Broken glass crunched under Michonne's boots. She shaded her eyes with her hands and peeked through the empty window, careful not to touch any of the sharp pieces of glass resting on the sill.

"See anything?" Carl asked.

"Nah, just trash and leaves, looks like," Michonne answered, stepping away from the window again.

It wouldn't be safe to try and go inside the dilapidated cabin, but she was curious enough to take a peek.

The three survivors camped out in the tree house for the better part of a week without incident. A single walker appeared two days ago and it was quickly dispatched with a katana.

An unlucky bunny and a few squirrels found their way into Rick's snares, which went a long way towards supplementing their meager diet of energy bars and stale cereal. Still, even rationing carefully, they were running very low on food.

Michonne changed Rick's bandage a couple times and kept feeding him antibiotics from their scavenged EMT bag, for good measure. She tried to minimize how many times he climbed up and down that rope ladder on his injured leg. He was slowly healing and gaining back his strength, but he wasn't all the way there yet.

"Let's head on back," Michonne said, turning to go, "bring these up to your dad."

They'd collected a bundle of sticks, little twigs, vines, and scraps of string. Maybe Rick could fashion a fishing lure. Maybe there were fish in the lake.

"Uh-huh," Carl answered distractedly, nudging at something on the ground with his foot. He bent over and picked it up, flicking off a clump of dirt.

"What ya got?" Michonne asked.

"Just another bullet," Carl said, holding the empty shell casing up to catch the light then tossing it aside and following Michonne back around the side of the cabin.

There were large caliber bullet casings on the ground, most of them hidden by the overgrown grass and fallen leaves, but there were hundreds, maybe thousands, scattered around the cabin and all through the woods near the tree house.

Clearly there had been a major battle here, maybe more than one. Some of the shells were old and rusted and caked with dirt but some were newer.

'Someone had their last stand here,' was Carl's theory the first time he noticed the splintered bullet holes in the tree trunks, in the walls of the cabin, 'like the Alamo. They got overrun.'

Like the prison, is what he really meant.

'No,' Rick had said slowly, 'It wasn't a last stand. If it was, then where are the bodies? Whoever fought here, they won.'

'But what did they do with the bodies then? There's nothing here,' Michonne was left wondering. There were no graves, no charred patches from burning corpses.

Rick didn't have an answer to that, but later he had found himself gazing out at the lake, a worried feeling nagging at the edges of his mind.

"Michonne!" Carl's whisper was sharp with urgency, immediately snapping her back to the present.

She looked where he was pointing.

Three walkers, no, four, were approaching through the trees. If we run now, they'll cut us off before we reach the tree house...Too late to hide, they've seen us!

"Stay behind me," Michonne ordered Carl. She dropped her bundle of sticks on the ground, all thoughts of fishing forgotten, and drew her sword.

Carl obeyed, pulling his gun out of its holster but keeping it down by his side. Gunfire was to be avoided unless absolutely necessary.

Michonne tightened her grip on the hilt of her katana, focused her thoughts, step forward, wait, to the left, swing!

A rotting corpse fell to the ground, head separated from the body.

The second walker was close behind the first. Michonne raised her sword above her head, brought it down at an angle, cleanly slicing off about a third of the walker's skull. Brain matter sloshed out as the dead man fell to the forest floor with a thud.

The other walkers were still several strides away.

"Go!"

Carl ran for the tree house, Michonne right behind him.

The third walker came at her from the side. She blocked it with a shove but it was only knocked off balance for a moment.

Michonne lunged and put her blade straight through the decayed man's forehead and pulled it back in one motion.

She turned to see Carl had stopped in his tracks, gun raised and pointed at something behind her.

The fourth walker was lumbering towards them slowly on broken ankles, constantly veering to the right then correcting itself, pushed onwards by an inhuman hunger.

That wasn't all. Behind that walker, she saw them, the bent figures emerging from the darkness deeper in the old forest. More walkers were coming, she couldn't count how many, drawing closer every second.

"Run!" Michonne yelled to Carl and they both broke into a sprint, dodging through the trees.

"DAD!" Carl yelled as he ran. Rick was still in the tree house.

Breathless seconds later, Carl made it to the dangling rope ladder. He glanced back once to see that Michonne had stopped, holding her sword in a defensive position, standing between him and the advancing herd.

"Hurry!" Michonne ordered.

Carl nodded, heart pounding in his ears, willing his body to move faster. He holstered his gun, grabbed the first cross-rope, and began to climb.

