───── ⋆THIRTEEN⋆ ─────

𝐈 𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐎𝐃 𝐁𝐄𝐒𝐈𝐃𝐄 𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐘𝐋 as we looked over the map. It was a brand new day which meant we were separating into grids. It was hotter today, the sun leaving lava-like sweats across my shoulders and neck. I had expertly avoided laundry duty with Lori and Carol, positioning myself firmly by Daryl's side.

We had already come up with a plan for the day: to go off on our own.

"If she made it as far as the farmhouse Daryl and Sam found," said Rick, pointing down to the map that was colored off in our new grids, "she might have gone further east than we've been so far."

Shane opened the truck door, sitting down inside to look at his gun as a new voice entered our circle. "I'd like to help," said Jimmy, cautiously stepping towards us. He had both hands in his pockets, his shoulders hunched. He was scared to speak to us. "I–I know the area pretty well and stuff."

"Hershel's okay with this?" asked Rick.

Jimmy nodded. "Yeah, yeah," he sounded like a liar, "he said I should ask you."

Rick nodded back to him in thanks as Shane, who seemed to be waiting to say this since he'd learned of our discoveries yesterday, grunted out, "Nothing about what Daryl and Sam found screams Sophia to me. Anyone could've been holed up in the farmhouse."

Andrea, leaning against the truck, said, "Anybody includes her, right?"

"Whoever slept in that cupboard was no bigger than yay-high," said Daryl holding up his hand to his ribs."

I nodded, adding, "Not even I could fit down there and with how the pillows were positioned, I'd say whoever was in there was comfortable, not cramped."

"It's a good lead," said Rick. "Maybe we'll pick up her trail again."

From behind me, Dale began to pass out the weapons. I'd been lucky keeping mine, avoiding Shane at all costs in case he decided to strip me for it.

"There's no maybe about it," said Daryl. He leaned forward, pointing to the map. "We're gonna borrow a horse, head up to this ridge right here," he tapped the spot, "take a bird's eye view of the whole grid. If she's up there, we'll spot her."

T-Dog, with a small grin coming to his lips, mumbled, "Maybe you'll see your chupacabra up there, too."

Rick made a face. "Chupacabra?"

I turned on Daryl, a hand on my hip. "Your what?"

"You never heard of this?" said Dale with a little chuckle. "Our first night in camp, Daryl tells us that the whole thing reminds him of a time when he went squirrel hunting and he saw a chupacabra."

Rick laughed, which was his fatal mistake because Daryl turned on him and snapped, "What're you brayin' at, jackass?"

Rick, still laughing, shook his head. "You believe in a blood-sucking dog?"

"Do you believe dead people walking about?" countered Daryl and I whistled with a laugh under my breath.

Before we got the chance to dissect that more and maybe have our third true laugh of the day, Jimmy reached for the gun Dale placed on the hood of the truck. Rick put his hand out to stop him but he wasn't the first to speak.

"You ever use one of those before?" I asked sharply.

Jimmy licked his lips. "Well, if I'm going out, I want one."

"Yeah, and people in hell want slurpees," snapped Daryl, throwing his crossbow over one shoulder and motioned for me to follow him but I was already turning on the boy.

"You don't get one because you want one," I said to him, my eyes narrowed into a glare. "You get one when you've trained and know how to use one safely."

"Then how am I gonna kill one of them?" Beth's boyfriend asked and it seemed like he was genuinely curious.

"Have you ever?"

He didn't answer.

"Why don't you come train tomorrow?" asked Shane, leaning against the door to look at the boy. He was, after all, just a boy. Fresh faced, maybe sixteen, seventeen. "I'm a certified instructor–"

I didn't bother listening to him drone on. I pushed away from the truck, pulling my hair into a ponytail as I headed in the direction Daryl had gone when someone rushed to fall into step with me.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," said Shane, forcing me to slow my pace down to his. The limp was better but his presence wasn't. "You goin' off now?"

"Yeah," I murmured, "that's why I left."

"And you and Daryl are gonna, what?" he said. "Ride one horse together?"

"Yes and what about it?"

"You really think that's safe?" he asked as we stopped near the tents. Near the barns, Daryl was already leading a horse out by the reins.

"What do you think's not safe?" I asked, feeling my chest puff up as if I were some animal ready to strike him. "The horse? Or him?"

He hooked his fingers in his belt loops, taking on a relaxed position in front of me. "Can I say both?"

"No."

"No?"

"It's none of your fucking business."

Shane's eyes narrowed. "Why do you keep goin' with him, anyways? He rarely speaks, so I know it's not for conversation or company."

"Aw," I cooed, reaching out and patting him harshly on the cheek, "you're beginning to sound jealous."

He swatted my hand away. "Why not come out with me and Rick instead? You really want to roll around with him on a horse all day?"

I ignored the implications he was trying to insinuate, so I glared and said, "When you stop runnin' your mouth, maybe I'll finally choose you."

"Ah, I need to be silent like him?"

"I think you need to be silent in general."

He scoffed, shaking his head and looking off to the side. "I'm tryin' to look out for you."

When he met my eyes again, I was glaring. "You're just looking out for yourself. Afraid I might spill your dirty secrets to Daryl, hmm?"

"No."

"Oh, really?" My smile was hateful and if I had claws, they would've sprung free. "I think you're worried I might tell him, I think you're terrified of what he could do to you once he finds out." I leaned closer, spitting venom. "Maybe he'll tell Rick, and maybe he'll tell Lori. What do you think of that then?"

I wished he was sweating. I wished he was shaking within his boots. I hoped his ankle burned and throbbed every time he thought of Otis.

"I think you should be careful," he said, squaring his shoulders back, "that's all."

"I will be," I spat back.

If only you knew how wrong you'd be.

The horse trotted slowly through the wooded path. I was the one in control of the horse, Daryl sitting contently behind me as my passenger. He didn't try to argue when I took the horse and mounted her first. He wordlessly got behind me and his hands rested on his thighs rather than around my waist.

"Slow her down a bit," he murmured behind me.

I guided the horse through the trees. I applied some pressure to the reins as Daryl pulled his crossbow free from his shoulder to aim. He hit a squirrel running up a tree to our right before I'd even noticed what he was shooting for. He yanked the arrow free from the tree, the squirrel's body limp already with death. He tucked the animal in his waistband and I ignored how unsettling that was before guiding the horse towards the ridge.

We moved slowly, giving us time to look down the edge and into the water from the creek trail. We hadn't found much but as I eased the horse into a full stop, a feeling I hadn't had since the beginning began to spark inside my chest.

"Oh my god," I breathed, pointing down the hill and towards the logs stuck across the water. It was barely visible but with Daryl's eyes and my own, we knew what it was from its misshapen body and color alone.

Daryl eased himself off the back of the horse and held out his hand for me. I took it and he helped me down into the brush beside him.

"You think it could be hers?" I asked as he took the slow lead down the hill after tying the horse to a tree.

"Yeah," he said, "I do."

The leaves and twigs were good friction against my boots to keep me from falling down the hill. I walked at an angle, keeping my knees bent so I had more control. It was a steep decline and Daryl used some of the trees to ease himself down further.

