She gave him time to work it through.

“I’m John, John Allens,” he said at last. “We’re from Happy Valley. We were on patrol, looking for one of our people. He went missing the other day, so we organized a search party. We saw you attack him.” His tone turned harsh. “Attack and kill him.”

Rachael winced. “I’m so sorry, but your friend was dead before I got to him. I don’t know how he died either, but he was an—” She stopped herself from saying “orc” because they wouldn’t understand. “He’d come back from the dead, just like most everyone else out there.” She kept her voice calm, almost sad, wanting to show respect for their loss. “We mean you and your friends and home no harm, I can promise you that.”

“M-Mr. Allens?” Tommy’s voice was soft, almost scared as he peaked around Alice’s leg.

“Tommy?” John Allens shot to his feet, apparently no longer concerned with Rachael or Jason’s weapons. “What in the hell are you doing out here? Your family’s got to be worried sick about you!”

Rachael stood as well, taking a step back as she looked from Tommy to John Allens. She kept her hand on her dagger hilt but made no move to draw it.

“Happy Valley? Happytown?” Jason muttered to her.

“Tommy, is Mr. Allens from Happytown?” she asked as the boy took a few hesitant steps forward.

The boy nodded sheepishly.

“We found Tommy wandering near the woods a little ways back,” Rachael explained. “He was looking for someone called the Apple Man. I’m guessing that was your friend.” She nodded toward the fallen orc. Allens looked over at the body and nodded. “We were trying to help Tommy find his way home when Pat attacked him. I had no choice but to quiet him.”

“You okay, son?” Allens knelt by Tommy, checking him over for bites and scratches. The boy nodded, passively submitting to the inspection.

“What’s Happy Valley?” Peter asked curiously. He was a thin, gangly young man with sandy hair and clear blue eyes. He looked like he should be playing sandlot baseball instead of being a part of this kind of violence. The self-aware hurt of that truth was evident in his eyes.

“We’re a town about a mile down the path,” Allens answered. “All survivors. Our community is gated, so nothing gets in, and we have been blessed with abundant land for farming and grazing, and lots of room for people. In general, we’ve been very lucky. Haven’t had any attacks by gangs or walkers, and the homes are a good distance from the gates. It’s a piece of heaven, even in these bad times.”

Rachael glanced at their weapons in the pile.

“How do you defend it? Do you have a guard or any watch set up, or any reinforcements of your fences?”