"Alright dad, we'll be back tomorrow by sundown. Don't you worry about a thing," Maggie said, grabbing Hershel's shoulder. Beth felt like she was embarking on her first spend-the-night party, escaping from the drollness of daily post-apocalyptic prison life. She marveled at her sister, so confident and unwavering, so matter-of-fact. There's too much in motion, Papa. I am departing on an escapade. You can't stop me from growing up any longer.

Hershel turned to Beth. "It's this one I'm worried about."

Beth lifted her head, "Dad, stop. I'll be fine." She turned towards Rick, who threw his coat in the backseat and slammed the door shut. Time turned into slow motion as Rick sauntered over like he was the cowboy in a Stetson commercial, the dirt in the air blurring him into a sepia fantasy. Carl obediently waddled behind with hands stuffed inside his pockets, head turned towards his shuffling feet.

"Did you bring a coat? It's getting cold at night." Beth blinked her eyes, as her sister's voice pulled her back into reality.

"Yeah," she muttered. "It's in the car already."

Rick walked up to the Greenes with Carl planting himself in Rick's shadow. Beth was no mind reader, but it looked like Rick had about five other places he wouldd rather be than leaving on this scouting trip.

"How about a weapon? Did you bring one?" Rick asked, frown on his face. Beth wished she could momentarily melt into the ground, Wicked Witch of the East style, and just disappear for a moment. Did he have to be so abrupt?

Instead, Beth lightly cleared her throat and pulled her crossbody bag around her waist to open the flap. As she pulled out a small revolver, Rick snatched it from her hand and expertly opened up the chamber to check the bullets. "It's loaded," she said, after the fact. "I also have this." And she pulled out her hunting knife.

"Look Rick," Maggie said, as she pointed to her sister. "Beth can handle a gun. We got paid to kill gophers on neighbors' farms. She's probably a better shot than Carol." Maggie moved her gaze to Hershel. "And Dad, you're messing with our daylight. We gotta move." Maggie grabbed the revolver from Rick's hand, closed the chamber and handed it back to Beth. "We're leaving in 10 minutes. Y'all better be behind us." Without looking at anyone, Maggie turned and walked towards Glenn and the Dodge truck.

Beth smiled and gently placed the gun back into her bag. Beth shrugged, and she kissed her dad on the cheek. "I'm going to the car," she whispered. Hershel nodded a small approval to Beth, and she walked away.

Rick, slightly stunned from Maggie's departure, turned his attention to his son. He pulled Carl from his hiding spot, nudging him towards Hershel. "Do what they say," Rick said.

Carl shrugged and didn't move. Rick stared at his son, waiting for a different response. Nothing came. Rick pulled Carl into a hug at his hip. Carl stood there like a lifeless doll. "Carl," Rick said, more of a question. Give me something, son.

He finally pulled away and moved towards Hershel. "Bye dad," he said.

"Don't worry, Rick. We'll take good care of him," Hershel said, resting his hand on Carl's shoulder.

Rick stared at his son for a moment, trying to translate the silence. He looked back at Hershel, into the gentle eyes, and replied, "Yeah, I'll do the same." And he walked away from his responsibility. Maybe the old man could fix what he couldn't.

Rick saw Beth leaning into the car, wiping crumbs from the front seat. And maybe he could show Beth how to handle the world they had hidden from her.

The scenery flashed past Beth like they were soaring on a magic carpet. She felt like Princess Jasmine, escaping the safety of her castle to explore the strange, colorful world of Agrabah. She loved her home, the prison, but she had forgotten how road trips could morph her day-to-day problems into pleasant certainties. She had forgotten how the drone of the engine could lull her into a wakeful sleep. She had forgotten how the wind felt when it twirled its fingers through her hair. Beth lightly hummed a song to herself. This road belonged to her.

Rick continued speeding down the country road behind Glenn and Maggie. Beth started fishing paths through the air with her hand.

The temperature felt cooler than normal. The humidity wasn't so bad right now. She knew it was September but she lost track of the days a few months ago. The women in the prison used to keep track of days, but most had stopped. With the excess physical activity and lack of food, monthly cycles no longer loomed in the back of the females' minds. Beth didn't have one all summer. Beth and Maggie's fear never coming to fruition, the tampon stock was the only thing not dwindling in the prison.

