Inside the small barn, I can hear Daryl landing punches and Randall grunting and crying. I lean against the wall, listening to the interrogation. "I told you—" Randall starts to say, his voice shaky, but is cut off.

"You told me shit!" Daryl growls.

"I barely knew those guys," the teenager says. "I met 'em on the road."

"How many in your group?"

There's a silence, the only sound being Randall's panting. Then, he says, "Oh, no no no no no. Come on, man."

Randall yelps, then Daryl barks, "How many?"

"Uh thirty. Thirty guys."

"Where?"

"Uh—" Randall yells in pain. "I don't know. I swear. We were never anyplace more than a night."

"Scouting? Planning on staying local?"

"I don't know. They left me behind."

"Did you ever pick off a scab?"

"Come on, man!" Randall cries, fear filling his voice. "I'm trying to cooperate!"

"Start real slow at first," Daryl growls, no mercy in his voice. "Sooner or later, you gotta rip it off."

"Okay!" Randall cries, then lowers his voice slightly. "Okay, they have weapons. Heavy stuff, automatics. But I didn't do anything!"

"Your boys shot at my boys, shot the girl, tried to take this farm. You just went along for the ride? You're trying to tell me you're innocent?"

"Yes!" Randall snaps, the sighs. "These people took me in. Not just guys, a whole group of 'em. Men and women, kids too—just like you people. Thought I'd have a better chance with them, you know? But we go out, scavenge—just the men. One night we found this little campsite. A man and his two daughters—teenagers, you know? Real young. Real cute, like that Clary girl." Randall pauses for a second, and I take a step closer to the door, listening. "Their daddy had to watch while these guys–they... and they didn't even kill him afterwards. They just—they just made him watch as his daughters... they just left him there. But I didn't touch those girls! I swear I didn't to—"

Daryl gives a grunt as he attacks Randall, who cries out in pain. I slump against the wall of the barn, my hand over my mouth, and slide to the ground. I sit there, with my legs hugged to my chest, for I didn't know how long. I lose track of time as I listen to Randall being beaten. I put my head in my hands, thinking about what Randall said. It's odd, really. You're so focused on surviving the walkers that you forget what people do. You forget that the real threat is people; it always was, it always is, and it always will be. The walkers just make everything more complicated. Like Rick said when we were in town, we've all done the worst kinds of things just to stay alive. Ain't nobody's hands clean in this world anymore. I stand abruptly when I hear the door opening, putting my crossbow on my shoulder. Daryl looks at me. "How long were you listenin'?"

"Long enough to know that we're screwed if his boys come through here," I answer.

"You scared?"

"Of what? The walkers? His boys?"

Daryl looks down. "Me."

I answer without hesitation. "No. I've seen worse." I look down, mumbling the next sentence. "Had worse." I look back up at Daryl to see that he's looking at me, his brow creased with worry. "You know, you've had it, too. My point is I ain't scared of you, Daryl. I'll never be scared of you."

As my brother pulls me in for a hug, I see that his knuckles are split and bleeding. I'd hate to see Randall, 'cause I know what my brother's fist can do. Or, I've seen it, at least. I pull away from Daryl, giving him his crossbow as we walk to Rick's camp, side by side. "We'll know soon enough," Rick's saying.

"Boy there's got a gang," Daryl says as we stop. "Thirty men. They got heavy artillery and they ain't lookin' to make friends. They roll through here, our boys are dead. And our women, they're gonna wish they were."

"What did you do?" Carol asks, glancing at Daryl's knuckles.

"Had a little chat," my brother answers, walking away.

"No one goes near this guy," Rick orders.

"Rick, what're you gonna go?" Lori asks.

"We have no choice, he's a threat. We have to eliminate the threat."

I follow Daryl away, the sounds of the conversation dying behind me. I sit on the ground beside Daryl as he rubs the blood off of his hands. "Did it hurt to punch the guy?" Carl asks, and I look up when he speaks.

"Been hurt worse," Daryl answers.

"He has," I say. "I have. You too, Sheriff Junior." I chuckle. "All of us."

Carl grins slightly, then looks at Daryl. "Can you teach me how to shoot that?" he asks, gesturing to the crossbow.

