[ vii. a refuge of sorts ]

october 11th, 2010

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"BLESSED BE GOD, FATHER of our Lord Jesus Christ. Praise be to him for the gift of our brother Otis, for his span of years, for his abundance of character; Otis, who gave his life to save a child's, now more than ever, our most precious asset. We thank you, God, for the peace he enjoys in your embrace. He died as he lived, in grace."

Greyson Hunt stood in silence underneath the shade of a willow tree with Glenn Rhee at his side as a large group gathered in attendance for Otis' funeral. His empty grave had been dug earlier in the morning, and now a pile of stones was stacked high to represent his unwritten tombstone. Everyone, whether it be a family member or a mere stranger, was gathered around the tall stack of stones, all except for Carl who was still resting inside the large farmhouse.

The rest of Greyson's group had slowly migrated to the farm in the early morning, bringing all of of their supplies and vehicles with them. They were greeted with welcome arms, Hershel Greene allowing the group to turn the front yard into a refuge camp of sorts until they were all back on their feet. All that was requested of Greyson and the others before they began setting up their tents was to attend Otis' funeral.

Greyson hated funerals. There was something about death in its giant entirety that made him uncomfortable and ridden with anxiety. Greyson knew that one could not comfort the grieving, knowing it was truly the last thing they wanted to hear. Besides, if one were actually close to those lost, all they actually wanted was for it all to be over with as soon as possible. Not wanting to say goodbye, but being forced to move on. That was the way of life.

Lucy's funeral had been the hardest thing that Greyson had ever been forced to live through. He had tried to avoid going, hiding up in the attic until his father had pulled his sobbing body back downstairs and into the world of grief. Greyson would likely never get the sight of her little casket out of his mind, or the white lilies that covered the polished wood.

Afterwards, Greyson had been forced to stand in line with his parents and older sister, doing all that he could to attempt blocking out the soft words of sympathy that complete strangers had tried to sending towards him. Of all the pain Greyson had felt that, he remembered so vividly of just wanting the entire service to be over. There was nothing that could have been said that day to make the mourning of an innocent life any better or worse for a grieving and guilty big brother.

Greyson suddenly shook his head, forcing his mind away from the darkening thoughts that threatened to drown him.  He could not think about Lucy right now.  Not at another man's funeral.  Allowing his eyes to drift from the empty grave, Greyson was not surprised when his attention soon fell to Maggie Greene. Though it had only been a day, he was finding it harder and harder to not look at her.  As he stood there, watching Maggie from the corner of his eye, Greyson could never deny how beautiful she was. Greyson could have stared at Maggie for hours, not even saying a word, and still been left in awe of her presence. But then she might punch him in the face.

Anger and sadness seemed to be the prominent emotions of the young farmer's daughter, but after all that she had been through in the past twenty-four hours, Maggie had every right to be upset.  Tears were silently making their way down the brunette's cheeks, her hand clasped tightly with Beth's as they held each other for comfort. Patricia stood near them, a black shawl wrapped around her shoulders even though it was still warm out. Greyson's own mother had worn a similar one nearly six years ago as her youngest daughter was lowered into the ground.

"Shane, will you speak for Otis?"

The broken question came from Hershel Greene, having finished his prayer, as he now turned towards the man clad in overgrown overalls to give some last words of closure to a grieving family. Shane Walsh looked like absolute hell; his ankle was swollen to a size that resembled a small melon (due to the fact that he had been forced to jump out of a two-story window last night), his hair had been shaved off sometime during the night (likely sticky with too much walker blood), and his already dark eyes were clouded over further as if he was living in a nightmare (and he was).

It was clear to Greyson that the last thing that Shane ever wanted to do right now was relive Otis' last moments. "I'm not good at it," He insisted shakily, searching quickly within his own mind for excuses. "I'm sorry."

"Y-You were the last one with him," Patricia pleaded tearfully. "You shared his final moments. P-Please. I need to hear. I n-need to know his death had meaning."

Shane stared narrowly at Patricia, his cold and haunted gaze dropping to the deadened grass as he licked his chapped lips. "O-Okay," He sighed, pain etching its way into his hoarse voice.  "Well, we were about done," He addressed tightly. "Almost out of ammo. We were down to pistols by then. I was limpin'. It was bad." Shane's jaw tightened stiffly. "'We've got to save the boy.' See, that's what he said. He gave me his backpack, shoved me ahead. 'Run! I'll take the rear. I'll cover you,' he said. And when I looked back . . ." He trailed off, moving forward and towards the grave with a large stone of his own. "If not for Otis, I'd have never made it out alive. That goes for Carl, too. It was Otis. He saved us both. If any death ever had meaning, it was his."

As he concluded his speech, Shane Walsh placed the rock atop the grave with finality and returned to his rightful spot on the outskirts of the group's huddle whilst Patricia nodded in gratitude. In the following minutes, more tears were shed from the Greene family, a few last words were said by Hershel, and then the service was over.  And as soon as Greyson and the others turned away from the lone grave, each and every one of them immediately began to return to the current matter that was still at hand.