The guys seemed to only care about the seasons – rabbit season, bear season, motorcycle season. Beth smiled to herself. Every season was motorcycle season to Daryl. She had remarked to him that it was probably the 1st of September a few days ago, just to start a conversation. And he responded with a grunt. He acknowledged her existence. Progress, she guessed.

She saw outlines of walkers sauntering through the woods, their heads barely turning towards the cars before they were out of view again. The walkers' silhouettes were a continuous reminder that the car was Beth and Rick's lifeline, their spaceship on a dangerous mission to the moon. If they ran out of gas or if a timing belt broke, they could be separated from their loved ones forever, floating in the woods like a stranded astronaut in space.

Her eyes drying out, ruining the peaceful moment she was having with Nature, Beth pulled her arm back into the car. She was tired of straddling her crossbody bag and threw it into the backseat. She paused as she saw Rick's things littered there as well – his Sherpa jacket, messenger bag, a canteen. Above the seat, Beth saw a hunting knife's reflection on the back window. She twisted back around in the front seat and noticed Rick's Colt Python nudged between the seat cushion and the automatic transmission. Maybe she could tease Rick about over-packing, but that could start the trip off on a bad note. Does politeness even matter anymore? Beth remembered Sasha belching after her meal yesterday and not excusing herself. Yes, the past still matters, the way we were before. It matters.

Beth saw Rick's thumb tapping against the wheel, arm tense. She took that as a cue to stop fidgeting. She stilled herself, turning her attention back outside to the grass and the shrubs rushing past, melding into their impressionist blobs of greens and browns.

She was dying to talk to someone. However, Rick wasn't necessarily a chatty Cathy. Lori used to look at Beth through the sides of her eyes, sigh and say, "Rick didn't talk that much before the walkers came either". Beth wished she had pushed Lori to tell her more about Rick when she had the chance. But now, Lori was gone.

Beth could guess Rick always lived his life half a step away from others. He was always the last to crack a smile, and he would never join in on the prison gossip. He knew the prison could tear itself up from within. Beth had gone through enough of high school to figure this out herself. But Rick was a leader. Maybe he had to stay an arm's length away from everyone to make smart decisions, to separate head decisions from heart decisions. Beth knew she wasn't very good at head decisions. The space in her chest dictated or, at the least, compelled Beth's every choice, every thought, every action. A heaviness there would mean run away, and excited butterflies meant to rush towards.

Beth knew she was different compared to the rest of the prison. People loved her dad. Maggie fit in great. But Beth? Not so much.

Most of all, she felt like people reacted to her differently than they did Rick. When Rick spoke, people's ears perked up. Beth had to wave her arms to be noticed. When Rick put his foot down, people hushed and listened. When Beth put her foot down, she was being "difficult" or "bratty". Maybe when she came back from this adventure, people would look at her with new eyes. There goes Beth, she can handle herself outside of the fence, they'd say.

Rick was even serious in his clothing. He still tucked in his shirt, like her Papa. Beth had to guess that Rick was the last deputy donning his uniform before he finally switched out the badge and button-up for a t-shirt and jeans. At the farm, Maggie would joke with Lori and ask if Rick's "cop costume" was from Party City. Lori would stop what she was doing and playfully hit Maggie on the shoulder.

But Beth and Maggie were careful not to joke about Rick in front of Carl. They saw how he clung to Rick's hat. Beth had overheard Carl telling the other prison kids when he wore the hat, his invisibility cloak, no harm could come upon him. Even when Carl was mad at his dad for letting the Woodbury people stay at the prison, pointing his finger and arguing with Rick, Carl still wore the Sherriff's hat. Whether Carl knew it or not, Rick was his superhero, just like all fathers are supposed to be.

Beth also remembered Maggie and Lori whispering at night. She could hear Glenn's name and Maggie rambling. Lori would just listen, throwing out a soft "yes" or the occasional "I know what you mean." Through the wall, Beth heard Maggie eventually talking slower and even laughing, Lori telling her everything would be okay. Beth imagined Lori's hand resting on Maggie's back and Maggie not sure if she should pull away.