"Your arm ain't long enough," my brother replies. "Ask Clars."

Carl looks at me. "Sometime," I answer. "Maybe. You stick to guns, Cowboy. Crossbows take a lot of skill. Daryl had me using 'em since I could crawl."

Daryl stands as Carol comes over. "Where's your old man? Why don't you pester him?"

Carl turns and walks off as Carol hands my brother a cloth. "Did you get what you wanted?" she inquires. "Approval? Thanks? Couldn't hit me so you beat up a kid. Is that who you are now?"

I raise my eyebrows in surprise, glaring at Daryl, but I remain silent for now. "He ain't no kid," Daryl says. "Do a lot worse than hitting him if you gave me a chance."

"That's not what this is about and you know it."

"What do you want me to do? Huh? I don't need this."

"Don't pretend like you don't care. You want your friendship back, take it. Every kind and smart thing you've said, take it all back. I don't care. I've lost worse. But don't sit back here and tend to your bloody fists and pretend you don't care." Daryl watches as Carol turns and walks off. I pick up my crossbow, then storm away from Daryl, back to our camp. I put my crossbow down outside of our tent, and sit down at the fire. I stare into the dying embers, and stand when Daryl approaches.

"Daryl Joseph Dixon!" I say harshly, almost yell, and he looks at me. "'Couldn't hit me so you beat up a kid?' That's who you are now? You were gonna hit Carol? Just like Ed did? You gonna be a woman-hitter like Dad? You gonna hit me like Dad?" As soon as the words are out, I regret them. Daryl hated Dad, and he never, ever wanted to be like our father. I hang my head, my voice dropping to a whisper. "Daryl, I—"

"Don't," he snaps, his voice harsher than mine, and mine was pretty harsh. But there's something else; his voice is shaking. "Forget it, Clarissa."

He pushes past me, and I move to avoid being knocked over. I sit back down, and stay there for a while. I put my head in my hands, forcing myself not to cry. I jump, reaching for my knife when I feel a hand on my shoulder. It's just Carl. He holds his hand up in surrender. "Easy there, tiger," he says.

I get to my feet, glaring at him. Not the angry glare I gave Daryl when I found out about Carol, but a playful glare. "Sorry. Still a little on edge from yesterday," I say.

"What happened yesterday?"

I'm about ready to tell him that Shane tried to kill me a third time, but I decide against it. "Ain't important. Why are you here?"

"Follow me," he says. I give him a raised eyebrow in response, but follow him anyway. Straight to the small barn where Randall is. He climbs up, then into the hayloft. I cautiously follow him, then figure, what the hell? Why not? Outside, I can hear Shane and Andrea talking. Randall looks up when we enter. "Hey," he whispers, then looks at me. "Hey, Clary." I simply glare at him, and he looks back at Carl. "That's a sweet hat. I'm Randall. What's your name?"

I lean in closer to Carl, whispering, "What're we doin' up here?"

Carl doesn't say anything, just continues staring at Randall. "The sheriff guy," he tries, "that's your dad? I like him. Yeah, he's a good guy. I can tell. Your mom out here too? You're lucky you still got your family. I lost mine." I can feel Carl's eyes on me as he speaks; my best friend knows that I'm orphaned, though I don't think of myself as orphaned. "Hey, I don't know what people been saying 'bout me, but I didn't do nothing. I swear." Carl climbs down the ladder, and I follow. "Your dad was gonna let me go till his friend started fighting with him. It got pretty bad. I was kinda worried about him and you, Clary. My camp, we got lots of supplies. You help me, and I'll take you and your folks back to my people, and Clary, you can come, too. We'll take good care of you, keep you safe."

"I don't need y'all to be safe," I say in a whisper. "I got my brother, and that's all I need."

Randall looks away from me and to Carl. "Just gotta help me get outta here, okay? Just help me pick these locks or find the key, okay? C'mon, help me, please. Please!"

Randall takes a step forward, causing his shackles to rattle loudly. The door opens, and Carl and I look over to see Shane coming through. "What the hell are you two doing in here?" He pushes Carl and I behind him, looking at Randall. "What did you say to them? What did you say to them, huh?"