At the bottom of the gully, I noticed how the water was stagnant behind the fallen tree trunk. The water a dark murky brown, the smell slightly off from how long it'd been sitting, unmoving, in the sun. There was a rock cliff to my right as we stalked through the shallow water. Across from us were trees and bushes, leading to the dense woods.

The water wasn't deep as we walked out to where the doll was, it didn't come up over my boots like I was worried about. I was happy to feel no water soak into my socks as Daryl went down to retrieve the doll.

It was muddy and soaked through but it was Sophia's nonetheless.

"Oh, fuck," I whispered breathlessly as he held it out for me to see. It was hers, down to the doll's brown hair and yellow outfit. It must've drifted downstream and gotten stuck here, or, it meant she had crossed through here and we hadn't even realized it.

Daryl cupped a hand by his mouth, shouting, "Sophia!"

I headed back the way we came, walking along the bank to yell the same name. I feared we'd be screaming out for a ghost but if her doll was here, it meant she had been too. It amazed me, though, how she didn't just go back to the highway or stay where she was. From how Rick and Daryl described the area she'd been left in, it was safe. There hadn't been any walkers coming back through there, and I wasn't counting the one Rick led away.

If she had just stayed where she was supposed to, this wouldn't be an issue now.

"Let's head back up," said Daryl, pointing to where the horse was. "See if we can spot anythin' further up the ridge."

I nodded, following him back up the hill. It felt steeper on the incline, my calves burning as I pushed my way up. With the sun finding its way through the treetops, I was beginning to work up a pretty slick sweat. The flannel I'd decided to wear to keep some of the sun off my back and shoulders was starting to make me overheat.

When we reached the top, I pulled it off and stuffed it in my backpack that I'd kept by the horse. With Daryl riding behind me, I didn't want to restrict his access for holding on even though he barely did hold on at all. I kept the bag on my shoulders this time, knowing he wouldn't bother with holding on.

I got on the horse first, taking control of the reins as Daryl untied her from her tree. When he got on behind me, using the stirrup I hadn't put my foot in yet to give him a leg up. He was warm behind me and for a pathetic second, I worried he could tell how badly I smelled or that he could feel how much I'd sweat through my shirt.

I pressed my foot gently against the horse's side because she didn't need much telling when to move and began our slow trot by the ridge. If we'd had this much luck already, I was guessing we would continue to have more as we made our way through the woods.

I just didn't think the birds would come so quickly out from the bushes, the horse jostling to the side. Daryl's hand touched my hip but didn't go further. We moved further and I should've been watching the ground instead of the distance because the hiss and the rustling of leaves had the horse rearing up on her back legs.

Daryl made a yelping sound, something I'd never heard come from him before. I tightened my hands on the reins and snarled, "Hold on to me, asshole!"

His hand found my backpack but he was already falling and I felt like half of me was heaved back with him. I was wrenched from the horse with Daryl's bodyweight sending me toppling to the ground. I heard him land before me and even watched him topple down the rocky cliffside before I went down after him, slightly slower thanks to him practically cushioning my fall.

I slowed my fall down the rocks, digging my feet into the ground and using my hands to claw at the jagged stone. I didn't fall the way Daryl had, rolling on his sides like a child sprawling in the snow. I felt my skin catch on the rocks and I let up my grip nearly all the way down, my body propelling forward with my slowed momentum, sending me crashing into the water.

I felt the water soak into my clothes and it was shocking that it was cold. With the sun, I'd almost expected it to be warm but it bathed me in chills all the way to my hands, knees, and bones. It felt like winter in my soul. My body ached from the fall, like I'd gotten the wind knocked out of me. My hands and knees burned and I rolled to my side, hissing at the sting in my hands.

The bottoms of my palms was made up of shredded skin like cheese in a grater. Red, bloody, and white, running down my wrists with the water like a sea of aching. My nails were cracked at the bottoms but it wasn't anything I couldn't deal with but my hands needed to be wrapped. I tested my fingers and found that they all moved and curled easily, the only pain were my palms that were bleeding steadily.

Yet, there was blood in the water and although my hands were shredded, my nails cracked, I wasn't the one creating this much blood. It was a deep pool of sangria moving closer to my my knees.

Daryl laid on his back, groaning and from where I'd landed, I could see the damage already. There was a cut on his forehead, bleeding down into his eyes and shot through his side was one of his arrows. I got onto my knees quickly, ignoring my own pain, to splash through the water and to his side.

His lips were drawn back in silent agony, his eyes squeezed shut.

"You gotta sit up," I instructed, hand going to his back and arm.

He cursed at me but nodded and I helped him to his side then his knees. He was panting, puffing his cheeks up to breathe deeply. The arrow was at an angle, the arrowhead sticking out his front. Tears threatened my eyes with the movement in my knees and I knew it was only from shock, nothing worse.

I eased him to shore, taking the majority of his weight onto my own. We weren't too far from the bank of dry land and I lowered him to his knees. I unsheathed his knife from my hip, realizing just how lucky I got that my ax hadn't turned and sawed a piece of my gut off during the fall. Nothing on me had budged, thanks to the way I'd shimmied and slid down the rock. My gun, ax, and badge were still all in place. I turned my attention back to Daryl.

"We need to apply pressure," I told him, cutting the sleeves off his shirt.

I pulled them from his arms and began tying them together. I got my own flannel out from my bag and tore off the sleeves to create a long tourniquet. I wanted to at least get it double wrapped so it stayed on tighter. We needed to stop the bleeding until we were able to get back and pull the arrow free. I could've done it now but that wound needed serious treatment, I wasn't sure just based on looks if it had pierced anything vital inside.

"Tie it off," I instructed, looking around and noticing his crossbow was nowhere in sight. "Make sure you get the arrow around it so it stays in place–"

He nodded, grunting, "I know, I know."

I didn't wait to see if he would begin to do it before jumping to my feet and racing back through the water. The blood hadn't moved from where it had been pooling so I sloshed around in that area until I found the bow. I had to lower myself pretty far into the water but at this point, my socks, underwear, and entire being were drenched.

I pulled the weapon from the water, taking note if I had all the arrows and once I was sure, I pushed my way back towards Daryl who was standing with the help of a thick walking stick. He looked like a sad wet cat standing there waiting for me. He was putting the majority of his weight down on the stick to avoid any pressure on his side but I could see any blood seeping through his shirt unless his shirt was just that dirty.

I slung the bow across my back and chest and he didn't say anything about it.

"It'll be a tough climb," I murmured, motioning to the hill we would have to maneuver ourselves up. "We're gonna sit for a moment, okay?" He gave me a blank stare. "Sit down, Daryl."

He moved slowly to some of the rocks near the hillside, sitting down carefully with the help of the stick. My backpack I'd left with him was on the ground by his side and I reached down to grab it when his hand circled around my wrist. He held my palm open faced to the sky, his fingers digging into my skin as he looked at my wound.

He didn't bother asking me to show him my other hand as he snatched it up to look. He let out a slow breath through his nose, as if calming himself, before saying, "You're hurt."

I pulled my hands away to dig through my bag as I mumbled, "Doesn't matter."