Finding Sophia.

Returning back to the sanctuary of the Greene farmhouse, many members of the highway group returned to the main lawn to begin setting up the remnants of camp.  Elsewhere, Greyson found himself gathered around one of the nearby vehicles alongside Rick, Shane, Daryl, Andrea and Hershel. "How long has this girl been lost?" The patriarch of the Greene family asked.

"This'll be day three," Rick informed gravely.

Greyson heard soft footsteps approaching from behind him and hastily turned around, his guarded blue eyes meeting with Maggie's green and calculated stare as she neared their small group. Falling into place beside the tall blonde, she laid out a large piece of yellowing paper across the hood of the vehicle for Greyson and the others to see. "County survey map," She explained briskly. "Shows terrain and elevations."

Rick smiled appreciatively. "This is perfect," He said, already examining the map closely. "We can finally get this thing organized. We'll grid the whole area, start searching in teams."

"Not you. Not today," Hershel ordered, staring at the determined (though very pale) sheriff. "You gave three units of blood. You wouldn't be hiking five minutes in this heat before passing out." He then turned to look at Shane with further advisement. "And your ankle—push it now, you'll be laid up for a month. That's no good to anybody."

"Guess it's just me," Daryl sighed.

"And me," Greyson added, glancing swiftly over at the older archer.

The redneck scoffed. "I'd rather be alone," He muttered.

Greyson rolled his eyes. "Best suck it up," He retorted. "Because I'm goin'."

Rick looked between the two hunters that stood on opposing sides of the small vehicle, a barricade of more than just the car itself forming steadily between them. "No one goes out there alone," Rick informed sternly, ensuring that both Daryl and Greyson looked at him when he spoke. "You're pairin' up or neither of you are goin' at all. Your choice."  Greyson back looked at Daryl again, not surprised in the slightest to find that his own steely eyes were already boring into his own. Greyson could see the obvious annoyance on Daryl's face, and Greyson was also sure that Daryl could see the irritability in his features, too. They were polar opposites of one another yet such a simple and single thing still brought them together as well: their determination to find Sophia before something else did.

"Fine," Greyson and Daryl reluctantly grumbled in unintended unison.

Somewhere to his left, Greyson heard the familiar snicker beneath one's breath, and he did not have to look over to know that it was Maggie. She had been silent for much of the discussion, watching Greyson and Daryl's exchange closely, and Greyson could tell that she found unexpected amusement in his single-minded stubbornness and determination. He was not entirely sure if her reaction to such a scene annoyed him or not.

"So, we'll head back to the creek," Daryl finally decided, ripping Greyson from his thoughts. "Work our way back from there."

"And I can still be useful," Shane added. "I'll drive up to the interstate, see if Sophia wandered back."

Rick nodded in approval and Greyson watched him carefully, noticing how his eyes seemed to be drooping further and further in exhaustion. The walk from the willow tree to the house must have only been a hundred yards but the man in front of Greyson seemed on the verge of collapsing. Rick's pale skin stood out starkly against his dark shirt, his gentle eyes appearing sunken in his sockets. "Rick, you should go get some rest," Greyson suggested politely. "We'll handle this. We can finally start doin' this right."

"We can.  But that means we can't have our people out there with just knives," Shane pointed out. "They need the gun training we've been promisin' them."

Hershel swallowed uncomfortably at Shane's suggestion. "I'd prefer you not carrying guns on my property," He admitted. "We've managed so far without turning this into an armed camp."

"All due respect, but you get a crowd of those things wandering in here . . ." Shane trailed off.

"Look, we're guests here," Rick cut his friend off. "This is Hershel's property and we will respect that." He promptly reached into his holster to produce his Colt Python and then placed it atop the map, looking around at the rest of the onlookers to see if any would follow suit. Everyone aside from Greyson and Daryl, who would understandably need their weapons out in the woods, bitterly complied, muttering disgruntled words under their breaths as they placed their guns—their only means of proper protection—into the growing pile. "All right," Rick sighed contentedly. "First things first: set camp, then find Sophia."

While others were eager to break away from the vehicle and set to work, Shane cleared his throat tightly, drawing attention back towards the map.  He chewed on his bottom lip and rubbed at his shaved scalp as he spoke carefully. "I hate to be the one to ask, but somebody's got to," He said. "What happens if we find her and she's bit? I think we should all be clear on how we handle that."

Greyson tensed at the thought of finding little Sophia Peletier as a walker. Such an ending to this search was always a possibility, but it was one that he liked to keep at the back of his mind. Just because Greyson tended to have bad luck did not mean that others suffered the same fate.  Besides, in the short two months that he had met Sophia, he knew that she was a little fighter all on her own.  She was strong.  Maybe there were times when others were not so convinced, maybe others had underestimated her, but for all that any of them knew, Sophia could be camped out in a tree. Hell, had any of them even bothered to look up as they scoured the trees the day before?

