Now, Jim had eaten his fair share of strange things in his life growing up with his dad close to the Bayou, but squirrels was not one of them and he therefore couldn't think of a single thing to say when he saw Daryl stride into camp with no less than ten dead squirrels tied to a string slung over his shoulder. You could never be too careful when it came to squirrels—disease and whatnot. Only when Daryl told him that he'd catch a fly with his mouth hanging open did he realize how long he'd been staring at the dead rodents.

"What's the matter? Y'never seen a squirrel b'fore? Meat's a good source've protein," he told Jim as he set them down on a makeshift cutting board and began to skin them.

"Well, you can't really call what's on them meat," said Jacqui unhelpfully as she watched Daryl rip the tail from one unlucky woodland creature.

"They've got more meat on 'em that this stringy guy," said Daryl, jabbing his knife in Jim's direction.

Jim thought that "stringy" was taking things a little too far. He had plenty of meat on him as well as muscle, but since he spent most of his time wearing his garage one-piece no one could really tell. But hadn't he helped lift the Buick out of the mud when it got stuck halfway up the trail? He was one of three men to lift it, the other two being Shane and T-Dog. He had contributed one third of the man power, so no one could say that a squirrel had more meat on it than him. As he continued watching Daryl skin the squirrels, he saw blood begin to run onto the cutting board in small red bubbling pools. He put the back of his hand to his mouth, suddenly feeling dizzy and nauseous.

"Jim, are you okay?" asked Amy as she tore her gaze away from Daryl's work.

"Yeah, I'm-," Jim took a small step backwards and nearly wiped out over one of the coolers they used for seats, but someone caught him and as he looked around to find out who, his heart sank. Andrea stood him up properly and plunged her hand into his pocket, pulling out his uneaten granola bar. Her pale blue eyes lit on an icy fire and seizing his wrist, she frog marched him around the backside of the Winnebago where she forced him against the wall and thrust the granola bar under his nose. He didn't know why he let her bully him this far, but perhaps his lack of energy had something to do with it.

"You eat this right now, damn it, or I will kick your ass," she said venomously as she brandished the wrapper in his face. He turned his head sideways so that she might not be able to reach it, but despite being two inches over six feet, he was still short enough for her to touch his mouth and she threatened him by pressing it against his lips. Grabbing his face with one hand, she hissed, "Don't make me shove it down your throat. I'm trying to help you, you selfish bastard, now open your mouth!" When he still refused to open up she gave him a smack, not hard enough to leave a bruise, but it wasn't a love tap either. "Jim, what the hell is wrong with you? You're about to pass out because you haven't eaten in over twenty-four hours. If you keep this up you'll kill yourself!"

Taking her wrists and pushing her away, he murmured, "What if that's what I want?"

Andrea's eyes widened and she let the hand with the granola bar drop to her side. He thought he had her beaten, but then she came back with a soft reply. "You can't want that, not like this. If you want to die so bad then take a gun and put in it in your mouth, but you're hurting yourself this way. Jim, I can't offer you any sort of comfort if you don't let me in. I've tried being nice to you and you pretend I'm not here; I try being an ass and you don't show any expression at all. If you want it that bad, I'll give you a damn gun." She dug into the back of her shirt along her belt line and handed him her Ladysmith. "Go on, take it. No one's here to stop you right now and you can do it without thinking that we'll hate you for wanting a way out. Here…"

Jim stared down at the handgun for a long while, contemplating whether he should and also whether or not he wanted to. He could get out of this horrific nightmare right now and see his family. It would be painless, quick, and easy. He extended his hand until it was right above Andrea's and then closed her fingers around it. She smiled triumphantly.

"All you need to do is ask if you want it, but if you aren't going to use it, you have to take better care of yourself. I'm not asking much, Jim, I'm just asking you to eat. Humans do that, remember? Remember what it's like to be a human?" She reached up and rested her hands on either side of his face. Again he was reminded forcibly of his wife and rather than give in to a hallucination that would only cause him pain, he closed his eyes, blocking her out.

"Let go, please…" he said weakly.

"Do you feel the warmth in my hands, Jim? Do you remember what it feels like to be touched by another person, to feel that they're still alive? I'm not going to hurt you."

How could he explain to her that her simplest movement, the very fact that she had her hands on his face was causing him so much pain? She and Tara were so alike in their mannerisms. He understood why she, of all people, was the one who he wanted to have nothing to do with because she alone was the image of the wife he had lost. She wouldn't understand if he were to ask her to never speak to him again, never look at him, but every time she did, what little pieces of his heart shattered inside of him. But she, like Tara, was stubborn, and she would never give up on him.

"Okay," he said at last, opening his eyes.

In those two syllables he gave her permission to extend her kindness, to look out for him, to keep him going until he decided that he was done. That didn't mean he was a changed man who had been struck by some epiphany, but it did mean that he would at least do his depraved body the favor of fueling it. Andrea watched him gulp down the granola bar with a bit of a grimace on his face and then she took him by the hand and led him around the RV where thankfully no one was watching. Letting go, she went to sit beside Amy who was helping Daryl clean the squirrels with a very disgusted look on her face.