With her mind flooded with memories of Lori, Beth instinctively looked at Rick. He glanced towards her, face serious. When her eyes caught his, she turned her head back to the flickering trees.

Aside from his small headache from the alcohol session last night, Rick started feeling better. His misplaced anger from earlier fell away each mile they drove away from the prison.

"It's September," Beth said.

Rick paused, unsure where that bit of information came from, so he simply nodded. Beth nudged hair out of her face as she rolled down the window and stuck her arm outside. He saw her splay her fingers apart and close them again. Her hand swam through the rushing landscape, like an airborne fish making its evolutionary escape to the sky. After a moment, she softly hummed a tune, and Rick could barely hear it.

She was a million miles away. That's not good outside the fences, he thought. And, instantly, Rick regretted the judgment. Not because he was wrong, but because there was no room for innocence in their new world.

He still had questions himself about the whole thing. Why did the group trust him? Could he survive? Visions of Lori haunted him not even a few weeks ago. He had told Hershel about seeing his dead wife, and yet Hershel still trusted him with his daughter. Only the Governor's most recent attack had pulled Rick from the path he was heading down.

Rick had been feeling like a balloon, his string not attached to anything grounded. When he finally deflated and fell back to earth, would he land in a tree, no harm to anyone? Or would some creature confuse him for nourishment and choke on his remains? Would he still be a "good guy"? Would he even be the same person? Would a sane person need to even ask these questions?

Daryl and Michonne believed in him. Hershel believed in him. Rick had decided that would have to do. He would lean on their trust of him to better trust himself.

But still, at night, he would turn to his wife only to find she was not there.

Rick heard Beth stop humming. She suddenly pulled her arm inside the car and started looking around. Like a puppy on its first car ride, energy and nervousness emanated from the passenger seat. Rick shifted in his seat wondering if he was sitting on some girl item she was searching for – maybe chapstick or a hair clasp. After a few minutes, she finally settled down. He felt her looking at him, so he looked back. And as expected, her big, doe eyes were right there, staring at him. She said nothing and then turned her attention back out the window.

Was Beth ready for this? The last time he recalled Beth inside a moving vehicle, her family's barn was a blazing bonfire of walkers and wood. Hershel had let them in and, in return, the Greene's memories had ended up in a pile of ash.

At the prison, Rick had offered to take him back to the farm – to heal or for closure. Hershel had let Carl bleed on their sheets for God's sake. It was the least Rick could do. But Hershel never wanted to go back. "No reason to" was all he said. And Rick had left it at that.

The only light from that sorrowful night came from a burning barn. Everything else had been filled with darkness and death. Beth's boyfriend died that night. Her friend Patricia died too. Even her dad was willing to sacrifice himself to protect that farm. Home had meant everything to the Greene's, and Rick's group had blindly pulled them into a deep, black void.

This time they were going somewhere. And this time, Beth had a home to go back to.

Beth glanced at Rick, her heart thumping in her chest, not trusting her voice to come out with confidence. We have all this time, and we keep wasting it. Now is a perfect opportunity to talk to Rick, get to know him. No one was around to judge her. And she had wasted so much time thinking she would have another moment with this person or that person. Just like she wasted the time she had with her Ma.

It's just Rick. If not now, when?

"Do you remember anything about before? Like, what music did you listen to?" Beth asked, breaking the silence.

Rick shrugged.

"C'mon Rick. I know you listened to music."

He sighed. He tried not to think about before. Before the walkers. Before Judith. Rick cleared his throat. "Umm, well, I liked John Cougar Mellencamp." Rick said, enunciating all the syllables. He continued, "Springsteen. The Eagles." Rick paused and smiled, "Led Zeppelin."

"I know songs by all of those guys, except Led Zepellin. I bet I'd know one by them if I just heard a tune though. You know how you never realized your favorite song was by a band you already liked? Sing one of their good songs. I bet you I know it."

Rick laughed. "No, no. You know I don't do that."

