These Things: The world's gone to hell – there's just no other way to put it. A sickness spread across the US, infecting the young and the old alike. I'm a long way from home and I may never see my hometown again, but I have to keep fighting. It's them or us; the dead versus the living. Apocalypse: 1, Iva: 0. (OC/Shane)

Disclaimer:I don't own any of the characters from the famous comic book (turned television adaptation) The Walking Dead, but sometimes I wish I was a writer on the show's staff! I will be the first to admit that the characters are a mish mash of their comic book and television personalities. Some might even be horribly butchered, but I've done my best. Iva, Libby, and a few others are my creations, so please give them a bit of respect.

Rating: This story is rating M+ for Mature Audiences. Gore, violence, language, intense situations, sexual innuendo, and sexual scenes occur throughout the course of the story. Chapters containing sexually explicit materials will be properly labeled, but it is advised that children do not read this story.

"I'm not a bad man, I'm just overwhelmed. It's cause of these things, it's cause of these things." – She Wants Revenge, These Things

These Things

~Chapter Four~

Carol tugged on Sophia's hand and the little girl reluctantly allowed her mother to lead her back to the safety of the RV. I watched them disappearing across the grassy field thoughtfully, the contrast of the mother and the daughter so substantial I couldn't seem to drag my eyes away. A moment later, the others began to follow.

The night had passed quietly, thankfully. I'd been quickly introduced to everyone and had curled up on my side next to Carol and Sophia and been surprised when I fell into an exhausted sleep. The morning itself had begun with a quiet breakfast of stale crackers and beef jerky before I'd shown Shane and Daryl and Rick where I wanted to bury Libby. They weren't keen on trekking so far from the road, but I was determined that Libby would have at least a bit of peace in the next life.

Someone, I'd noticed, had wrapped her up in an old, tattered sheet and made sure no blood was showing on her face. It had been a simple little ceremony. Nobody had known her other than me, after all, and once the men had dug the hole they'd gently laid her inside and waited for me to give the signal to start tossing the dirt down on top of her.

Carol had thanked her yet again for saving her little girl, and Dale had given a short little speech about the nuances of life and how he hoped that the woman was in a better place.

"Libby, you deserve so much better than this. It's my fault. I know you'd argue, but it's my fault. At least we had that week of fun in the Keys before the world all went to hell, huh? At least we got to enjoy the beach and the sun before it all went to shit. You were the best friend I could've ever had, and you knew that." I'd trembled a bit, but I hadn't shed a tear. "I don't know how I'm gonna make it now that you're gone, but I've gotta try. For you."

Then they'd covered her with dirt and I'd fixed a makeshift cross made of small branches to mark her grave. I rubbed the pad of my thumb over the delicate necklace I'd strung across that marker, and decided that it would have to do. It was a necklace her father had given her on her sixteenth birthday, and I'd never seen her go without it. Fitting, I thought, that she should have it always.

Everyone had filed back towards the RV except for Rick, Daryl, Shane, and Lori, and I sensed that they were waiting for me to say something else. But, there was nothing left to say. She was gone. Buried. In a damn better place than what was left of the world.

"Carl?" Lori dragged her hands through her long, brown hair and glanced around anxiously. I immediately looked towards the RV, which was situated about thirty yards away, and didn't see the boy anywhere. "Rick, where's Carl?"

The two cursed and spread out, cupping their hands around their mouths and calling out for the boy. It was Daryl that noticed the broken branches leading deeper into the woods and suggested that the boy had needed to take a piss.

"Lori, go back to the RV. I'll find him." Lori didn't seem keen on moving, and Rick placed a firm hand on her shoulder and stared at her heatedly. "Go. I'll find our boy. I can't focus on him if I'm worrying about you being safe."

She hesitated, her eyes meeting mine and narrowing, before she began to jog across the grassy field towards the RV. I spied Dale on the roof, binoculars in hand, and grimaced as the three men began to traipse towards the woods.

I followed behind them, stepping carefully around branches and limbs, one hand on my hatchet, and studied the area. The woods were fairly thin, sparsely filled with trees and foliage. Daryl had no problem tracking the boy, but it was hard saying how far he got.

It took almost ten minutes to find him, and I wondered how he'd gotten so far so fast. Hadn't his parents been watching him at all? When he was spotted, I breathed a sigh of relief and watched Rick race across the few feet between them and yank and pull Carl up into his arms gruffly. Carl was startled but seemed happy to see his father.

Detached, I stood back behind Daryl and Shane and watched the brief reunion with dry eyes. I overheard Daryl muttering about how the kid needed to be kept on a leash as Rick lowered his son to his feet and crouched in front of him, eye to eye.

"You can't do that ever again, Carl. Your mom and I - you scared us."

"I saw a deer, Dad! I was following it and I guess I went further than I meant to." The boy sounded contrite, but the flush on his cheeks made me think he was excited about the wildlife he'd discovered. He could have walked right into one of the stiffs and been gone before Rick or Lori even realized that he was absent. "See? It's over there."

A deer was a familiar sight based on where I came from, but there was still something kind of magical about studying the animal from only forty feet away. It grazed contentedly, a large buck intent on finding food and ignorant of the humans that weren't far away. I couldn't help but wonder if nature had already been regressing, going back to the days when humans were outnumbered by wildlife. Maybe deer no longer feared the hunter.

