Daughter of a Dixon ✔️

70: The Guy Calls Himself Jesus

"Back up, now!" Dad yelled to the man, and he was quick to obey, taking three steps back and raising his hands.

"Whoa, easy guys, I was just running from the dead," he explained, his eyebrows raising.

"How many?" Rick questioned.

"Ten, maybe more, but I'm not risking it. Once it gets to double digits, I start running."

"Where?"

"About half a mile back. They're heading this way; you probably have about... eleven minutes?"

A stern silence went by before Rick hesitantly dropped his gun, giving the man a nod. "Okay... thanks for letting us know."

He returned the gesture, accompanied by a shrug of his shoulders. "Yeah, sure. There's more of them than us. We gotta stick together... right?"

His eyes darted to meet mine, and it was only then I realized I was still aiming my gun at him. My eyes narrowed as I holstered my weapon, giving the man a tight nod. "Right."

He smiled from beneath his mask again, and lowered his hands by his side. "You guys have a camp?"

Dad's answer of, "no," was instantaneous, followed by Rick asking, "do you?"

The man replied with a negative as well, but something told me he wasn't being truthful; his clothes were clean, along with his hair and face.

"Sorry for running into you," he said, taking a luring step back. "I'm gonna go now. This is the next world, I hope it's good to you guys!"

Before he could get too far, though, Rick spoke again, calling after him. "I'm Rick! This is Daryl, that's Sidney. What's your name?"

The man stopped short, and spun back around on his heel to face us. He removed the face mask he was wearing, exposing a clean, short beard covering the lower portion of his face.

"Paul Rovia," he said, smiling. "But my friends used to call me Jesus. Your pick."

I was about to make a snarky remark regarding his nickname, but just as I opened my mouth, Rick's voice rang out from beside me. "You said you didn't have a camp; you alone?"

"Yeah, but still... best not to try anything."

"Best not to make threats you can't keep either," I warned, quirking an eyebrow at him.

He shot me a smirk, accompanied by a curt nod. "Exactly."

With that, he turned away once again, and began running around the other side of the gas station. "How many walkers have you-..?" I began to say, but my dad cut me off with a death glare. "Not this guy."

"How many walkers have you killed?" Rick finished for me, cupping his hands as he yelled out to the man.

"Sorry, gotta run! You should, too!"

Once he was gone, and safely out of our sight, Dad turned to Rick and asked in a hushed voice what the hell that was.

"He was clean; his beard was trimmed... somethin's up, there's more goin' on there," Rick responded. "Maybe we could follow him, track him for a bit. You think we could bring him back?"