It's like hunting all over again, but even more boring. Carol has a terrible cramp in her left leg. She stretches it out across the stage under the altar until it's pressed against Daryl's.

He's probably uncomfortable, too, though she can't see. The lights have been turned off in the sanctuary. It's almost pitch black, and they've been waiting for what must be over an hour. But when that trap door eases open, and that Prophet crawls out and steps forward to retrieve her offering, Daryl will grab her legs and yank her to the ground, and then Carol will disarm her.

[*]

"Is it bigger than a bread box?" Khalid asks.

"Yes," Rosita answers.

"Did Ezekiel ever keep one as a pet?"

"I have no idea what pets Ezekiel may have had," Rosita says, "but if you're asking if it's a tiger, no."

"Might I have found one on a farm?"

"Yes," she says.

"A four-legged mammal that we didn't typically keep in a zoo and that I might have encountered on a farm….A pig?"

"No."

"A goat?"

Rosita shakes her head.

"A sheep?"

"No."

"A horse?"

"No."

"A cow?"

"No. And you're out of questions. I win!"

"What was it then?" he asks.

"I'm sorry," she says. "You ran out of questions. I can't reveal the animal to you. You have to solve it."

"Someone's still a bit bitter about losing in hangman, I see."

"It was a cat," Rosita says.

"I don't think of a cat as a farm animal."

"They're in the barns to kill the mice." Rosita sighs. "I miss my cat. She got eaten in about the first six minutes after it started."

"Of course you'd be a cat person."

"What's that mean?"

"Nothing," he says. "What was her name? Your cat?"

"Don't laugh."

He smiles.

"Puff-puff."

Khalid snorts.

"Screw you," she says.

"I'll tell you what. When we get out of here, I promise to find you a kitten. There must be strays about somewhere."

"Even if you do, they'll be hostile and hard to tame."

"Well," he says, smirking across the table at her. "I've had some success dealing with the hostile and hard to tame."

She rolls her eyes, but she smiles back. For a moment, she forgets they're behind an iron door with no way out. But then a new fear suddenly crashes down on her. "What if the Prophet's followers don't know we're here?"

"What if they don't?" Khalid asks.

"What if the Prophet just dies in his sleep one night? Has a heart attack or something? No one will know we're here. We'll eventually run out of food. We'll just slowly starve to death."

Khalid's face distorts as though he's swallowed something disgusting. "That's not going to happen."

"You don't know that!"

"We're going to get through this, one way or the other." He extends an arm across the table, takes her hand, and squeezes. "Rosita we're going to get through this together."

"How can you be so calm!"

"Because one of us has to be. Right now it's me. In a week or two it may be you. But one of us always has to be. Do you understand?"

Rosita nods. She comes over to him, crawls into his lap, and drapes her arms around his neck. The fear eases out of her as Khalid wraps his arms tightly around her. She holds back the tears that want to fall. And then, suddenly, she laughs.

"What's so funny?"

"That phrase," she says. "In the Hangman game." It dawns on her now what it was. "I love you."

"Why thank you," Khalid says. "I love you, too."

[*]

One thing Daryl's noticed about all the people they've been peeping on is that none of them walk around with weapons – other than knives - strapped to their belts. Not one. He hopes the same is true of the Prophet, though clearly the crazy woman owns an M60. Maybe she doesn't bring it with her to retrieve the offering, though.

Carol shifts in the darkness. He can almost hear her swallowing. She's getting impatient, he can tell. They've been here almost two hours now. Maybe they should have staked out the alcove by that iron door instead.

Finally, a creaking sound reaches Daryl's ears - the door opening in the stage. He shifts and senses Carol stretching a finger out above the trigger of her AR-15.

There's a glow of light, as if from a large flashlight or electric lantern, and then he sees black boots under the cloth.

Daryl lunges, grabs the boots by the ankles, and yanks. The body thuds against the stage, with the loud smack of a head hitting wood. The lantern flashlight clunks to the white wood and casts a bright halo on the white cloth of the altar. Carol scurries out with her rifle, and Daryl follows.

Light floats in a dusty haze in the air as Carol aims her rifle and Daryl looks down at the figure groaning on the stage.

It's a boy.

Maybe eleven or twelve years old.

[*]

Rosita grunts as she thrust herself up into her final, sweaty push-up and then collapses on the ground. "Stop looking at my ass," she tells Khalid.

"Well, I need some entertainment."

"You could be working out with me. We need to stay in shape."

"I'll work out later."

Rosita stands up, takes a towel from the book shelf, and cranes her neck to wipe off the sweat. "We haven't heard from the Prophet in hours. No response to our response to the questionnaire."

Khalid opens one of the manila folders. "Maybe it's the middle of the night," he says. "Maybe the Prophet is sleeping."