Shane pushes Randall against the wall, his hand around the teenager's throat, and a gun to his head. "I didn't say nothing," he lies.

Andrea comes through the open barn door with her gun, calling the man's name as he speaks. "Let me tell you something," Shane says. "I will shoot you where you sit."

"Okay, Shane, not now," Andrea exclaims.

Shane pushes the barrel of his gun against Randall's lips. "Open your mouth. Open your mouth. You like talking? You like talking, man!"

"Back off," Andrea barks, and Shane steps away.

He grabs Carl by the arm, dragging him out, his glare telling me to follow. "Get your asses out here now." He pushes Carl, causing him to stumble. "The hell were you doing?"

"Please don't tell my parents," Carl says.

Carl regains his footing, facing Shane. The former officer looms over my friend, glaring at him. "Carl, that ain't cool, man. You both coulda gotten hurt in there. The hell were you doing?"

"It wasn't him," I lie, and Shane looks at me. "It wasn't Carl."

The former officer storms over to me. "This was you? Clary, you've..." his voice drops to a whisper, "Clary, you've seen this guy. You know he'll say anything to you."

"Which is exactly what I was doing!" I exclaim, and Carl stares at me. "You know, maybe he woulda said something 'bout his group to us. He don't know nothing 'bout me and Carl, man. He could think we're just two stupid teenagers. Coulda let somethin' slip!"

Shane turns away, grabs Carl roughly by the arm, and drags him back over to me. Carl stumbles many times, and Shane pushes him when they reach me, causing Carl to fall to the ground. Shane then grabs Carl's arm, harshly hauling him to his feet. A little too harshly and roughly, for my liking. I punch Shane, my right hook connecting with his cheek. I shake out the slight pain in my hand, when Shane returns my punch with one of his own hard ones. I stumble, taken aback by the force of the blow, before falling to the ground.

"Don't touch her!" Carl barks, stepping between Shane and I. He surprises both Shane and I with the sharpness in his voice. But what really surprises me is the amount of defensiveness in his voice. I've only ever heard that when Daryl was stopping Will, or when Sam told all the kids at school to back off. In other words, I've only heard it when someone is protecting me from something. Shane scoffs. "Why you protecting her, man? She don't need it. Hell, she was just tryin' to get you killed! She's just a stupid redneck, can't you see that?"

I had slowly stood up while Shane was speaking, and at that, I lunge for him. We fall to the ground, rolling, and I come up on top of Shane. I sit on top of his chest, throwing punches. Shane rolls and comes up on top, him swinging. Like yesterday, I struggle to escape from him. Suddenly, there's hands under my arms, pulling me out. Carl pulls me out from under Shane, but neither of us are done yet. I break away from Carl, going after Shane again. I throw a punch that misses its target, and my legs are swiped out from under me. I go down, landing hard. Shane grabs my arm, throwing me to my feet. I stumble, then turn to face him. I can feel blood on the side of my face, and taste it in my mouth. Shane has a split lip, and a few scratches on his face. Just as I lunge for Shane again, there's an arm around my waist, and Andrea is pushing Shane back. "C'mon, Clary," Carl says in my ear. "Back off."

Andrea, who had been yelling Shane's name during the fight, takes him by the arm, leading him away. I fight against Carl, then hook my leg around his, pulling it out from under him. He falls to the ground, and I fall on top of him. His arm is around my waist as soon as I'm down, but I don't fight against him. Instead, I rest my forehead on his shoulder, breathing hard. My jaw throbs where Shane punched me, and my head pounds. I surprise myself by not flinching when Carl runs a hand through my hair, pushing it out of my eyes. I look down into his blue eyes, only to find that he's staring right back at me. I look away from him; they say eyes are the window to the soul, and I don't want him seeing mine. He slowly removes his arm, sitting up, and I don't move. Carl gently touches the side of my face, causing me to wince. "How badly are you hurt?" he asks, his voice low.

"I'm not," I argue. Compared to what I've had before, this is nothing.

"Clary, you're hurt. I'm not blind." Carl gets to his feet, then pulls me to mine. Carl picks up my crossbow, swinging it over his shoulder. I stand facing him, my arms crossed over my chest. I glare at him, then say, "Carl, I'm fine. I've had worse. Give me my crossbow."