One. Michonne filled her lungs with air. Two. They're here. Three. She exhaled slowly and swung wide, decapitating a growling walker, reversed her motion, slicing another nearly in two. It fell down heavily, one arm reaching up to grasp the air. Michonne pulled her blade out of its torso.

The herd was upon her now but she wasn't scared. Don't stop to think about it, follow your instincts and act! Save the fear for later. That's the only way to survive.

Michonne fought the walkers, trusting her muscles to call up the correct moves as she needed them. Strike, recover, swing, strike, retreat a few more paces, attack, spin, attack again, breathe, strike again. Her katana was an extension of her body, responding flawlessly to her every command.

She struck down walker after walker, waiting for an opening.

"Michonne!" Rick's voice, loud and deep.

"Come on!" Carl's voice, desperate.

There was no opening! Michonne swung wide, decapitating two walkers at once. She leaped over their bodies but it was no good. She was surrounded, hands grabbing at her from all directions.

BAM!

Michonne winced involuntarily at the loud blast. She saw a walker collapse in front of her, dark blood streaming from its ruined face.

BAM! BAM BAM BAM!

Michonne froze, some part of her brain telling her not to move, don't get in the way of their aim.

For a spilt second she looked up and saw Rick standing at the edge of the tree house, his expression fierce, back straight, his smoking gun confidently finding target after target. He looked for all the world like a cowboy in the old west, like he was born to win a shootout.

Rick, with Carl now standing at his side, continued to fire, clearing a path for Michonne.

She ran then and closed the distance to the rope ladder.

"Come on!" Rick yelled down to her.

Don't look back! Just go! GO! Michonne slid her katana into its sheath without even flicking away the blood and began to climb the rope ladder.

Rick and Carl shot two more walkers before they could grab Michonne's legs.

Her hands at the second to last cross-rope, Michonne's feet slipped when a walker below her grabbed ahold of the rope ladder, jerking it hard. She caught herself just in time, hooking her arm through the rope ladder and holding on for dear life.

BAM!

The walker fell. Swinging her legs, Michonne fumbled and managed to regain her balance on the ladder. She pulled herself up one more step and the next thing she saw was Rick's hands reaching out to grab her arms.

Rick pulled her bodily up onto the platform, Carl grabbing a handful of her shirt to help.

Finally safe from the hungry mob below, Michonne closed her eyes in relief. She took several long, deep breaths in an effort to calm her racing heart. That was close!

"Are you okay? Are you hurt?" Rick asked urgently, fear in his voice.

He brushed her dreadlocks aside so he could see her face, his blue eyes full of concern.

Michonne swallowed and found her voice, "I'm okay."

Rick needed a little more convincing before he could relax. He quickly checked over her arms and legs but found no sign of any bites or scratches.

"I'm okay," Michonne repeated, as much for herself as for Rick. She was feeling a bit calmer now.

Michonne cracked a small smile.

Rick used the sleeve of his jacket to wipe a splatter of dark blood from her cheek.

"We make a good team," she said, "the three of us."

"Yeah," Rick agreed, "we do."

He reached around Michonne to squeeze Carl's shoulder.

"You did good, son," Rick affirmed. He had meant what he said that first day after the prison fell. He was proud of Carl and how he handled himself in a crisis.

Michonne tapped the rim of Carl's hat, making it fall over his eyes until he pushed it back up. From her, it was an affectionate gesture.

Carl smiled. They really did feel like a family.

The happy moment didn't last long enough. Soon the three survivors' attention was drawn back to the outside world.

They were surrounded. Trapped.

Walking dead crowded around the tree trunk, around the dangling rope ladder, a steadily growing horde of reaching arms, snapping teeth, moaning and hissing. The stench was terrible and more and more came through the woods, drawn by the gunfire and the excitement, pushing in on the walkers already there.

The tall oak's trunk was strong and wide. It would not give way, no matter how many walkers pushed themselves against it.

The herd was large, larger than the group that had brought the fence down at the prison when only Rick and Carl had been left to stop it.

For several minutes Michonne, Rick, and Carl watched in silence. Carl brushed his hair out of his eyes and readjusted his hat. Michonne leaned against Rick, her body tired from the fighting. His arm was still around her. He was in no hurry to move.

A lake of dead people had formed below the tree house.

They were all thinking the same thing but it was Carl who said it aloud first.

"What do we do now?"