Returning to the prison is a heartache Beth isn't entirely prepared to endure. Rather than scout on foot, Shane drives the bus right up to it. She focuses on him instead of the destruction of her once home, watching that analytical expression of his shift as he studies it all quickly. Then he does a U-turn and drives away as the roaming walkers get too interested in the bus.
Once they've lost their unwanted company, he pulls over on a little side road and turns to face her. "Can you sketch out places I should look in there?"
"You're going into the prison?" she asks, astounded. There aren't as many walkers as she expected, probably because without people there as a lure, many started wandering off.
"It would be the best way to assess who didn't make it out."
Beth points out the flaw in his logic. "You don't know most of our people."
"Not going to ask you to walk into that place."
"Then don't ask. How are you gonna do it safely?" She's tired of people underestimating her, dammit.
Shane studies her for a long moment before motioning for her to follow him. Outside the bus, he climbs up and retrieves one of those vacuum sealed bags like her mama stored off season clothing in to keep it safe from moths. But when he releases the seal, the stench clues her in quickly.
"You want to pretend to be a walker."
"Done it a few times when I had to get into somewhere swarmed. Glenn and Rick did something similar in Atlanta."
"Then we both pretend."
What she likes is that Shane doesn't argue with her. Instead, he tells her to braid her hair up and passes her a knitted cap from his own belongings to cover it. The protective suit that once served to protect someone's clothing and skin in the workplace is too big for Beth, obviously intended for Shane's muscular form. But they get it refitted by blousing the extra leg length into her boots and affixing the rolled up arms in place with duct tape.
She thinks she might kiss him for the Vicks vapor rub he dabs under her nose, though. The menthol smell isn't pleasant, but at least it's not rotted decay.
"Old trick from my cop days. Coroner's people taught me. It's how they dealt with bodies already gone rancid."
Filing that away, Beth watches him don the second suit. Shane leaves the escape window open on the bus. It's too high for a walker to access, but still puzzles her until he explains. "Dogs can get out of it if we don't come back."
The open acknowledgement that this is a dangerous undertaking actually settles her nerves. They aren't carrying guns, just knives and a machete each on utility belts he scrounges up. Shane even has an equally stinky backpack he shows her is lined with plastic to protect scavenged contents.
"This trip ain't about shock and awe," he tells her. "Quiet and slow. Find what we need and not alert the dead we're imitating them."
Nodding, she follows him into the woods. He's not entirely done with their disguise, because before they reach the exterior fence, Shane takes down a walker and dips gloved fingers in the resulting gore. It takes an act of extreme self control for Beth to endure the goop painted onto her skin.
When she opens her eyes, stomach under control, he's watching her carefully. Her resolve must show, because he gives her an approving look before painting stripes of bloody gore on his own face. They look like a disgusting parody of the soldiers she's seen in documentaries. Him adding extra fresh layers to the stink already on the suit is nothing after it being slimed onto her skin.
As soon as they approach the gates, his pace changes and slows. Beth copies Shane's limping gait, tense that somehow their disguise will fail despite his confidence. But none of the walkers pay them any mind.
Shane sees something and silently directs her toward the gate itself, keeping his bulk between her and the damaged tank. It takes Beth a minute to register what he's probably protecting her from seeing. She tamps down any surge of grief, reminding herself her daddy's in a much better place now.
After that, she looks around carefully, taking note of the dead faces. Some she recognizes, some she doesn't. He lets her lead, bringing them into the prison itself. There are no walkers roaming the halls on the way to her old quarters. There is nothing to lure them inside anymore.
Beth still checks each cell, softly identifying each for Shane's benefit. In Rick and Carl's, he stands frozen for long enough to worry her. It reminds her that Judith isn't the only family this lonely man has left.
She motions for him to open his bag and tucks a couple of small items inside. Taking a few things those close enough to be family might want back is repeated in other cells until they reach her own.
