The Walking Dead: Price of Survival

"I didn't run out to help you because I like you. Or because you're a good man, a good father. Or because you can grow one hell of a beard. It's because you're one of us. That's the right answer".

- Deanna Monroe

Price's POV

Walking through the gates of Alexandria, I kept my rifle slung low, eyes moving over everything. A soldier's habit—map the ground, mark the exits, clock the people.

The place was… untouched. Unbelievable, really. Neat little houses, manicured lawns, streets free of the dead. Looked like something out of a bloody postcard. If you squinted, you could almost pretend the world hadn't ended.

Almost.

I glanced at the group. Gabriel, the priest, had finally found his balls—killing walkers instead of just praying for 'em. But I doubted he had it in him to put a bullet in a man, not yet. And if he ever did, it'd probably be too late. God's either long gone or never gave a damn to begin with. Either way, prayers won't save you.

The Warners were settling in, getting to know the group better. Elijah, Noah's uncle, turned out to be an engineer before the world went to hell. His wife Sarah was a housewife. Different lives, different pasts, all meaningless now. The only thing that mattered anymore was whether you could survive.

Then there was Daryl, carrying a couple of dead possums like they were prized game. Man was always a sight.

I turned my attention back to Alexandria. The people here must've been watching us, seeing a pack of armed, filthy strangers walk in with murder in their eyes. The thought made me chuckle.

Then a voice cut through my thoughts.

"I'm gonna need you to hand over your weapons."

I turned to see some young lad—Nicholas, Aaron had called him—standing there, trying to play authority. He had that look. A man who'd never had to fight for his life, never had to scrape blood off his hands and pretend it didn't bother him.

We refused, obviously.

"I ain't parting with my guns, sonny," I said, giving him a hard look.

Rick, ever the diplomat, tried to reason with him. "We're not even sure if we're staying."

Aaron, knowing how this was gonna go, stepped in. "They can keep their guns, Nicholas, until after they speak with Deanna."

Abraham frowned. "Who's Deanna?"

"She's the leader of Alexandria."

Leader. That got my attention.

As the gate swung shut behind us, Rick turned and looked back. "Sasha."

Sasha raised her rifle, put a bullet between a walker's eyes from twenty-five yards out.

Message was clear enough. Even if we gave up our guns, we'd have no trouble taking 'em back.

-----------------------------

I walked toward the house, boots pressing firm against the pavement, taking in the details. Walls intact. Windows not boarded up. Place looked untouched, almost surreal compared to the hell we'd been walking through for months. Didn't mean it was safe.

Didn't mean I trusted it.

Stepping inside, I noticed how well-kept the place was—clean floors, furniture that hadn't been looted or burned, walls decorated like this was still some normal neighborhood. A far cry from what I'd seen outside these walls.

Then came the sound—the quiet hum of a camcorder being turned on.

Deanna Monroe sat across from me, calm, measured. A politician's face. She gestured toward a chair.

"You can sit down, Price."

I didn't.

"First, let me introduce myself. My name is Deanna Monroe."

She kept her hands folded neatly in her lap. Controlled. Collected. Not many people could sit like that these days.

"I was a congresswoman for Ohio," she continued, voice smooth, practiced. "When everything collapsed, my husband Reg was one of the men who saw this place for what it could be. We were brought here by the army, stationed at a FEMA camp not far from D.C. When the government fell, when the world fell, they left. And we stayed."

I kept my face neutral, but I listened.

"There were twenty-four of us when we started," she said. "We cleared out the dead, reinforced the walls, built something sustainable. People came and went, but we've kept Alexandria standing. A real community. A future."

Her eyes studied me, gauging my reaction.

"We've made it this far by keeping to ourselves. By being careful about who we let in. But we need good people, Price. Strong people. And I believe your group could be exactly what we've been missing."

She motioned toward the camcorder. "Now, I'd like to hear about you."

I exhaled through my nose.

"You've built something," I said. "That's more than most."

"My name's John Price."

That's all I gave her.

I wasn't one for speeches, and I sure as hell wasn't about to start now.

She nodded, like she expected that. "I was told by Aaron that you were a former SAS operative. I asked Rick about this, and he confirmed it—said your insights have been valuable to the group."

I studied her for a moment, then leaned forward slightly, resting my forearms on my knees.

"That's one way to put it," I muttered.

I could see she wanted more.

"Look," I said, my voice steady. "I don't care about titles or stories. I've spent my life dealing with people who think they've got everything under control. Governments. Armies. Men in suits who talk like they've got all the answers—right up until the walls come crashing down."

Her expression didn't change, but I could tell she was listening carefully.

"You've built something here. I'll give you that. You've kept your people safe. But you and I both know that won't last forever. Walls don't keep you safe—people do. And I've seen what happens when people get too comfortable behind walls."

I sat back, letting my words settle.

Deanna studied me. "And do you think we're safe here?"

I gave her a look. "You're safe until you're not."

Silence stretched between us.

"So, if you stay, you'd help keep it that way?"

I exhaled, leaning back slightly.

"So you're asking me if I'll help keep this place standing?" I exhaled, rubbing a hand across my beard.

