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"𝐇𝐎𝐋𝐘 𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐓," 𝐁𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐃 𝐆𝐋𝐄𝐍𝐍, coming to stand beside us as we looked down at Tony's body. Even Hershel had shuffled over and any trace of him being even slightly tipsy was gone as the wind.

"You all right?" asked Rick.

I narrowed my eyes. "You just couldn't help it, could you? You just had to say somethin' to them."

"Hey!" said Glenn. "How was I supposed to know they were going to be insane?"

"Did you not just look at them?!"

"Hey, now," muttered Rick. He glanced over towards the older man and sighed, softly. "Hershel, you okay?"

It took the older man a moment. He glanced back towards where Dave's body had fallen. The mirror behind the bar was shattered and splattered with blood and brain matter but the old man didn't make a face. He only looked back towards Rick, met his gaze, and nodded.

The blood on the ground was mixing with Tony's piss and I scrunched up my nose, turning away entirely. Hershel touched me on the arm, giving me a reassuring glance before saying, "Let's head back."

I shook my head, wiping my nose. "I don't know if it's safe. We need to make sure none of their asshole buddies heard the shots." I motioned towards Glenn, waving to the bar. "Grab his gun and grab the rifle, check their pockets for rounds. They didn't come here with much so I expect their camp and the rest of their group to be nearby." I watched Glenn head back behind the bar. "Rick, we need to think this through real carefully. If they had people scouting the town, then they heard the shots and if we leave now..."

"They'll follow us back to the farm," he said, crouched down, holding three casings in his palm from Tony's pocket. "We'd lead them right back to us."

I walked slowly towards the front doors, delicate with every step I took. It didn't take long before I saw the headlights and Rick was hissing through a seething whisper, "Car. Car. Get down!"

I was against the door, locking it as best I could before scurrying across the floor to hide against a wall. The car approaching stopped and we heard a door open as the engine turned off. There was the scuff of feet on the ground before voices sprang out. They were all men.

"Dave? Tony? They said over here?"

"Yeah."

"I'm telling you man, I heard shots."

The man who'd spoken twice spoke again, "I saw roamers two streets over. Might be more around here."

"It's hot. We gotta get out of here."

Their feet shuffled under the awning outside and I held my breath. My gun was in my hands, finger on the trigger as I tried to ease the race of my heart. If there was more of them than us, we'd be easily taken. I couldn't stop the images of awful things flashing behind my mind of what all they could do to me if they killed my friends.

"Dave! Tony!" the third man shouted.

"Shut up, you idiot! You wanna attract 'em? Just stick close, we'll find 'em."

I could see their shadows against the blurred windows. They held rifles, from what I could see from the first two to pass by. One stopped right in front of the door and he seemed almost short but I couldn't tell.

"Dude, he said stay close," hissed his friend who'd walked down the front of the building near the windows by the pianos. "Tony."

I moved to my knees, careful of the pressure I applied to the floor. We hadn't scouted the building when we first arrived when there had been sun. Now, it was dark. The bar was casted in dark shadows from the moonlight outside. If we had just left earlier, if we hadn't sat around and argued about hope, we could've been home–

But those assholes would've still been out there, waiting for one of us to show ourselves in town. Waiting to manipulate us into giving up our home and women.

Rick stood slowly and the four of us moved together to sit in a crouched huddle. I took the little gun out of Glenn's hands and passed it off to Hershel and I nodded at him until he took it from me.

"Why won't they leave?" whispered Glenn, visibly shaken as Rick peered out between the curtains.

"Would you?" said Rick in a quiet voice. "We can't sit here any longer. Let's head out the back and make a run to the car."

We all began to stand when a gunshot echoed outside and we dropped back to our squats against the walls. My heart was in my throat more than I'd like to admit but we'd never faced off against other people before. It'd just been us and the walkers, there had never been an outside force capable of killing us with our own weapons.

There was another round of fire and I sat up only to look through the window. I could see two men, both holding rifles.

"What happened?" asked one.

"Roamers. I nailed 'em."

This was just what we needed. Not just one threat but two. Walkers we could handle but if they were coming at us at the same time these guys were, I wasn't sure the four of us could take them. I didn't know what type of shot Hershel had and if he'd be willing to shoot a living person if he hadn't been able to kill a walker just this morning.

"They disappeared but their car's still here," said a third man, jogging up to meet the other two. One of them looked like he was a boy, maybe a few years older than Beth. "I cleared those buildings, you guys got this one?"

"No," said one as the other said, "Me neither."

"We're lookin' for Dave and Tony and nobody checks the damn bar?"

Rick raised his gun and Glenn moved to keep the door back as it rammed forward but stopped because of the lock. The door jostled against Glenn's back as he kept it from moving anymore as one of the men shook it back and forth.

"What?"

"It's locked but I think someone pushed it back. There's someone in there."

"Yo! Is someone in there?" There was just a little pause before the man was saying, loudly, "If someone's in there, we don't want no trouble! We're just looking for our friends."

"What do we do?" one of them asked in a softer voice. "Bum rush the door?"

"No, we don't know how many there are," said the first man. "Just relax." He spoke louder just for us and said, "We don't want any trouble! We're just looking for our friends! If something happened, just tell us. This place is crawling with corpses. If you can help us not get killed, I'd appreciate it."

"You're bugging," said the third man. "I'm telling you nobody's in there."

"Somebody guard the door, they might know where Dave and Tony are."

Rick made a look of anguish, sweat coating his face. It seemed he was pissed by the look of his barred teeth and scowl. I snapped my fingers at him as the footsteps began to retreat. Rick looked at me and I could see it on his face. I shook my head, mouthing no and slicing a hand through the air by my mouth to tell him to keep his mouth shut but he was shaking his head at me.

"No," I hissed through clenched teeth and Rick looked away. "Do not–"

"They drew on us!" he shouted and I wanted to bury my head in my hands and scream.

Hershel made the same face I had, eyes wide and glaring at Rick.

"Are Dave and Tony in there?" asked one of the men. "They alive?"

I was waving my hand around the air. "Rick, do not–"

"No!"

I pressed my hands and gun to my face and seethed silently.

"They killed Dave and Tony," said the second man.

The first man whispered, "Come on, man, let's go."

"No," hissed the second. "I'm not leaving, and I'm not telling Jane. I'm not gonna go back and tell them Dave and Tony got shot by some assholes in a bar."

"Your friends drew on us!" shouted Rick, deep and aggressive with every word. "They gave us no choice!" Hershel was staring, still wide eyed with his expression reading please, shut the hell up, Rick, please. "I'm sure we've all lost enough people, done things we wish we didn't have to, but it's like that now! You know that! So let's just chalk this up to what it was––wrong place, wrong––"

The window above their heads shattered and I ducked down, covering my head as bullets rained through. Glass exploded through the air and across the ground as we moved swiftly. Rick stood and fired a round out the broken window and I spun on my heel as I stood, catching a glimpse of the three retreating figures around the building.

"Get outta here!" yelled Rick. "Go!"

