Two weeks pass with Shane concentrating on keeping himself and the kids safe. Although the idea of giving search still makes him lose sleep at night, risking the kids is a worse idea. It's not just their physical health, either, because emotionally? None of the kids are up for the search.

Slowly but surely, they've added a sturdy fence. The kids are surprisingly good at stretching fence with him. It wouldn't stop a herd, but nothing short of the county detention center here is that capable, and he's not even considering putting the kids in there unless he has to. The jail is a failsafe, their fall back, not where they live.

Maybe the time will come where he has to make a choice like that, but for now? It's too publicly known a location for exactly the type of people he doesn't want finding him and three teenagers. So he makes sure no one can access the building or the supplies it holds, and thanks their lucky stars that the late King County Sheriff set every last living prisoner free.

After finishing his final rearrangement of the second bedroom turned supply pantry, Shane stops for a drink of water before realizing the thwacking sound from the backyard archery targets is just a single bow. Puzzled as to why only one of the Musketeers is practicing, he steps out onto the back porch.

Sophia is firing arrow after arrow, landing them across all three targets set up for the kids. He's fairly impressed at her accuracy on the angled targets. Nearby, two of the puppies lounge, and he identifies Sophia's pup Cupcake and the still unnamed Not My Dog by their light colored coats. In the three weeks they've had the pups, they've doubled in size, but they're never going to be large animals.

"Everything okay?"

Sophia twitches when he asks the question just as she reaches for another arrow. She shrugs, drawing the bow and setting the arrow dead center of the closest target. He reminds himself he needs to work on moving targets next, both with the bows and their small guns.

"Where are the other two?" he asks, thinking he hasn't really seen the three apart since the day Beth turned Annie Oakley in her father's barn.

"Down at the creek." Her voice is so soft and hesitant that he stops before he swivels his head all the way to look toward the creek, studying Sophia instead. Another thunk of an arrow hitting home, and Sophia trots off to retrieve arrows without looking at Shane.

He sighs and looks at the pups. "Any chance y'all know what is going on?"

Not My Dog yawns as he gets up and romps off toward the creek, leaving Cupcake behind. When Sophia returns to her target practice, expression still carefully neutral, he decides to follow the dog. Taking the trail takes him out of sight of the house thanks to a big cedar tree. The other two kids are nominally fishing, but as close as they're sitting, Shane can fill in the blanks of why Sophia isn't down here with them. Only the little multi colored body of Max keeps any space between them. He doesn't see Wolverine, which means the pup is probably in someone's lap.

Well, shit. That was not a complication he anticipated, and is probably one of the reasons he shouldn't be in charge of three teens. It makes him glad he set the girls up in his room, while taking the pullout bed with Carl, though. Sighing, he whistles, chuckling a little when the kids jump. Not My Dog runs back to him, yipping happily at the summons.

"Head back up to the house in an hour," he calls out, grinning as Carl nods and Beth replies with a yes sir. The steep bank on the opposite side of the creek makes them relatively safe, even though the fence isn't complete here.

Not My Dog runs full tilt ahead of him, trips, and tumbles in a blur of brown fur. He shakes himself off and sets off again, going to pounce on the napping Cupcake. A puppy battle ensues, but it distracts Sophia long enough for Shane to catch her attention.

"Why don't you tidy away the target practice, and we'll go for a driving lesson." The place is just big enough to drive up and down his driveway. And a driving lesson is definitely something that sets her apart from the other kids and this little puppy love thing they have going.

When Sophia's dour expression brightens instantly, Shane knows he's found the right distraction indeed. As she gathers her arrows, he plans on a little heart-to-heart to make sure she's just feeling left out, not part of some puppy love triangle he's definitely not qualified to tackle.


If Glenn could convince Rick and Otis there's hope in the search, this damned needle in a haystack issue would go faster. Instead, it's still just one group going out. Andrea is a welcome addition to him, Maggie, and T-Dog. But with just four of them, he isn't willing to make the group any smaller.

As T-Dog tops off their tank thanks to finding a couple of viable vehicles, Glenn studies the map spread out on the hood. They've covered everything in a northern arc from the farm. He marks off the latest farm with a sigh. "Anything else worth looking for, Maggie?"

She studies the map dispassionately. "I think Daryl and Andrea reached this next farm, but they got cut off by walkers."

