no words left to fight with.
Later that night, Lori approached Rick near the fields, away from listening ears.
"Rick," she started. "We should talk."
Rick turned, calm but firm. "About what?"
"You can't just pretend everything's fine."
"I'm not pretending anything," Rick said. "You made your choices. I made mine. I'm here for Carl. That's all."
Lori lowered her voice. "I never wanted any of this to happen."
Rick's stare was cold.
"But it did. And we live with it. Focus on being Carl's mother. That's all I ask."
Lori swallowed her emotions, finally nodding. "Fine."
They stood in silence for a moment before parting ways.
The next morning, Rick found Carl standing outside the chicken coop, holding an egg with a confused expression.
"Dad… why is this egg warm?"
Rick squatted next to him, putting on a mock-serious face.
"Because it was recently… manufactured by the chicken, son."
Carl blinked. "Manufactured?"
Rick grinned. "Well, technically, biologically processed. But yeah, manufactured."
Carl groaned. "Dad, that's gross."
Rick laughed. "Wait until you learn where bacon comes from."
Nearby, Daryl snorted. "You're gonna ruin that boy's appetite, Rick.
Rick's mornings began early. As the sun peeked over the horizon, he jogged around the perimeter with Morgan and Antonio, checking patrols and fortifications.
Merle, already sitting at the entrance sipping coffee, shouted, "Careful you don't wear your legs off, Sheriff!"
Rick smirked. "Gotta stay ahead of you, Merle."
Morgan added dryly, "You two are gonna kill each other one day."
Merle grinned, "If the world don't kill us first."
Later, Rick found Carl tending to the small vegetable plots with Amy, Carol, and Sophia.
"Carl!" Rick called. "Don't forget to water the tomatoes, not drown them."
Carl looked back, face full of focus. "I'm experimenting, Dad! The tomatoes deserve a spa day."
Amy giggled. "That's not how farming works, farmer Carl."
Rick crouched beside his son. "You keep this up, and we'll have the world's first tomato swamp."
Carl playfully rolled his eyes. "We could catch fish in it too."
Rick ruffled his hair, "You might be onto something."
Evening, after the community gathered for dinner, Rick stood before everyone around the fire. The flames flickered as the group quieted.
Rick spoke with conviction:
"We've done something incredible here. But it's not enough to build walls. The world outside is still dangerous—walkers, raiders, desperate people. If we want to survive long-term, we need to protect not only our walls, but our future."
"We're going to build The Right Arm's Army."
There was murmuring, but everyone listened.
Rick continued:
"This army won't be for conquest. It's for defense, for protecting each other, for securing supplies, and for making sure none of us ever feel powerless."
Guillermo nodded proudly.
Morgan added, "Discipline, structure, and unity."
The following day, training officially began. Rick, drawing from both his police training and his unspoken tactical experience from his past life, designed a system that mixed real-world survival, combat readiness, and mental toughness.
The trainees were split into units:
Unit 1: Combat Team
Guillermo, Antonio, Miguel, Eduardo, Sergio, Morales, T-Dog, Daryl, Merle
Unit 2: Support & Rescue Team
Joel, Sarah, Glenn, Shane, Jim, Jacqui, Andrea, Carol
Unit 3: Medical & Logistics Support
Clara, Lori, Jacqui (dual role), Old Man Ramirez, Sophia, Amy
Reserve Volunteers (still training for possible combat roles):
Several of the elderly volunteers trained lightly under Morgan's careful supervision.
Rick's Army Count
Fully trained soldiers (Main combat unit): 12
Support & Rescue (armed, trained but non-frontline): 9
Medical & Logistics: 8
Reserve Volunteers (light training): 4
Total Army Size: 33 active personnel
With Rick, Morgan, Guillermo, and Shane acting as leadership officers.
The fields were filled with the sounds of drills:
Shooting ranges with salvaged targets.
Melee combat practice with blunt sticks and knives.
Formation drills for walker control and urban engagements.
"Don't fight the horde head-on unless you have to," Rick instructed, pacing before the recruits. "Always control the flow. Small groups. Choke points. Clear one section at a time."
Merle, cracking his knuckles, added: "And if they get too close, aim for the head, or I'm gonna laugh at your funeral."
Daryl shook his head. "Ignore Merle—just don't get surrounded."
Meanwhile, Glenn practiced quick movement and stealth with Carl as his shadow.
"Stick close to cover. Watch my feet, kid," Glenn coached.
Carl whispered, "You think I can join the army too?"
Rick overheard and grinned. "When you can beat me in a foot race, we'll talk."
Carl pumped his fist. "Deal."
After drills, Rick and Carl sat near the watchtower eating roasted rabbit Daryl brought back.
Carl looked up. "Dad... when we make the army big enough… does that mean nobody can hurt us anymore?"
Rick paused, choosing his words carefully. "It means we'll be ready, son. But we'll always need to stay smart, stay strong, and stay good."
Carl nodded, chewing thoughtfully.
"Can I be a general one day?"
Rick laughed. "You can be whatever you want. But I'm not saluting you until you're old enough to grow a mustache."
Carl snorted. "I'll grow one tomorrow, you'll see."
Rick chuckled, pulling him into a quick side hug. "You do that."
For a moment, in that firelight, the world outside their walls seems distant.
________________________
5+ chapters in Patreon
patreon.com/Jayzero