Carl hesitates before giving me my crossbow. I take it, then turn and walk away. I stop when I hear his voice behind me. "I'm sorry."

I turn back to him. "For what? You didn't do anything."

"Exactly. I let you take that. Why did you?" I look down. I guess it was just instinct. Daryl was always taking beatings for me, always. I knew Shane wouldn't hit Carl, just yell at him, but I didn't want him to get yelled at. I should have stopped him from going in there instead of just following him. "Clary, why did you?"

I look up at him. "It ain't important."

I turn and walk away, back to my camp. Daryl looks up when I come over, and his eyes narrow when he sees me. He hurries over to me, putting his hands on my arms to make me look at him. "Where is the bastard?" Daryl simply growls, knowing who did it.

"Don't. I picked the fight," I say. Daryl opens his mouth to say something, but I put my hand over his mouth, effectively shutting him up. "Stop. I picked the fight, I got my ass kicked. What's done is done. And I never said that second part."

I go around Daryl, setting my crossbow down next to his motorcycle. I kneel, tending to the fire. Daryl snaps a stick in half, then hands it to me. "The whole point of us coming up here is to get away from you people," Daryl says, and I look up to see Dale walking over.

This must be about Dale's big plan to get everyone to agree with sparing Randall's life. "Gonna take more than that," he says.

"Carol send you?"

"Carol's not the only one concerned about you, your new role in the group."

Daryl glances up at him. "This group's broken. We're better off fending for ourselves."

"You act like you don't care."

"Yeah, it's 'cause I don't."

"So live or die, you don't care what happens to Randall?"

Daryl pulls his jacket on, along with his leather vest with angel wings on the back. "Nope."

"Then why don't you stand with me, try to save the kid's life, if it really doesn't matter one way or another?"

"Didn't peg you for a desperate son of a bitch."

"Your opinion makes a difference. Same with you, Clary."

"Ain't nobody looking at us for nothing," I say as Daryl picks up his crossbow.

"Carol is, and I am. Right now. And Daryl, you obviously, you have Rick's ear."

"Rick just looks to Shane," Daryl sneers. "Let him."

Daryl turns to walk away, readjusting his crossbow. Dale calls after him, "You cared about what happened to Sophia—" Daryl stops, "—cared what it meant to the group. Torturing people? That isn't you. You're a decent man. So is Rick. Shane, he's different."

Daryl glances at me before taking a step towards Dale. "Why's that? 'Cause he killed Otis?"

I notice how Daryl doesn't mention Shane's attempts on my life. "He tell you that?" Dale asks.

"It ain't that hard, Dale," I say. "You don't gotta be Sherlock Holmes to figure it out. He told some story, 'bout how Otis covered him, saved his ass. He showed up with a dead guy's gun."

Daryl nods once before speaking. "Rick ain't stupid. If he didn't figure that out, it's 'cause he didn't wanna. It's like I said—group's broken."

Daryl turns and walks away, leaving Dale and I alone.

My group gathers with Hershel's group in his living room, and I stand in the doorway with Daryl. Carl appears behind us, and Rick and Lori look at him. He goes off into another part of the house with Beth and Jimmy. Both groups are silent, looking at each other. "So how do we do this?" Glenn asks, breaking the silence. "Just take a vote?"

"Does it have to be unanimous?" Andrea inquires.

"How about majority rules?" Lori suggests.

Rick steps forward, intervening before any further decisions can be made. "Well, let's just see where everyone stands then we can talk through the options."

"Well, where I sit, there's only one way to move forward," Shane says. Of course he's on the side of killing Randall. Hell, it was probably his idea. Soulless bastard. I'm not saying that I'm okay with letting the kid go, but killing him isn't a good option either.

"Killing him, right?" Dale says. "I mean, why even bother to take a vote? It's clear which way the wind's blowing."

"Well, if people believe we should spare him, I wanna know," Rick says.

"Well, I can tell you it's a small group." Dale pauses a second. "Maybe just me and Glenn."

Glenn's quiet for a moment, then looks up at Dale. "Look, I think you're pretty much right about everything, all the time, but this—"

"They've got you scared," Dale exclaims.

