They use the church as a base for two days. Both days, they check the farm and the highway jam to no success. Shane is getting worried and frustrated. Where the hell are the others?
Deciding to load everything up to start a search since there's been no signs of Randall's people, he urges the kids to rest up. His paranoia has him maintain a night watch even now. The kids don't seem to mind, sitting their four hour shifts with better attitudes than most adults.
It's the watch that saves their lives.
"Shane!" He's shaken awake hard enough by Carl that he bangs his head. "Cars came to town, but they're setting things on fire down where the shops are."
It isn't midnight yet. Shane comes alert and wakes the girls. "Get to the truck!"
They have their boots on and the puppies in the backpacks in record time. He already half loaded the truck before bed, so at least there's food, water, and supplies already in the Ranger. He and Carl still slide two more boxes of canned goods into the truck bed before they get inside.
Gunshots and raucous laughter ring out in the night air. Even if it isn't the group they're avoiding, there's nothing good about what is obviously drunken behavior. Shane is glad of the noise, as it covers the sound of him starting the Ranger. Leaving the headlights off, he's glad of having just enough moonlight to see dim roads.
Unsure of any direction being safe, he heads south out of town, the one area he hasn't explored. Beth perches where she can look out the back window. She's pale and shaking. "Half the town is on fire, Shane!"
Jesus Christ. With no human intervention, the fire could spread insanely far. "Carl. Grab the map and tell me where this highway connects to anything going east."
Carl has the map open and a flashlight turned on. "Where are we going?"
"Home." King County is not so far away that he can't manage trips to search the area around Senoia, but he knows the lay of the land there. It will be easier to keep the kids safe there, and if the fire follows, there's rivers and lakes to protect them.
"How far away is that?" Beth asks. She wriggles back down in the seat, hugging the backpack of puppies Sophia passes up to her from where she's crouched in the floorboard.
"About forty miles," Carl answers easily. At everyone's questioning looks, he shrugs. "I asked Mom one day, just how far from home we were, if Fort Benning didn't work out. I didn't see why we couldn't go home."
It makes Shane wonder if the others might seek out King County, too. Surely, Lori might remember the conversation with her son? If not, like Carl said, it's only about forty miles. Even as messed up as some of the roads are, they can make search trips.
"Will we go to your place?" Carl asks after giving him the connecting highway.
"You don't want to go to your house?" Sophia queries. She has her two puppies loose, each cuddled close to her chest.
"It's not really safe there. Or it wasn't when we left."
Shane remembers having to put down multiple neighbors on his way to the Grimes house. One reason he hates the idea of going back is that he will recognize so many of the walkers. Even though none are his family, he can't imagine the horror of slogging through people he knew from work and daily life.
"You must be used to roughing it, buddy," Shane replies. There's an increasing glow in the mirrors as he makes the eastern turn.
The fire is spreading.
"Why roughing it at your house?" Beth wants to know. The way she's huddled down, flicking glances toward the side mirror, he knows she sees it, too.
Shane increases speed, far enough out to risk the headlights, and prays for no unexpected obstacles.
"Shane is renovating his house," Carl explains. "Like one of those shows on TV."
It's a slow process with his work schedule, but Shane's normally content with the old place. After camping for months, he doesn't think the kids will object much. He doesn't elaborate, concentrating on the road.
They lose sight of any fire before they reach the spot to cross under the interstate. Shane prays it burns out before it gets this far. It might be uncharitable of him, but he hopes the idiot arsonists fell victim to their own work.
It's still dark when he pulls into his driveway. Not far over the county line, the place isn't any more secure than Hershel's place. The main protection is that it's remote, because fixing up the ramshackle fence wasn't a first priority before the dead walked. Shane checks the house to find nothing disturbed from how he left it, so he lights an oil lamp and goes back outside.
"Carl, show the girls inside. Get some sleep on the pullout bed." Shane isn't going to be able to sleep, so the four hours he got before Carl woke him will just have to do.
"Can the puppies go inside?" Beth asks, reminding him the little fluffballs have accidents.
"Floors are all hardwood or tile. See if they'll use the bathroom before you go inside."