"Well, you don't do that because you don't do that. Try."

"Oh god, Beth." He quickly turned to her, hoping a frown would deter the conversation.

He saw her facing him, excited. "Rick, I'm doing all these new things today. You have to set a good example!"

Rick blinked, not expecting the politicking from the seat next to him. He exhaled loudly. "Fine. But you're only getting a little bit."

"I'm ready!" Beth exclaimed, running her braid through her right hand.

Rick, half talking and half singing, said, "Sometimes I grow so tired … " He stopped. Beth caught her breath, not making a sound, so he would continue. Rick put his fist to his mouth, like a microphone, and exclaimed, "But I know I've got one thing I gotta do, ramble on!"

Beth covered her mouth as she tried to hide her laugh. "I don't know that one, try another one," she teased.

"It's not my fault your dad didn't teach you good music," Rick joked. "And that's all you're getting. If you tell anyone, remember, I know where you sleep." Rick dragged a line across his neck with his finger and winked at her. Beth drank him in. When he laughed, his blue eyes flickered in an ephemeral dance. When Rick Grimes was happy, the world felt so much lighter. "It's Zeppelin, by the way," he continued. "They were English. From London."

Beth nodded. She saw Rick aloof. He had his elbow sitting on the armrest and his other hand barely gripping the wheel. "Did you ever hear of Adele? I think she was from London. Or Britain, anyways."

Rick shook his head. "Well, go on," he finally said.

"I don't know if I can sing that high," she said.

Rick shook his head. "You're not getting out of this one."

"Okay," Beth said, acting like she needed convincing. She theatrically cleared her throat. "You ready?"

"Ready."

"We could've had it a-all. Rolling in the de-eep. You had my heart in-siiide of your hand. And you played it, you played it to the beat."

"No, can't say I've heard of that one."

"How about Bruno Mars?"

Rick just shook his head.

"Okay, this one was really big too. You probably know it," Beth smiled, reassuring RIck.

He waved his hand for her to continue.

"I don't know all the words but it goes something like this – I'd catch a grenade for you, throw my hand on a something for ya'," Beth giggled as she messed up the lyrics. "I'd jump on a train for you, you know I'd do anything for you. Ohhh, I'd go through all this pain, take a bullet through my brain. Yes I would die for you," Beth trailed off.

The hum of the engine and silence filled the car again. Rick shook his head. "I don't know, it sounds kind of morbid."

Beth sank in her chair a bit. This game she had devised seemed to be showing their differences more than their commonalities. Adults always paid too much attention to song lyrics.

"Yeah, I guess it does. I never noticed before." She slumped back into her seat and crossed her arms, concentrating on the scenery outside the window. The small town diners and gas stations had all but disappeared. Trees peppered the fields, which had lain open a few miles before.

"It's kind of scary, being this far," Beth whispered. Anything could happen and they would be separated from the group. Like a lost astronaut, all alone.

"Oh, we'll be fine," Rick reassured.

"Is Michonne coming back?" Beth asked, still staring out the window.

Rick paused as her name came out of left field. He dragged Michonne back into his mind, remembering her dogged determination to run from the group, to escape her isolation by running towards loneliness. He cleared his throat. "I think she will," he finally said.

"Carl was asking about her. And I wonder how she's doing out there. By herself."

"She'll come back."

"How do you know?" Beth asked, and she turned to look at Rick over her shoulder.

He looked like he was debating himself. He finally spoke, "The world's a big place. And she's looking for one man. His sins don't make him easier to find. She'll find us again before she finds him."

Rick didn't hear a response from Beth, and he continued driving.

They had been driving over 40 minutes. Due to the broken odometer, Rick guessed they were at least 30 miles away from the prison by now. They brought the nicer vehicles; he and Beth were in the Tucson, and Glenn drove the Dodge Ram. But the distance still made him uncomfortable. Thirty miles would be a two, possibly three, day walk back to the prison without the cars.

