"Maybe this will help."
Everyone turned. Miranda was standing at the edge of the wreckage, her two kids standing close behind. In her hands she held a folded map and a small compass.
"I grabbed them from the emergency cabinet when we left the CDC." She pulled a black nylon bag from her shoulder and held it out. "And these. No guns, but it is better than nothing."
Andrea took the map. She unfolded it, squinting at the markings.
"Thank you, Miranda." She managed a weak smile. "You are always so prepared and calm."
Miranda's laugh came out brittle. "Calm?" Her hands moved as she distributed the weapons from the bag. She passed out knives, then a hatchet, then a crowbar. "I am barely holding it together."
She looked down at the crowbar in her hands. "The kids are watching me. I have to... I just have to keep it together." She drew in a shaky breath. "I hope Morales and the others are okay."
Andrea looked at Miranda's trembling hands, and thought of Amy lying unconscious.
"Me too," she whispered.
Dale sat slumped against the RV's crumpled frame, one hand pressed to his bleeding forehead. Glenn stood frozen, staring at nothing. Miranda's kids clung to her legs.
"Whether they are okay or not, we cannot afford to fall apart now."
Lucien had climbed out of the RV wreckage.
He looked at each of them in turn. "Rick and the others are strong. Standing here imagining the worst is not going to help them or us. Right now, we need to protect Amy and find somewhere safe to regroup. We have to pull ourselves together. If we fall apart, then there is no hope of reuniting with them later."
Dale stared at him, feeling a wave of shame wash over him. Here he was, a grown man, letting himself wallow in shock and grief while a child was the one trying to hold them together.
"My mom..." Sophia's small voice broke the moment. She clutched her doll, tears streaming down her face. "Will she be okay?"
Lucien turned to her. He did not offer false comfort or empty promises. "I do not know."
Sophia's face crumpled.
"But your mum hid you so you could survive. She is strong. So you have to be strong too." Lucien crouched down to her eye level. "Stay close to us. Protect yourself. Can you do that?"
Sophia looked at him through her tears and nodded hard enough to make her hair bounce.
"Good." Lucien stood up and brushed dirt off his trousers. "We have work to do."
He scanned the wreckage, then started pointing. "Glenn, Dale, there should be intact curtain fabric still in the RV. We need it for a stretcher."
Glenn blinked. "A stretcher?"
"We cannot carry Amy in our arms through the woods. We will need both hands free." Lucien turned to Miranda. "Can you and the kids find some poles?"
Miranda nodded, already moving. "Louis, Eliza, come help me look."
Glenn and Dale tore down what was left of the RV's curtains, working together to separate the fabric from the twisted rods. Miranda and her kids scavenged through the debris, finding a pair of tent poles that had somehow survived the crash intact.
Lucien directed them like he had done this before, which was impossible but somehow felt true. Within fifteen minutes, they had assembled a makeshift stretcher. Two sturdy poles ran through a length of fabric, secured tightly at both ends with strips torn from someone's shirt.
They were lifting Amy onto it, moving carefully, when Lucien held up a hand.
Everyone froze.
"The walkers are more active at night," he said, glancing at the darkening sky. "We need camouflage."
Glenn felt his stomach turn. He knew what that meant. They all did.
Lucien grabbed a knife from the weapons bag and walked toward a walker corpse that had caught the edge of the blast. The body was half-charred, its skin blackened and split, reeking of burned meat and rot.
He knelt beside it, and for a moment he just stared at it.
"I will do it."
Andrea pulled him back by the shoulder. She took a machete from the weapons bag. Then she turned to the corpse and brought the machete down with both hands.
The blade bit into the walker's abdomen. Blood and fluids gushed out, spattering her clothes and face. She did not flinch. She just raised the machete and brought it down again. And again.
It was like watching someone chop wood, except the wood was rotten flesh.
Glenn had to look away. So did Miranda and the kids. Even Dale turned his head.
When Andrea finally stopped, she was breathing hard. The walker's torso was split open, its insides exposed. The smell was indescribable.
"Get the coats," she said flatly.
They found several oversized jackets in the RV's storage. Working in silence, trying not to breathe through their noses, they smeared the walker's blood and viscera across the fabric. It was revolting work. Glenn gagged twice. Miranda looked like she might be sick.
They draped the gore-covered coats over Amy's stretcher and over their own shoulders. The smell was going to stay with them for days, but if it kept the walkers from noticing them in the dark...
"Ready?" Lucien asked.
No one answered, but they picked up the stretcher and prepared to move.
That was when a voice called out from the tree line.
"Hey! You folks alright?"
Every weapon came up at once. Glenn had his pistol aimed before he even registered what he was doing. Dale raised the crowbar. Miranda pushed her kids behind her.
A heavy-set man in a camouflage baseball cap stepped out from behind a large oak, both hands raised high.
"Whoa! Easy now! Name is Otis! I live nearby!"
"Back off," Glenn snapped. His finger was on the trigger. "I mean it."
"I heard the explosion," Otis said quickly, his eyes darting to the smoking RV behind them. "Came to check if anyone needed help. I am not with those people, if that is what you are thinking."
"What people?" Glenn demanded.
"The ones who took your friends." Otis' expression darkened. "I saw them from the ridge. Whole convoy of them, hauling people away in trucks. They call themselves Believers, but they are nothing but thugs hiding behind scripture."