We sprinted through the bar and dove across the ground as more glass shattered and bullets splintered wood in the walls and broke pictures hanging on the walls, sending it all crashing to the floor.

I watched Hershel slide the rifle Glenn had left by the bar to him across the floor. He was hiding behind one of the pianos and Hershel was near the back of the bar behind chairs. I kept myself pressed behind one of the posts, my boot sliding through Tony's blood and I wished I had gotten back further where Hershel was, who was now holding up the small gun confidently in his hands.

"Hey!" yelled Rick, pulling a few extra bullets from his front pocket and loading his gun. "We all know this is not gonna end well! There's nothin' in it for any of us!" He was almost finished loading his weapon. "You guys, just–just back off! No one else gets hurt!"

I was breathing heavily, chest heaving as I tried to breathe through my nose. Adrenalin was rushing through me and I glanced back towards Glenn who was holding his gun tightly to his chest. He looked pale in the dark.

The sound of bottles rattling from the side of the building had my head turning. From where I sat and from where I could see Hershel, there was a back door with an exit sign hanging above it. Rick motioned with his head for Glenn to go but the boy was heaving in the air and shaking. I looked at him and made eye contact. I nodded and he nodded back and we both took off towards the back room.

I pushed the door open slowly, revealing an old storage room filled with old shelves of jars and bottles, cardboard boxes filled with old glass plates and other trinkets from when the bar had been active.

I stepped down the stairs first, hearing it groan under my shoe and I held my breath. From across the room, there was a door which led out to the alley. I crept down and Glenn followed on light feet, him taking the right and me fanning out to the left.

The door to the alley jostled and we watched as the knob began to move. Glenn raised his gun as shadows crossed over the window and he looked at me.

I nodded and he fired a round, shattering glass and sending the men outside running.

"Glenn! Sam!" called Rick from inside and I held out my arm to Glenn so he'd move out of the line of sight from the window and shouted back, "We're fine! We're good!"

He had himself pressed against one of the shelves, taking deep breaths as I tried to get a good angle to peer outside. I couldn't see anyone but that didn't mean they were hiding flush against the brick walls. I kept my gun raised as I moved forward but there wasn't any movement.

I lowered my weapon and moved behind some of the shelves, watching Hershel come down the stairs to meet us. Glenn spun swiftly and nearly hit the old man with his gun, but Hershel pushed it aside with an annoyed look.

"Sorry, sorry," muttered Glenn.

"Rick wants you to try for the car," said Hershel, looking only at Glenn.

"Try?"

"You'll try and succeed." Hershel held up his handgun. "I'll cover you."

"That's–that's a great plan," said Glenn sarcastically.

"What about me?" I whispered, heart hammering harder than ever before. "I'm not just going to sit here and let you both go out there alone–"

"Go with Rick–"

I shook my head at Hershel, seeing the frightened look still etched across Glenn's face and I snapped my fingers at him until he looked at me. "We'll go together, okay?"

"Sam–"

"We'll make a run for it together. With me covering your ass and Hershel mine, we'll make it, okay?"

Glenn nodded and walked out towards the door. He took a deep breath and met my eyes when he opened his. I nodded and motioned with my gun for him to go. Reaching forward, he pushed the door open and it banged softly back against the wall outside. It didn't flatten but stay halfway ajar, a good block for us to duck behind if needed.

He took a moment before he stepped down on the first stair into the alley. The air was already lighter than it had been in the bar and I relished in the cold feeling crossing over my sweaty skin. I was damp all over, dripping down my neck and back, I could feel it drenched underneath my bra.

Glenn made his way into the alley, finger on the trigger of his rifle as he shuffled slowly. He was cautious, glancing around as I stepped down next and into the night. The alley wasn't small, it had some good space for us to get the car down. I glanced behind us and heard two shots go off.

I ducked down, tripping, blinded by sudden fear and knocked Glenn and myself behind the dumpster and against the wall. I heard Hershel fire but I couldn't move to see if he'd killed the man but there was only silence that followed until a man began groaning loudly.

I pressed a hand into my side, breathing deeply. I just needed to catch my breath, I just needed to give myself a moment to slow down and breathe but my heart was in my throat and my head was spinning from what felt like a head-rush.

"What happened?" I heard Rick ask from the door to the alley.

"He fired," said Hershel. Glenn pressed his hand against my shoulder and I could feel him shaking. We both were. "He must've hit Glenn, they're behind the dumpsters. Doesn't look like he's moving."

We weren't moving, in fact. We were frozen in place, trying so desperately to get our legs to work but Glenn was lying there beside me. He wasn't shot, I couldn't see any blood and he didn't look to be in pain. We couldn't even speak.

"You hit?" asked Rick and we heard his scuff against the wall and towards us, his voice growing. "You hit?"

"No–no," said Glenn, shaking his head.

Before he could say anything else, Rick was beside him by the dumpster. He looked at us and I pressed my hand harder into my side, I could feel my heart there, beating and throbbing.

"It's all right," said Rick. "The car's right there." Glenn nodded. "We're almost home. You good?"

Glenn nodded again. "I'm good."

"Let's go," said Rick, standing and moving with Glenn following but a shot fired through the air and they jumped behind the dumpster. "Get back, get back!"

I used my other hand to stand slowly, falling into the wall. I kept my back to Rick and Glenn, pulling my hand from my side and black dots danced across my eyes as the blood coating my palm. There was too much blood, it had formed a little pool in the center of my hand and I pressed it back into my side. The adrenalin would wear off soon and I'd fall over, I'd be lost out here with those men––

I took a deep breath and turned, raising my gun and letting my armed hand drop on top of the dumpster. Standing on the roof of the pharmacy across the street was one of the men stationed with a rifle.

A car's tires squealed across the ground and a third man shouted, "Let's get out of here! Roamers all over the place! Hurry up! We gotta get out of here!"

"What about Sean!?" called the sniper. He looked like a boy.

"They shot him! We gotta go," urged the first man. "Roamers are everywhere."

"We're leaving?"

"Jump!"

I ducked back down behind the dumpster, trying to keep my breathing leveled so I wouldn't pass out but I could feel the warmth spreading across my side and down my pants. It was hot like fire, like liquid sun burning all over my skin.

There was a crash, the sound of a body hitting the metal awnings before there was terrified screaming and wailing. Glenn shook his head at the sound. "Dude didn't make it."

"Help!" cried the boy. "Help–help me!"

"I've gotta go!" yelled his friend. "I'm sorry!"

"No–no! Don't leave! H–help me!"

The car revved and drove past the alley. Rick glanced back at us and snapped, "Get Hershel," before running towards the sound of the boy crying.

Glenn moved first and I watched him go as I stumbled into the dumpster, trying to follow. My legs were like jelly and the blood felt heavy. I could feel the wound, the skin puckered and shredded against the fatty part in my side. It was a clean slice through flesh, tearing at the sides to expose the deep, long, open graze.