"I wish I had some idea what time it is. But I think sticking to a schedule will help. Even if we've got everything reversed, if we just get into a pattern…."

"Agreed."

She goes into the bathroom to wash up.

[*]

The boy opens his mouth to scream. Carol falls abruptly to her knees and covers his mouth with her hand while Daryl continues to look in shock at the figure he's brought to the ground.

"Give me your handkerchief," Carol demands.

Daryl keeps staring at the fallen boy.

"The one in your back pocket," Carol insists. "Daryl, give me your handkerchief."

Daryl shakes his head, reaches back, and flicks the red bandana out of his back pocket and hands it to her. While Carol gags the boy, Daryl retrieves his pack from beneath the altar and takes out ties to bind the boy's hands. Carol, who has shouldered her rifle, rolls the boy over on his stomach and pulls his arms behind his back, and Daryl binds his wrists.

The boy has left the trap door open, and Carol goes down first. Daryl lowers the squirming boy down to her as he rages against the gag and ties. Once the boy is on the ground, Carol pushes the barrel of her AR-15 against his chest and tells him not to move. The boy stills. "Get the offering," she calls up. "So they don't worry it hasn't been collected."

Daryl does, one box at a time, and then he returns for their packs. Once the trap door is closed above them, they leave the offering behind. Daryl clicks on his flashlight, and they lead the boy deeper into the tunnel until they find a light switch. Now that they've caught their prey and aren't trying to be unobtrusive anymore, Carol flicks it on. The overhead light bulbs that dangle from a cord on the roof of the tunnel flicker on and then buzz like moths around a flame.

"A small man who walks funny, huh?" Carol asks.

"Can't be," insists Daryl, looking their captive over. The boy's reddish-brown hair curls up at the back of his neck and his hazel eyes have grown distant and steely. "Kid can't be more 'n twelve. He'd of been seven when the Outbreak started."

"Are you the Prophet?" Carol asks the boy, and he looks abruptly away from her.

Daryl crouches down and lifts up one of his boots. "Tracks weren't this pattern."

"He might have changed boots."

"Weren't this size, neither. Kid's about a size smaller." Daryl stands.

"Don't scream," Carol demands as she shoulders her rifle. She removes the boy's gag. "Who are you and why were you coming for the Prophet's offering?"

The boy doesn't reply.

Carol looks the boy over. He's about the same size Carl was when Carol met him. Carol thinks back over all the conversations they've overheard today. She thinks about the boy two different couples mentioned never returning to the Temple, and about the reddish-brown-haired woman who seemed to mourn her son's loss. "Is your name Esau?"

The boy blinks in recognition, but he says nothing.

"Were you delivered to the Prophet when you were eight years old for doubting?" She shivers at the next idea - "Have you been in these tunnels for four years?"

The boy stands straighter, taller, raises his chin, juts it out, and says, "I'm no doubter. The Prophet has enlightened me. I am the Disciple."

"Hell's that mean?" Daryl asks.

"One day, the mantle of the Prophet will fall upon me, and I will be the Second Prophet. I will continue the work of the Lord Our God on the new earth, guiding and protecting His chosen people."

"Lead us to the Prophet," Carol tells the boy. "So that we, too, may be enlightened."

The boy's eyes flit to Carol's gun and Daryl's crossbow. "You're adversaries. You're not seekers. The only thing you seek is to destroy God's Holy Temple. I'll die before I reveal the Prophet to you."

"Yeah, well, that can be arranged, kid." Daryl seizes him by the back of his shirt and begins forcing him down the lit tunnel.

[*]

When Rosita comes back out of the bathroom, Khalid is reading the Revelation again. "Don't read that too much. You'll go insane."

Khalid scratches his cheek. "The writing style of the questionnaires, and the writing style of these manuscripts…they're different."

"Different how?"

"Just…there's a different cadence. Different vocabulary. I mean, it's hard to tell given how short the questionnaires were, but it's almost as if the person who wrote this manuscript and the person who wrote the questionnaire are not the same."

"Do you hear that?" Rosita is near the door, and she swears that, as thick as it is, she can hear something on the other side. She puts her ear against it.

Khalid joins her. "Scratching?"

There's a thud against the door and then more scratching.

Khalid steps back cautiously. Rosita goes to the table and seizes the scissors. She returns, positioning herself by the door. Khalid puts a finger to his lips, and both stand in complete silence.

The scratching continues for about four minutes, interspersed with the occasional thud of something hitting the door – and then stops suddenly.

Khalid and Rosita remain silent.

[*]

When they arrive at the locked iron door where the roll tracks ended, Daryl demands, "Open this door and take us to the Prophet."

"No," the boy replies. "I'll die before I betray my Master, our Guide and our Protector."