Jim took over for Dale on watch, swinging one leg idly off the edge of the RV as the rifle rested nearby. He felt the granola bar trying to settle into his stomach and had to swallow his own vomit a few times as his insides tried to reject it, but he managed to keep it down. Perhaps it was just his imagination, or better yet, his dehydration, but he caught Andrea casting a fleeting glance at him more often than not—or maybe he was the one who kept glancing at her. Either way they were meeting eyes once every ten minutes and every time he gave a barely visible inclination of his head to show her—to show her what? Appreciation, reassurance?

"Jim, you want some water?" asked Shane from below, holding up a canteen.

Well, he certainly didn't want any, but he knew he needed some and if he didn't take it he would probably have to go through another one of Andrea's talks which he certainly did not want a repeat of, so he held his arm out and Shane tossed the canteen up to him. He unscrewed the cap and took a swig, noticing that Merle had joined the party to oversee his little brother's handiwork and start adding the squirrels to the pot of whatever the hell they were making. Jim didn't care what Andrea said, he wasn't going to eat it. He'd stomach down ten granola bars in place of just a spoonful of that mystery meal. As he tipped the canteen to pour a bit of water down the back of his shirt, he saw Lori come running up from her tent, looking around worriedly. There was only one thing that could possibly make her face go that wild-looking…

"Has anyone seen Carl?"

"Kid was by the Jeep 'bout twenny minutes 'go," said Merle without looking up from the pot.

"I saw him there too, but now I can't find him," said Lori, running her fingers through her hair.

Shane took up his shotgun from inside the RV and started issuing orders. "Alright, Dale, get up there and start searching for 'im. Dog, you'n Glenn head off towards the east side, circle back, and rattle the can alarms if you find him. Daryl, take Merle and go straight down the mountain. Jim, come with me."

Jim lowered himself onto the ladder and jumped the last few steps, handing off the rifle to Dale and exchanging it for his favored bat. He saw Ed watching the activity going on around him, but put his grudge aside and said, "If he comes back, holler."

To his immense surprise, Ed jerked his head and drew on his cigarette. Following Shane, Jim headed off down the trail, craning his neck for any sight of the boy. It didn't make any sense to him that Carl would take off so far without telling someone. Rummaging in the cars while everyone else was still sleeping was one thing because he was only twenty feet away from the RV, but disappearing was completely out of character.

"Carl!" Shane hollered, quickening his pace with every minute that crept by. Jim started to feel panic in his bruised gut and was about to call for the boy himself when they spotted him, snuggled in close next to a tree. Cold fear seized Jim's lungs, making it hard to breathe when he saw that Carl's arm was covered in blood. Shane beat him by only a second or two as they broke through the foliage to reach the boy. Shane dropped to his knees beside Carl and held his arm up to search for any bite mark, but when he found none, he pried Carl for information.

"Carl, whose blood is this? What happened?"

Wincing, Carl said quite calmly, "I was carving a pike and resetting the alarms and I fell down the hill. I think I sprained my ankle, because when I tried to get up I couldn't stand for too long, so I just sat down and waited. Mom said that I shouldn't call for help and to wait for help to come to me, so that's what I did."

Jim had to look away because seeing Mark's shirt—now Carl's—so bloody made an evil shiver run down his spine.

"But where'd the blood come from?" Shane inquired. "It's fresh; I can smell it."

"Oh," said Carl, regarding his arm without interest, "well, I was trying to help Merle shave the squirrels, but he said I was only getting in the way once I got sprayed with blood when I cut it open the wrong way so he gave me a knife and told me to go stab something and stay the hell out of his way."

"Watch your mouth," said Shane reproachfully, though he ruined the effect by smiling in relief. "I swear, kid, you're something else."

Carl smiled back, but his expression immediately turned to one of horror as his eyes rested on something behind Jim. So preoccupied was he with the boy that Jim hadn't even heard the walker approaching. He could only revolve slowly on the spot and see it come straight at him.

"Jim, get down!" Shane yelled.

Carl's small hand took hold of Jim's pant leg and even though he wasn't strong, he had been eating to support his growing hormones whereas Jim had not and so he had enough strength to yank Jim back, allowing Shane to open fire on the walker. A few droplets of blood splattered against Jim's leg as he bent over with his hands on his knees to find his breath. He gave a nod of thanks to Carl who beamed at him, obviously pleased at his timeliness. Shane gave Jim his shotgun and picked Carl up in his arms, careful to not jolt his bad ankle.

"Well, I'd say that's enough excitement for one day, huh?"

Back at camp Lori was almost in tears when she saw blood covering her baby boy, but once Shane explained, all was forgiven and forgotten as Dale helped to set his ankle and Lori washed the blood off of Carl's arm. Daryl and Merle had returned and were back to cooking up their damn rodent stew or whatever. Andrea saw the blood on Jim's leg and opened her mouth to speak when he cut her off with a wave of his hand.

"S'not mine, don't worry."

She scratched at her head and gave a dry chuckle. "I guess you're just lucky."

Lucky wasn't the word Jim would use. Cursed, maybe, but he wasn't going to tell her that.