The shredded flesh touched my shirt and I stumbled and fell back against the wall of the building. I forced my hands to keep moving as Glenn shouted for Hershel and a gun went off. I slid my gun into my holster and pulled at my flannel until it was somehow off and wrapped tightly around my side. It burned and my vision blurred, my lips buzzing with numbness. I got it tied tightly and I looked down at my palm, dripping and covered in thickening goo that was desperate to congeal.

I heard the man who'd gotten shot start howling as groans and growls filled the air. I got myself to the edge of the dumpster, watching Glenn take off towards the car and shouting, "Hershel, come on!"

The old man hesitated before turning to follow Glenn down the alley. I waved my hand at him, words frozen on my tongue until I was falling forward and into him. He was barely able to catch me but suddenly Glenn was by my side and I was moaning, "Gun fire–must've–must've attracted the–the walkers."

"Oh, god, oh, god," breathed Glenn, his fingers digging into my arms as he tried to haul me to my feet.

"Where's Rick?" snapped Hershel, getting one of my arms around his neck to get me standing.

"He–he ran across," said Glenn as they moved me from the alley and into the street. The world felt like it was spinning and I knew my adrenalin was crashing.

"I'm–I'm okay," I mumbled. "I'm okay." It wasn't a bad wound but it was deep and raw. Pain was swelling in my side and aching through my bones and muscles. I wanted to lay down and sob and I felt tears stream silently down from my eyes. The sight of the blood pooling in my hand and the pain was what made me want to pass out. "I'm not–I'm not gonna die."

"You shouldn't even be standing," snapped Hershel. "It's a miracle you're even awake."

"We–we can't leave–" I groaned, finding my foot and standing the best I could to help them walk me to the car. "We can't leave without Rick."

Glenn had me against the hood of the car to rest before shouting Rick's name and taking off across the street. I moved so I was leaning against the car on my good side, breathing in deeply through my nose and mouth before mumbling, "Go," to Hershel. "Go and help those–those idiots."

Hershel looked like he was going to say no but he nodded and jogged across the street. I pulled my gun from my holster and turned to face the alley we'd just come out of. I could hear them arguing, yelling at each other but I tried to focus on what I could hear around them.

I could hear them. Coming. Coming from all directions. They spilled out from the alley, just two of them but from the stores down the street, I could see their bodies swaying through the darkness. I pushed up against the car to stand, raising my gun. I wouldn't shoot until they got closer but Rick was yelling and Hershel was taking his nice button up off and suddenly, the walkers were nearly on me.

I fired, brain spewing out the back of the walker's skull as I fired into the next. I had to close one eye to make the world stop spinning but the adrenalin was kicking its final legs. I pushed back against the car until I was standing and stalking forward, my ax pulled from my waistband.

I sliced through a walker's skull, stumbling to the side with the force but I aimed my gun with my free hand and fired another round into the closest one's head. They dropped heavily to the ground and I panted, deeply. I could feel my lungs expand, feeling my chest rise and fall. I was still alive and I couldn't feel the blood through my shirt anymore. Fear had nearly struck me dead but I slammed a walker back with my ax and found that I could still move and breathe.

But I was heaving, great big breaths that couldn't seem to reach my lungs anymore. I felt like I was panicking as I swayed to the side. I pushed the flannel I'd tied aside and my vision tunneled at the dark blood seeping through the fabric and gleaming against my skin and open wound. I'd never been shot before. What do you do in those circumstances?

Carl's was internal but mine had a clear exit path, exposing my side to the elements. How does one just keep going from that? I stumbled again, feeling the world tilt with me until I was on my side and aching all over.

I didn't remember being dragged into the car. I barely remembered Rick sitting over me in the back seat, pressing my bloodied flannel into my wound. I did remember the pain. I felt it all over as his fingers dug into my side to keep my wound closed with pressure.

I felt every bump on the road we drove over. But I couldn't hear the chaos around me. There was some kid I didn't recognize blind folded in the back seat, bleeding all over Rick's seats as I was. I barely remembered Rick's hand on my face, forcing me to look him in the eyes to keep me awake but I was tired. The wound, like most things in life, was worse than it appeared. The only reason I'd been able to go forward and kill those walkers was survival instinct, was knowing this was not the worst pain I'd ever been in.

John had made certain of that in other ways.

I saw images of Conner behind my eyes when I'd closed them, just for the briefest moment before Rick was yanking me out of half-dreams and visions. I smiled up at him, because this I remembered. He looked good, the sunlight was like rays of gold against his face. But it was ruined by thoughts of Shane, of the horror at the farm and I could feel my mouth pulling back in a half sob, half choke.

Agony spread through me and I let out a cry, Rick's hand pressing harder as he yelled over the building static in my ears, "Can't we drive a little faster here, Hershel?!"

"I'm goin' as fast as I can!"

My head lobbed to the side and I could see Glenn in the front seat beside the old man. A seat I had once been in between my friends. The car hit the gravel road and I moaned, feeling sweat or maybe tears gliding down my cheeks and into my hair.

"He–" I gripped Rick's wrist. Shane's face was angry and blurred in my mind. "He–he–"

"What is it?" asked Rick, taking my hand but his fingers still dug into flesh.

I met his eyes, my heart and mind screaming. "He killed him."

Shane killed Otis. Shane killed Otis. Shane killed Otis.

"Who–who, Sam?" whispered Rick but the car was stopping, skidding on the ground.

I felt the car rock with Glenn and Hershel getting out, throwing open the car door. I felt my body slide off the back seat and into open arms and I wailed at the pressure igniting fire all over my body like torture crawling its way out from underneath my skin.

I fell into Rick's side, body sagging and my head lobbing backwards. The sky was a pretty blue with fluffy white clouds pulling in from every corner of the world to show me the artwork in the sky.

"Patricia, get the guest room prepared for surgery!" snapped Hershel. "We've got to work fast here, people. Guest room first then the shed. Now."

"Oh, my god! What happened?! Rick?!"

"Is that blood?!"

"Sam! Sam!"

"My baby, my baby, what happened to my baby?!"

Rick adjusted his grip on me, my feet dragging across the ground. He had his hand pressed on top of mine against my side, my other arm thrown weakly over his shoulders. I felt other hands take hold on me on my wounded side, gripping my arm to help move me through the yard.

"Who the hell is that in the car?"

"Rick, what happened–what's going on?"

I saw the blur of the blue sky move swiftly out of sight and I was inside the farm house and on a bed, hissing through clenched teeth as Hershel tore open the side of my shirt and pressed a pillowcase pad to my side.

"What did you do?" cursed Shane's voice, loud and scarily clear. "What did you do to her, man?!"

There were too many people in the room and I couldn't keep track of who's voice belonged to whom as they all began to blend in with the anger and confusion. I was pricked by something sharp in my side and slowly, as if magic, the wound numbed. I rested back fully on the bed, my body relaxing as the tension was driven away from the lack of pain. There was an ache, dull, but not merely as bad as before.

"Do we need to put her under?" asked Rick. "Does she need blood?"

I'd forgotten that we were the same blood type. Him, me, and Carl.

"I need to clean the wound," said Hershel, "and it might be too painful for her to take while awake. Patrica, get an I.V. set up, will you, please?"