"You do what has to be done."

Maggie shivered coldly, her trembling arm brushing against Greyson's own, and her hands clenched into fists as she looked over to Rick in absolute disbelief of his command. "And her mother?" She demanded. "What do you tell her?"

"The truth," Andrea murmured.

Maggie closed her eyes, disgust evident on her features at the thought of an execution in the making. Meanwhile, Shane merely gathered up a nearby duffle bag from the backseat of the vehicle they were all leaning against, and scooped all of the weapons into it. "I'll gather and secure all the weapons," He decided. "Make sure no one's carrying til we're at a practice range off site. But I do request one rifleman on lookout."

"I can do that when I get back," Greyson volunteered confidently. His rifle was already strapped across his back.

Andrea nodded. "And Dale can cover until then," She informed.

But whether any of them liked the plan forming before them or not, the final decision of a properly armed camp did not come down to Greyson or any of the others, and so they could do nothing more than looking pleadingly across at Hershel Greene who had noticeably remained silent at the request, only staring at his oldest daughter uncertainly. Rick cleared his throat uncomfortably, trying to ease the tension that was already thickening into a solid bridge between their two groups. "Our people would feel safer, less inclined to carry a gun," He insisted.

And finally, after several moments of prolonged thought, the old man nodded in reluctant compliance. Because whether he liked it or not, either, Greyson would be keeping his own family safe, too. "Okay."

Rick smiled, though the man was now so weak under the blaring sun it appeared more like a grimace.  "We appreciate it."

Shane and Andrea soon left after that final decision regarding the weaponry, now leaving Daryl, Maggie, Hershel, Rick and Greyson around the vehicle to begin plotting where the two trackers might begin their search first. "That stuff you brought," The brunette woman said. "Do you got more antibiotics, bandages, or anythin' like that?"

"Just what you've seen," Daryl informed.

Maggie pursed her lips and shook her head. "We're running short already," She grumbled. "I should make a run into town."

"Not the school?" Greyson questioned, concern edging into his tone as he thought of anyone returning back to that hellhole. They had already lost one life.  They could not afford to lose anymore. "Where Shane and—"

"No," She cut him off surely. "There's a pharmacy just a mile down the road. I've done it before."

"Are you goin' alone?" Greyson prodded.

Maggie nodded her head in answer, but then Rick piped up in protest as well and quickly looked back around to camp in search for a specific face. When he found it, their leader pointed towards none other than Greyson's best friend. "See our man there in the baseball cap?" He questioned and Maggie nodded again, her green eyes shifting towards the young Korean boy. "That's Glenn. He's our go-to-town expert. I'd ask him along just to be cautious."

Maggie swallowed stiffly, looking Glenn over carefully as he attempted to setup a tent. For a long moment, the group did nothing more than watch on in silence as he nearly gouged his eye out with pole. "Cautious, huh?" She asked.

As Rick and Hershel walked off to discuss the former's intentions on the property, Greyson merely chuckled at Maggie's distaste and looked down at her warmly. "Glenn's good," He reassured. "He'll look after you. Just make sure you look after him, too."

Maggie laughed lightly at Greyson's gentle plea, her lips tilting up into a smirk and she opened her mouth to say more, but then she was abruptly was cut off by the rough voice of none other than Daryl Dixon who still lingered near the car. "You ready to go yet, blondie?" He asked irritably, grabbing at his crossbow. "I ain't got all day."

Greyson rolled my eyes at the newfound nickname, but decided not to bother arguing because the archer would always have something to say back, even if it did not make sense. Hell, Greyson would not have been surprised if Daryl laid awake at night, thinking of every possible negativity or comeback to say to him whenever he tried to speak.

"Well," Maggie snickered. "You best get goin', blondie."

Greyson scoffed. "Don't miss me too much."

She rolled her eyes at that. "Please," She muttered. "I'll be thankful for the quiet once you're gone."

Greyson sent her a concerned look. "I'm not that loud, am I?" He asked. Instead of responding, Maggie simply turned on her heel and began walking towards Glenn, knowing very well that Greyson was still watching her every precise, cocky and confident move. But even with her back to him, Greyson could easily see the smirk on her face.  "You didn't answer my question!" He called after her, crossing his arms playfully over his chest.

Maggie Greene refused to reply, but rather than be met with ultimate silence, Greyson heard quiet swear from over his own shoulder. The young blonde quickly turned to see Daryl. "I'll answer it for you," The older man muttered darkly. "Now, get moving."

Greyson laughed dryly, the sound voice of any joy as he swung his rifle off of his back and into his awaiting hands. "Oh, Daryl," The Hunt boy drawled out sarcastically, sending Daryl a wicked smirk as he brushed past him in annoyance.

"This is going to be fun."

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Forget about #Magson. Where are the ship names for Grey and Daryl?? If you enjoyed this chapter, please let me know with a vote or comment of feedback! I'd really appreciate it! Thank you!

edited.