I used some of my ruined flannel to cut a piece off to use as a wipe. I bundled it up into a pad in my hand, bringing it up to his face to clean the blood out of his eyes. It was mixed with so much sweat and water, it was pink streaming down his cheek.

"Your knees are bleedin' too," he said and I glanced down. Sure enough, through my torn jeans was fresh circles of blood blossoming through the fabric. It wasn't a lot, but enough for my pants to stick to my skin.

I hadn't noticed, probably the adrenalin.

"Shit," he said under his breath and it was the first time I realized how close we were standing. I had moved myself between his legs to dab at the cut on his forehead, his fingers were playing with the end of my shirt.

It was the wrong day to wear white.

"We still got a few hours to kill," I told him, "and with the horse gone, we maybe got two before we need to get up that hill and back to the farm."

"We should go now–"

I shook my head. "You need to rest, gather some strength before you leave me to haul your ass up there by myself."

I pulled the homemade pad away from his face, seeing the cut for was it was. It wasn't too long or deep but I wouldn't put it past him to be concussed from how hard he fell into the rocks. It wasn't going to be easy for us to get back to the top of the ridge, especially with Daryl's injuries. I thought about tying us together so I could drag him up with me but if he fell, I'd fall too.

"We need to get back," he grunted out, shifting to lean against his good side, "we need to get the doll back."

"And we will," I said. "Give yourself a moment, will you? You fuckin' skewered yourself on your own damn weapon, you can allow yourself a twenty minute breather."

"And what 'bout you?"

"What about me?"

He grabbed me tightly around the wrist, forcing me back a step. "You haven't stopped motherin' me since we fell. I'm okay."

"I'd beg to differ," I spat back, motioning to his head and side once pulling my wrist free.

"Your hands, Sam," he said, this time in a softer tone. "You gotta let me look at them."

"There's nothin' you can do," I countered, shaking my head. "We don't have any antiseptic or–or clean water to clean 'em with. We can deal once we get to the farm and I can treat both our injuries." I stepped back and away from where I'd positioned myself between his knees to grumble, "If you had just been holdin' on to me, we wouldn't be in this situation."

"What'd you just say?" There was fire in his words and I glared.

"If you'd wrapped your arms around me, you wouldn't have fallen and taken us both down this stupid goddamn cliff."

He scowled, his lips forming a grim line. He held his side as he got to his feet. He dug his stick into the dirt to move himself forward and towards the hill.

"Daryl," I called, grabbing for his arm, "you gotta stop, just sit down–"

He jerked away and spun on me. It was alarming how much taller he seemed standing so close to me like this. His heat radiated from his burning skin, all golden tan and glistening both from water and sweat. He opened his mouth, probably to berate me for being on his ass, but the bushes behind us rustled.

I turned quickly, drawing my ax. I had his bow on my shoulders and from his wounds, I knew he wouldn't be able to fight whatever came limping free. I raised my arm, blocking Daryl from moving any further past me as the first walker showed itself.

"Sam–"

"Mine," I snarled, stalking forward.

The walker stumbled through the water, splashing loudly. Its clothes were ragged, the flesh on its face was peeling and holey, splotches peeling up against its forehead. It was male, or had been once. He dragged one leg behind him on a broken ankle and I readied my ax like a baseball bat.

I swung with grace, finding only a slight resistant ache in my arms from where I'd fallen but nothing some good stretching wouldn't take care of. It seemed like my tumble in the well and down the hill now was creating some unnecessary tension in my limbs.

Half of the walker's face chipped off from the impact of my blade, sending him falling backwards flat into the water. I towered over the beast and sent my ax back into his chipping face, crushing bone and brain. The water around my feet was already beginning to turn a murky brown red.

Bone fragments leaked from the top of my blade, dripping with gooey brain matter and matted hair. I went to wipe the blood in the water when something splashed with a groan. The next walker to trip and stagger towards me was thinner and taller than the first but that didn't necessarily mean it was stronger or better.

I cut into his shoulder and used my foot to push him back and into the water, dark congealed blood spurting and oozing from the open wound. Walkers didn't bleed like we did. They're blood was thicker, darker, brown and molded when they weren't fresh. The fresh ones bled red until they succumbed to the elements and their rot.

This one rolling through the water was old. It'd been two months since the start of the outbreak but this walker had been decaying long before. I slammed the heel of my boot down into the walker's skull, crushing it with three hard blows. With age, bones begin to lose their density. Without the intake of calcium and other important minerals, they can get weaker. My boot smashed the walker's skull with ease because a walker's diet was restrictive and foot intake was rare. Walkers were not expert hunters, they could track by sound, sight, and smell, but if you were faster, they couldn't keep up.

At least, until they evolved. I hadn't thought about it before but everything evolves with time and a part of me feared what the walkers could turn into with a few years down the road.

"You good?" asked Daryl from behind me.

I nodded, washing my ax off in the water by my feet. It wasn't hard to kill the walkers, even with his bow strapped across my body and with the tension in my knees, hands, and arms and well...my entire body. I could push through most injuries, I'd learned that at an early age.

"We need to get back," I muttered, turning and walking towards the hill.

Before I could get far to see which direction upwards we needed to take, Daryl grabbed my arm and pulled me back to face him. He stared at me, his eyes searching mine. There was so much that could've been said but we both enjoyed the silence, being alone, but now being alone meant being with each other.

"How did you get good at this?" he asked instead of anything that was between the lines of our relationship, this friendship that started by force.

"Good at what?" I asked, his hand still gripping my bicep.

"At killin' them." I shrugged but he didn't take that as an answer. "You can tell me."

"Just how I was brought up," I said with another shrug. How did I tell him about John? That he was a survival nutcase who planned and trained his children as soldiers? That he'd raise his fists and palms when we'd make a mistake, when we weren't what he expected us to be?

He nodded, slowly, with a bow of his head. "My home growin' up...we were like that too."

Survivalist mindset at the age of three, five, or whenever we gained consciousness.

"Did they..." I started, finding that the words died on my tongue. How did I ask him if we'd had the same childhood? That we were forced to compete, to fight, to hide and conquer? I settled on a different question, "Did your dad do it to you too?"

My question, while not making much sense with or out without the context, didn't need any more explaining because Daryl nodded. No words needed to be said.

"Let's head up," I said in a soft voice, softer than what was used to come out.

I started up the hill in front of him, careful to use the trees as both as resting spots for Daryl and as tools to pull us further up. The thin trees were good to wrap a hand around and I ignored the burning in my palms as I used them to maneuver myself up.

Behind me, Daryl dug the stick into the dirt, using it as a cane and a pole. We moved slowly and by the time we reached a halfway mark, we were panting. I'd left a trail of handprints against trunks and I was sure Daryl's side was throbbing and aching to the point of agony.

"Rest," he mumbled, "just for a second."

I nodded and I wasn't sure if he was saying it for himself or for me. I leaned against one of the thicker trees, breathing in deeply through my nose and out my mouth to calm my nerves. I was scared we wouldn't make it back to camp with how badly he was leaning to one side. I just needed to get him back to Hershel where we could take a look at the wound and remove the arrow safely.

When he nodded for us to continue, I let him come up to where I was positioned so I could climb beside him. He needed more help than he'd like to admit. I grabbed the arm he wasn't using with the stick to keep us close as we got to the steepest part of the climb.