The Dodge slowed down, and Rick did too. The two-lane shrank as a canopy of trees, overgrown and unkempt, constricted the road with tangled branches and vines. The heavy arms of the changing leaves all but hid the rising sun. Rick's arms felt the tickling of cooler air. Time slowed down as the walkers, swaying with indecision, stared at the noise from their automobiles.

The walkers were at a laughable distance earlier, and Rick barely noticed their profiles. Now they were a skip and a lunge away, this one with it's missing eye and that one with it's missing cheek. Rick checked Beth's window, and it was closed. Beth had her knees tightly hugged to her chest. Attagirl. Respect your fear.

They drove in silence a few minutes longer. Beth sat in the seat, completely still. Rick had not heard a peep from her since they passed a collection of open, abandoned fields and entered this cave of foliage. Glenn sped up, and Rick followed in suit.

A few miles later, they passed a line of rickety, feeble mailboxes. A gravel driveway slid into view and traced a path towards a collection of multi-storied houses in the shadows. A spire from one of the houses peeked through the trees. Beth leaned forward, palms resting on the window. A glimpse of jig-sawed details around the trim flashed through the trees. With the sanguine paint job and large pointed windows, Rick guessed the previous owners were attempting to revive some abominable Gothic architecture, complete with ceramic gargoyles and fountains with grotesque waterspouts. As quickly as they came into view, the trees consumed the houses, which vanished behind the camouflaging branches again.

"I hope the place we're going to is nicer than these," Beth offered from the passenger seat.

"Me too," Rick said.

"At least there ain't no walkers here."

And Rick scanned the trees. There were none. "Maybe that's a good sign," he said. Rick checked again, doubting the walkers had disappeared, but he could not even spot a stray roaming through the woods.

Beth shook her head. She laughed and said, "Is that a trick comment? Like, I'm supposed to catch you when you lie?"

"I can't be optimistic?" he asked, smiling. He cocked his head towards her. "Besides, Beth, I wouldn't lie to you." Before turning back to the road, he saw Beth's chin drop as her lips turned into a secret smile she tried to hide. Rick sat back, leaning his elbow against the window and resting his head in his palm, averting his gaze. I wouldn't lie to you. The words floated in the air. In this car, on this day, they sounded so sentimental and personal. His arm relaxed on the steering wheel, but he clenched his jaw until he heard Beth sit back into her seat.

"And maybe it's a good sign that we kept on moving past those houses," Rick continued, and he glanced back at Beth. "They look decayed and molded. Everything inside would be damp. Probably useless." He nodded to himself.

Lori would have been proud the way Rick plucked that statement from the air, distracting it with additional muted drivel. She was always frustrated with Rick's lack of communication. Rick, we never talk anymore. Why won't you talk to me?

The forest's branches fell away, and the early morning sun broke through the scattered leaves. Beth rolled down her window, and Rick felt heat hit his arm again. After five minutes, Glenn tapped his brakes.

"We must be getting close," Beth said.

Glenn turned on his blinker and both vehicles turned left. Less than a mile down the road, they saw a brick sign with the following: The Gates at Avondale. They turned into the neighborhood and drove past a brick clubhouse. They followed the traffic circle and variations of the same two-story houses broke into their view. The pastel houses with swings on the porches and delicate fences mimicked some mythical town of Pleasantville, GA, pop. 3,432. The only hint of the ruin of civilization hid in the no longer manicured lawns, which now concealed toys and minor junk carelessly strewn about the yards.

Glenn pulled up to the first house, and their mini-cavalry of cars finally rested.

"How'd they even find this place?" Rick asked as he put the car in park.

Beth shrugged, "I dunno. It's so big, I wonder how anyone missed it."

Rick chuckled, his interest genuinely piqued. He ducked his head and squinted through the front window, aching for a closer look. Aside from the few stranded cars, the neighborhood looked undisturbed. Rick saw one or two broken windows but nothing else suggesting these people suffered any fear or hardship at all. No boarded up windows, no trash, no doors off hinges, no bodies, no walkers…. Nothing.

Beth, as if she heard Rick's thoughts, said, "When things started going crazy, we heard on the radio officials trying to evacuate. Maybe all these people went together."

"Doubtful," he said. "We'll find out when we see what's inside. Come on."