"That depends on whether you're ready for what's coming."

Deanna kept talking. Not just about Alexandria itself, but about what it meant to lead it. The choices she'd had to make, the people she'd had to turn away, the ones she'd lost.

She spoke with the kind of weight only a leader carries—the same weight I'd seen in Rick's eyes, in Shepherd's before he lost his bloody mind, and in my own reflection more times than I cared to count.

"It's not just about survival," she said, leaning forward slightly. "It's about rebuilding. Giving people something more than just another day to see the sunrise."

I kept my expression neutral, but in the back of my mind, I wondered how long that belief would last.

Everyone starts out thinking they can build something better. Until the world proves 'em wrong.

Then she shifted the conversation.

"How did you end up here in the U.S.?" she asked, studying me. "The SAS is part of the British Army. I wouldn't expect to find one of your kind on this side of the ocean."

I knew that question was coming.

I met her gaze, kept my voice steady. "Was sent on a joint operation with your lot."

Technically true. Just not the full truth.

Didn't need to be.

Deanna watched me carefully, like she could pick apart whatever was left unsaid.

But she didn't press.

Instead, she gave a small nod and leaned back in her chair, switching off the camcorder.

"That'll do, Price."

Interview over.

She stood up, smoothing down her blouse.

"I've allotted two houses for your group," she said. "You can take a look, get settled in. But before that, you all need to surrender your guns once inside Alexandria"

I only nodded in response.

Didn't thank her. Didn't need to. She wasn't doing this out of charity—this was a test. See how we fit in, see if we'd be worth keeping around.

Fair enough.

I turned, heading for the door.

------------------------------

We made our way to their armory, a neat little setup run by some lass named Olivia. She seemed the type who'd never fired a weapon before the world went to hell, but here she was, playing quartermaster.

One by one, we handed over our guns. Supposedly, we could sign 'em out whenever we needed to step outside the walls. Lovely system they had—like a bloody library for firearms.

Then there was Carol.

She put on a whole act, fumbling with her rifle like it weighed more than she did, giving Olivia a meek little smile as she set it on the pile.

I nearly laughed.

I've seen the woman work. That sweet, harmless act? A mask. Underneath, she was sharp. Precise. The kind of person who knew exactly when to be underestimated. And that made her dangerous.

Olivia had no idea.

After that, Aaron led us to our assigned houses—two nice colonial-style homes, the kind you'd see in a brochure about "The American Dream."

It was surreal.

For weeks, we'd slept rough, scavenged what we could, killed whoever needed killing. And now, here we were, stepping into a cozy little home with curtains on the windows and carpets underfoot.

Didn't trust it. Not yet.

But one thing was for sure—I needed that shower.

Standing under the hot water, I just let it run over me.

Christ. Had it really been months?

Didn't even want to think about what I smelled like before stepping in.

Once I was done, I grabbed a clipper, trimming down the beard to something manageable, then took a pass at my hair—short, clean, nothing fancy.

I looked at myself in the mirror, running a hand over my jaw.

"Now that's a face I haven't seen in a long time," I muttered, cracking a grin.

Hell, I almost looked civilized.

-----------------------------

I stepped outside, letting the cool air hit my face. Felt strange, standing on a proper lawn instead of dirt or concrete. The place was too clean, too quiet—felt more like a dream than reality.

Rick, Daryl, and Carol were already outside, talking in low voices. As I walked over, Carol gave me a once-over and smirked.

"Cleaned up nice," she said.

I snorted. "Figured I'd try lookin' human again. Can't have you lot thinkin' I crawled out of a grave."

Daryl grunted, arms crossed, still looking like he didn't trust the air he was breathing. Couldn't blame him.

The conversation turned serious quick. The group was being split between two houses, and none of us liked that one bit. Rick made it clear—we stay together. All of us. No exceptions.

"Makes sense," I said. "Place is nice, but we're not about to get comfortable."

Rick nodded. Daryl was already itching to get away from all this, while Carol just played along, letting them think she was the friendly neighborhood mum.

That woman was dangerous.

And I respected the hell out of it.

We all crashed in the living room, laying out bedrolls, blankets, whatever we could find. Sleeping in separate rooms was a luxury we weren't ready for—not yet.

The front door opened, and Deanna stepped inside.

She looked around at all of us settling in and gave a small nod. "Staying together," she mused. "Smart."

Rick stood up, arms crossed in a fake serious manner while sporting a smile. "You haven't given me a job yet."

"I have something in mind for you," she said, studying him. "Still figuring out Michonne, Sasha, and Daryl."

She didn't mention me. Didn't need to. She was still working me out. Probably didn't know what to do with a soldier who wasn't hers to command.

She left soon after, and the house settled into quiet.

I stretched out on the floor, arms crossed behind my head, letting my body relax but keeping my senses sharp.

Sleep was a funny thing. I'd learned a long time ago how to rest with one eye open, how to let exhaustion take me without ever fully letting my guard down. You sleep light in the field, always ready, always aware.

Didn't matter if it was a muddy trench, a burning city, or a cozy little house in Alexandria.

The battlefield changes.

But a soldier doesn't.