"I don't want–want to go to sleep," I mumbled, my mouth full of cotton and lead. There was this nightmare creeping in that if I fell asleep before I knew I was okay, I would never wake up. Someone took my hand and I looked up, finding Nancy by my side and sobbing. "I'm–fine."

I was, in fact, not fine. The second Hershel began to clean the wound, my body tensed, a scream left my lips, and I was blinking and waking up on my side as an hour had passed. I stretched my legs, feeling the tug and pull in my side as I shifted.

"No, no," mumbled Nancy, standing from her spot in the chair beside the bed to sit beside me. "You need to rest, stop movin–"

I swatted her busy hands away, groaning as I sat up the best I could on my elbow. I pulled the blanket that had been thrown over me off and inspected the bandaged wound.

"Hershel doesn't want you pullin' that thing off..." Her words died on her tongue as I pulled the gauze back to see the stitches.

I counted at least ten thick stitches, my skin puckered and red around each black rope dug tightly into my flesh. The skin was raised and angry and the pulsing throb was still there as I touched a finger to the edge of the work Hershel had done.

"Did I–did I need blood?" I asked, my voice hoarse. I had to clear my throat, salvia and mucus clumped and stuck in my throat. Nancy shook her head, so I asked my next question. "What happened to the–to the kid we brought back?"

Nancy helped me push the gauze and bandage back into place, securing it around my side as she said, "Rick wants to send him on his way, drop him off somewhere."

"But what if–"

"He was blindfolded."

"The entire time?"

Nancy nodded. "That's what Rick told us."

"Is their meeting still happening now?" I asked and Nancy gave me a long look but shook her head. I smacked my lips together, my mouth thick and heavy.

"Ended just a few minutes before you woke up." She reached out, brushing my hair back from my face and offering me a small smile. "Carl's been askin' for you. He wanted to come in here but Rick said it'd be better to let you rest. You...you got a strange hold on that boy, he sees you like you're some sort of hero."

"I'm nice to him," I grunted, "and I listen to him. All kids really want is to be heard."

"Even the girl," said Nancy, "Beth, she listens to you, she...she confides in you."

Her head bowed for a moment, pulling at the ends of her shirt. It was no longer a clean outfit but one that was splattered with dirt and old blood. She must've been helping the others with the bodies because her clothes were at least a day old. She was never one to repeat an outfit one day after the next. Even when I was a child, she'd have an assortment of flowery dresses she'd filter through.

"Conner never came to me for anything," she whispered, finding it hard to meet my eyes. "You never did, either. But you and these kids...there's somethin' in you that's like a–a magnet to them. You and Conner were always inseparable, there's no mistaken the bond you two had, but I never thought it was somethin' more until I saw you with Carl those first few nights in camp."

"Is there a problem here or...?" I sat up against the pillows and the headboard, finding that I was sitting slightly off my side to keep the pain from resurfacing like it had when I first began to move. I wasn't hot, I wasn't cold, which meant I didn't have a fever since getting hurt, but the only complication that I could feel was that the ache was still there like a dull burn.

Nancy shook her head. "You just keep surprisin' me." There was a smile on her face, one that had not been there the day before. "Like–like you and that gun. I didn't know you could shoot. Your father told me you were an awful shot, that you'd miss by inches or even by feet."

I laughed, wincing at the feel of it shaking in my body before saying, "I faked it."

"Well, I can damn well see that now!" She was laughing too, big and loud, a smile lighting up her face that seemed genuine for the first time in ages. When was the last time I'd seen my mother happy?

There was a soft knock on the door and it opened slowly. Nancy's laughter died with the sound and she wiped at her cheek and turned to see who it was. Daryl was awkward, standing in the doorway with one hand in his pocket and the other holding on to his crossbow. He wore a long sleeve and an old leather vest on top of it, an outfit I'd never seen him wear before all together. Hell, I'd never seen him in a long sleeve to begin with.

"You're awake," he said and I nodded. "You up to talkin' for a minute?"

I nodded again, moving to sit up more and ignoring the pain altogether. I glanced at Nancy and she gave me a subtle look that said don't push yourself before she stood and mumbled, "I'll go get you some water."

When she left the room, Daryl closed the door and glanced around. It was the same room we'd used to house Carl in after he'd gotten shot. It was funny, how the same things kept happening, just in different moments and circumstances.

"I spoke to Rick," he said. "He told me 'bout those men y'all fought."

"What'd he say?"

"That they're bad."

I pulled at the blanket twisted around my legs. Someone had taken my boots off before they sat neatly by one of the chairs with my holster, badge, gun, knife, and ax. Even my backpack was there, the straps stained with my blood. My flannel was long gone and the tank top I'd been wearing was nowhere to be seen. I'd been surprised to find myself in a shirt at all. A big white one, as a matter of fact, one I'd never seen or worn before. But that wasn't what made me slightly feel red in the face when Daryl looked at me. No, it was the fact that my jeans were a part of the small pile of my belongings, stained brown from blood.

"You want my opinion?" I asked and he nodded.

He hung his crossbow on the knob to the closet before taking up Nancy's seat by the bed. I shifted again, struggling to get comfortable.

"They are bad," I whispered, meeting Daryl's eyes. "They...I..." I shook my head. "There was somethin' really wrong about them."

"What else?" he asked, his elbows resting on his knees.

"What they were sayin' to us...it sounded scripted," I explained. "Like–like they had cues to each other, like they'd done this sort of thing before." His brows raised, clearly not something he'd heard from Rick yet. "I had this really awful feelin' there, Daryl, that–that if somehow they'd gotten me alone with them..." I trailed off and Daryl's jaw clenched and his hands turned to fists.

"You killed three of 'em," he said and I nodded. "That's three out of the way already and the boy is in no fightin' shape, either."

"One of the guys, Dave, said they'd got people they needed to take care of," I told him. "And one of them who came later said the name Jane. There's more of 'em out there and, to me, it sounds like a whole hell of a group."

"How many you thinkin'?"

"More than ten, more than us."

He rubbed his jaw, running over what I'd said slowly. When he glanced back up at me, his brows were slightly furrowed and he was giving me a curious look. "You scared the hell out of us, you know that, don't you?"

I forced a smile, my side itching. "Didn't mean too."

"Well, you did."

"I scared you that badly, huh?" I wanted to smile, truly, because something about him worrying over me made my skin flush over my chest.

He scowled. "Had Shane all twisted up inside 'bout it. Nearly raised his fist to Rick, thinkin' those two idiots with him had somethin' to do with it, too."

"He's unstable."

Daryl reached out, shocking me as he took my hand in his. His skin was warm but not soft, roughened by hunting and survival. "There was a lot of blood, Sam."

"There are ten pints in the human body–"

"There was more than a pint lost on Rick's damn hands by the time y'all showed up," he hissed, drawing his hand back. "You know we were 'bout to go off lookin' for you four? Lori nearly got herself killed fussing over Rick leavin'."

I felt my lips curl up in a smile and I murmured, "Were you goin' to go lookin' just for me or for those three idiots?"

