Then it vomits a torrent of black sludge onto the floor.

Hershel glances at Rick’s hip. No gun. Just a gardening trowel.

“There’s a veterinary college twenty miles west. Abandoned. We hit it at dawn.”

“The pig is sick.”

Rick’s eyes. The calm is gone. The survivalist is back. But now, he’s terrified not of the dead—but of the living he must protect from the poison inside his own walls.