Daryl Pov...
The forest felt thicker the deeper he went in.
Daryl moved like a shadow between the trees, crossbow raised, steps silent.
The world here was hushed... no walkers, no birds. Just wind rustling through the canopy like something half-asleep.
He followed broken branches, scuffed footprints, any sign of passage.
At one point he found a candy wrapper. Crumpled and half-buried in the dirt.
He knelt beside it, running his fingers over the torn foil, trying to gauge how old it was.
Not long, he thought. They were here.
He pushed further.
Every ten minutes, he paused, cupping his hands around his mouth.
"Hey! Kids! It's Daryl! You out here?!"
No answer.
Only silence.
Time passed in blinks. The sky above shifted from blue to silver to gray. He checked his watch.
Not good. He could barely see the trail anymore. The air was cooler now, the trees darker.
No sign of them. Not even a hint.
Eventually, Daryl stopped.
He looked around one last time, scanned the treeline, then turned back.
---
The camp was quiet. A circle of cars, small lamps dimmed. Makeshift barriers blocked the road around them.
Dale sat on top of the moving truck with his rifle. Andrea paced. Amy hugged her knees. Carol clutched Sophia like she'd float away.
Mary stood off to the side, her eyes locked on the woods, unmoving. Glenn stood beside her, silent, helpless.
The sun dipped below the trees.
Joe emerged first, walking out of the woods with his machete sheathed, his face unreadable.
Everyone looked up.
He shook his head once.
Nothing.
Mary stiffened, her breathing growing shallow.
A couple minutes later, Daryl came out too, dirt-streaked and silent.
He dropped his crossbow to the ground, sat down against a tire, and shook his head. "No sign. Not even a trail."
That was all it took.
Mary broke.
She collapsed into Glenn, sobbing into his chest.
He held her, hands unsure but firm, whispering things that didn't matter. Just trying to be something solid.
No one blamed her. The silence was grief in slow motion.
Rick sat down on the RV's collapsed steps. T-Dog leaned against the water truck, wiping sweat from his brow.
Eventually, people started to move. Quiet and automatic.
Amy and Andrea crawled into the Ford focus with Joe. Carol and Sophia into the back of another car.
Rick switching spots with Dale, Elize keeping him company.
Lori and Carl settled into the broken RV with Dale watching over them from the bench seat.
The camp lights went out, one by one.
Darkness blanketed the woods.
The children were still missing.
But tomorrow was another day to keep searching.
...
Dawn broke cold and early.
The air was still, but the camp was alive. No one slept in.
A quick, quiet breakfast passed without much talk. Everyone's eyes flicked toward the treeline.
The missing kids. The silence. The tension hadn't lifted; it had just sunk in deeper.
Rick and Carl packed up quickly, ignoring Lori's anxious protests. Joe joined them without a word, rifle over his shoulder.
Lori hissed at Rick, "You're taking him out there? After what happened yesterday?"
Rick didn't answer. He just waved her off much to her frustration.
Daryl slipped away on his own, blade in his belt, crossbow across his back. Carol grabbed his arm gently. "Be careful."
He gave a small grunt of acknowledgment before melting into the trees.
Back at camp, the rest of the men began combing through the surrounding vehicles, salvaging supplies and fuel.
Amy and Andrea sat under the shade of a bus, watching over Sophia and trying to distract Mary.
She couldn't stop glancing toward the woods. Her knuckles were white around Glenn's arm.
Up in the broken RV, T-Dog sat slumped in a chair, one arm wrapped in gauze. He'd sliced himself on a jagged door frame the day before.
He would've died, if Daryl hadn't tossed a couple walker corpses over him, hiding him in the stench of death.
---
In the forest...
Joe and Rick flanked Carl as they moved deeper into the trees, following faint trails, crushed grass, and snapped branches.
Joe's eyes scanned for patterns. Rick listened. Carl, wide-eyed, was soaking it all in.
The kid looked like he was on an adventure.
"The two coolest guys in the world," he muttered under his breath. "Except Superman."
They all paused when a walker wandered into view. Limping slowly towards them.
Joe raised his machete, but Rick stopped him with a hand on his arm. He looked down at Carl, then handed the boy a knife.