Her hands shake as Beth takes her daddy's Bible and wraps it carefully in one of his old shirts. Shane lets her drop it in the pack and surprises her by taking one of her hands and squeezing it gently. She's struck by the out of the blue realization that he's been very careful not to touch her and files it away for later.
Instead, she adds her daddy's spare set of suspenders to the bag, along with a couple of small keepsakes of her own. Inside the battered paperback copy of To Kill a Mockingbird is a gift for Shane best shared later. Beth notices him staring at the old mail tub turned bassinet.
"She outgrew it a few months back," Beth explains softly. Now it's the baby's clothing basket. "Been sleeping with me or Carl since then."
She spies tears as he runs his fingers along the rough edges of plastic, but she doesn't comment on them. Tears aren't so far off for herself, not in this tiny cell where she lived with her daddy and the small scrap of promise for the future that Judith was for everyone. Her chest aches as if part of her is missing, and separating which grief is Daddy dying and which is Judith missing seems impossible.
"Her diaper bag and backpack carrier are both missing." Good signs, she thinks, because Sophia is a fierce kid Beth suspected had some sort of plan around her mama's recent banishment. That gives her an idea.
"We had an escape plan for all of the kids. Was something Daryl and Carol came up with, after Carol started training all the kids to defend themselves even though the council said they were too young."
Shane jars out of the semi-trance he's in and nods. "Makes sense. Always prepare for the worst, and hope for the best."
When he takes a soft doll out of its spot among Beth's bedding, she has to smile at the sight of the gore covered man delicately putting the baby's toy in his pack and closing it up. She leads the way back into the yard, finding the remote spot on the fence easily. It isn't wired shut now, but there's no need anymore.
Ducking through the fence, Beth puts her feet on the path. When she told Shane she never left the prison, it wasn't entirely true. Daryl led her out here twice, once during the day and once at night, making sure she knew the way. There are two downed walkers along the faint path, damaged at the knees and head.
"One of the kids came through," she tells him. "Daryl taught us to bring them down to our level."
Shane nods approvingly as they continue onward. "Smart idea. Even if you don't get the head, they can't chase you anymore."
Although Daryl never put it like that, it makes sense, too. Beth can imagine being in a hurry and just needing to escape instead of being thorough. "I'll remember that."
The cabin is where she remembers it, and the door is latched shut with that odd system Daryl rigged up to show it was closed by someone safe and known. Beth undoes it, but she's still careful about easing inside.
Shane follows the girl into the dim cabin, letting her lead in her familiar territory. She lights an oil lamp on the table, casting the cabin into flickering golden light. As Beth looks around carefully, he tries to deal with the emotions the trip through the prison stirred up.
The doll. Carl's comics. A battered King County uniform shirt. All of those things dig into the place inside him that he tried to seal off to protect his sanity. Knowing Lori was dead is different from seeing the lack of any sign of her, and that grief is sharper than he expected.
He's been too cowardly to ask Beth for details on Lori, revelling instead in stories of Judith and Carl. But something about today, seeing the woman erased, feels wrong. As angry and twisted as things were between them at the end, Shane can't help the absolute gut wrenching sense of guilt that his own carelessness killed Lori just as he accused Rick that the other man would cause.
Beth interrupts his dark thoughts as she makes a happy noise. She's peering into something under a trap door in the floor. "Someone accessed Daryl's root cellar."
On closer inspection, Shane can see the trap door is newer than the rest of the cabin. In the soft earth beneath the little shack, one of the large, almost industrial ice chest coolers is buried almost to its lid. Beth has the lid off, checking the food supplies.
"All the baby food is missing. Daryl made this to keep things cool so they wouldn't spoil in the heat even in the cans. We can't find safe formula anymore, since that really does expire, we think, due to the dairy. But there should be several days worth of baby food jars."
Shane remembers Grandma Jean grumbling about illiterate people confusing best by dates on store bought food with actual expiration dates. He didn't realize formula had such a short lifespan, though, since he has canned milk in his supplies that still has months left on the best by date. Formula isn't really milk in the same way, with all the additives, though. It probably messes up the longevity.