Walking the perimeter of the vine covered livestock wire fence, Shane keeps an eye on the kids as they let the puppies roll around on the grass in the dim moonlight. Despite the rude awakening and fleeing the fire, all three seem in good spirits. While the lack of success in finding the others is wearing on him, the kids adapt better, probably because they have each other for support. Shane thinks he might give his left arm for another adult to help keep them safe.
After the kids disappear inside, he climbs to the top of what was once a detached garage of sorts, wanting higher ground to keep an eye out whether the fire followed them this far. Part of him considered pushing onward as far as Lake Jackson, to use the big reservoir lake as a firebreak. The other doubts the fire will burn this far.
Around Senoia, everything was dry since there hadn't been much rain. But King County doesn't need rainfall as much to not be parched, thanks to numerous creeks, rivers, and other bodies of water. Place is damn near swampy still. None of the trees around his place have that droopy look of not enough moisture that the ones around Hershel's place were getting.
Come daylight, he heads inside, spying the sprawl of teenagers on the pullout sofa bed, cuddled together despite the heat. He wonders if he really should be letting Carl sleep with the girls, but the teenager is a hell of a lot more polite than he was at that age. Besides, if the boy gets handsy with either girl, Shane is pretty sure they'll hand him his skinny little ass easily.
Avoiding the fridge, since he probably left enough things in there to make it a bad idea, he sets water to boil on the stove. Best thing about living in the boonies is everything being propane, not natural gas. Digging out a small colander, he perches it on the carafe from the coffee pot and lines it with a triple layer of filters to make it take longer for hot water to seep through.
"Are we going to go check on the fire?" Beth asks from behind him. She's perched on one of the stools at the breakfast bar, the only seating in the kitchen. He never bothered with a table or dining chairs. The tricolor puppy she calls Max is cuddled in her arms.
It makes him look around, finding two of the pups sniffing around the living room area. The last is trying to attack Shane's bootlaces. He scoops him up, eying the little brown pup. "Those aren't food."
"You should give him a name," Beth says, giggling. "He's yours, after all."
"Gonna call him Not My Dog, then," he tells her. "Because the pups all belong to y'all." It's been a running theme with the kids that since there are four of them and four dogs, the little brown ball of fluff is Shane's. Somehow, the dog is part of the conspiracy, always seeking him out.
"You know if you don't name him, Sophia will."
The other girl's puppy is the only female, a cream colored fluffball she calls Cupcake. At least Beth's Max and Carl's merle colored Wolverine don't have terribly cutesy names. "I'll take my chances." Putting the pup down to check the boiling water, he nudges it with the toe of his boot. "Go play with your siblings, Not My Dog."
Once he pours the water over coffee grounds, he starts more water boiling, this time for grits. Then he answers Beth's question. "Yeah. We'll go look today. Need to know what we're dealing with."
After the other kids join them sleepily rubbing their eyes, Shane gets them fed and sends everyone in turns for a real bath instead of sink bathing. He wonders about taking a day off searching after checking the fire, because the kids need clothes they haven't been wearing for days. Shedding his own clothing really reminds him of that, because he does get to put on something clean and feels guilty for it.
Back in familiar territory helps a little in another way. Before they set out, he snags the hidden key to the house just down the road and finds the keys to the sturdy nineties model Jeep Cherokee the elderly man drove. Arthur was an early victim of the virus, transported by ambulance to the hospital, so he won't miss the Cherokee.
Shane eyes the kids as they retrace their midnight route. The girls are in the backseat, puppies sprawled between them, letting Carl ride shotgun. "Today we're just checking how far the fire went. We need to take the day to get some supplies, and at least here, there's a town a little bigger than Senoia."
The closest town to Shane's place isn't the county seat that Rick lives in, but a place barely able to keep itself incorporated as a town with a last census population of 203. They rely on the county for both fire and police protection, mainly providing water and trash service for residents. With his place outside their town limits, Shane is nevertheless familiar because of his job.
It won't have much in the way of obvious resources, not like the county seat and its population of five thousand or so. But it also means the odds of unfriendlies wandering by are better than staying at Rick's place. Even his sad excuse for a fence is better than nothing at all.