He kept scowling. "Lori told me to go after y'all and I told her to fuck off," he said in the same tone as before, hissing and snarling. "I didn't want to be part of no group–"

"You like being alone too much."

"Then she comes back bloody and y'all don't show up 'til morning," he spat. "And when they got out of that damn car, blood all over 'erybody, with Rick draggin' your fucking lifeless body out?" He shook his head and drew a hand down his face with a ragged sigh. "It scared the fucking shit out of me. Out of everyone."

I reached out and let my hand rest against the bed, palm up. I moved my fingers, urging him, until he finally took my hand again. I whispered, "You're goin' to miss me so much when I'm gone, Daryl Dixon."

He went to pull his hand from me but I held on tight. He was scowling, baring teeth as he snarled, "Don't say that."

I smiled. "You're gonna miss me so bad." A heavy sigh left him as I played with his fingers. I just didn't know who would miss me the most if the bullet had pierced a few inches closer into my side or gut. Who would sit by my grave the longest? "Don't worry," I purred softly, "you can't get rid of me that easily. We Garrett's are hard to kill." He found my eyes and I whispered, "Just look at Nancy if you don't believe me."

"You shouldn't say that," he said, still, but his hand stayed in mine. "You don't know what can happen, the world ain't the same as it was."

"Clearly," I said, motioning to my side. I shifted onto my side, the blanket tucked around my hip but I could feel the cool air of the house touch my fevered skin against my side. I felt Daryl's eyes travel over the exposed skin. He didn't speak but his jaw clenched again and I saw his brows move, just slightly, ready to furrow and scowl with him. "Are you done bein' a lone wolf?"

"Why?"

"Someone needs to keep me company," I muttered, "or Nancy'll be dead by next week if she stays in here."

"I'm not stayin' here–"

"You'd really leave me to die, an early death I might add, with Nancy holdin' me hostage?"

"I ain't your babysitter."

I narrowed my eyes and pulled my hand from his to move further down the bed so I could lay my head down on a pillow. I was getting sleepy and I hadn't slept on a real bed in ages. "You know," I mumbled, "you can keep actin' like this sad, angry outsider but you can't keep pretendin' forever to be somethin' we all know you're not." He frowned and I pulled the blanket up higher on myself and said, "When you leave, can you get someone to bring me some pants? It's cold."

I wasn't given pants until a few hours later when I'd fallen back asleep and woke to a cold hand touching my face. It was dark out when I opened my eyes, the bedroom lit by only a small dim lamp but I could see Carl's face clearly.

There were a pair of loose men's running shorts on the bed beside him where he was sitting and I smiled, croaking out, "Shouldn't you be asleep, little man?"

His face grew into a smile and he reached over to the bedside table and handed me a glass of water. "Heard Daryl tell my dad that you wanted someone to sleepover."

Sleepover. I could've killed the hunter.

I rolled my eyes and asked, "Your parents say it was okay?"

He nodded and I couldn't help but notice the way he was looking at me. He was more animated than usual, a sense of thrill oozing out of him. When he spoke, I understood why.

"Mom's having a baby," he whispered to me, giddy with excitement. "Which means I'm gonna be a big brother."

He was wearing the hat Rick had given him and he was perched on the bed beside me where he'd been reading a comic book before I woke up. He'd been one of the voices I'd hear calling my name when we'd gotten to the farm, desperation in his tone. He'd called for him dad but the tone shifted from joy to starstruck horror.

He held the comic out for me and I smiled. It was some random superhero one that I didn't recognize. He was still smiling, flipping the page as he said, "I hope mom has a girl."

"Really?" I murmured, sitting up to take a sip from the water he'd handed me. It was cold and I felt some spill down my chin.

He nodded. "I want to be a protector, you know? I want to protect her."

"Oh, kid..."

"I miss her," he mumbled. "I wish I could've done more."

He was talking about Sophia and my heart broke for him. He couldn't do anything to look for her after he was shot and now he was left with guilt and empty promises from adults saying they'd bring her home. I took another sip of my water and he took the glass back in both hands.

"We did all that we could," I told him as he took a little sip, too. "No one knew the outcome would be what it was."

"I know," he said with a sigh, setting the glass down. "I would've done what you did, if I could've."

My brows furrowed. Was this what Rick had been telling me about?

"I would've. I really would've."

"There's no reason for you to," I mumbled, shaking my head to sit up a little. My side still ached, my skin and muscles sore like I'd exercised for the first time in years. "Aren't you afraid you're rushin' out of childhood?"

"I'm not a kid anymore," he said with an angry look trying to cross its way over his face. "I should be able to handle these things myself, so people like you or my dad don't have to." He looked away, taking a deep breath before saying, "I don't want all the hard decisions to fall on you guys. I see the way it makes my dad feel. I can see that it hurts him."

"But it shouldn't fall to you, either." I touched his shoulder so he'd look at me again. "I wish I hadn't made any big decisions when I was your age. Doin' that...it changes things. It forces you to grow up too early and you have the chance here to be a kid. To do somethin' stupid and not risk the lives of others."

"I don't want to be a kid," he whispered. "Kids get killed."

"No," I said, shaking my head. "Kids survive getting shot, getting lost, all the time. Just look at yourself, you're still here, you're still alive. It's gonna take a lot more than this," I poked his side gently, "to kill you or anyone else."

"You almost died."

"Not really."

"Dad says otherwise."

"Well, your dad's always been a bit dramatic."

Carl laughed softly and his eyes lit up for a second, reaching up to take off his hat. "You get to wear the hat now."

"Why?" I asked on a chuckle, taking the hat as he tried to put it on my head. I ignored how it hurt to raise my arm on my left.

"You're part of the club," he told me, snatching the hat back and putting it on my head where it tilted forward and nearly covered my eyes.

"The 'you just got shot' club?"

Carl nodded firmly. "First it was dad, then it was me, and now it's you."

"Mine's not real enough," I told him, taking the hat off and placing it back on his own head. "There's no bullet as a souvenir."

"Okay, fine," said Carl, "you're an honorary member until you're shot again."

"Again?!"

A week passed at an agonizingly slow place. We were all waiting and biding our time until Randall, the kid we saved, could walk again. Hershel explained to me how he'd have nerve damage, showing me the incision sight and how he repaired the tendons the best he could when he'd walk me out to the shed.

It was a daily walk from the house to the shed, getting my legs moving and my endurance back up. The stitches would come out in the next few days or so but until then, I needed to take it easy but easy was not in my vocabulary, neither were the words 'stay' and 'safe.'

I put on my motherly and sisterly charm and helped with laundry. I helped cook dinner, I helped get eggs from the chicken coop, I helped clean the guns, and I sharpened knives and my ax dozens of times over until the blades were too sharp to touch. I cleaned my wound twice a day, careful not to trap sweat under the bandages.

I hiked up the stairs at least four times a day to visit Beth, to lay in the bed with her and watch her stare and blink at the walls. She'd whisper to me, little things about how this could all end if we wanted to, that we could just slip away together and not fight this world.

She spoke a lot about death, about an escape. It was frighteningly like looking in a mirror.

