There was a clinking of metal keys and the click of a lock. A bar of sunlight cut through the shadow, making the floating dust look like falling snow. The bodies, putrid and swollen, had been stacked in a heap and set aflame. The fresh blood had been swabbed from the floor; the dried blood had been scoured from the walls. There was a lingering stench of death. An eerie silence reigned.

Most of the mattresses were full of bullet holes and crimson stains, and thus were deemed useless. A few, however, were salvageable, and thus the group stripped them of their sheets, hauling the grimy fabrics away to be scrubbed and relieved of filth so they could later be repurposed. Beth volunteered to dress and ready a single bed, which she did so with enthusiasm, for she was always happy to contribute. Maggie packed a cardboard box full of food and other essentials. Rick toyed with a pair of shiny handcuffs, relishing the sight and feel of a familiar item; a reminder of his previous life. He adjusted their size so that they were large enough to fit well above Merle's wrists. Daryl paced by the window, his eyes glued to the yellowing pane.

"'S gonna be dark in a few hours. Ain't safe for them t' be wanderin' around at night."

"If they aren't back by sundown, they'll make camp somewhere." Remarked Glenn as he sorted through the contents of the box, scrutinizing every item Maggie had included. He wasn't happy about handing their hard-earned supplies off to Merle Dixon, and was even more displeased to find the last can of peaches tucked neatly between two tins of beans. "They've barely been gone a day. It's a little early to start worrying."

"'Scuse me if I'm givin' you an earache, but Carol an' Carl ain't safe out there alone, 'specially not after dark." Daryl snapped, feeling a burn of irritation. "Where the hell're they s'posed t' make camp? They ain't got no car; no flashlights."

"They'll find a house, or a…I don't know...something."

"This was a fuckin' bad idea…" Daryl groaned, fingers snaking through his hair as he turned his back on Glenn and wandered back to the window, pressing his hands against the glass. The sun's rays were already wavering, and the chalky gray clouds looked especially dark against the milky orange sky.

"No, it was a good idea," Glenn retorted as he fiddled with a travel-sized bottle of minty-green mouthwash. "We're running really low on formula, and if we don't get some soon…it'll suck for all of us."

Glenn had exercised caution and made sure to conclude his sentence in a whisper. Rick was already painfully aware that their formula source could possibly run dry and dreaded to think of the consequences that would follow such a scenario. Glenn knew that by mentioning this fear, he would only rub salt in already sore wounds. Daryl, however, wasn't one for masking his frustration and felt no urge to lower his voice, even if he knew damn well what he had to say wouldn't go over well with Rick.

"Yeah, an' if Carl an' Carol get killed out there, tha's three graves we're gonna hafta dig!"

Rick was promptly pulled from his train of thought. He snapped to attention so suddenly, it was as if a switch had been flipped.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. Nobody will be digging any graves, because nobody is dying." he huffed, jumping to his feet. He tossed the handcuffs and keys to Daryl, who scarcely caught the latter. "Now, go get your brother. This cell block is ready."

.:|:.

"Carol, I think my legs are numb," Carl complained, just loud enough so that he wouldn't have to repeat himself. "We've been sitting here forever. We need to just make a run for it."

Carol sighed, but nodded in agreement. They had been squatting in the high, itchy grass for hours, watching walkers stumble up and down the road. They had had their fair share of close encounters. A few times they had been hesitant to even breathe. It was blindly obvious that they had unintentionally entered a territory claimed entirely by the dead. The moaning was deafening, and the volume only increased as the light deteriorated. They found themselves facing a difficult decision.

The first option they considered was trekking back to the prison. Come morning, they could formulate a new plan of action. But even if they began their descent immediately, they were unlikely to arrive at their destination before nightfall, which meant the only remaining option was to do what Carl had suggested and make a break for it. If they took the risk and successfully were able to successfully barricade themselves inside the store, they would at least have somewhere to hole up in until dawn.

"I know. It's just…this place is crawling with walkers. The moment we step out of these bushes, it'll be run or die. And if we fire even a single shot…" she restrained a shudder. "We're screwed."

Carl nodded, understanding the danger they would soon face. His fingers uncurled from the handle of his gun and he brought his hand up to adjust the brim of his hat and brush the hair from his eyes.

"Don't worry about killing them. Don't worry about me. Just get to the store as fast as you can." Carol instructed. Her stern and somber voice was an enormous diversion from her normally cheerful tone. It almost seemed unnatural to Carl.

"One…two…" she took a deep breath, the brittle leaves beneath her crunching as she shifted her feet, legs poised to spring. "…three!"

They bolted, dashing out of the bushes and into the clearing. The pallid rays of the moon revealed an alarming sight: the entire district was utterly infested with the undead. Carol stumbled in shock. Her heart lurched. Behind her, Carl gasped, and she felt his nails digging into her arm. They were surrounded. There was no way out.