I'd done this before. I'd climbed trees as a kid, climbed to the roof of our house, I could do this. I'd even helped Conner get up to the highest peak of our home when he was older, this wasn't new to me. But Daryl, his weight, his injury, it wasn't like he was a thirteen to fourteen year old kid.

I got further ahead and turned to help him when he made a look of shock, his brows raising, his lips parting. I could see him begin to tip backwards, his foot slipping where it had been planting by the brush and vines of the trees. I reached out as he dropped the stick, swatting through the air for something to latch onto.

I had my hand in his before he could fall. I gripped the tree behind me with my free hand, using it to pull myself to as I got him into a better position.

"Motherfu–" I grunted, seething through clenched teeth as I used more strength than I had anticipated to pull him up closer to me and between two trees for balance.

"I'm here, I'm here," he hissed through clenched teeth of his own and I eased my grip on his hand until I was sure.

I gave myself a moment to make sure my arm was still working. My muscles were going to be sore tomorrow. We got to the top of the ridge after another ten minutes. We went up with caution, using the trees and frequent stops to rest. In the end, he pushed me up the top until I could turn and help him climb the rest of the way, pulling him up with both hands.

In the end, we were drenched in sweat and covered in dirt. Daryl's face was streaked with blood and the wrappings around his side were dark with both sweat and blood, the fabric looked wet on sight alone.

"Damn horse," muttered Daryl, shaking his head. The horse had been long gone and I could only hope she'd made it back to the farm.

"We aren't too far out," I said, pointing in the direction we had come earlier. "Just a mile, really."

"Two."

"Well, it'll feel like three if we don't start walkin' now."

He trudged beside me and I took comfort in the silence. We didn't need to speak but I liked when we did. I liked that he chose to exert himself for me, when he'd rather be off on his own. He'd proven himself to be a good lone wolf but with me now, I could tell just how much he cared for the rest of the group. He risked his life today for that little girl. He was thinking about Carol, how much she needed her little girl home, and he was thinking about Rick and how he was fighting so hard for Sophia.

When we made it to the field separating us from the farm and the forest, I could've cried with delight. Sunset was near, the sky had a yellow and orange hue as the sun began her travel to the ground.

"When we get back," I said, "we're going to get that arrow out, okay? We can discuss what we found but the first thing we gotta do is treat you for any possible infections."

"Not before your hands are looked at," he said, shaking his head. I opened my mouth to fight back but he shot me a glare and said, "Don't think I haven't noticed them shakin' this entire walk."

I curled my fingers into a fist, scowling. The climb had torn and strained the wounds, the throbbing hadn't exactly gone down since the first initial injury. "We'll do that while we talk about Sophia," I said back. "She's our top priority after that arrow and concussion you have."

"I don't got a–"

"We won't know 'till we test you."

He shook his head again with a sigh as we walked between the tall grass. Daryl was limping pretty badly, favoring his right side. "Why'd you stop bein' a doctor?"

"I was never a real doctor."

"But why stop? You're good at it, ain't you?"

"I wanted the easy route," I said with a shrug. We were getting closer to the main field of hay and dead grass near the fenceline of the road towards the house. I gave him a smile. "Didn't want to burden myself with homework."

Up ahead, I could see a group running towards us. From what I could tell as I squinted, it was Rick, Shane, T-Dog, and Glenn. Shane, from what I could see through the golden rays of dying sunlight, had his shirt unbuttoned, revealing his sweating chest. I didn't know why he was dressed like that but for what it was worth, he didn't look that bad even though his asshole personality ruined most of the show. They came running with bats and weapons and I held my arm out in front of Daryl for him to slow down.

"Why do they got a gun pointed at us?" I whispered and Daryl swayed to the side. The sun was in our eyes.

"My god," murmured Glenn as they slowed their sprint. "Is that Daryl and Sam?"

I didn't think we looked that bad but Darly was snarling, "Third time you've pointed that thing at my head."

Rick had his gun raised at our faces, his brows furrowed in slight shock. I had to look down at my shirt to see what the big deal was. Both of us were covered in grime, my white shirt was beige and brown from sweat and blood.

"Will you put that thing down?" I snapped at the same time as Daryl said, "You gonna pull the trigger or what?"

Daryl stepped forward, maybe to berate Rick some more, but he didn't get the chance. A gunshot went off in the distance and Daryl was falling backwards, knocking into me as I screamed. Blood sprayed across my face as Daryl and I hit the ground.

His body had me pinned to the ground as he laid there moaning. Rick was yelling, screaming towards the farm where the shot had gone off in a panic. I wheezed in deeply, my impact of the ground knocking the wind from me but I had hands on me in an instant. Shane had me out from under Daryl in a second, dragging me away as Glenn and Rick lifted the near unconscious man.

"You're okay, you're okay," said Shane, his thumb running over my cheek and against my eye that was squeezed shut from the blood splatter. I could see him clearly through my other and I saw the worry plain as day across his face. "Nothin' hit you, you're okay."

I nodded back, wordless, as my jackrabbiting heart tried to escape my chest and through my throat. I was surprised at how scared I was but I didn't think it was necessarily for me. This growing panic inside of me wasn't for any mortal injuries on my own body but from Daryl who was being lifted and dragged swiftly towards the farm.

"I was kidding," whimpered Daryl, the toes of his boots trailing across the ground. If Rick could've laughed, I think he might've with Daryl's comment.

Shane helped me up slowly, his arm wrapped around my shoulders with one hand on my arm to get me to my feet. He helped me walk that turned into a jog next to Rick, Glenn, and T-Dog as more people came running towards us.

I wanted to kill her on sight. I knew who it was before she'd even opened her mouth to apologize. Jerking away from Shane with a shout of protest from him, I rounded on Andrea.

"You stupid fucking moron!" I cried, shoving her back as she tried to look at Daryl. She nearly fell on her ass but I kept going at her, pushing on her shoulders as I snarled and bit, "You could've killed him! You could've killed Daryl!"

Shane grabbed me from behind as Andrea mewled, "I didn't mean to! I thought you were walkers, I swear, oh god!"

Shane kept me against his chest as I tried to wriggle my way free. She needed to be taught a lesson, she needed to learn how it felt to be shot at or have a gun shoved in her face.

"He's unconscious," said Rick and I felt his eyes on me. "You grazed him."

"She almost killed him!" I wailed back and Shane's grip got tighter. I could've lifted my feet off the ground and he would've been able to hold me up with ease by how hard his arms were wrapped around my chest and middle. He was keeping my arms secured to my body so I couldn't lash out but I had the urge to kick my feet and stomp about.

"But look at you two," countered Glenn with a shocked expression. "What the hell happened out there?!"

"We found–" I stomped down on Shane's foot and snarled, "Will you let go of me?!" His arms loosened but didn't leave me as I said to the group, "We found her doll, that's what happened to us out there."

T-Dog pulled the doll from Daryl's waistband and held it up for the other's to see. "Holy shit."

"I found it washed up on the creek bed right there," said Daryl, lying on his side as Hershel inspected his wound. We'd pulled the arrow free, much to Daryl's agony. He pointed down on the map Rick had laid out on the bed as both me and Hershel oversaw his wounds. "She must have dropped it crossing there somewhere."