"Anything else missing?" he asks, looking around with more curiosity. If he's truthful, the idea that Daryl Dixon wouldn't trust the prison completely and would make a backup plan specifically for the kids isn't surprising. As much as he clashed with the redneck months ago, Shane can acknowledge the man comes from one of the better backgrounds for this current world.
Beth shuffles around, careful not to touch too much, but she retrieves a sturdy backpack. "My bag is still here. Carl's and Daryl's, too. But the ones for Carol, Sophia, Andre, and Judith are all gone."
"Andre?" That name is unfamiliar to Shane.
"He's Michonne's son. They came to us right after Judith was born and stayed. I looked after him because Michonne was needed on supply runs. If you come across a woman with dreads and a katana, that's her."
Shane thinks of the almost unbelievable idea that the fragile seeming, barely teenage girl he remembers Sophia being got herself and two small kids safely to this cabin and feels a surge of hope. If the children are this competent in essentially a battle zone, surely they're still out there somewhere.
"Any other safe havens?" he asks.
Beth shakes her head and douses the lamp. "Daryl was going to set up a few more, but they kept needing him for other things. He kept really quiet on worrying they were needed, because everyone wanted to think the prison was always going to be safe."
Outside the cabin, Shane watches as she reengages the door latch. "Maybe no one will come back here, but they'll know I was here when my bag is missing if they do. Daryl will remember we didn't make it to the cabin."
As they head back through the trees on a cross country hike back to the bus, Shane puzzles over that. "Why didn't you come to the cabin?"
Beth glances up at the sun and back to the cabin and the path to the prison. "We ended up on the other side, initially. And to be honest, I don't think either of us was in our right minds for a while."
It makes sense, in a way, after surviving a battle where they watched Hershel brutally murdered in front of them to start it off. Shane certainly can't criticize crisis decision making anymore. "We'll circle back to town and find a phone book. Start retracing your trail."
It's the only option now, since the scattered denizens of the prison could be anywhere. No one alerted to him and Beth entering or leaving the prison. They make it back to the bus, and Shane lets the dogs out for a potty run while he and Beth pack away the walker gear and scrub their skin the best they can with baby wipes and a wash bucket.
The girl falls quiet as she sorts through the things they took from the prison and cabin. He doesn't say anything when she packs everything but her clothes back into the backpack from the cabin, even the handmade rag doll that belongs to the baby. Beth takes everything into the bus, coming back out with lunch for them while Shane watches the dogs explore.
"Coule I ask you something that might be risky for us to do?"
Shane turns, swallowing the bite of stew he just took. "Sure." He can't imagine her asking something frivolous.
"I want to bury my daddy, if we can."
Remembering the sight of the old veterinarian he kept her from seeing, Shane can't help his instant agreement. "Could drive up again. Should be able to rig something to bring him away with us."
The hug he gets in response nearly makes him drop his bowl, and Shane isn't entirely sure of how to return a hug anymore. But he pats the girl's back, realizing belatedly that she's crying against him.
Later, it ends up easy enough. Beth drives, letting him hop off the bus with a tarp from his supplies. Gloves protect him as he eases the man's body onto the tarp, flinching at the decay evident. His body didn't turn, so it's well on the way to being reclaimed by Georgia's heat, humidity, and insects. Someone was kind enough to end the limited unlife of Hershel Greene, so Shane is spared that as he places the man's head with his body.
He's attracting attention he doesn't want, so he secures the tarp quickly and attaches it to the hooks on the back of the bus in a sad parody of the hammock that's supposed to hang from them. Once Shane clears the bus door, Beth drives away, even as he shuts the door behind him.
Beth takes them back to the town closest to the prison. There are a few walkers staggering around, but nothing Shane finds concerning. "Park up by that hardware store."