That was the day they brought back the bloodied clothing, Glenn recalls. He marks the spot, almost dismissing it, but they need supplies if the building survived the fire. Due to a shift of the wind, a few of the places east of the Greene Farm aren't burned out ruins.

Andrea slides a box of canned goods from the house into the back of the SUV. "That's the last of it. How much more today?"

"One more farm, then we take tomorrow off," Glenn declares. "Who's driving?"

It doesn't surprise him when Maggie takes the driver's seat. Driving gives her something to do other than dwell on the likelihood that her father and sister are gone. The farm seems like it might be a bust, because accessing the driveway means going through fire scorched fields.

But the house is still standing, a little scorched, but the fire's shift came just in time. It's the first house with any signs of recent habitation. Glenn's studying discarded clothes in the downstairs bathroom when T-Dog yells from upstairs.

"Glenn! Maggie! You gotta see this!"

Maggie appears from the kitchen, and they pound up the stairs before it registers that T-Dog wasn't alarmed, but excited. Skidding to a halt, they see the man pointing up a set of folding attic stairs. "These were already down, and Maggie? I think they stayed here and waited out the herd."

Maggie pushes by the big man, climbing the stairs and looking around. While she's up there, Glenn holds up a t-shirt which has enough dried sweat and odor that it merits more distance than he can manage. "Does this look familiar to you two?"

Andrea reaches out to snag the hem. "That's Carl's t-shirt. I remember Lori fixing that rip in the arm to keep the sleeve on."

The absolute rush of hope that runs through all of them gets even greater when Maggie reappears, holding a couple of scattered game papers from Clue. "Read the names." She's crying and smiling at the same time.

Glenn takes them. The little fake paper detective pads clearly have all three kids names and Shane's. "Daryl only found a single shoe and pieces of Carl's overshirt."

"Up there? From the discarded food cans and packets? They were in the attic for days."

Andrea's eyes widen as she hears Maggie's words. "Damn it! We were right there at the far end of the field. The whole property was swarmed. We were so close."

Deciding to dwell on the joy, Glenn grins. "Search for every scrap of clues we can find. If we can prove to Rick that Carl was alive past that first night…"

"Then we can hope they survived the fire, too. Shane was a deputy. He would know how to find a vehicle and to get them to safety." It's the most spirit he's seen from Maggie in weeks.

Hugging her tightly, they disperse for a scavenger hunt that has nothing to do with supplies, and everything to do with evidence.


As much as Hershel dislikes the idea of splitting their already tiny group up even further, he and Jimmy go out every other day. The ladies stay in the little farm compound, as secure as he can make them short of an underground bunker. There's even a storm shelter that doubles as that, if it has to.

The farm's near the Chattahoochee, almost bordering Alabama. The odds they'll find anyone seem slim, but for Jimmy and Patricia's sake, he has to try. They cleaned out a veterinary clinic today, which is good for multiple reasons all the samples if expensive cat and dog food work great for chicken food.

Once they've unloaded the truck, Hershel goes about the latest ritual in keeping Carol anchored as her grief slowly recedes enough for her to begin to live again. Heading down to the garden, he finds the gray haired woman carefully working with the plants, a wide brimmed hat Jimmy found for her last trip obscuring most of her features. "Carol? How's the garden today?"

She smiles when she looks up, or at least as much of a smile as she manages these days. "Plenty of fresh vegetables for Patricia to cook."

There's a basket nearby with today's harvest, and Hershel admires the bounty. Carol's attention span fizzles out at times, enough so that the ladies divided chores to inside and outside. It's just safer for Patricia to do the cooking.

"How are the new plants coming along?" he asks, taking a ripe beefsteak tomato from the basket and inspecting it. When Carol planted seeds she found, after careful study of an almanac in the house, Hershel encouraged it. She needs something to look forward to.

"I'll need to thin the plants soon. We have a bounty." She reaches out after pulling off her gardening glove to run her fingertips across the seedlings. "I hope you like cabbages and carrots."

"I do like both quite well. I'm rather fond of cole slaw, actually." The fact that Carol has steadfastly avoided planting peas is something they're ignoring. Hershel ranks it up there with figuring he'll be happy to never see deviled eggs again without Annette making them for him.

Carol looks up again, just long enough for that tiny smile to appear. "I know a good recipe for that."

"We'll hope for a bumper crop then. How about you come help Jimmy with the new supplies? He's about learned your inventory system, but you know he appreciates the help."

