twd: the last silence

Chapter 60: The Gate of Retribution

The engine roared like a beast from Hell.

Axel wasn't just driving—he was commanding the car, tearing through the dirt roads and shattered highways like he was hunting fate itself. Negan sat in the passenger seat, one arm lazily draped out the window, Lucille resting across his lap. He glanced at Axel occasionally, noting the way the kid's eyes never blinked, never shifted. Locked forward. Like a loaded gun waiting to go off.

Dust whipped up behind them in a raging tail as the Sanctuary vehicle came to a brutal, screeching halt in front of Alexandria's steel gates.

Smoke rose from the tires.

Axel stepped out first, boots slamming into the earth like thunder. He didn't say a word.

Negan followed, slower, his grin curled tight but sharp, eyes gleaming with the joy of chaos.

Up on the wall, Rick Grimes stood tall—lean, rugged, and furious. His rifle was strapped tight, and his jaw clenched as he looked down at the two devils at his doorstep.

Behind him, members of his community began to gather. Michonne. Rosita. Aaron. Even Father Gabriel.

Rick's voice cut through the quiet.

"You've got five seconds to walk away."

Axel tilted his head, his black hair catching the sunlight like a shadow with a pulse.

"Payback," Rick continued, his hand flexing near his sidearm. "That's what you said, right, Negan? You burn an outpost, you kill our people, and we're supposed to just let it slide?"

Axel still said nothing.

His fingers, however, dipped into his coat pocket.

Negan leaned against the hood of the car, almost amused.

"You done preaching, Ricky? Or are you gonna read us the whole goddamn Bible?"

Rick didn't smile. "This ain't a sermon. It's a warning."

And then it happened.

Axel's hand snapped forward, fast as lightning.

A silver glint flew through the air—a military-grade knife, serrated and brutal, flying like a missile straight at Rick's skull.

Time slowed.

Rick's eyes widened, instincts kicking in—the old cop, the survivor, the gunslinger.

He ducked—just in time.

The blade slammed into the wooden panel behind him with a THWUNK, embedding deep, quivering with deadly precision.

Gasps echoed along the wall. Michonne drew her katana. Rosita raised her rifle.

Rick stood again, this time deadly calm.

"That supposed to scare me?"

Axel finally spoke.

"No," he said softly. "That was supposed to kill you."

Negan let out a low whistle.

"Oh-ho-ho… Ricky boy, I think he's a little pissed."

Rick's eyes burned.

"You think throwing knives at me is gonna fix what you did?"

Axel's voice turned cold, razor-sharp.

"There was a child in the ashes. Buried under your fire. Don't tell me this was war. Don't tell me this was justice. You killed a kid."

Silence.

No one on the walls moved.

Even Michonne's grip faltered.

Negan stepped forward then, Lucille over his shoulder, his voice more serious than usual.

"See, Rick… you didn't just fuck up. You lit a goddamn wildfire."

Axel took a step closer to the gate, his presence like a storm rolling in.

"No more warnings. No more speeches."

He pointed to the knife still buried in the wall.

"That? That was the start."

Rick stared at him. Breathing heavy. Silent.

Then Axel turned, heading back to the car.

Negan followed with a grin like the devil watching a house burn.

"You really know how to say hi to the neighbors, kiddo."

As they drove off, the people on Alexandria's walls stood frozen.

The blade still quivered in the wood.

And the war drums had started beating again.

—

The dust still hovered in the air from Axel's wild departure. The knife embedded in the wood remained like a silent threat, humming with tension that wouldn't fade.

Rick stood at the center of it all, quiet.

Not speaking.

Not blinking.

His face was stone.

Behind him, the group gathered slowly—some descending from the walls, others stepping out from nearby buildings. Daryl. Michonne. Jesus. Rosita. Aaron. Father Gabriel. Even Eugene lingered at a distance.

No one spoke at first.

Until Daryl broke the silence.

"What the hell was that?"

Rick didn't respond.

Jesus stepped forward, arms crossed, voice calm but steady.

"That kid, Axel… He wasn't bluffing, Rick. That wasn't a warning. That was a declaration."

Rosita scoffed. "He threw a knife at your face. You think we're just gonna sit here and wait for him to come back with more?"

"Enough," Rick finally said. His voice was rough. Tired.

He moved to the center of the courtyard and sat down on the edge of a wooden bench, rubbing his forehead.

Michonne walked up, calm but visibly shaken.

"Rick… was there really a child at that outpost?"

Rick's eyes flicked toward her, pain flashing behind them.

"We swept the place. We made sure there were no survivors. That's what we always do."

"But we didn't search everywhere," Michonne pressed. Her voice wasn't accusatory. It was real. Human. "We didn't check under every body."

Silence again.

Daryl's voice came low and gravelly. "Doesn't change what they did. They attacked us first. Burned people alive. We lost good men."

Jesus stepped forward again. "Still. We became what they were. Maybe worse."

Rosita looked between them all. "So what? Are we the bad guys now? Is that it?"

Father Gabriel looked down, fingers interlaced, silent in prayer. But when he finally spoke, his voice was haunting.

"A child died in fire. Whether we meant it or not… whether it was accident or ignorance… it happened under our watch."

Rick stood suddenly, eyes intense.

"We didn't kill a child. We destroyed a threat. We hit back. We survived. And if Axel wants to burn the world down for that… then we'll survive that too."

But his voice cracked at the edge of that last sentence. And Michonne saw it.

He wasn't certain anymore.

That knife had cut more than wood. It had carved deep into Rick's sense of justice.

"This isn't over," Jesus said softly. "He'll come back. You saw his eyes. He's not walking away from this."

Rick nodded.

"Then we prepare. Fortify the walls. Get everyone ready. No one goes out alone. And find out everything we can about Axel."

He turned toward the embedded knife one last time.

And in that moment, Rick Grimes didn't look like a sheriff anymore.

He looked like a man waiting for the storm he helped create.

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