Shane actually lets Biscuit off the bus, relying on the dog's better senses as they ease inside and return with the phone book. "Drive east out of town and find a place you want for your father," he suggests. He sits with the book and map, finding the likely spots for the funeral home and country club.
Beth is a mile out of town when she pulls over at a sunny field that has a single pecan tree towering over the remains of an abandoned garden. The house is further back, but the girl just starts at that tree. He realizes the tree looks a lot like the one her mother is buried under back at that farm.
"Beth?" Shane asks when she just stares. "The farm isn't impossibly far away, you know." It's the answer to whatever is bothering her, because she bursts into tears again, and for the second time today, he's being hugged.
"You're sure? I feel like I should be looking for Maggie and the others, not taking Daddy home."
"Most we'll lose really is an afternoon. We can get there before dark and set back out before daylight."
She nods at his words and looks at the map, going back to the driver's seat. Since Beth seems to need the extra activity, he concentrates on marking places to check out that fit what descriptions she managed about her time with Daryl. If these don't pan out, they'll try the next county and hope her people aren't headed in the complete wrong direction.
Going back to the farm makes Shane's skin crawl. He can almost feel Otis's ghost lingering to remind him of his past crime. Beth doesn't argue when he insists on doing all the digging to lay Hershel next to his wife and son. Instead, she approaches the house with the same sort of apprehension he has for the cairn that memorializes Otis.
It is full dark before he is done, finishing the job by the light of a lantern. Beth helps him ease Hershel's body into the grave, still wrapped in the tarp. They both fill it in, quiet work punctuated by the sounds of nightlife on the deserted farm.
Shane leaves her to her goodbyes, retreating to confront ghosts of his own as he stands where the camp once was, looking toward the path he took away from the farm. It feels like a step toward redemption for what he did, bringing Hershel Greene home and escorting Beth wherever she needs to go. Maybe this is something Otis might find worth forgiving him for.
"Shane?"
It's Beth's concern that draws him back from dark paths he tries to keep his thoughts away from. Patting her on the shoulder, he follows her inside the bus to a late supper. Attempts to sleep don't come easy for either of them, even with the cluster of puppies cuddled to her in the bed.
Shane watches her toss and turn from his spot on the converted table-bed and finally sits up. "Night driving isn't a horrible idea tonight, I think."
The relieved smile he's given as Beth scrambles from the covers with Jelly in her arms tells him all he needs to know. Within minutes, they're on their way from the farm, letting the drive soothe the emotions that sleep refuses to take away.
The church creeps Carl out, and the priest even moreso. He finds himself too restless to sleep, even though being awake means his dad keeps looking at him like he might disappear or combust or something. What he was threatened with before Terminus was terrifying, caught in the ugly claws of the Claimers.
He honestly can't decide which was worse, though, that or being bent over the slaughter trough. His skin crawls and makes it harder to be still. Everyone is unsettled, though, even the new people who seem set on going to Washington, DC. Not that they'll listen, but the entire idea is stupid, especially since Carl's group doesn't have all their people back yet.
Sophia comes back from the bathroom, and he goes to sit with her. She's warm against his side and doesn't mind when he leans his head on her shoulder. They watch Judith sleep for a while.
"I don't want to go to DC," he tells her.
"Me either. Mama won't go. Not until she's sure Beth is lost for good."
Lost sounds so much better than dead, because lost feels like Beth might reappear one day. It doesn't hold the aching finality of Carl making sure his mama didn't turn or watching Daryl fall apart over his brother's grave. The nightmare image of grandfatherly Hershel's last moments are etched in Carl's brain forever.
Exhaustion eventually claims them both, sending youngsters down to huddle around Judith. When the nightmares do come, as they inevitably do, at least they can find each other's hands in the dark. Clasped across the baby's tiny form, it feels like to Carl they can protect her forever, somehow. Despite the creeping ugliness in the back of his mind, he holds to that idea.
Judith's baby snores next to his ear and Sophia's warm hand clasped in his own...such a simple sort of hope.