"He's not one of us. And we've lost too many people already."

Dale looks across the room at Maggie and Hershel. "How about you? Do you agree with this?"

"Couldn't we continue keeping him prisoner?" Maggie inquires.

"Just another mouth to feed," Daryl replies.

"It may be a lean winter," Hershel says.

"We could ration better," Lori suggests.

"Well, he could be an asset," Dale tries. "Give him a chance to prove himself."

"Put him to work?" Glenn suggests.

Rick immediately turns that suggestion down. "We're not letting him walk around."

"We could put an escort on him," Maggie inputs.

"Who wants to volunteer for that duty?" Shane retorts.

"I will," Dale volunteers.

"I don't think any of us should be walking around with this guy," Rick says.

"He's right," Lori agrees. "I wouldn't feel safe unless he's tied up."

"We can't exactly put chains around his ankles, sentence him to hard labor," Andrea argues.

"Look, say we let him join us, right?" Shane says. Oh, this outta be good. "Maybe he's helpful, maybe he's nice. We let our guard down and maybe he runs off, brings back his thirty men."

"Shane," I say, shifting on my feet as all heads turn to me. I look down under the gaze of the jury. "Shane, you said to me today that he has a way with words. So do you." I look up, my blue eyes meeting Shane's dark ones. "Both of you in a good and a bad way." I look around at the rest of the group. "I see where you're goin' with this, I understand. I understand that you think he could be a danger, and you're probably right. I ain't agreein' with sparin' him, but I ain't agreein' with killin' him, either. Either way, I understand your choices, all of you. But there's always a chance that maybe he is nice or helpful, and that's exactly what he is. Maybe he won't run off to find his boys. Maybe he is one of us."

"Yeah, Clary, and what if he ain't? What if he does run off and bring his thirty men back?"

"So the answer is to kill him to prevent a crime he may never even attempt?" Dale questions. "If we do this, we're saying there's no hope. Rule of law is dead. There is no civilization."

"Oh my God," Shane sighs.

"Could you drive him further out?" Hershel inquires. "Leave him like you planned?"

"You barely came back this time," Lori argues as soon as the offer is on the table. "There are walkers. You could break down. You could get lost."

"Or get ambushed," Daryl says. Well, aren't these glass-half-full kind of people.

"They're right," Glenn agrees. "We should not put our own people at risk."

"If you go through with it," Patricia inquires, "how would you do it?"

"She's got a point," I say. "Painless or painful? Bullet or hanging? Would he suffer?"

"I thought about that," Rick answers. "Shooting may be more humane."

"And what about the body?" T-Dog inquires. "Do we bury him?"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. Hold on," Dale interrupts. Gotta admit, I'm surprised he stayed quiet this long with the new discussion. "Hold on. You're talking about this like it's already decided."

"You've been talkin' all day," Daryl says. "Goin' 'round in circles. You just wanna go around in circles again."

"This is a young man's life!" Dale exclaims. "And it is worth more than a five-minute conversation! Is this what it's come to? We kill someone because we can't decide what else to do with him? You saved him and now look at us. He's been tortured. He's gonna be executed. How are we any better than those people that we're so afraid of?"

There's silence following Dale's speech. "We all know what needs to be done," Shane finally says.

"No, Dale is right," Rick says. "We can't leave any stone unturned here. We have a responsibility—"

"So what's the other solution?" Andrea interrupts.

"Let Rick finish," Lori says.

"We haven't come up with a single viable option yet," Andrea continues, as if never interrupted. "I wish we could."

"So let's work on it!" Dale exclaims.

"We are," Rick barks.

"Stop it," Carol says, effectively quieting the group. "Just stop it. I'm sick of everyone arguing and fighting. I didn't ask for this. You can't ask us to decide something like this. Please decide. Either of you, both of you—but leave me out."

"Not speaking out or killing him yourself—there's no difference," Dale says.

"All right, that's enough," Rick says. "Anybody that wants the floor before we make a final decision has the chance."

Everyone is silent for a long moment. "You once said that we don't kill the living," Dale says.

"Well, that was before the living tried to kill us."