Rick encouraged Carl to wander closer, and the boy outstretched an arm and walked slowly towards the deer. It was quite the spectacle, and the buck looked up briefly, shook his body, and continued to graze. My lips twitched with a faint smile and Carl inched even closer.

The echoing sound of a rifle firing broke through my reverie, and the deer fell to the ground – as did Carl.

"Carl!" Rick cried as he raced towards his son, Shane quick on his heels. As I charged towards them, I noted that Daryl had raised his crossbow and was studying the woods in the direction that the shot had been fired and focused on the boy lying on the ground. "Carl, talk to me!"

"Don't move him!" I hissed, skidding to a stop on my knees at Carl's side. Rick's eyes were bright with tears and terror and I ignored him as I assessed the situation dispassionately. "He's unconscious. But his pulse is stable. He's breathing. There's a lot of bleeding."

Daryl called out a warning and I watched as a heavyset man in dark pants, boots, a gray shirt, and a vest wandered forward. He had a rifle in his hand and the transparent look of horror on his face was undeniable. "I didn't see him. I swear I didn't see him."

Shane launched himself at the man while I tried to apply a compress to the wound. The bullet appeared to have gone straight through – which was good. Removing it would be difficult. But, there was no telling what kind of damage it had done while it was in there.

"Can you help him?"

I shook my head slowly and hesitated before I met Rick's probing gaze. "If I had the supplies, the light, the facilities? Yes."

The heavyset man ambled forward, breathing heavily. "My people. There's a doctor. He can help."

"How far?" Shane demanded gruffly. "Where's your camp?"

"We're on a farm not far from here. About three miles, maybe four." He pointed back in the direction from which he'd come and wiped a hand over his sweaty face. "It's a big farm, you can't miss it."

Rick hesitated before he scooped his son into his arms and stood up. "Let's go. Let's go!" he bellowed, spittle flying from his mouth as he eyed the heavyset man.

"I'll get the others," Daryl offered, to my shock.

My pack was back at the RV – all I had on me was my weapons. But, my instincts screamed for me to help get Carl to safety, and I followed them. "You." I pointed at Otis and his eyes widened. "You're sticking with him, just in case. Come on, Rick."

We broke out in a jog, leaving Shane behind to jog back to the farm with Otis. Logistically it made more sense to go as a group, especially since we only had the rough directions that Otis had provided, but Carl needed help – fast.

Only a few minutes passed before I spotted the first stiff. I didn't bother slowing down, merely pulling my hatchet free and running beside it, clobbering the back of its head with the sharp blade and dropping it before it noticed us. In spite of the weight he carried, Rick kept up with the brutal pace, legs pumping as he nestled his injured son against his chest. With any luck, he would live.

I calculated based on my aching lungs and burning legs that we were paced to manage an eight minute mile run time, but would it be enough? The run kept me occupied with four more stiffs, though they noticed us before I noticed them and I almost ran smack into one. Rick cast a worried look in my direction and I noted that Carl's color was very pale, but his lips hadn't turned blue – maybe he was still breathing.

The farm Otis had spoken about appeared out of nowhere – a well maintained drive fenced off from intruders caught my gaze and we pushed the gate aside and put it back in place before we raced up the gravel drive. Another quarter of a mile later, lush greenery came into view; we'd found the farm.

Rick pounded towards the farm house and I studied it as I jogged towards it, nearly breathless. In another time, before people had begun to try to eat one another, it looked quaint and idyllic. Now… I wasn't sure.

"Help me!" Rick shouted hoarsely, obviously out of breath from our trek. I skidded to a stop beside him and tucked my hatchet back into its sheath to study the boy in his arms.

"I found a pulse. Little thready, but it's there," I offered as the screen door slammed open, drawing my attention to a man with a shotgun in his hand.

"Help me! Otis said there was a doctor here!"

"Otis?" the white-haired man repeated, brows furrowed in confusion. "Where's Otis?"

"He's inbound, but we raced ahead. Are you the doctor friend?" I asked calmly, pushing down my own bubbling nerves. The older man nodded his head once. "Otis shot a deer – it went straight through and hit Carl. Luckily, it seems to have gone straight through the boy, as well. He needs immediate medical attention."

The shotgun in his hand was immediately put aside as two women spilled out of the house, watching the scene with interest. "Bring the boy inside. Come on!"

I charged up the steps behind Rick, nearly tripping over my own feet as we were ushered inside. The world blurred around me as we were led into a bedroom on the first floor and the man ordered Rick to strip off Carl's shirt and place him on the bed. I watched the man scrub his hands and then open a black bag, the iconic doctor's bag, and retrieve a stethoscope and a thermometer.

"He's burning up. Has he been bitten?" he inquired conversationally as he checked the boy's eyes for pupil response. "He's responsive, which is a good sign. But, based purely on what I see, he's in need of surgery."

"Do it."

The man pursed his lips and I found myself the object of his intense scrutiny. "I can patch him up, but chances are he's going to need surgery. I don't have the supplies."

Rick hesitated for a moment before he nodded his head. "Please, do whatever you can. Save my boy."

That's how I met Hershel Greene.

A/N: "Carl, get in the house!" meme is a go.