Rick glanced back at Shane who sat with a hand covering his mouth in the chair by the bed. "That cuts the grid almost in half."

I pressed a pad of antiseptic to Daryl's exit wound from the arrow and he hissed as he said, "Yeah, you're–welcome."

"How's he looking?" asked Rick.

Hershel, ever so pleasant, said, "I had no idea we'd be going through the antibiotics so quickly." He handed the needle to me to finish up the stitches as he grabbed a washcloth to wash his hands, adding a strict comment towards Daryl, "Any idea what happened to my horse?"

"Yeah, the one that almost killed me? If it's smart, it left the country."

"We call that one Nelly," said Hershel with a snap in his tone, "as in Nervous Nelly. I could have told you she'd throw you if you'd bothered to ask."

"Daryl..." I breathed. "You didn't ask him if it was okay?"

Hershel approached Rick. "It's a wonder you people have survived this long."

I stuck Daryl hard with the needle and he hissed a breath through his teeth. I glared, working the needle harshly through his flesh as I said to the older man, "Hershel, I'm so sorry. I'd thought Daryl was smart enough to ask permission before but clearly," I jabbed the needle in, "I was wrong."

Hershel gave me a long look, not nearly as angry as he had been towards Rick and Daryl.

"I can go lookin' for her," I told him. He'd banded my palms and while it was difficult to hold my ax, it didn't prove to be impossible. "I can easily go back out, call her home."

"Not if you want to over exert yourself," he told me. "Take the night, rest, and tomorrow if she doesn't come back, we'll discuss options."

I nodded, going back to my work of stitching Daryl back together. Down in the kitchen, Carol, Nancy, Lori, Beth, and Patrica were preparing dinner and I found myself wanting to stay in the bedroom instead of going down there. Being forced to eat together after the events of the pat few days didn't seem desirable.

I didn't want to see Carol cry again.

Rick, Hershel, and Shane left the bedroom not long after Hershel helped me finish the last stitch, tying it off properly. He bandaged Daryl's head wounds and left me to finish the dressing. It took me the time to let my eyes wander for a moment or two. I didn't need Hershel overseeing me take Daryl in shirtless.

He had an unreadable tattoo on his chest. His skin was smooth where I had touched it earlier but I couldn't help but notice the scars. They covered his back where another tattoo laid near his right shoulder blade and down his back. Large monsters with wings.

"Did Merle know about these?" I asked, knowing it was the wrong thing to say but saying it anyway. He didn't need to tell me anything but I couldn't stop myself. I had scars of my own and a part of me wondered if they were one in the same.

"None of your damn business," he snapped back, pulling up the sheet to cover himself.

"I know," I said back.

"Then why you askin'?"

"Because you'll tell me one day."

"No I won't." He shifted under the blankets, getting more comfortable. "Go back downstairs."

"You don't want me up here with you?" If I wasn't careful, I was beginning to sound insecure. I wanted to be needed by him for some awful reason I know stemmed from childhood. The need to be important, the need to be wanted, the need to be properly loved.

You won't find it here.

"No."

I nodded, pushing to stand off my knees. I wasn't hurt. This was just how he was and I didn't need to keep pushing him. I didn't need to ask him anything, actually. I was curious by nature but that nature often got punched in the teeth.

Dinner was awkward. The tables were silent. The sound of forks scratching across plates were the only things heard over our chewing and gulps.

I sat across Shane and I'd feel his eyes shift over me, watching how I brought my form to my mouth, how I'd reach for my water. I wasn't sure if he was watching me or the bandages on my hands and scratches on my chin I hadn't noticed until I looked in the mirror.

The dinner was delicious but from sitting across from Shane and having Andrea on one side of me and Nancy on the other, I felt like I was going to start suffocating. And Glenn made it worse.

"Does anybody know how to play guitar?" asked Glenn from his separate table with Jimmy, Beth, and Maggie.

I'd noticed Maggie and Glenn growing closer and it made me wonder what had happened on their trip into town. His question made the room seem even more silent as Hershel turned to look at him and Patricia tensed in her seat.

"Dale found a cool one," continued Glenn, his innocent question stirring an energy into the room. "Somebody's got to know how to play."

There was a beat of quiet before Patricia spoke. "Otis did."

I could've choked on my water, my eyes finding Shane's across the table.

"Yes," said Hershel with a sigh, "and he was very good too."

I had to drag my eyes away from Shane's to feel the air enter my lungs properly again. I needed to leave the room, there was too much sitting in the atmosphere around us all. All of us seated together, mixed but not truly together. I brought my fork quickly to my mouth as I stuffed the rest of my mashed potatoes and peas into my mouth (I'd combined them so I could eat faster) and stood sharply from my chair.

"I need some air."

My words were strained and I hoped no one noticed it as I left the room quickly. I had my cigarettes and lighter in my hand the second I stepped outside onto the porch. One was lit and between my lips a second later, the smoke acting like the forceful conduit of peace I'd never get.

Too much had happened today. Too much had been said, too many touches and glances. I wanted to be sick but I forced it all down my throat. I kept it settled in my stomach, the best meal I'd had since the C.D.C.

I wanted to vomit at the thought of Jenner and Jacqui but I swallowed all the acid back down. It felt like poison trying to retch its way free. It had its claws digging into my throat, cutting out my larynx, slicing my teeth out one by one as it escaped through my mouth.

I blew the smoke out through my nose and mouth when the screen door opened. Shane stepped out of the house and onto the porch, one hand on his belt. He rubbed his mouth, his eyes like hot coals on my skin.

"Is it even eatin' you up?" I whispered. I couldn't stand to look at him so I kept my eyes on the fence line, past our tents and cars. The nighttime was so quiet, the only sounds were from the chatter of cicadas. Even inside, there wasn't much speaking besides the occasional soft voice. "What you did?"

"Why should it?" he said back, coming to stand beside me. I wanted to inch away, my skin prickling and itching at the thought of him but I didn't move. Not even when the warmth from his skin grazed mine. "I did what I had to, you would've done the same."

"No," I said, my throat tightening, "I wouldn't have."

"You're sayin," he was whispering, "that if you had the chance to survive if you pulled that trigger, you wouldn't have done it?"

"I would never have killed that man." I would've found a different way, I would've fought harder. I wouldn't have used all my ammunition like they had to begin with. "You just sit in there–" I gestured inside. "–and act like nothin's wrong. Sittin' there, eatin' their food, like you didn't just kill that woman's husband."

"I didn't kill him," snarled Shane. "The walkers did."

"Yeah, but you pulled the trigger."

He let out a scoff, shaking his head. "I don't get why you haven't said anythin' yet."

"Because you fucking threatened me," I hissed back. "You put all the blame on me like–like some psycho."

"Don't you want to stay here?" he whispered. "If tellin' them what we–"

"You."

"–I did, then why tell 'em at all."

"You're a monster."

"If I'm such a bad guy," he murmured, "then why haven't you gone runnin' yet?"