"But don't you see? If we do this, the people that we were, the world that we knew, is dead. This new world is ugly. It's harsh. It's survival of the fittest. And that's a world that I don't want to live in and I don't believe that any of you do. I can't. Please. Let's just do what's right. Isn't there anybody else who's gonna stand with me?"

Silence. That's the only answer Dale gets until Andrea speaks. "He's right. We should try to find another way."

Shane looks at her as if he can't believe what he's hearing. Rick looks around at the group. "Anybody else?"

Silence is the response. Rick faces Dale, waiting. "Are y'all gonna watch, too?" Dale says, his eyes gleaming with unshed tears. "No, you'll go hide your heads in your tents and try to forget that we're slaughtering a human being." Dale shakes his head, blinking back tears. "I won't be a part of it." He starts to walk out the door, than stops at Daryl and I. "This group is broken," he says, placing a hand on Daryl's shoulder before leaving.

Shane starts to walk out of the farmhouse, but stops when he gets to me. "You have a way with words, too," he says, then leans down and lowers his voice so only I can hear. I flinch as I feel his hot breath on my cheek as he whispers, "Watch your mouth, and watch your back."

I turn and stare after him as he walks out, his threat ringing in my ears. Watch your back. Shane will more that likely try to kill me. Again. And I'm afraid that, if I'm not careful, he will succeed.

That night, I walk with Daryl, Rick, and Shane as they lead Randall to the large barn that held walkers; the barn where his execution will take place. Despite Randall telling us to hold on and stop, we take him into the barn. "Put him there," Rick says, gesturing to the middle of the barn as he puts the lantern down in one stable.

Daryl hands him over to Shane, who takes Randall by the arm as he ties a blindfold over the teenager's eyes. "It's all gonna be over soon," Shane says to him.

"What's gonna be over soon?" Randall asks, clearly confused and not understanding what's about to take place. He tries to squirm away from Shane, who says, "Relax. It'll be over soon."

It's then that Randall must realize what's going on, because he starts panicking and begging for us not to, and Shane shushes him. The former officer steps back, and we stand in a triangle shape, me beside Daryl. "Would you like to stand or kneel?" Rick inquires.

Randall just continues to beg and starts to sob, so Daryl pushes him to his knees. "Do you have any final words?" Rick asks solemnly.

"No," Randall says, sobbing. "Please, no. Please don't."

Rick raises his Colt Python to Randall's forehead, cocking it. He hesitates, his finger hovering about the trigger, and that's when a familiar voice rings out. "Do it, Dad. Do it."

I turn and see Carl standing in the doorway of the barn. Rick lowers his gun, and Shane walks past me, towards Carl. "Take him away," Rick says, gesturing to Randall. "Take him away."

"Get up," Daryl growls, pulling Randall to his feet. Shane storms out of the barn, obviously pissed that things are going down like this instead of the way he wanted it to. Daryl pulls Randall out of the barn, and Carl exits after Rick tells him to. "I'll go up with him," I tell Rick after Carl leaves the barn. "I need to talk to Glenn, anyway."

The second part is partially a lie, because I do need to talk to someone, but not Glenn. I need to talk to Carl; I'm still slightly confused as to why Carl stood up to Shane. No one, except for Hershel, Daryl, Dale, or I, has the courage to do that. Rick nods once, and I leave the barn, starting after Carl. "Go away," he says, without looking at me, when I catch up.

"Hold up," I say, and Carl stops, turning to look at me.

"Oh, Clary. Did my dad send you?"

I'm quiet for a moment, trying to figure out what I should say. Carl speaks first. "He did, didn't he?"

Surprising both Carl and myself, I lean forward, kissing Carl on the cheek. "Thank you," I say when I pull back. "For everything. Carl, nobody has ever done that for me before."

"Done what?" Carl asks after a moment, but his voice comes out in a whisper. He clears his throat. "Done what for you?"

"Stood up for me. No one except for Daryl and—" I cut myself off before I can say Sam's name. "Daryl and Merle. And that night when the walkers invaded the camp—Carl, you saved me." I pause a second. "Jesus, that sounded like Superman and Lois Lane."

