S2E3P3
"Before it happened we were standing there in the woods and this deer just crossed right in front of us. I swear it just planted itself there and looked Carl right in the eye." Rick said. He was slumped in a chair beside Carl, feeling more than a little worse for wear, and Lori sat on the floor beside Carl, holding his hand.
"And I looked at Carl looking at that deer, and that deer looking right back at Carl. And that moment just..." He sighed. "Slipped away. It slipped away. That's what he was talking about when he woke up, not about getting shot or what happened at the church. He talked about something beautiful, something living." In his head, he remembered that moment, so perfect and wonderful it was almost a fantasy. And the look on Carls' faceā¦that joy was worth living for.
"There's still a life for us, a place maybe like this." He said. Lori shook her head slowly, crying as she leaned her head on the side of the bed. "It isn't all death out there. It can't be. We just have to be strong enough after everything we've seen to still believe that."
She sobbed gently.
"Why is it better for Carl to live, even in this world? He talked about the deer, Lori. He talked about the deer."
Rick leaned back, deciding his point made, and rested his eyes for a little. Later, Hershel returned to check his blood pressure and pulse again.
"He's still losing blood faster than we can replace it. And with the swelling in his abdomen we can't wait any longer or he's just going to slip away."
Rick stood, rubbing his head and trying vehemently to believe there was a chance to save him. Lori sobbed.
"Now I need to know right now if you want me to do this, because I think your boy is out of time. You have to make a choice."
"A choice?" Lori said.
"A choice. You have to tell me what it is. You have to tell me what it is." Rick said, hoping beyond hope that she would understand what he did, what Ava did: that we had to keep fighting not to survive, but to live.
"We do it." She said, choking slightly on her words. He hugged her, relieved.
Hershel wasted no time. He and Patricia manoeuvred a large metal table into the room.
"Okay, get the corner of that bed. Let's get the sheets down. Get the I.V. bag on the sheet." He ordered, gesturing to the bag above Carl that Rick unhooked and put beside him. He then lifted Carls' head and removed the pillow beneath it.
"Okay, on three." Hershel said as they grabbed both Carl and the bed sheet. "One, two, three."
Carl was lifted and rested on the table, a metal tray for medical equipment pushed beside his legs. Patricia brought over a large floor lamp and removed the shade, turning the bright bulbs on above the sleeping boy.
"Rick, Lori, you may want to step out." Hershel said as he brought a scalpel towards Carls' stomach. Rick and Lori exchanged a glance before moving towards the door, but before they got close they were all stopped by the sound of an engine gunning down the drive.
"Oh God." Rick said, racing through the door as fast as he could.
"You stay here with him." Hershel told Patricia as he and Lori followed Rick.
The truck juddered to a stop and they all piled out to see Shane stumbling towards them, breath coming fast, with the supplies over his shoulder.
"Carl?" He said.
"There's still a chance." Rick said as Hershel dragged the supplies from Shane's back.
"Otis?" he asked.
"No." Shane murmured. There was a moment of silence in which they all looked down, but Hershel couldn't afford to wait longer.
"We say nothing to Patricia. Not till after. I need her." He said, his voice distressed. He stormed back inside.
Rick moved to Shane, he continued to stare at him in mute shock, and pulled him in for a tight hug.
"They kept blocking us at every turn. We had nothing left. We were down to 10 rounds." Shane said, swallowing, clearly distressed. "Then he said... he said he'd cover me and that I should keep going. So that's what I did. I just... I kept going. But I... I looked back and he... I tried."
Rick patted Shane on the shoulder.
"He wanted to make it right."
Shane nodded, still looking spooked as he took in Maggie behind them, crying. She turned back into the house and Glenn went after her, sitting with her as she cried.
"I've known Otis since I was a kid." She said. "He's run this farm since before my mother died."
Glenn sighed, listening to her sniffs as he stood and moved towards the fridge, which was covered in pictures of the family.
"Who else?" He asked. "Who'd you lose?"
She looked up at him, sobbing harder.
"You told me I had to make it okay somehow. That's what you've been trying to do, right? Which ones?" He gestured to the fridge. Maggie stood and pointed first to a woman.
"Stepmother."
She moved her finger to another photo, this one of a boy.
"Stepbrother."
She took a deep steadying breath. Glenn watched her, giving her this moment to grieve.
Rick and Lori sat on the porch in silence, waiting anxiously for the fate of their son. They both twisted at the sound of the door opening and Hershel stepped out, quickly followed by Glenn and the others.
"He seems to have stabilized." Hershel said, and Rick laughed in shock, hunching over himself as the relief left him weak at the knees. When he could stand up straight again, Hershel was smiling at him. Rick didn't hesitate and moved up the porch to give the man a hug. When he pulled back, Lori looked up at him with teary-eyed joy.
"I don't have words." She said.
"I don't either. Wish I did." Hershel sighed. "How do I tell Patricia about Otis?"
Behind them, Shane looked down. Rick nodded.
"You go to Carl." He said to Lori, who nodded. "I'll go with Hershel."
They both turned back into the house, while Lori returned to her son. In the kitchen, Rick and Hershel told Patricia about Otis and the woman moaned and wept as she almost fell, the two men catching her and sitting her down in a chair. Shane watched for a moment and Rick saw the pain in his eyes, but before he could decide between staying with Hershel and going to his friend, Shane walked away.
It was the sound of walkers that woke me. It seemed even weak and suffering from an infection, my survival instincts remained.
I had the presence of mind to sit up slowly, the movement indiscernible from the lapping of the stream, and stared wide-eyed at the impenetrable darkness, listening for where it had come from.
A low groan sounded again, from my right and a few metres away. I was at a disadvantage. The walkers could smell the living, so it would likely find me despite the dark. I swallowed and reached into the water, searching for a rock or a stick to use as a weapon.
My fingers closed on a rather large, long, pointed piece of rock that I pulled from the water and gripped so tightly that it could have been cutting my fingers. I was too numb to know either way.
I shifted silently closer to the slope and pressed my back against the dirt. Then I waited.