When Carol nods and tucks her gardening gloves in a pocket of the work apron she's wearing, he offers her his arm. With her thin hand tucked through his arm, he escorts her back to the house, already planning on figuring out how to tempt her to eat more. Undoing decades of abuse combined with a mother's grief is a battle he intends to win.


Lori listens to the muffles cursing from the bathroom with a grin she doesn't bother to hide. Daryl's mobile again, and has been for a couple of days, but not enough to help her prepare for journeying back north. It means he insists on all his own self-care now, even if their improvised bathing means maneuvering around still healing wounds and that broken arm.

She slides the pan of biscuits out of the oven, glad they're his batch and not her attempt. Baked goods have never been her forte in the kitchen. The stew is ready, so she cuts the burner, glad the trailer's supply of propane has held up so far. At least she isn't cooking this pair of squirrels outdoors like early summer.

Ladling out full bowls of the hodgepodge stew of canned corn, green beans, and deboned squirrel with a healthy dose of the spices she gathered two trailers down, she sets bottles of room temperature apple juice by each of their bowls. Daryl appears, looking disgruntled at his unbuttoned shirt, and she intercepts him before he can sit and scowl through the meal because food is the one thing that can make him forget he's left skin bare for her to see that isn't his arms.

"Seriously, Daryl, that horse has left the barn, worrying about me seeing you." Lori sighs as she fastens the buttons he can't manage because of the splint and ongoing pain in his healing arm. They ran out of the pot she was using as a painkiller after a week, and sadly, no one else around had such a nice stash.

"I'm a grown man. Ought to dress myself."

She just laughs and sits to eat her food. The squirrels are stupidly easy even for her to take down, thanks to a scavenged pellet gun. They also have no real fear of her, to their detriment.

"We still leaving in the morning, right?" Daryl asks, after three bites of stew and dunking his biscuit in the bowl.

"That's the plan. Get the bike in the back of the truck, and head north until we reach wherever the fire ended." She sighs, stirring her bowl aimlessly. "Might not find them."

It's a reality she has to face, because there's no telling where the group scattered to. The selfish part of her isn't sure she cares about finding them. With Carl gone, what is there to hold her and Rick together? In fact, as more time passes, she's more and more certain she's carrying a secret that will end things for good.

"Might, might not. Won't if we don't look." Daryl chews a bite of biscuit slowly, studying her with too knowing eyes. "I'm guessing you don't want to tell Rick you're pregnant, do you?"

Lori freezes, but she doesn't know why she ever thought he would miss the signs. He's a single man, not an idiot, and she's been vomiting her guts up every afternoon like clockwork since they've been here. All the other signs are there, too. It's why she didn't just give up when the man across from her found all that remained of her son.

The idea of having a baby in the damned apocalypse is insane. The idea of not having the baby after her precious boy died? It's worse.

"The only way it would make him happy is to lie to him." She raises her head to meet Daryl's gaze evenly. "I'm tired of pretending just to make him happy."

Tucked away here, responsible for herself and Daryl and with no image of Mrs. Lori Grimes to project anymore, she came to realize just how bone deep tired of the act she is. In her guiltiest moments, she's imagined asking Daryl to not bother going north. She knows she needs Hershel, at the least, but she's free here. The only thing that would have made her actually happy these days would be Carl by her side.

"We ain't gotta hurry," he says at last. "Don't imagine they're gonna suddenly jaunt off to Virginia or something."

It's a bit shocking, because she can't imagine him not wanting to offload her quick with her added complication on board. She thinks about the fact that they're a handful of miles north of that Florida border sign. "You ever seen the ocean?"

Daryl shakes his head, looking curious.

"We should go visit. I've haven't been in a lot of years. See what survived on the beach."

Guilt flickers, and she knows it's childish and irresponsible not to look for her husband. But the world ended, and then it took away her son. Maybe it's time to live in the moment, just for a little while.

Daryl leans back in his chair and studies her, gauging her seriousness, she thinks. "A'right. Guess we'll go see us some sand, sea gulls, and whatever other shit those beaches have."

"Sea shells," she says. "Lots of sea shells." God, Carl loved finding shells. Blinking back tears, she firms the decision in her mind to go south and not north in her mind. What better place to remember her baby boy than the place they collected all those shells he had in his room back home?

Watching her with hooded, wary eyes, Daryl nods. "Tomorrow. We'll go find you some sea shells."