"I didn't save you, Clary. That was Daryl. I'm not Clark Kent, but you are Lois Lane. Or Mary Jane Watson. I'm not Peter Parker. My point is, I didn't save you that night, Dixon. Daryl killed that walker, not me. I was just trying to pull you away, and doing a poor job at it."

I shake my head. "Carl, stop. That walker would've bitten me if you weren't pulling. Daryl may have killed that walker, but you saved me. I'd be dead if it weren't for you. And then today, you stood up to Shane. No one has ever done that for me. No one's ever stood up to Shane or anyone else. So you stop saying that you didn't save me, because you are Clark Kent." I pull him into a hug, once again surprising both of us before he puts his arms around me. I have to stand on my tiptoes to rest my chin on his shoulder. "You're my Clark Kent," I whisper into his ear.

I pull back from him, and walk off, going back to the camp I share with Daryl. I see him going to the shed with Randall, and I get a small fire started. I'm tending to it, making it bigger, when suddenly, screams fill the air. I stand, looking around, using the glowing light from my fire to see. I see Daryl sprinting to the source of the sound, lantern in one hand. I take off running, the crossbow thumping my back and the moonlight lighting my way. I arrive in time to see Daryl tackle a walker off of someone, then stab it in the head before it can react. He leans over the other person. "Help! Over here!" Daryl yells.

I run up beside him, and see that it's Dale. He lays on his back, his stomach ripped open. His once white tank top is now soaked in blood, his guts laying on the ground beside him. Daryl kneels beside him. "Hang in there, buddy."

"Help, somebody!" I yell.

"Who is it?" Andrea yells as the group runs over.

Shane and Rick stop running when they get to us, seeing that it's Dale. "Oh my God. Oh God," Rick says, kneeling next to Dale. He puts his hands on the side of the other man's face, making Dale look at him. "All right, just listen to my voice. Just listen to me, all right? Just listen to me." Rick looks up, then barks, "Get Hershel!"

Dale moans in agony. There's only one person that I can think of right now, and it's the last person I'd like to think of. I hug my leather jacket tighter, shaking. "Dad," I whisper, my voice barely audible.

Daryl and I's dad, Will Dixon, died this way. Walkers ripped open his guts, and the only thing we could do was put him out of his misery. It's the only thing we can do with Dale. I cover my mouth with one hand, still shaking. Andrea kneels next to Dale, who pants and moans in agony. "Hang on," she tells him. "Hang on, Dale."

Glenn and Lori arrive, looking shocked. "Hershel! We need Hershel!" Rick yells, then looks back at the dying Dale. "Dale, we're gonna help. We're here."

"What happened?" Hershel asks, running up with Maggie on his heels.

"What can we do?" Rick asks as Glenn says, "Dale, it's gonna be okay."

"Can we move him?" Rick asks.

"He won't make the trip," Hershel informs our leader.

"Then you have to do the operation here. Glenn, get back up to the house."

"Rick!" Hershel says, standing with him. He shakes his head, silently saying there's nothing that can be done.

"Isn't there anything we can do?" Rick asks, helpless.

"Rick, he's too busted up. Nothing we can do now except ease his suffering," I say after a moment, quoting my Uncle Jess. Daryl glances at me, remembering that it's the same thing that Jess said before Dad died. Andrea sobs as Dale moans, and Carl appears beside me, looking at the walker. He turns to me, putting his arms around me. It surprises me that Carl comes to me instead of Lori. I put my arms around him, and he buries his face in the crook of my neck, his back to Dale. "Don't watch," I tell him, remembering Lori's words.

I watch solemnly over Carl's shoulder as Rick draws his gun. Rick points the barrel at Dale's forehead, and the old man stares up at it. With his dark eyes, he begs, for Rick to pull the trigger or not, I'm unsure. Shane, Andrea, and Hershel turn away, unable to watch, as Lori stares in shock. Rick hesitates, unable to do it, and I see Daryl take the Colt Python from him. He gets to his knees so the barrel is less than an inch away from Dale's forehead. Daryl cocks the gun, glancing up at me. He shakes his head slightly, silently telling me not to watch. I close my eyes and bury my face in the crook of Carl's neck. My brother says, "Sorry, brother."

And he pulls the trigger.