"But we'll keep looking, right?" Beth asks.
Of all the kids, she worries the most about finding her family. He suspects Carl's worries are offset by being with him, and Sophia? That girl learned long ago not to fret over things she can't control. Shane recognizes a kindred soul there from the way he was at her age.
"Yeah, we won't stop looking. But your families will be mighty pissed off at me if I return you dirty and underfed."
Content with that answer, Beth falls quiet until they reach the Coweta County line and see the desolate landscape left behind by the fire. As far as Shane can see, there's nothing but burned remains of trees and occasional buildings. The fire swept south the worst, making him glad he turned east with the kids when he did. A small creek worked as a makeshift firebreak in their direction.
"Holy shit," Carl mutters. "How far do you think it burned?"
Shane can't remember enough of the geography to be sure. "Probably until it hit water somewhere, or a wide enough road to keep it from crossing."
Glancing at Beth, he tries to reassure her, because she's crying and hugging that puppy to her chest. This is the area she grew up in. Maybe she even knows someone who lived in one of the few houses they can see. "We'll circle around it, but not today, sweetheart. Can't risk the Jeep's tires yet with the heat and debris."
He can still see embers in some places and prays for a summer thunderstorm to finally appear. Wherever the rest of their people are, Shane hopes the fire didn't catch them without warning. If he hadn't been so paranoid about keeping watch, Christ Almighty, he can't think about it.
Beth wipes at her eyes and nods. "Gotta stay safe."
Turning the Jeep around, Shane hates seeing her already trying to teach herself not to cry. Damn world is making kids grow up too fast. Knowing that fires happened even before the dead walked doesn't help the ache he feels for these teenagers. It never would happen like this before, not in the settled parts of Georgia. Every fire department in every neighboring county would have helped.
When they reach King County again, Carl sighs. "Think that consignment shop downtown is okay, Shane?"
The kids lose themselves in planning a raid on Carl's former hometown while Shane drives, glad once again that teens are so damned resilient.
Glenn doesn't think that Dale drove all the damned way back to the old quarry on purpose, not really. The terror of being woken with fire bearing down on them scattered everyone's thinking. He knows he followed the RV mindlessly as he drove Maggie's car. No one even realized they were missing people until they pulled over when Dale finally stopped.
Maggie is shivering despite the muggy morning air that promises no respite from the early August heat. Wrapping his arms around her, he gives her what comfort he can, studying the others huddled around the fire T-Dog started to make some sort of breakfast for them.
Of the group that left their last little safe haven, six are missing. He's not sure Maggie can cope with her father, Patricia, and Jimmy not being here. Otis looks so small in his worried state, despite his large frame. He isn't the only man minus his spouse, although Otis has the poor consolation of his son being considered missing, not dead. Atop the RV, Rick keeps watch, but Glenn thinks it's more because he can cry in private up there.
Andrea and Dale move to help T-Dog, the only ones not needing comfort this morning. If they couldn't find Shane and Beth in the small area they were likely to be in, Glenn has no idea how they find anyone now. It's a fucking needle in a haystack, and everyone knows it.
The grief settling over the small camp is so thick he can almost taste it. Shuddering at the thought, Glenn just holds Maggie close, giving her what comfort he can.
"You need to drink something, Carol."
Hershel's already been worried about Carol, long before the chaos of escaping the wildfire separated them from the rest of the group. Considering he had to literally carry her to the Suburban, it's alarming that her grief is turning her passively suicidal.
They're far northwest of his home now. Afraid of how far the fire would spread without human intervention, he just drove until he hit the interstate just north of Newnan. With all that concrete between them and the fire, he locked the Suburban inside the fence surrounding an auto repair shop. Jimmy and Patricia scavenged snacks and drinks from the vending machines.
It's just the four of them here, with no idea where the others are once the flaming oak fell and cut the Suburban off from the caravan of vehicles. He prays Otis is okay, but he's glad Patricia at least has Jimmy. With all the other teens missing and then two presumed dead, the older teen is never far from Patricia's sight.