How I'd wanted to do the same when I'd been fifteen, trapped in a body that no longer belonged to me. There had been things I would've bargained the devil for if it meant I could be free, even just for a minute. Looking at Beth, lost in her own torment and believing the only option was the way out, it was a strange kinship. Who else could say they'd been here before? I was tempted to have Andrea come in, to speak her own kind of wisdom on her own situation.

She'd been forced to live, forced by Dale, but she was still here. Didn't that mean something?

"How can you just..." Beth whispered, barely meeting my eyes with her own, "...keep goin' after what happened?"

"Easy," I mumbled as Lori came in with a tray of food, "I'm too scared to die."

"You're scared?" she said, her tone nearly reaching condescending. It almost seemed she wanted to call me pathetic by the way she was speaking.

"Terrified."

Lori set the food down on the bedside table, wiping her hands on her jeans as she looked at us. "How about this, you, uh, eat up all your food and Sam and I will get you up and out of here? Go on a walk? It'll do you good to get outside."

I nodded, folding a hand behind my head. Shane and Rick had left to take Randal eighteen miles out, leaving us here to fend for ourselves and make a slow day interesting. It would be good to get outside, I hadn't gone since the day before and the fresh air would do Beth good, too. "Fresh air, maybe go see the horses, it sounds nice."

Beth, with her sunken eyes and dark bags, looked up at Lori through her lashes. "You're pregnant." She shifted, sitting up slowly. "How could you do that?" Her voice was deadpan and slow.

Lori looked at her feet, her hands going into her pockets, clearly uncomfortable. "Uh, I didn't really have a choice."

"You think..." Beth's eyes fell on the window. "...it'll make a difference?"

"Of course it will. You eat something," said Lori before leaving.

She closed the door behind her and I moved until I was sitting up. I was on a constant Beth watch when Maggie needed a break and I found it was more difficult to get anything out of her with her sister and Lori in the room. There were some things you just didn't want your family to know.

I walked around the bed, moving slowly to see what Lori had brought. There was a chicken leg, some cucumbers, tomatoes, and a few carrots. I reached down, taking a cucumber and biting into it. I'd missed this, eating little salads or dipping cucumbers into ranch dressing. I took another and held it out, but Beth wasn't looking at the food. Her eyes were on the knife Lori had put on the tray.

"Eat," I muttered under my breath, holding out the cucumber more forcefully.

Beth's eyes found mine and she glared. "What's the point?"

"The point is," I said, "is that it's good and you should eat it."

"How can you even eat?" she asked in the same dead, condescending voice as before. "You're givin' those walkers more of you to have. Why–why even give them the chance? It's embarrassing, all of this food is shit–"

"Hey," I hissed and her eyes found mine again, "I am not your sister," I snapped. "So you do not get to speak to me like that."

"I do not speak to Maggie like–"

"Oh," I said with a fake scoffing laugh, "yes you do. You've been a bitch to her."

"A-a–bitch?"

I held the cucumber out to her, wondering if this was the first time she'd ever cussed. I hadn't heard it before and when we first got to the farm, she looked like your stereotypical farm girl. Sweet as a peach, soft as silk, and had never done a bad thing in her life. Oh, how it would've been so easy to become her.

"Eat," I said, repeating myself.

She reached out slowly and took the cucumber. She ate a small bite and I watched her chew. I knew that would be all I could get in her and I watched her nibble until I went to the window. Outside, I could see Maggie and Glenn walking off together, Andrea on top of the RV with her rifle. Daryl was somewhere, maybe off hunting. He'd come to see me once since his first visit but it was better than Shane.

He'd avoided me. I'd see him, sometimes, when he'd think I was asleep. He'd be standing in the doorway, arms crossed with that angry look of his. When I'd shift on the bed, he'd be gone. Rick was the complete opposite of his partner. He'd come and sit by the bed the first few days, explaining the Randall situation. He wanted to give the kid a fighting chance and I wanted to believe he was right, that he did deserve it but after that night in the bar and in the alley...I wasn't so sure.

The men of his group were not good people, I knew that so deeply it made my heart skip a beat. I'd seen the way Dave and Tony had looked at me, had looked at Rick. There had been evil in their eyes. Maybe it seemed subtle, maybe it even seemed nonexistent to the first glance given by Glenn, but there was a wrongness inside of them. I had no doubt that same wrongness filled every person in their group.

When I turned back around, Beth was under the covers and on her side. The rest of the food was untouched but I was glad to know she ate something. I went to take the tray away and stopped with a heavy sigh.

"Beth."

She didn't move.

"Give it to me."

I held my hand out and waited until she moved, handing me the knife she'd had tucked under the blanket with her. I gripped it tightly before moving it against my palm. The skin was scabbing and peeling where I'd scraped and cut them against the rocks and trees during my outing with Daryl. That felt like decades ago, how we'd been searching and risking our lives for Sophia. The skin was nearly healed, just some scabbing left and uneven skin.

"Do you want to die?" I asked her, looking at the steak knife and knowing how easy it would be to reach over and take her by the throat. "Do you want to kill yourself?"

"Why do you care?" she huffed. "You're too scared."

"Doesn't mean I haven't thought about it," I told her, flipping the knife until the blade landed against my palm. If I squeezed my hand tight enough, it would draw blood. "Teenage girls have always had it worse. We're forced to see things others can't. I was just like you and, sometimes, I still feel like you too." I flipped the knife one more time, wishing I could be thrusting it out and at something biting and dead. I needed to be free from the restraints of this home, the womanly routine, I needed to be free from my stitches. "So, I'm goin' to ask you again. Do you want to die?"

Beth turned over in her bed, facing me. "It'd be easier."

"Easier than living?"

"Easier to die now, the way I want to go, than to be torn to shreds," she said to me. "Better now than to be shot. Better now than to be killed like mama or–or Shawn, or that little girl!"

I nodded, humming in response. Hadn't Conner gone through something similar? I tried to think of him, of what he'd said to me, but he'd been so lost in my dreams at night it was hard to decipher what was real and what wasn't.

"Listen," I murmured, "I don't think me leavin' you this knife is goin' to go over well with your sister. So, I'm gonna go find her."

"She'll just try to talk me out of it."

"And is that so wrong?"

"Everybody treats me like I'm–I'm some kid," said Beth with her petulant dead stare. "I should be allowed to make my own decisions. It's not fair that I'm bein' held back when y'all get to decide the fate of that–that boy you brought back." She doesn't get to dictate her own life but we, the hypocrites, are choosing how to deal with Randall.

"You're right," I murmured, "it's not fair, but life isn't supposed to be. We don't get to choose what happens because we think we deserve it or because we want it. Things happen because they're meant to."

"You're just sayin' that to change my mind, too."

"No. I'm just sayin' that because it's the truth." I placed the knife on the tray and picked it up. "Your sister loves you, Beth, so I'm going to go bring her up here."

She tucked herself further under the blankets. "But you won't leave the knife."

"If want to kill yourself," I said as I opened the door, "then you would find a way. You don't need a damn knife when there are plenty of other options."

