Don't look back. Just keep moving. Carl chants in his head to keep thoughts of the prison at bay. No point in thinking of the past, it won't help me now. Walking is made harder with his father's weight resting on his shoulder.
Rick tries to carry his own weight as much as he can, but with each step a stabbing pain runs up the leg that was shot.
The forest is alive with birds and insects; the wind is cool but contrasts with the hot sun to make a perfect day. Perfect, Carl thinks, how out of place it sounds in this new world. Perfect has no place here, because eventually it will always be destroyed. As if on cue the groans of hungry walkers warns them of the danger nearby. Rick pulls out a knife in response to the noise, but Carl knows there's no way Rick could take down a walker in his slowed condition and the swelling of one eye makes it impossible to see out of.
"I got this," says Carl in a confident voice.
Carl pulls out his own knife and walks toward the duo of oncoming walkers. The one in the front is a young girl, a little shorter than him; fresh bright blood on her mouth and shirt indicates she ate recently. She tries to lunge after him when he gets closer, but being faster and expecting it he jumps back and drives the knife into her skull. Her body slumps down in front of the other walker. The other one trips over her body and lands on it's face. Carl takes the opportunity to kill it. It's fortunate that it fell, since the walker was a tall male he would've had to kick it onto the ground to reach it's head.
Not long after walking Rick says in a gruff voice, "Carl…Carl, I have to stop." He limps away a few feet without the help of his son and throws up whatever food was in his stomach, behind a bush. Carl pulls out the Beretta from it's holster and checks the ammo. Damn it, he thinks, only eight rounds; won't be enough if we stumble across a herd.
"Did you say something," asks Rick looking bewildered. Carl glances around to see if his dad could have heard someone nearby, but they seem to be the only two people in the forest.
He shakes his head in response.
Rick shakes his head, "Wait…, what's going on."
"I uh-" Carl stops baffled by his father's behavior, "We have to keep moving, walkers miles away could have heard the commotion from earlier and be headed this way."
An arrow flies into the skull of a squirrel killing it instantly. Darryl pulls the dead animal off the arrow and stashes it with the rest.
"Bad day, but at least we got somethin' to eat," he says to Beth.
Exasperated by the hours of running and crying she gives a grim nod in response. He takes a swig of water from a canteen, and then hands it over to Beth, "Here; you gotta' drink some water, we've been running for miles and you've hardly had a sip."
She shakes her head, "I'm not thirsty."
He keeps his hand stretched out with the canteen, "C'mon you'll get dehydrated," after a pause he says, "Don't make me force you."
She gives a slight smile and takes a sip, but realizes how thirsty she was once the water hits her tongue and drinks over half the canteen. "Sorry," she says when she realizes that she basically just took all of the water.
"Nothin' to be sorry for, bound to need some fresh water anyway," he says calmly. For hours they've been skidding past walkers, but for the first time all day there isn't a walker in sight. Darryl sits down on a large boulder setting his crossbow aside, choosing to now work with the bowie knife and starts to skin the game. "I think we'll eat a little before we get on our way."
She sits hesitantly, "Are you sure? What if there is a walker nearby or shouldn't we be looking for the rest of the group?"
"Nah, we won't get far on empty stomachs and you'll keep an eye out when I'm skinning and starting the fire."
"Won't a fire attract walkers?"
"I'm fine with eating raw squirrel," he takes a look at her, "but I don't know if you could stomach it."
Before, Beth had the adrenaline that worked like morphine to dull the pain of watching her father die and not knowing if the same happened to her sister. If that wasn't enough she doesn't know what happened to the children or Judith. That was her job and she didn't do it. Now that she's calmed down and there's no immediate danger she can think about it and the pain it brings is too much too bear.
The walker's head rolls a few feet before coming to a stop, teeth snapping hoping to snag a bite. Michonne slides her katana back in its sheath. She's been hoping to hear or come along someone from the group, but she hasn't had any luck. The last person she saw was Rick, but lost him when she went to get some supplies: basic medicines, food, and a few guns all stored in a pack. By the time she came back she couldn't find anyone and barely made it out herself as the walkers started to take over the prison.