Daryl turns him around and slams his back against the wall of the tunnel.

"Daryl," Carol cautions. "He's just a boy. He's clearly been brainwashed."

"Know that, damnit," Daryl mutters as he pats the boy down. "Still got to find our people." He roughly searches the kid's pockets and yanks out a key chain with two keys on it. "Gag 'em again," he orders. "Don't want 'em warning 'er."

"I'm sorry I need to do this," Carol tells the boy before putting the gag in his mouth.

Daryl has shouldered his crossbow and is fiddling with one of the keys in the lock. It doesn't fit, so he tries the second key. It slides in perfectly, and when he turns it, a loud click sounds in the tunnel. The hinges of the door creak when he swings it open. An angry hiss comes first, like the sound of steam rising from an engine, followed by a hungry growl.

Daryl leaps back as a glassy-eyed walker lunges toward him.

[*]

"Was that a walker?" Khalid asks with a whisper. "At our door?"

"It sounded like a walker," Rosita replies. But it left when they got quiet. It probably couldn't smell them through that iron door. And since it couldn't hear them after they stopped talking, perhaps it forgot it thought there was food inside and wandered on in search of more. Or maybe it was distracted by some other sound.

"Why would there be a walker outside our door?" Khalid says. "Aren't we inside someplace?"

Rosita turns her head slowly to him. "I told you it might happen. That the Prophet might die and turn."

Khalid shakes his head. "No," he says. "No." He walks over to the bookshelf, his eyes taking in a count of the freeze-dried meals and water bottles. "No, no, no…."

[*]

Carol struggles to line up her sights on the walker as it prepares to sink its teeth into Daryl's neck. Daryl kicks the walker back. It lurches forward again, and he squats low so Carol can get a clean shot.

The trigger slides back smoothly beneath her finger. The bang echoes in the tunnel, and Carol's ears ring. Daryl covers his ears with his hands, while the bound boy screams and lowers his head as if that could help him escape the sound.

While Daryl stands from his squatting position, Carol maneuvers around him. "Stay with the boy." She steps quickly over the fallen walker and points her gun down the long, straight, lit hallway, ready for more of the creatures, but there's nothing - nothing but a straight wall to the left, and four closed, iron doors about forty feet apart on the right. At the end of the tunnel is an open doorway leading into a room.

Carol remains with her gun trained in the direction of the open door and marches straight to it. She bursts into the room, clears right and then left, and then paces ahead to another door, which she kicks open to find an empty bathroom.

The bathroom has a toilet, a sink, and a small shower. The stainless steel counterspace is littered with rolls of gauze, antibiotic, and rubbing alcohol, and there are faded blood stains on the floor, as though someone tried to clean up the bathroom but couldn't get all the blood wiped up.

In the larger room is an unmade bed, a dresser, and a chest. An alcove off the big room houses a dining table and kitchenette. Another alcove has an office with two book cases, a green metal filing cabinet, and a closed, rolltop desk. There's a closet door, too, but it's shut and locked with a combination padlock.

Satisfied that the room is cleared, Carol heads back quickly toward Daryl and the boy.

[*]

Ever since she heard what sounded like the muffled sound of a gunshot echoing from somewhere down the hallway, Rosita has been standing with her ear pressed against the iron door, trying to hear what's going on, but the door is too thick.

The door shudders suddenly, and Rosita steps back.

"Hello?" a voice cries loudly on the other side. "Rosita? Khalid? Hannah? Anyone? Are you in there?"

It's a moment before Rosita can place the voice. Khalid recognizes it first. He rushes to Rosita's side and places both palms anxiously on the door. "Carol? Is that you? It's us. We're both here. Me and Rosita both!"

"The door's locked from the outside," Carol calls back. "Daryl and I are going to get you out, okay? Just stay put. We'll find a way to get you out. It might take us a while."

"Oh thank God!" Rosita cries.

[*]

When Carol gets back to the entrance of the hallway, she finds the boy on his knees before the fallen walker, screaming hysterically against his gag. Daryl, with his crossbow loose in one hand, watches the boy warily.

The fallen walker appears to be freshly turned. Its flesh has not begun to rot, and its long, still blond hair is untangled. The eyes are glassy, and the jaw deformed, but otherwise it seems almost human. The creature wears a fuzzy, white bathrobe, and now that the robe has fallen open, Carol can see the nasty gash across the once-woman's stomach. The short, thin, but deep cut has been crudely sewn up. Most of the stitches have torn apart, and the flesh now gapes partially open, revealing black walker blood and guts. The wound probably predates the creature's transformation. In fact, complications from that wound might be what killed her.

"Size seven 'n a half," Daryl says as he kicks lightly at the walker's left foot. "Think we found the Prophet."