Joe understood instantly.
He stepped forward, slashing the walker's hamstrings. It dropped to the dirt with a groan, squirming.
"Your call, kid," Joe said. "But don't take your eyes off it. Not for a second."
Carl stepped forward, hands trembling but firm. He glanced back once, then gritted his teeth and plunged the knife into the walker's skull.
It stopped moving.
Rick was smiling. Proud.
Joe clapped Carl's shoulder. "Not bad."
Carl stood straighter. His chest puffed out a little.
---
Hours passed.
They reached a clearing.
A deer stood in the middle.
Iit was calm, almost waiting for them.
Joe raised his rifle.
"Wait," Carl whispered, stepping forward.
The deer didn't move.
Carl approached, hand outstretched. His fingers brushed the soft fur on its neck. He turned, beaming...
BANG!
Carl dropped. The deer dropped.
Joe and Rick froze in place before sprinting.
"No. No. No!" Rick shouted, dropping to his knees, pressing on the bleeding wound.
Joe shoved him aside. Tore Carl's shirt. Grabbed gauze from his pack.
Joe remembering his training, 'Pack the wound. Stop the bleeding.'
It slowed. Just enough.
Then...
"Woah!" A voice. A man, heavyset, panicked. He had a rifle in hand.
Stumbling into the clearing clumsily.
Joe was on him in a flash, grabbing his collar, teeth bared. "You shot him!"
"I didn't see the kid! I swear! I would never..." the man gasped.
Then his eyes lit with recognition. "Hershel. The farm... it's close! He can help your boy!"
Rick didn't wait. He scooped Carl into his arms. "Where?"
The man pointed. Rick sprinted, rushing in the direction as fast as he could.
Joe shoved the man forward. "You better be right. Move!"
---
Meanwhile, elsewhere in the forest...
Daryl had been tracking for hours with nothing but mud and silence.
Then, finally...
A trail.
Faint footprints. A dropped candy wrapper. He followed the trail to a small yellow tent.
He approached with caution, drew his blade, and unzipped it.
One corpse inside. Gunshot to the head. Still, he salvaged a small revolver and a backpack before moving on.
Minutes later, a bell rang through the forest. It was slow, hollow, mechanical even.
Daryl bolted toward the sound, finding an old, pristine church.
No bell.
But the sound still played.
Inside the church were walkers. They were sitting on the pews, staring ahead. Unmoving.
Daryl stared a moment before shutting the door and jamming it with a broken stick.
'Fuck that!'
He followed the sound to a speaker and yanked the wire.
Silence.
---
Back at the farm…
Rick burst through the tree line, Carl limp in his arms, blood soaking through his shirt.
"DADDY!" a voice called faintly.
The front door of the farmhouse burst open. An older man with white hair and a shotgun stepped out.
"I need Hershel!" Rick shouted. "Your man shot my boy!"
The man, Hershel. Lowered the gun and rushed forward. "Get him inside!"
Two women emerged behind him as Hershel barked orders.
"Patricia, prep the bed! Maggie, get my tools. And painkillers, coagulants, everything we've got!"
Rick placed Carl on a bed. Hershel's hands moved fast. Checking his vitals, removing the packed gauze, assessing the damage.
Rick stood frozen in the corner.
"Who packed this?" Hershel asked.
"Joe," Rick murmured. "He saved him."
Minutes later, Joe arrived at the porch. Sweating as he dragged Otis behind him like a sack of grain. He threw the man down on the porch.
Then opened the front door and stormed into the house, the door slamming into the wall. He ignored the curious gaze from the brunette, Maggie.
He rushed to Rick's side. "How is he?"
Rick couldn't speak.
Maggie answered, "He's stable. We're checking for internal damage."
Joe nodded, grabbing a cloth and wiping Rick's blood-streaked face.
Rick came back to himself slowly, breathing heavy. He drank from Joe's canteen, water spilling down his shirt.
Hershel asked for Carl's blood type. Rick didn't know, but it matched his. "You'll have to stay," Hershel said. "He'll need an infusion."
"I'm not leaving," Rick said. "Not a chance."
Otis stumbled inside, still wheezing.
"What happened?" Hershel asked.
Otis wiped his forehead. "I was tracking a buck. The bullet… it went through."
