The boy sat with his head against the boards of Hershel Greene's dusty shed. There was a searing pain in his right leg from his wound. He moaned softly. There was no one around to hear him, no one around to care. He'd lost his former group as quickly as Nathan could drive off, leaving him there impaled on the fence. That's when Rick had shown up, with his morals about right and wrong, about leaving a kid as young as him stuck there to be torn apart, screaming. He'd saved him, and Randall was grateful for that, but if he'd known he'd be saved only to be locked up in a shed like a bad dog in the middle of a Georgia summer, he'd have settled for a swift death over anything of this.

And now the pain was back, just as bad as ever, and there wasn't a soul around to hear him choke back a sob. He'd had his surgery performed in the very same shed he was confined in now, with no painkillers but a bottle of whiskey and some Tylenol. He'd remembered being propped up on a table while the vet leaned in close to his wound. Randall didn't know what he'd been doing, but whatever it was had hurt like hell. He remembered dizzily begging for it to be over.

The door creaked open to reveal Rick, Hershel, and another man Randall hadn't yet seen. He was tall with a crossbow slung across his back and piercing, frightening eyes. The boy's head jerked up, not daring to hope for water, not to mention something to numb the pain.

"Can you stand?", Rick asked.

"I-I don't know", the boy sputtered. The burning was intense and he didn't really want to chance buckling under his own weight, but the look on all three of the men's faces said that now was not the time to voice his opinion.

"Try".

The man with the piercing eyes hoisted Randall up by his forearm with ease. The boy cried out and sank to his knees. He looked at Rick with tear-filled eyes.

"I can't… I can't. I'm sorry," he gasped miserably, eyes downcast and head hanging, "it hurts".

Hershel exhaled deeply and knelt down next to Randall, examining his wound.

"It might be too soon for him. Even though the stake went clean through his shin, his body might be having a hard time fighting all the bacteria that was on it, especially if he's malnourished or dehydrated. He could get an infection if we keep leaving it like this, and then he won't walk at all".

Rick was quiet, his eyes on the ground. He knew it'd already been a week since they brought the boy back to Hershel's farm and that he'd said after a week they'd take him out and drop him off, but it looked as though they'd have to keep their captive for a bit longer. He was thinking now of how to tell Shane.

Another sigh from Rick, silence from the other two men. The bandage from Randall's injury was bloodied and the wound itself was pulsing with agony, but Randall said nothing, not wanting make himself noticed.

"Give him some water and have Lori or Carol fix him some dinner later. He does need to eat something. No one stays out here with him alone, though. Whoever comes to feed him comes with a chaperone, no exceptions".

Feed him. Like he was some kind of dangerous animal they were keeping in the shed and in the back of everyone's minds, trying to ignore him so that he wouldn't disturb their tiny world. He wasn't trying to hurt anybody! Only live. He'd lost everyone, everyone he'd ever known, and was entirely friendless, but when Rick and his friends had saved him, he'd had hope that he'd found a place where he could live without fear. That took a turn for the worse when he was bound hand and foot and chained to an old radiator out in the shed.

He knew that he and his group of scavengers were shooting at them, but honestly, Randall hadn't known what to do. He'd been with his group for three weeks; they'd picked him up off the road. He'd been terrified and alone, mourning for the loss of his mother to the plague that now engulfed the world, but they'd found him walking along the highway. They'd given him food and water on the way back to their camp, given him a weapon and a tent, and introduced him to the rest of the thirty-plus inhabitants. They'd taken care of him. So when Rick and his buddies show up and tell them that they'd shot Dave and Tony and his new friends ordered him up to the roof to snipe them, he had a painful twinge of guilt in his stomach, but he didn't say no.

Randall had qualms about killing a living person. He'd never shot at anyone before, besides those monsters that wore the faces of his friends and family, people he'd known. He hadn't been able to shoot his mother.

His daydreaming ended with the sound of the shed's lock being fumbled with and an elderly man stepping in with some blonde woman. The woman had hard eyes and a grim look about her, but Randall thought her pretty nonetheless. The man knelt down to Randall's level and gave him a sad, sympathetic sort of smile.

"Hey, kiddo. How are you feeling?", he asked, with a soft voice.

Randall wasn't sure how to respond, so he just shrugged and cleared his throat, not wanting to meet the man's kind eyes.

"Hey, it's okay to talk to me. Name's Dale. And this lovely young miss is Andrea". He chuckled easily. Randall had to admit it was a comfort having someone talk to him who wasn't treating him like an animal. The woman said nothing but motioned that she'd be outside and turned shutting the door quietly behind her. Dale pulled opened the water bottle he'd brought with him.

"Here, bet you're thirsty, right? Open up".

Randall hastily obeyed. He drank fast and hard, gulping down almost the whole bottle in one try. Dale was right. He definitely had been thirsty. Randall licked his lips, grateful.

"Feel better?".

"Yeah", the boy said, "thanks. I was wondering if they'd forgotten about me in here". In reality, he was wondering if they'd let him suffer and starve to death in the shed. They'd certainly must have been considering it. "Can't you let me go, mister?", Randall asked, already knowing the answer.

"You know I can't, young man, "Dale told him, "but I'm on your side. I don't want to hurt you, Randall. I don't think you're dangerous and I don't think you're a killer. I think you're a kid just trying to live who unfortunately has become a victim of circumstance. Sound about right?". The boy was looking back at him miserably with sad, brown eyes.

"I know how it can be out here. We have no civilization anymore, kid. But I don't want you to become a martyr or a sacrifice or what the hell ever they're calling it to be able to sleep at night without a guilty conscious. We can still have our humanity. I want to help them find that again. I want to help them save you".

"You'd do that?".

"Of course. Now lay back and try to take a nap maybe. Sleep will help you heal faster".

And with that Dale was gone, the first and only truly kind person he'd yet met on this farm and he'd been here for a week. To be completely honest, Dale was the first person to come to see him, besides Hershel, who'd come to check up on him and bring him the rare mouthfuls of food. He didn't even have any idea of how many there were of them. The only sights he had to see were the inside of this dusty shed and a side view of the house through one of the spaces between boards.

There was some wisdom in the old man's words, however. He could do worse than try to get some sleep. Randall positioned himself against the wall, squirming to get comfortable. As he let his eyelids sink down, he silently prayed tomorrow would be better than the last seven days.