A sudden thought comes into her mind, what if I never find any of them? What if they're all dead? What if I have to spend the rest of my life alone like before I met Andrea? Although being alone back then was bearable, it's easier to have no one you care about around you, no pain of losing someone. It wasn't until she met Andrea and the rest of the group that she realized how alone she had felt and reminded her that she never wanted to feel that way again. Her mind races with competing thoughts trying to get over the painful possibility the she might be alone.
Get it together, she tells herself and pushes every devastating thought to the back of her mind and focuses on the immediate. Food, water, shelter, and finding the group that's what I need to focus on. More than likely everyone else is looking for the same thing so the only way to find them is by looking for the first three. Houses, a highway, or maybe a lake or river would be a good bet to find people.
She pulls out the map from her pocket and looks at each highway, homes settlement, and body of water. She looks to her right at the afternoon sun; west. She estimates where on the map she is, based on the direction she left the prison and how far she must be from it. There's a river that must not be more than five miles from her. Better than nothing she thinks as she heads for that direction.
"Beth, come over here." She trots over and crouches next to Darryl. He points to the walker's heads that lie several feet from their bodies. The fashion of how they were killed is all too familiar.
"Know any apocalyptic survivors that use a sword?" He asks with a smile. This is the first whiff of evidence that could lead to finding the group. Darryl looks at the imprints of feet in the mud, deciphering the walkers schlep from Michonne's footprints.
"Stay where you are," he orders Beth. He gets up careful not to ruin the tracks and follows the direction Michonne came from and the direction she must have went. After several minutes he finally looks to Beth.
"She went that way," he says pointing to his right. He looks at the sun that will be setting in a matter of minutes. "We'll follow her path in the mornin', tracking in the dark is useless." He looks at the river to his left and to the trees all around; that provides little cover from walkers.
He lies down with his back against a rough boulder; he picks up a stick and begins sharpening it with his knife, just to have something to do. Beth lies down beside him, "So, we just sleep here? Out in the open?"
"Yeah I'll take first watch. You should get some sleep."
Beth turns on her side, her back facing Darryl, wishing that the long day would help her fall asleep. As much as she tries she can't keep her grief pushed aside. That image keeps flooding through her mind, the sword slicing through her father's neck and later the governor cutting the rest of his head off. A scorching hatred of the governor wrenches inside of her. She had never thought she could hold so much hate for another. She wants him to die, she thinks, for him to suffer for eternity, wants him to burn in hell. The thought suddenly brings her back from her frenzied rage. Dad wouldn't want me to think these things, wishing for another's pain, not forgiving, and choosing for the hatred to stay inside, she thinks to herself.
He was good that way, she thinks, he never faltered in his belief of God even though I think every other person, including myself, has questioned their faith. She wonders if there is a heaven if he is there and watching over her. How badly she misses him. She suddenly realizes that she's crying, sobbing, uncontrollably, the pain in her chest deepens to an unfathomable agony.
Darryl had thought that Beth had gone to sleep, but about ten minutes after lying down he heard crying. She sounded so horribly damaged and sad, he felt useless just sitting there. Not sure of what to do, he awkwardly puts an arm around her. She quickly turns around and wraps her arms around him, sobbing on his shoulder. Cautiously he puts his arms around her, trying to comfort her. Slowly her sobbing quieted down, the shuddering stopped, and a dull ache replaced the tears.
Unsure what to do next Darryl leaves his hands wrapped around her. He's not used to dealing with emotions, usually whenever someone was crying other people from the group would help comfort them, but things are different now.
A slight glare bounces of the window from the full moon. Carl and Rick had stumbled across some houses that seem untouched by walkers, except for two that had been by the front door. Carl to restless to sleep wanders around the house aimlessly, occasionally checking for stored food or medicine, but mostly barren. He strolls back into the living room and checks on his father who had been so exhausted he nearly passed out before he was able to get him inside. "I should've killed the Governor," Carl says to himself. He slumps down on the floor and quietly cries himself to sleep.
"WAKE UP! WAKE UP!" Carl shouts at Rick, slapping and shaking him, willing him to open his eyes. Tears stream down his face as he thinks, I can't do this alone, I can't live this live alone. He checks for Rick's pulse, but he doesn't feel any beat that would signify that his father is alive. He begins beating Rick's chest out of frustration, continuing to scream.
"Carl," says a voice behind him. He whips around surprised to find a familiar face staring back at him.