Andrea stepped forward, machete still in hand. "How do we know you are not one of them?"
"You do not," Otis admitted. "But you have got wounded and kids, and night is coming fast. Those walkers are going to swarm this area soon." He nodded toward Amy's stretcher. "She needs proper medical attention. I know a safe place. Got a doctor there who might be able to help."
"A doctor?" Dale asked.
"Veterinarian, technically," Otis said. "But Hershel has treated people before. Done it plenty during the outbreak."
Glenn's grip on his gun did not loosen. "Why should we trust you?"
Before Otis could answer, Lucien spoke up, "We will go with you."
Glenn spun around. "What? Lucien, we do not know this guy—"
"We do not have a choice." Lucien met his eyes. "Amy will not survive the night out here. If there is even a chance this man is telling the truth..." He looked at Otis. "Lead the way, Mr. Otis."
Something about Lucien's tone made Glenn's objections die in his throat. He looked at Dale, who nodded slowly.
"Fine. But if this is a trap..."
"It is not," Otis said simply. "Follow me. Stay close and stay quiet."
They lifted the stretcher and fell into line behind him. Glenn and Andrea took the ends, with Dale helping to steady it from the middle. Miranda kept her kids close, one hand on each of their shoulders. Lucien walked beside the stretcher, one hand resting on the fabric near Amy's head.
The forest was dark now, the last of the twilight fading fast. Otis led them along what might have been a game trail.
Glenn's arms were burning within minutes. The stretcher was not that heavy, but maintaining the angle over uneven ground while ducking under branches and stepping over roots was exhausting.
Except... it was not getting heavier. If anything, it seemed to be getting lighter.
Glenn glanced at Andrea on the other end. She was breathing hard, but her face showed less strain than he would have expected. He looked down and caught Lucien's hand moving slightly, fingers pressed against the stretcher pole. The movement was so subtle he almost missed it. And was it his imagination, or was there a faint shimmer in the air around the stretcher?
He blinked, and it was gone. Maybe it was just shadows and moonlight playing tricks.
They walked for what felt like hours but was probably only thirty minutes. The walker moans behind them faded into the distance. Otis kept them moving at a steady pace.
Finally, they broke through the tree line.
A farm spread out before them, illuminated by electric lights. A tall fence surrounded the property, and Glenn could see a large farmhouse, a barn, and several outbuildings.
An old man with a white beard and stern expression stood waiting at the gate, holding a kerosene lantern. His clothes were rumpled, like he had dressed in a hurry, and his eyes were sharp as they swept over the group.
"Quick," he barked. "Bring her inside."
He had clearly been radioed ahead by Otis. There was no surprise in his expression as they carried Amy through the gate and toward the house.
A blonde girl, late teens, maybe early twenties, ran out to meet them, medical kit in hand. Behind her came a woman Glenn assumed was Otis' wife, carrying hot water and clean towels.
"In here," the old man directed them toward a bedroom.
They laid Amy down, and the old man, Hershel, Otis called him, immediately began examining her wound. He peeled back the bandages Lucien had applied and his eyebrows rose slightly.
"Who did this?" he asked.
"I did," Lucien said. "The bleeding is controlled, but she has lost a lot of blood. She might need a transfusion."
Hershel looked at him properly for the first time. His expression was skeptical, but the wound dressing spoke for itself.
"We have stored blood," he said after a moment. "But I will need to test her type first."
"I am the same type as her," Andrea said immediately. "I can donate."
"Good." Hershel jerked his chin toward the door. "Everyone else out. You stay" he pointed at Andrea. "The rest of you wait in the living room."
They filed out. The bedroom door closed behind them.
The living room was warm and clean. Kerosene lamps provided soft light. The furniture looked comfortable. There were pictures on the walls, books on shelves, all the small details of a life that continued despite the world ending outside.
Miranda collapsed onto the couch, her kids immediately climbing into her lap. Within minutes, exhaustion claimed them and they were asleep, still clinging to her.
Dale sat down heavily in an armchair, finally feeling how badly his head hurt. The gash on his forehead had stopped bleeding, but the room kept tilting if he moved too fast.
Glenn could not sit still. He paced the room, adrenaline still running through his veins. His mind replayed the ambush again and again. The rocket striking the RV. That woman standing above him, seeing that he was alive, and choosing not to say a word.
He needed something to focus on.
His gaze drifted around the room, passing over a worn Bible on the side table and a basket of knitting beside the couch, before settling on the family photographs arranged along the mantle.
He stopped.
One of the photographs showed a family portrait. Hershel stood at the center. Beside him was the blonde girl who had brought the medical kit, along with a younger girl and a boy. All of them smiled at the camera.
But he was not looking at them.
In the background, barely visible over Hershel's shoulder, stood another woman. She had short dark hair and a lean frame. A faint smile touched her lips, as if she had never intended to be part of the picture.
That woman...
His blood went cold.
"No, no, no..."
"Glenn?" Lucien was watching him. "What is wrong?"
Glenn could not speak. He just pointed at the photo.
Lucien stood and came over to look. But his expression did not change.
The bedroom door opened.
Hershel stepped out, looking exhausted but satisfied. "Alright, your friend is out of danger for now. The transfusion is—"
"What the hell is going on?"
Glenn was across the room before he knew he was moving. He grabbed the photo off the mantle and shoved it in Hershel's face.
"Is she your daughter? Are you people working with those bastards?"