The heads on stakes by the side of the road were the first indication that we were approaching a settlement. Some of them had clearly been there for years; they were little more than skulls.
We sent Ricks on ahead, as we always do. He’s about as threatening as a possum. When he came back, he had their terms for entry: give up any guns and ammo, pool all food supplies. The usual.
We won’t oblige, of course. We’ve been to towns like this before. If they don’t like you, they kick you out with nothing. Better to keep looking.