He was right, of course. If I was so scared, so disgusted by him, why hadn't I pushed away? I had myself planted to the spot, my body resting against the railing with him right beside me. I knew it wasn't because I enjoyed him, that I thought he was some gentleman. I knew what he was. I knew what kind of man he truly was deep down inside.

He was angry, rude, aggressive, and selfish. Everyone I'd known in my childhood had been the same and I was scared the reason I wasn't running was because I was comfortable, that I was familiar with this level of pain.

"Sam."

I met his eyes as he reached down, taking the cigarette from me and stubbing it out against the railing. He flicked it into the bushes in front of us before he slid a hand against my waist. He had a heavy grip, touching me right above my belt, his fingers pressing into my side.

"Don't."

The words forced their way through my mouth and I didn't realize I was shaking until I was pushing away from him, taking a stumbling step backwards. Flashes of Him surfaced behind my eyes, warm and pressing like orange lights. My heart was in my throat and it was the first time I'd felt this way in a long time.

I'd wanted Shane to run his fingers underneath my shirt but I wanted Him to do the same. I wanted Him and Daryl and, frighteningly, Rick, to all have their hands suctioned to pieces of me. To be opened, my chest cracked and exposing, it sent a fire underneath my skin.

I made myself move, pushing my way past him and down the porch steps. I could make it to my tent in seconds if I walked fast enough but I could feel him following me.

He grabbed my wrist and pulled me back to face him. "Sam, please."

I knocked my hands against his chest to keep him from me. "Why are you doin' this?" I hissed, feeling my face and chest flush. "You threatened me just a few days ago and–and you're actin' like this? What the hell is wrong with you?"

"I'm sorry." He shook his head, his face contorting like he wasn't sure what he was doing. "I'm tryin' to protect you, tryin' to protect us here."

"You're only protecting yourself." He reached for me and I swatted his hand away. I thrusted my finger in his face, pointing as I snarled, "Do not do this to me. I am not your rebound girl, Shane Walsh. Do not come to me when Lori isn't given' you what you want. I am not that girl." I glared, my lips curling. "I will not be used."

I spent my morning pretending things were okay. Shane hadn't spoken to me since last night and while I was grateful, it made me nervous. He was preparing for our training day and I knew Rick wanted me to be a part of that so I had no choice but to put myself around him when all I wanted was to crawl inside my tent with Nancy and forget.

And that right there should've told me something. If I was choosing quality time with Nancy over Shane, then that meant more than it was leading on to.

I walked out of my tent, spotting Andrea leaving Daryl's and when her eyes found mine, she changed directions and came waltzing over. I turned back around, realy to crawl back into my sleeping bag but there was no escaping her.

"Sam, hey."

I forced a smile on my face as I turned slowly. "Hey...Andrea."

"Listen," she said, "I'm really sorry about yesterday. You–you don't have to forgive me because I know what I did was stupid."

I kept my forced smile, knowing I needed to be the bigger person. I was only going to do it because Daryl hadn't killed her yet so that must've been a sign. "It's...it's fine, okay?"

Andrea's lips pulled up slightly, like she was ready to smile but was afraid to. "You mean it?"

I nodded, letting out a slow breath. "You were tryin' to protect the group, right?" She nodded. "Then you're fine."

She let out a small laugh, breathless like she'd been scared to talk to me. "You going to training today?"

This time, my smile was genuine. "Someone has to teach you a thing or two, right?"

She rolled her eyes, mumbling, "I'll see you at the cars in thirty."

I headed towards the RV where Rick, Shane, and Jimmy were overlooking the map trying to decipher which way Sophia would have being going in when she dropped the doll when Carl appeared with a soft grin.

He was wearing a blue button up shirt and khakis and a belt. He looked like he was going to school, or maybe to a nice dinner with his family and I held back my laugh because on top of it all, he was wearing Rick's hat.

"What're you doing out of bed?" I said, noticing he had a pocket knife strapped to his side. He was looking like me, with a big knife on one hip and all he needed was an ax on the other.

"I'm feeling good," he said with another little grin. He motioned for me to walk with him and he lept onto one of the fallen tree logs we were using as a bench. He walked with his hands out, grinning more as he said, "I'm gonna ask Shane if he can teach me how to shoot today."

I didn't want to frown so I put my emotions through my words with a guided question, "You ask your parents first, kid?"

"They'll listen to Shane and," he spun on the log to face me, "you."

I laughed softly, wishing more than anything that I could take him with me right now and teach him the proper techniques. "I don't think it should be us goin' to them. I think," I snatched the hat from his head, running my fingers over the fabric that one day will be worn from wear, "it should be you."

"They'll say no."

"Not if you plead your case."

"Pleadin' your case for what?" asked a startling new voice behind us. I wanted to scowl and roll my eyes but I wouldn't in front of Carl.

"For you and Sam to teach me how to shoot," said Carl and while I appreciated my name being thrown in there, I didn't think it'd help plead his case anymore than it had with me.

"You know I'd be happy to do it," said Shane, coming to stand beside me as Carl jumped down from the log. It felt almost paternal, both of us standing there with the kid. In a different world, a different life entirely, I pictured a family like this.

Me, someone, and a kid.

I'd been there once.

I watched Carl fix his shirt over his pants and I bent down to meet his eyes. Conner had done this, fidgeted, trying to conceal something beneath the surface. "Carl, buddy, what are you hidin' right now?"

Carl gave us both nervous looks before pulling up his shirt. He revealed a small handgun and I wanted to tear it from him in an instant and I could sense Shane behind me wanting to do the same thing. His hand was on my shoulder, fingers digging into the fabric of my tank top.

I gave Carl a forced smile and held my hand out. "You know you shouldn't have that, don't you?"

"Yeah," he muttered, pullin it free. It was still cold when he placed it in my palm. My bandages scraped against the metal but I could feel just how recently he'd put it in his waistband with my fingers. "But I need to protect myself, Sam, I need to protect this place."

"But you can't be takin' weapons like this," I told him, checking to see if there were any rounds and I held my breath. Two rounds were still inside but thankfully none in the chamber. "Did you ask your mom? Your dad?"

He shook his head, looking at the ground. He was embarrassed and nervous because he'd gotten caught. Shane's hand left my shoulder and I glanced back to see him rubbing his jaw.

"We gotta tell your folks, you know that, right?" said Shane and Carl nodded, still looking at the ground.

"But it'll be okay," I murmured to him, reaching out to touch his shoulder. He looked up slowly, meeting my warm gaze and nodded again, slowly. "We'll be there, maybe even help plead your case a bit, okay?" I stood and held my free hand out for him and said, "Now, come on."

He took my hand and I squeezed his gently in mine as Shane stalked ahead to grab Lori and Rick, and also Dale since he'd been in charge of keeping our stash of guns.

We met by the RV and the tents, Lori snatching the gun and checking the rounds just as I did. Carl sat down in one of the fold out chairs, head in his hands.

"How the hell did this happen?" snarled Lori.

"Well, it's my fault," said Dale. "I let him into the RV." Dale sighed, shaking his head. His Hawaiian shirt for the day was navy and covered in palms. "He said he wanted a walkie, that you sent him for one."

Lori made a face, scowling. "So on top of everything else, he lied." She looked at Rick and said in a whisper, "What was he thinking?"