Lori ran off to find Maggie the instant I told her what happened. She'd been eating a small lunch herself when she tore out of the house to ask Andrea. I stayed in the kitchen, where it seemed the only place the women were allowed to be. How the men could go hunting, make the big decisions, while we were meant to stay put was beyond me entirely. I get hurt and suddenly I'm not allowed to make rounds around the perimeter, keep watch over Randall at night, or go off with Rick and Shane.

I was being unrealistic. I'd been shot, but I would still argue it wasn't as bad as most. I was on my feet just two days later. It could've been significantly worse.

I washed the dishes, finding my mind wandering back to Beth. Had I been too harsh? Too...giving with her? Was my last comment wrong? Would it lead her to do something she shouldn't?

"I don't want to live," whispered Conner, his hand clutching mine. He was always affectionate, even when he would declare he was adult and too big for kisses on foreheads and cheeks. But he was still so soft, so needing.

"Don't say that," I whispered back, sitting down next to my suitcase. I would leave for college in the morning. I would leave and wish I could never come back.

"I mean it," he urged. "I don't want to live, Sam, not if you're not here with me." He shook his head and I wasn't sure who started crying first, me or him. "I can't survive here without you. I–I can't."

The dish clattered into the sink when Lori and Andrea entered together, followed by Maggie. I excused myself, seeing a strange tension cross over Andrea's features as she headed into the kitchen with Lori in tow. I didn't want to be in the middle of it.

I headed outside, pulling my cigarettes and lighter from the pocket of my jacket. It was getting colder out and soon enough the morning dew will be frosty and the air will be so cold that a constant array of goosebumps will cover everyone's skin. We'd be forced to either house ourselves in the barns or with Hershel, if he'd even allow us to do so. I didn't think the old man would let us anytime soon, especially with Shane.

I inhaled deeply on my cigarette, coughing as I exhaled. I wandered through our camp, hoping to find some place to sit down out of the sun when I spotted Carol folding some of the laundry by the fold out chairs near her tent. I didn't exactly want to spend time with her but my options were sparse. Carl was out playing with the horses, Dale and Nancy were taking up the spot on the RV to take watch, Daryl was still somewhere off in his own alcove of the farm, and T-Dog was helping Glenn chop firewood.

I sat down beside her, wordlessly, and killed my cigarette against the ground by my feet. Reaching for some of the clothes, I began to fold.

"You don't have to," she told me, suddenly. I hadn't expected her to even speak. Since Sophia coming out of the barn, she'd been uncharacteristically normal. She didn't come to the burial service, she worked on the laundry, went out to draw Daryl back to camp. She was doing normal things, like even making lunch and chatting when she felt like it. "I can do it myself."

"Nah," I said, shaking my head. "It'll be quicker with the two of us." I pulled out a pair of men's boxers and made a face, Carol laughing under her breath. "You usually have to fold their tighty-whities?"

"Always."

"And...you don't mind?"

"Oh," she laughed, "I mind."

"Why keep doing it then?" I asked, folding a long sleeve shirt.

She shrugged. "Someone has to."

I nodded, folding one of Lori's tank tops. I wondered if any of the underwear I'd seen were Rick's. "I've been meanin' to ask..."

She glanced over and her face softened. "I'm okay, Sam."

"Are you just sayin' that for this conversation to be over or do you mean it?"

She gave me another long look which I took as not meaning the latter.

"You...you can talk to me about it. I...I understand how you're feelin'," I told her before quickly adding, "not in the same way but, uh, somewhat."

"You ever lose a child?" It wasn't a demeaning question to be rude, but rather a sudden curious one. There was a true sincerity in her voice and it made something in my gut tighten uncomfortably. Had I ever lost a child?

"If you leave, I'll die here."

"I can't do this without you."

"Can't I come and stay with you and him? You have that extra bedroom at your place–"

"We can be, like, a little family, right? Like those weird ones from those shows she keeps watching when dad leaves."

I shook my head. "No." My voice was small and my throat was tight. There was no starting place to look for Conner. If he was in the area, I'd suspect it to be somewhere like we were. Off from the major cities, close to little farms and buildings. I was pretty sure, somewhere west or maybe east of here, there was a prison. Could he be held up there? With John? "I lost my brother, Nance has probably already told you."

"Conner."

I nodded.

"She talks about him a lot," said Carol. We were far enough away from the RV that she wouldn't be able to hear us talking about her. "She says how good he is, how she knows he's still out there. It's good," she was whispering now even though she didn't need to, "to have hope like that."

"How long does that hope last for?" I asked, earnest for a response.

Carol offered me a gentle smile. "Not long, but it's good to pretend." I passed my folded clothes to her and she put them in the basket on her right. "I wanted to say thank you, for what you did for my Sophia. You never gave up hope that we'd find her."

"I'm sorry that some people did."

"It's not your fault," she said, "and neither is it mine. You never stopped looking for her and I really appreciated that."

"Do you think she's in a better place?"

"Always."

"I hope it's a lot better than here."

Carol smiled, softly again. "Me, too."

I finished the laundry and by the time I was standing, Andrea was marching her way out of the house. I met her halfway and she looked angry, well, more angry than usual. She always did have a strange scowl or look in her eyes. It was the lawyer in her, screaming out from inside.

"Lori's a bitch," she hissed and I followed her back towards our tents and the RV. "Actin' like she's got the right to take Beth's choices away."

"I'm guessin' she told you about the knife?"

"Why'd you even take it from her in the first place, Sam?" asked Andrea as we stopped outside the RV. "You took her choice away, she's gotta choose to live and you took it–"

"Actually," I said, "she handed it to me. She could've made the choice to keep it but she didn't."

"Oh, come on."

I shrugged, stuffing my hands into my pockets. "I told her if she really wanted to die, there were other options. Not my fault she thought the only one was the knife." I frowned as a thought occurred to me, and asked, "Aren't you supposed to be in there with them? Who's watching Beth? Maggie?"

"Me."

"Oh...Andrea, tell me you didn't."

"She has to choose to live," she told me. "She'll only keep acting this way if we don't allow her to make her own decision."

I rubbed my forehead, knowing both Lori and Maggie would've gone into Beth's room by now. "What'd you leave her with?"

Andrea crossed her arms. "The bathroom."

My mind raced through the different possibilities that could've been running through Beth's own mind when she walked into the bathroom. First, she'd have the little window. She could easily climb through and propel herself outside. She could even do that in her bedroom, but I doubt the fall would kill her. She had medicines, not sure what type, but I'd expect Maggie to have taken them from there or they were stored with Hershel's thing to begin with. She could hang herself, with the shower curtain, but I didn't think Beth would be one for that type of pain.

She wanted to slip away but if she couldn't do that with pills, she'd have done it with a knife.

"You know," I snapped at Andrea, "if she dies, they will never forgive you for this."

"It's her decision, we couldn't keep taking it from her."

"She's just a kid, her brains not even fully developed yet–"

"Doesn't mean she can't make her own choices."