Hershel looked at Carl. "The deer saved him."
Then, more grimly, "The bullet fragmented. If I can remove the pieces, looks to be 6. He should recover."
Rick nodded, dazed.
Then his eyes widened. "Lori. She doesn't know."
Maggie raised an eyebrow. "Who?"
Joe answered for him. "Lori. His wife?"
...
The room had been quiet. Too quiet, as Hershel worked steadily, forceps in hand, sweat glistening on his brow.
He'd just removed the first bullet fragment when the peace shattered.
Carl screamed.
His body arched off the table, convulsing as Hershel gripped the second fragment.
"Hold him... hold him down!" Hershel barked.
Rick rushed forward, panicked. "You're killing him!"
"Calm down!" Hershel snapped, focused, unflinching.
Patricia grabbed Rick by the arm. "He needs blood... Now!"
She jammed a needle into his arm, blood beginning to flow into a bag.
Joe was gripping Carl's shoulders, pinning him as gently as he could.
Carl thrashed, eyes wide, tears streaming. Joe leaned in close, holding him still.
"Easy, kid. You're doing good. Just hold on."
Carl's strength waned. He went still. Completely limp.
Rick's heart dropped. "No."
Hershel looked up. "He just passed out. Too much pain."
Rick let out a shaky breath, shoulders sagging.
Joe didn't release Carl. Just kept one steady hand on his chest, watching the boy's breathing rise and fall.
Hershel sat back for a moment, wiping his forehead.
"That's two," he said. "Four more to go."
The room fell into silence again, tension thick, but with it came a flicker of hope.
Carl was still alive. For now.
Hershel checked Carl's blood pressure one more time, fingers steady on the cuff. The number was holding. Barely.
"He's stable for the moment," Hershel said, stepping back.
Rick stumbled out of the room, drained. His hands were still stained with Carl's blood.
He dropped into a chair in the living room, his breathing uneven.
Across from him sat Maggie and Otis. Maggie looked pale, her fingers twitching in her lap.
"How is he?" she asked, voice thin.
Joe leaned against the wall, arms crossed. "Stable. For now."
Rick ran a hand down his face. "I have to get Lori. She should be here. No matter what's happened... she's still Carl's mom."
Joe nodded. "You're right. But you need to stay. Carl might need more blood. And if you try to walk out that door…"
He pointed to the chair.
"I will tie you to that damn chair."
Rick stared for a second before the corner of his mouth twitched. Half a chuckle. "I'm glad you're here, Joe."
"I got you, brother."
That moment shattered when Hershel stepped into the hallway, his face grim.
"He's holding… but not for long. The other fragments are deeper. One's nicked a blood vessel... He's bleeding internally."
Rick's breath caught in his throat. "How? He was just stable."
"He was," Hershel said. "But that won't last. I've got to open him up. Locate the bleed. Seal it. But if he moves... I mean even a little. I could hit an artery... He'll die in minutes. I need to put him under, but he won't be able to breathe on his own."
Rick looked sick, spiraling.
Joe cut in. "So, you need a respirator."
Hershel nodded. "Tubes. Surgical supplies. Scalpel, dressings, sutures. All of it."
"Where do we get it?" Joe asked.
Otis cleared his throat. "The FEMA shelter. Old high school a few miles west. Last we heard, it was overrun."
Hershel nodded. "But if it's still intact, they'd have everything we need."
Otis stood, already moving. "I can take you. Show the way."
Joe grabbed his gear. "Then what the hell are we waiting for?"
Before they could move, Patricia stormed in. "No, Otis... you can't."
Otis held up a hand. "It's my fault the boy's hurt. I have to go."
Joe locked eyes with him. "Then stop talking and move."
Otis nodded and disappeared down the hall to grab his gear.
Then Maggie, quiet until now, stood. "Where's your wife?" she asked Rick.
Rick gave her directions. His voice low, distracted.
Without another word, Maggie grabbed her coat and bolted outside.
Moments later, the distant clop clop of horse hooves echoed across the farm.
Joe cracked a grin despite the tension.
'Yeehaw', he thought. Then shook his head.
The moment passed quickly.
There was a mission ahead. And no time left to waste.