I rubbed the back of my neck. "He came to me, wants Shane to teach him how to shoot."

"We know it's none of our business," said Shane, speaking for both of us, "but we'd be happy to teach him. It's your call."

He was standing close to me, his hat in his hands as he stood in a relaxed state. His limp was gone and I could see him not bothering to favor the bad ankle.

Lori was shaking her head before Rick even got the chance to process the request. "I'm not comfortable with it." Rick shared a look between Shane and his eyes eventually found mine as he sighed. Lori's lips parted, watching the interactions before spitting, "Oh, don't make me out to be the unreasonable one here. Rick?"

He turned his back to Carl before speaking. "I know. I have my concerns too, but–"

"There's no but. He was just shot." She was glaring at her husband. "He's just back on his feet and he wants a gun?"

"Better than him being afraid of 'em," countered Rick with a soft look. He was right, being shot so young you would've expected Carl to be terrified but he was actively seeking them out. I wasn't sure if it was truly to protect himself and others or if it was a morbid fascination. "There are guns in camp for a reason. He should learn to handle them safely."

"I don't want my kid walking around with a gun," snapped Lori, not bothering to consider the options but also trying to desperately keep her son a kid for however long she got.

"But how can you defend that?" asked Rick. "You can't let him go around without protection."

"He's as safe as he'll ever be right here."

I looked at Carl as they continued their back and forth. He was staring at the ground, his hands rubbing together in his lap. I whistled softly at him and his head perked up, his eyes meeting mine. I motioned with my head towards his parents and his eyes went wide. He shook his head but I urged him more with my eyes. He was contemplating it, even as Lori snapped, "He's not mature enough to handle a gun."

Carl stood swiftly and I gave him a small nod of pride. "I'm not gonna play with it, mom," he told them, approaching slowly. "It's not a toy." I narrowed my eyes at him and he quickly added, "I'm sorry I disappointed you, but...I want to look for Sophia and I want to defend our camp. I can't do that without a gun."

I could've argued that it was entirely possible to defend the camp without a gun but I gave him a thumbs up behind Lori's back anyway and he had to fight back his smile.

Rick looked at his wife. "Shane's the best instructor I know. I've seen him teach kids younger than Carl. And you know Sam, how good she is, how she values safety and protection over the majority of us here at camp."

Lori's eyes wandered over his face as he leveled with her. She took a moment, processing before glancing at Carl. She took her son by the face, forcing him to look into her eyes as she said in a dark tone, "You will take this seriously and you will behave responsibly. And if I hear from anyone in this camp that you're not living up to our expectations–"

"He won't let you down," said Rick.

Carl nodded, eagerly.

Lori stared down into her son's eyes and for a moment, I saw myself in her shoes looking into Conner's. The prideful feeling that your family is growing up, they're showing themselves through their actions and words. But there was a devastating realization that they would not be kids forever and childhood would die away just as quickly as they would one day.

I gave Carl a high five behind my back as he passed with Rick. Shane was heading back to the cars to load them up with gear, ammunition, and targets. I started for my tent to grab my backpack as Glenn walked past with a basket of fruit he'd been handing out earlier.

His demeanor was off but I didn't say anything. But the way he was standing awkwardly near the RV as people began to join Shane's caravan made me want to stop and ask him if he was feeling alright or if he'd eaten something bad. The face he was making was like he was constipated.

Shane asked him if he was coming and I watched the boy falter over his words as I came up behind him, backpack slung over one shoulder.

"I gotta help Dale, uh, clean the spark plugs on the RV. He said he's gonna, um, teach me mechanics. I should probably go look for him."

I purred a whisper into his face as he turned to face me, "Nice lie."

Dale, standing behind me, said, "You found me. He's a good learner," keeping up with Glenn's fib.

"When I come back," I muttered to him as I passed, "we're gonna talk about what's makin' you so weird."

Glenn only grimaced in response. It seemed whatever he had inside of him was eating away. I hoped he wouldn't get himself into any trouble. I slipped into the car with Shane, mostly because I didn't want to ride with Carol and hear her talk about memories of Sophia. It was too hard, knowing she was still out there.

Unless she's not.

I sat in the passenger seat, no one else inside with us and I realized what a mistake I'd made. I should've just suffered with Carol, Nancy, and Lori, that way I would've been with Carl. But did I want that energy? Carl, he was fine, same with T-Dog who was stuck in the car with them but Rick and Lori? Always with the glances and slight glares.

You wanted him, not long ago.

And a twisted part of me still did. But I felt that way about a lot of people. I wanted fragments from each to build back everything that I'd lost.

I rolled down my window, feeling the breeze rush past my finger tips. It was a sunny day, again. It felt like we would never get a break from the constant sunshine and I wanted to welcome the rain, the snow, the frost, but that meant winter and if we were on the road...we wouldn't survive without shelter.

"What's goin' on in that head of yours?" asked Shane.

"Thinking about winter," I answered honestly. "You think we'll be here?"

"I'm not sure Hershel's gonna want us stayin' much longer."

"Really?"

"He didn't want us to cook him dinner," he told me. "You really think he'd want us camped out on his front porch?"

He was right. Hershel was still hostile, only allowing us here to look for Sophia. Carl was already better, on his feet, there was no way he'd let us seek refuge here for the desirable future.

"He might've been more welcoming," I muttered, "if you hadn't killed his man."

Things were looking better, optimistic before then. Hershel was helpful, more than helpful actually, but once Shane returned without Otis, the atmosphere changed. Things got heavy, Hershel more standoffish, even though his family was still just as open to us as we were to them.

They were even coming with us to shoot. Jimmy, Patricia, and sweet Beth.

"You've got to quit with that," snapped Shane. "What's done is done."

"You and I both know it's far from over." I finally looked over. He had one hand on the wheel, the other resting against the door. His arm was flexed, his knuckles white. I could only hope that I was getting to him, that he'd finally see how wrong he'd been to kill Otis. "As long as we're here, it won't ever be over."

"Can we change the topic?" he said in a deep voice, his jaw clenching. I hoped his teeth would crack and shatter under the pressure.

I gave him a single nod before forcing my eyes away. I hated that even from a glance, he could get under my skin. I looked down into my lap, picking at the bandages wrapped around my palms. The skin underneath was starting to itch with healing.

"I'm lookin' for a partner to head out to one of the housing developments later today," he explained. "Have any ideas who's gonna be any good at this thing?" By 'thing' he meant the training session.

I shrugged, looking at the blue truck in front of us. It held the Greene residents, and I didn't think any of them would be very good in their floor length skirts and blouses (sorry, Jimmy). It'd have to be someone in the first car and I didn't like saying it but I did anyway.

"Andrea."

"Really?"

I nodded. "She's the most eager to learn, we know she has some experience. I'm guessin' she'll be good today, show off a bit."

He made a hmph noise in the back of his throat.

"What?"

"Nothin'," he said with a shrug.

"Tell me."

I looked at him and he was smiling when he spoke. "Just surprised you didn't say yourself."

I felt my cheeks flush and I hoped he couldn't see the color. It wasn't like myself not to instantly throw my name in the pot for skills. "Why is that?"