I scowled. "It does when you're only sixteen. We're barely trusted with cars at this age, how are we supposed to be trusted with our lives?"

"I can't do this without you. I can't do it. Sam, you have to stay, please, you have to stay here–"

"Just let me go with you. It–it can be a long weekend, a week, a day, anything!"

I turned on my heel as Hershel came running to the house followed by Lori. I hadn't even seen them leave. Racing back towards the house, feeling my side pull with the movement of my arms but not ache or burn was a gifted feeling as I bounded up the front steps and then the staircase inside, all two at a time. When I reached Beth's bedroom, Hershel had a compress wrapped around one of her wrists.

Beth was crying, shoulders hunched forward and shaking. When I entered the room, she glanced up and her mouth pulled back in a sob.

"I'm sorry," she cried, shaking her head. "I'm so sorry!"

How could anyone be upset with her, I didn't know. I took her good hand in mine and gave it a squeeze and smiled at her.

"I'm glad to see you're okay," I murmured as Hershel cleaned the cut she'd made. In the bathroom, I could see Maggie sweeping up broken glass. "Do you need any help?" I asked Hershel.

He nodded towards his first aid kit. "Needle."

I handed him what he needed and held Beth's good hand softly in my own. Maggie went to find Andrea after cleaning and I told her she was by the RV, keeping to my spot on the bed. Beth could've been dead by the morning if she'd followed through with her plans. Of course, it could've been earlier than that but if no one had known, if they'd just stopped looking for her, she would've just been another body.

Another thing to dig for.

By the time evening came around, Rick and Shane had returned with Randall still in the trunk. Their faces were bloody and I watched with my arms crossed from the porch as Shane took Randall back to his little shed prison cell.

"You kept him?" I called out, brows furrowed. Rick stepped away from a worried Lori, fixing his gun against his hip as we met each other halfway. It was cold out tonight, the air nipping at my arms. "And why the hell do you look like shit?"

His face was bloody and he looked exhausted.

"We all know that wasn't Randall's doing," I whispered, watching Shane stomp away in the dark with Randall being dragged behind him.

"He knows about the farm," said Rick, Lori coming to stand with us. "He knows Maggie and Hershel."

"What?" I breathed. "H–how?"

"Went to school with Maggie," he said, rubbing his brow. "We can't just set him loose if he knows where we are."

"He could find his people," added Lori, "and bring them all back to us."

I frowned. This talk wasn't going in the direction I had been hoping. "Then what are you going to do?"

"Shane–"

I began to shake my head, interrupting him with, "Nope, no, no–"

"He can't be trusted, Sam."

"I could argue the same about someone else here, too," I snapped back. "Randall's a kid–"

"A kid who helped get you shot," snarled Rick, shaking his head. "We were both there that night, we know what he's capable of."

And what his group is capable of, too.

"Then we what?" I asked. "Kill him?"

"Execute," said Rick.

"This was all Shane's big idea, huh?"

Rick nodded, looking grim. Whatever had happened out on the road was not sitting right with him now. "I'm taking the night to think on it, then bringing it up to the group tomorrow. We can...we can come up with a plan."

"And Shane's okay with you doin' that?" I asked. "Waitin' that long?"

"He's gonna have to be."

I frowned again, watching Lori's eyes travel over Rick's face. She seemed more possessive now than ever. Always watching him, always having some part of herself in his head at all times.

"He's a kid," I reminded him. I didn't know much about him because most times when Hershel checked on him, he'd be howling or crying. There wasn't room for conversation. My opinions could change but he was still just some kid.

"I know," he whispered back as Lori brushed some of the hair off his busted cheek. His blood was surprisingly bright under the moon and the lights seeping out of Hershel's home. "But we've reached our limit here, Sam, this might be the only option for now."

I nodded, rubbing my arms. "Is Daryl gonna talk to him tomorrow?"

Rick frowned but nodded. "Gonna try to get more information out of him. Why?"

"I want to go with."

"Sam..."

"I need to hear it for myself," I told him. "I'm...I'm a semi–familiar face from that night, maybe he'll confess something we don't already know."

"Daryl mentioned a few days ago that you're good at readin' people," said Lori, offering me a raised brow. She glanced at her husband, the word like fire in my head. "She could be helpful in the decision."

"I can read people pretty well," I murmured, forcing Rick to meet my eyes with my glare. "Like how I know you and Shane fought, and I'm guessin' I could tell ya what you were fighting over, too."

Lori looked away, lips pressed together.

"What's he plannin' here, Rick?" I asked in a low voice, careful of who could hear. No one was out besides Shane at the shed and Dale, Nancy, and Andrea at the RV but we couldn't be too careful. "What does he want?"

"He wants the kid dead," said Rick as Lori said the obvious, "Me."

"Okay, duh."

Rick shook his head and I wondered if he had a concussion or not. "He...he killed Otis."

Relief sagged in my bones and I nearly took an awkward step backwards as I let out a deep sigh. It was finally out in the open. This horrible truth. This awful secret. The death of an innocent man.

"You said something to me," said Rick, "when we were comin' back from the bar. you told me 'he killed him' and...and I wanted to ask you 'bout it but it never seemed like the right moment. It didn't even seem like you remembered."

Of course I remembered. I remembered those moments in fleeting awful seconds when I would close my eyes before sleep. I could feel my skin tearing, I could feel Rick's fingers lodged between flesh and broken muscle. I could hear my own broken words, my crying.

"But it was about him, right?" asked Lori. "I've...I've had my own suspicions and so has Dale but...we just didn't know for sure."

"And he just told you he did it?" I asked and Rick nodded. I could still hear the single gunshot ringing in my ears from that night. I'd tried to push it out of my mind, to push all of that away but it was difficult to hide even in my brain. "He threatened me that night, tried to make me think this was all my fault."

Rick's brows furrowed. I felt strange to have both him and his wife become my confessional in such an open space as the night. But he was my priest, she my priestess, and I the confused sinner. I feared I'd always be that label.

"He said that if I told Hershel or anyone the truth, it'd be my fault we'd be without a home," I explained as a smile fell onto my lips. "But who would have thought it never would've been me? It would be on him this entire time?" I chuckled, shaking my head.

Was something cracking inside of me to inflict this laughter or was this just what relief felt like?

"We need to watch him," urged Lori, her eyes searching the darkness for the man she'd lost herself in not too long ago. "We know what he's capable of and we can't allow him to act out, not now."

"First," said Rick, rubbing his head and flicking flakes of blood from his fingers, "we deal with Randall."

I watched Rick and Lori head back towards their tent and wondered how much longer we could dodge around the Shane problem. If his big secret was out, he couldn't hide for long until Hershel learned the truth.

If we were lucky, Shane would be exiled or a prisoner next.

Either one sounded good to me.

AUTHOR'S NOTE━━this chap def dealt w difficult subjects so if i got any of those wrong/misinterpretted anything, pls let me know. im always down to fix my mistakes and learn from them.

i feel like i did sam getting shot wrong like medically so...pls let me know ur thoughts in general LMAO it was just time for sam to suffer sorry bahaha

xoxo vote/comment xoxo