Carol doesn't respond, as mute as she's been since Daryl brought back that battered and bloody canvas shoe. Lori's grief was open and vocal, as was her devastated husband's. But Carol? She just folded up on herself and became a ghost, barely responding only if someone guided her through her bodily needs.
It seems she's reached the limit of that much cooperation. Exchanging a worried look with Patricia, he leaves Carol huddled in the passenger seat and steps away from the vehicle. "I don't want to take drastic measures, but we may need to."
Patricia eyes the catatonic woman and sighs. "I wonder if that's the kindest thing to do."
The idea of just letting Carol die makes Hershel recoil. "You didn't let me die when I wanted to, Patricia." Because he had wanted that, very badly, those first days after Jo died, when Maggie was so small. His wife's cousin bullied him into living again, reminding him of what he did have to live for.
Even as he opens the back of his SUV for supplies once meant for the animals he treated, he ignores the idea that both times grief seized him, he had someone to come back for. Hopefully Carol will forgive his need not to see another helpless woman die when he can stop it.
His Bethie is out there somewhere. He has faith in her and that deputy she's with. She takes after her mama, and Annette was an old school survivor. Maggie? Wherever his other girl is right now, Hershel is confident she's safe. Even the end of the world won't conquer Maggie.
Lori isn't entirely sure how she ended up with Daryl Dixon in the scramble to flee the wildfire, but somehow she's left clinging to the back of the gruff man as the Triumph travels at speeds probably not safe even when the world was normal. They don't stop until light dawns across the highway they're on, after hours of weaving in and out of obstacles on the various roads like it's a video game. He never responds once to any of her pleas to slow down or stop, leaving her to just cling like a baby spider monkey and pray.
Easing off the motorcycle on shaking legs, Lori stumbles to a nearby car and holds onto the trunk for support. It feels like the time they went deep sea fishing when she was a kid, how her legs didn't work right on land at first. When she looks back at Daryl, he's off the bike, too, pacing and looking panicked.
"Fuck! I'm sorry, Lori. Fuck!" More profanity follows, creative enough to make her tired mind reluctantly impressed.
"What are you sorry for?" she asks, glad the man's at least talking again. It's good to have something to focus on that isn't her dead son and dying marriage. There's no way she and Rick come back from losing Carl, even without what happened with her and Shane still unsaid between them.
Guilt and grief shoot through her at the thought. Her baby boy is dead, taken by the rotting parodies of humanity. It's just a matter of time before they all fall prey. Maybe she won't have to miss Carl long.
If she was serious with those thoughts she would have fought being hauled onto the bike, she thinks. But she thinks she could never be so far gone she would sit and let fire take her.
Daryl points at the sign in the distance as his answer.
Welcome to Florida.
Holy shit. Whatever demon rode along with them on that Triumph tonight, it sent her and Daryl hundreds of miles south. Daryl's pale and sweaty, looking off kilter still. Lori considers asking what's wrong, but thinks of the terror in his voice when he ordered her to hang on.
The hunter is petrified by fire, she realizes, and pushes away her own concerns for now. Since he can't plan, she will.
"Alright. So we find somewhere to sleep and then we find our way back. We can fix this."
Daryl expected her to be angry, probably to scream at him or cry, she thinks. So he blinks at her a few times before nodding. "You remember the last gas station we passed?"
That confirms her belief Daryl was in some sort of fugue state for the last few hours. Lori nods. "About a mile back that way."
When Daryl wheels the Triumph around and looks at her expectantly, Lori gathers her tattered courage and climbs behind him. She meant what she said. They can fix this.
A/N: In order for Shane to have time to train the kids on his own (as requested for the story), disaster had to strike somehow... The obstacles toward reuniting the four groups are not yet done.
I debated who would end up with Daryl for a while, not wanting to do the usual Caryl on the Motorcycle stuff. I considered Andrea, Maggie, and even Rick. Then I remembered his mom dying in the house fire... Lost in a PTSD episode, he saved another mother instead...
As a reminder, in this AU, Jimmy wasn't Beth's boyfriend, but Patricia and Otis's son. Lori doesn't yet know she's pregnant.