He shrugged again as we turned down a dirt road. "You're the best out of 'em all, probably even Rick with combat skills." Was he finally complimenting me? After all the shit he'd given me at the church? "If I had to choose someone to come with me, I'd choose you and I think you know that."

"Take someone new," I said, shifting uncomfortably. "Give them the chance to prove themselves."

But you know the housing development will be overrun, they all almost are.

"We'll see if Andrea's any good first."

I nodded back, wondering how much longer it'd be until all of this would be over. When everyone will be just as good as us, when we'd finally be at the bottom of the totem pole.

I walked behind the line of shooters with Rick and Shane. We'd set up empty bottles and cans on the fence line about twenty-five feet away and let them go at it with their guns. I kept myself near Carl, Beth, and Patricia, leaving Jimmy with T-Dog who was only proving himself to be inept at holding weapons.

Beth and Patricia held their guns just how they were supposed to. Both hands on the weapon, their feet squared. While they weren't exactly hitting their targets, they were getting close.

I came up beside Beth and she lowered her weapon slightly to look at me.

"Am I doin' it right?" she asked with a slight frown. "It feels...wrong."

"Raise it again." She did as she was told and I took her arm gently and raised it slightly so it was eye level. "Might be better for you to see it like this," I explained. "Almost like you're pointing a finger at somethin' and it's an extension of yourself."

She nodded and when I let go of her arm, she pulled the trigger. The recoil jostled her only slightly but not enough a rifle would've done. Her small handgun was good for her weight. Her bullet grazed her bottle and it shattered from the top and fell.

Beth grinned, lowering her gun to look at me eagerly. "I did it!" The surprise in her tone was enough to warm my chest entirely.

I watched her line up again as Patricia hit her target, glass splaying across the grass. My mind left me entirely at the thoughts of them both, so new to this world.

Crack! Crack! Crack!

"Not good enough," snapped John, pulling the target towards us. "You're hitting the outer corners, you need to be hitting the center." He slammed a finger down. "Bullseyes are for winners, for survivors. Yours are for losers, the ones who die quickly."

Conner nodded stiffly, lowering the gun that was far too big for him. We couldn't afford going to the shooting range every week so John brought us to the woods where he'd place cheap paper on trees with nails.

I only got to come out when I'd come home for breaks. College was sweeping me away, I couldn't stay longer than what the break entailed for. Thanksgiving was always the most difficult.

I purposefully missed my targets when I came to shoot next. I didn't need Conner being ridiculed worse if I'd made my shots. I didn't know what John did when I wasn't home and I didn't want to be the reason there was added pressure on Conner's shoulders. Besides, I didn't like hitting the bullseyes for John. He didn't need to be given something to be proud of. Let him think he's a failure.

There was an added venom in John's voice. "You'll never hit a turkey like this. You want this family to starve?"

We would never starve. Nancy had connections, we still had tuna and peanut butter. We still had bread, fresh fruit, milk, tenderloins, beer and wine and whiskey. Always stocked on cigarettes of varying brands but John's favorites were Marlboro with the red package, not the green or brown. The red. Always.

Crack!

Conner's last bullet went too wide, hitting a tree behind the target and splintering the wood.

Crack!

John's hand striking him across the face, the sound echoing worse than the gun. Blood was already spilling from the boy's mouth, a tooth lost in the dirt at his feet. John shook his hand out, cursing about how he's hurt his fingers.

Conner didn't cry.

The guns went off loudly around us and I stepped back. I felt almost like I was in a daze as I turned away. Nancy and Carol were up on the line, shooting and the shots were starting to sound like nails on a chalkboard. It was forcing an image of John into my brain, trying to tear apart the curves and wrinkles of my very being.

Conner hadn't deserved the childhood John had given him. He didn't deserve having an absent mother, emotionally and physically. He didn't deserve the expectations thrusted upon him to be the best he could be. He was sick. He was weak.

"Sam?"

Nancy was following me back towards the cars. I didn't even want to look at her.

"Are you alright, honey?"

"I'm fine," my voice was too strained to be okay. I didn't know what was wrong with me or what was overcoming me. My chest was tight and I wanted to burst into tears. Conner was supposed to be with me, he was supposed to be–

"This..." Nancy came to stand next to me. "Does this remind you of him? Of John?"

I nodded, silent. My lips were pressed together tightly.

"It reminds me of him, too."

"Why–" My voice cracked and I brought both my hands to my face to wipe the nonexistent tears away. I cleared my throat and forced the words to come rushing out, "Why did you let him do that to us?"

"The training?"

"Not–not just that."

"It was easier to look away," she admitted. "You know that, honey."

"But you let him do it to Conner," I whispered, hoping no one else could hear us. "You let him–" I couldn't bring myself to say it out loud. All the things she turned her back on, closed her door to. "You let him hurt my b–" I pressed the bandaged heels of my hand into my eyes.

"Sam, honey."

Again with the pet name. Again with the term of endearment that meant absolutely nothing.

"Your father couldn't be stopped."

"Conner has a heart defect, mom," I moaned, thinking about him out there alone. John would've left him the second he didn't perform well enough, we all knew he would. "He–he needs help and you think dad would really go on runs for blood pressure medication? Any of the beta-blockers? He's anemic on top of it all, he's sick and dad wouldn't even help him when he was at home. That was my job."

"Samantha–"

"It was your job when I went to school."

"We'll find him okay, we'll find your b–"

"John's already killed him," I whimpered, shaking my head.

"We don't know that."

"Don't we?" I shook my head, feeling myself drowning.

"He's defective!" cried John, slamming a hand down on the counter. He'd cornered Nancy. "He shouldn't be this small, he shouldn't be havin' these problems!"

"He was just born a little small," offered Nancy but John was roaring.

"Two pounds under his normal weight! He was supposed to be born at seven, eight! But five?! We've spent pointless money pumping medications in that boy, money we coulda been spending on things that matter!"

"Sam's school–"

"The debts we need to pay! The mortgage on the house! The fucking phone bill!"

"Conner's just a little small."

"His heart is gone to shit, Nancy."

Nancy was shaking her head, hands on her face. "He's your son, you can't keep sayin' these things!"

"He's anemic, he's sick, he needs those–those fucking pills all the goddamn time. We can't keep him."

"You can't–what?" Nancy's face was growing red. "You can't throw your son away just because you can't handle the responsibilities of being a father."

He struck her harder than he had in years.

"Conner's a good boy," whispered Nancy, taking my hand. "He can survive this. If those people back there can, then so can he."

I didn't know how much longer I'd be able to believe her before I started demanding proof. Sophia just needed to be found, then we could use our man power to head to the highway. We could find our car somehow, leave a message, find a clue.

But Sophia came first.

She'd come first until we found her living or dead.

AUTHOR'S NOTE━━another update so soon <333 been on a writing kick for now so lets pray is keeps going!!!

giving yall more insight into conner and his situation w john...my baby does not deserve it. also the shane/sam moments AND the daryl/sam....how we feeling...who do we feel rn?????? shane is obsessive but daryl pushes her away even when he doesn't realize it....so.....lmk!!!!

sam in every situation:

shane to sam (or sam to daryl):

vote/comment ily ily