Chapter 44: The Highway - Part 2
Thursday Morning - 8:33 AM
Marcus was dead when they found him. Rick and Shane checked on him at dawn—found him cold, stiff, leg infection having spread throughout his system.
"At least he didn't turn," Rick said quietly.
"Yet," Shane corrected. "We need to make sure."
He put a knife through Marcus's temple. Preventive measure. Standard protocol now that everyone knew the truth.
Nobody mourned. Marcus had been a stranger, encountered and lost in less than twelve hours. Just another corpse in the apocalypse's endless parade.
[ TIMER: 68:47:22 ]
Nearly three full days. Comfortable range. The relief was profound—no headaches, clear vision, full control. I could focus on survival instead of the constant countdown.
Dale had the RV running by ten AM. We loaded up, prepared to continue toward Fort Benning. Another hundred miles, maybe two days depending on road conditions.
Then Dale shouted from the RV roof.
"Walkers! Herd! Coming up the highway!"
Everyone froze. Through the windshield, I could see them—hundreds of walkers, shambling down the highway in a massive column. More than we'd seen since Atlanta. Too many to fight, too many to outrun with the RV.
"Everyone down!" Rick hissed. "Under the cars! Now!"
The group scattered, diving beneath vehicles. I grabbed Alicia's arm, pulled her toward a pickup truck. We slid underneath, pressing ourselves flat against the asphalt.
The herd approached like a tide. Feet shuffling, bodies bumping against cars, moans echoing through the metal canyon. Hundreds of them, maybe thousands. All funneled down the highway by the vehicle barriers on either side.
Through the gap beneath the truck, I could see their feet passing. Bare feet, shod feet, feet with flesh hanging off. All moving with the same mechanical shamble.
A walker stopped beside our truck. Old woman, hospital gown, face mostly gone. She bent down, looking under the vehicle. Her dead eyes swept past me without recognition.
[ PHEROMONE CLOAK: ACTIVE ]
She straightened, moved on. The herd continued.
Five minutes. Ten. Fifteen. An eternity of lying still, breathing through mouths, praying the dead wouldn't notice the living hiding beneath their feet.
Then—a scream. Muffled, quickly cut off.
Sophia. She'd been under a car near Carol. A walker's feet had stopped beside her hiding spot, lingering too long. She'd panicked.
I couldn't see her from my position, but I heard the scramble of movement, Carol's strangled gasp, Rick's whispered curse.
Sophia had bolted. Run from cover, into the herd.
Two walkers peeled off, chasing her. Then Rick was up, running after them, disappearing into the woods at the highway's edge.
The herd continued past, oblivious. More walkers shambling, moaning, searching. We stayed hidden, waiting.
Twenty minutes. Thirty. The herd's tail end passed. Stragglers still visible but sparse enough to handle.
Dale emerged from under the RV. "Everyone okay?"
"Sophia ran," Madison said quietly. "Rick went after her."
Carol crawled out from beneath her vehicle, face white. "My baby. She was scared, she—"
"Rick will find her," Dale said with more confidence than anyone felt.
We waited. Tense, weapons ready, scanning the woods. Shane wanted to move immediately, organize a search party. Dale counseled patience—give Rick time to return with Sophia before mobilizing.
Thirty minutes became forty. Then fifty.
Rick emerged from the tree line. Alone.
Carol's scream pierced the afternoon. "Where is she? Where's my daughter?"
Rick looked devastated. "I hid her. By a creek, under a deadfall. Told her to stay put while I drew the walkers away. When I came back..." He couldn't finish.
"She was gone?"
"She was gone. I searched, called her name. Nothing."
"Then we search," Shane said. "Fan out, grid pattern, find her before dark."
"She's small," Rick said. "Scared. Could be hiding anywhere."
"Or she's dead," Shane added. Nobody contradicted him.
The search organized quickly. Pairs moving into the woods, calling Sophia's name. Daryl took point—best tracker in the group. Rick led one team, Shane another. Madison coordinated from camp, keeping the children safe.
I paired with Glenn, moving through dense underbrush. My mind raced.
This is it. This is when Sophia gets bitten. The show timeline. She runs, gets lost, wanders into a walker. Eventually ends up in Hershel's barn, dead for weeks before they find her.
"Sophia!" Glenn called. "If you can hear us, stay put! We're coming!"
No response. Just birds and wind and the sound of our own movement.
We searched for three hours. Found nothing. No tracks, no signs, no Sophia.
At dusk, Rick called everyone back to the highway. "We camp here tonight. At first light, we continue the search. Spread out, cover more ground."
Carol was inconsolable. Andrea tried to comfort her, failed. Dale offered words that meant nothing. Lori held her, let her cry.
I stood at the edge of the woods, staring into the darkness. Knowing Sophia was out there. Knowing she was already bitten, already dying. Knowing in a few weeks, they'd find her in Hershel's barn and Carol would break completely.
I could find her. Walk the woods with Pheromone Cloak active. Cover ground they can't. Bring her body back, give Carol closure.
But that would expose my abilities further. Would raise questions I couldn't answer.
Besides, what if I'm wrong? What if this timeline is different? What if Sophia's alive and my interference kills her?
The excuses were thin. I knew the truth—I was scared. Scared of finding a dead child. Scared of telling Carol her daughter was gone. Scared of being responsible.
So I did nothing.
That night, around the fire, Carol thanked me for searching. "You didn't have to help. She's not your responsibility."
I could barely meet her eyes. "Everyone's responsible. That's how we survive."
She hugged me. I felt nothing but guilt.
Alicia found me later, sitting apart from the group. "You're quiet tonight."
"Thinking."
"About Sophia?"
"About a lot of things."
"Do you think she's alive?"
No. She's dead or dying. And I'm not doing anything about it.
"I think she's scared and lost. Whether that equals alive depends on luck."
"That's bleak."
"That's honest."
She sat beside me. "When I was little, I got lost in a shopping mall. Only for ten minutes, but it felt like hours. My mom found me crying by the food court. She held me until I stopped shaking."
"Where's this going?"
"Sophia's mother can't hold her right now. Can't tell her everything's okay. That's the worst part. Not the danger, but the separation. The not knowing."
"Carol will see her daughter again."
"Alive?"
"One way or another."
Alicia didn't respond to that.
[ TIMER: 64:18:47 ]
Two and a half days. Still comfortable. But the guilt was worse than the pressure.
I'd infected Marcus Webb—a man who hurt people for money. Justified target.
But Sophia was innocent. And I was letting her die because getting involved was risky.
When did I become this person? When did pragmatism replace decency?
I thought about the Panama Canal. About giving antibiotics to the Vatos for their elderly patients. About mercy-killing Matt Clark when he was infected. About walking through walkers to save Sophia Peletier from the quarry attack.
I'm not completely gone. Not yet. But I'm getting there.
Alicia's hand found mine in the darkness. We sat like that, not talking, just existing together while a little girl died somewhere in the Georgia woods.
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