A/N I hope you guys enjoyed last nights episode as much as I did. Thank you Mr. Gimple for our yummy shirtless sheriff!

And many thanks to my lovely reviewers! Please keep it coming. Now for another tiny taste of shirtless Rick... Enjoy!

Chapter Twenty-nine

The sand is soft and cool beneath Rick's feet, sifting between his toes and kicking up against his faded blue jeans as he walks. The strong summer wind blows warm against his bare chest and furls the white cotton of Erin's sundress where her thighs rest comfortably on his hips. Adjusting his arms, he shifts her weight higher and feels the supple fullness of her breasts pressing harder against his back as she tightens her grip, clinging to his shoulders like a spider monkey.

He carries her toward the ocean, where the sun sits in a band of orange that stretches across the horizon, rising into a hopeful sky with its blending shades of blue. He smiles at the beauty before him where a breadth of gold highlights a path from the sun to the sand, glimmering upon the water like a beacon encouraging him forward.

The beauty on his back squeezes his chest as her laughter, true and treasured and tauntingly sweet, chimes in his ear before her teeth nip playfully at his lobe.

Twenty feet from the Atlantic waves that are rushing to meet the shores of Savannah's Tybee Island, the sand shifts and shimmers below him as the echo of the rolling ocean fades away with a suddenly swift receding tide.

Rick opens his eyes, puzzled for a moment to find Erin curled up in front of him on an air mattress instead of clinging to his back on a beach. In the hazy space between clarity and confusion, he lowers his eyelids again, trying to regain the texture of the sand in his toes and the wind in his hair. Erin stirs in front of him, pulling on the arm draped over her waist until his forearm is held captive against her chest. A soft sound, something caught between a laugh and a sigh, rumbles from her throat as she sleeps.

Closer to wakefulness now than the rusty realm of the dream, he floats all the way to the surface and inhales the lovely scent that is her; pure woman with a trace of wild flowers warming in sunshine. With the touch of her hand curled over his and the perfectly shaped ass sitting snugly against his morning stiffy, he recalls the dream and relaxes into the sheer sense of peacefulness that envelops him.

When a deep familiar voice seeps through the thin tent walls, the moment of serenity is splintered as a volley of murmured questions and answers and more questions drifts across the camp. Rick lifts his head from the pillow, an automatic reaction to get up and help his friends.

And then he remembers that they are not going with him.

A bitter bead of frustration sours his mood and he lowers his head again. If he went out there now, he may stir up stubborn tempers and bring words back into play that would most definitely be better left unsaid. They'd ended on good terms last night, and for that he will be forever grateful.

With a heavy heart he takes a deep breath, drinking in the intoxicating tonic that is Erin. She is more potent than anything he'd ever used to escape his troubled teenage years. He flexes the arm that she holds pressed against her body and moves his knees until they are tucked into the backs of hers. Though he needs to relieve himself, he doesn't move for some time. Lying still, he focuses on the sound of her even breathing and the tickle of her dark ginger waves brushing against his jaw.

When he finally hears the tires of Carol's minivan driving over the gravel path, his belly churns as the sound fades, until he is left with nothing but the light chatter of the birds as they begin to stir in the treetops. Still he doesn't rise. He recalls the promise that Shane had made that he would look for them in Savannah if it didn't work out at Fort Benning. But Rick knows in his gut that they won't find each other again. He just prays that Shane stays safe, wherever he may land.

He thinks of everything that they had gone through together – first as kids and then as partners in law enforcement. Years of teamwork, trouble and tremendous fun; the good, the bad and the sometimes ugly.

Eventually, the old memories blend into current situations as the discomfort in his groin reminds him that his bladder is on the verge of bursting. He presses his lips to the column of Erin's neck and slowly slips his arm out from her gentle grip. "Love you," he whispers to the mass of tangled curls streaming down her nape.

The morning had broken with a pale circle of sun rising into a clear blue sky. Rick stands on the trail near the quarry's edge with a cup of steaming black coffee in his hand. Gazing out at the eastern skies, that earlier sense of tranquility washes over him again and he knows that going to the small city is the right thing to do.

He'd been confident enough with his decision over the past two days, but now, standing here and looking out toward the sky that shines upon Savannah, he can practically taste the salty ocean air on his tongue like a sweet victory. They haven't even left the quarry yet, but still he feels triumphant.

Standing tall in his full King County Sherriff's uniform, he feels ready to take on the world. Which, he realizes, is exactly what he will be doing with the infestation of the walking dead.

They may go through hell to get to the coast, but he knows they will get there eventually. This morning's lovely dream helps to fuel that conviction. Someday I will carry her on that beach. He hadn't been that sure of anything since waking from the coma.

He'd always been fairly confident in his decisions, relying on his instincts and trusting his gut. But for the past month he'd found himself second-guessing some choices, not as sure of himself as he used to be. The foundations of his decisions don't feel quite so solid when the lives of his loved ones are at stake.

Dale had given him little encouragement the other night. His pearl of wisdom had been to 'Surround yourself with good people and follow your instincts. But guide it with the knowledge gained from all the lessons you've learned that got you this far. Trust your gut, Rick,' he'd told him in that slow, smoothly perceptive way that he had, 'but allow your wits to lead you.'

Well that sounds very nice and flows real pretty, but Dale couldn't know that most of the lessons he'd learned were from the consequences brought forth for stubbornly listening to said gut. The thought had not been very comforting at all.

But today was different. He'd felt it as soon as he'd risen from the embers of sleep and inhaled the delicious elixir of Erin's sweet scent. And he continues to feel it as he focuses on a single wisp of a cloud in the vibrant blue sky, drifting off in the distance beyond Atlanta.

In his lighthearted state, the fluffy streak of white gives him hope, as if it had been put up there solely for him; his very own North Star to lead his people.

He'd never been a real religious man, other than casually believing in a higher power that goes by the name of 'God', to be called upon when things aren't going your way, and then disregarded when he leaves you to fix your own problems in His silence.

Rick hasn't seen the inside of a church since the last Christmas Eve service he'd attended as a married man over three years ago. Though he'd said the Lord's name countless times throughout those years – especially in more recent moments of fear or passion or anger, he has never been one for prayers of the bended-knee-hands-clapped-together kind. But today, looking up at the crystalline heavens with such a quiet calmness in his bones, he feels like maybe God isn't holding that against him.

Perhaps the little white cloud will lead them all the way to the shoreline. And, God-willing, it won't thicken into an ominous thunderstorm before they get there.

"That's all we're gonna get in the camper now."

Rick shoves two more sleeping bags into the cargo box on top of Morgan's blue and silver Honda Element, and then turns at the sound of Glenn's voice behind him.

"There's just enough room for Michonne to lay in the back and for Dale to sleep in the overhead bunk," Glenn says, swatting a fly away from his perspiring forehead.

"Alright, I don't think we have much left anyway," Rick replies. "We can throw the rest of the chairs in the back of the pickup with Merle's bike and the fishing gear will go in the jeep with you and T-Dog."

"Got it."

As Glenn walks away to retrieve the well-worn tackle box, Rick closes the hatch on the aerodynamic cargo carrier. Turning to help the others fold up the remaining chairs around the cold fire pit, he spots Carl standing near the back of the sleeper van, rooted to the spot with his eyes on the narrow road leading out of the quarry.

With Darth Vader staring out from the book bag strapped to his back, he gives the illusion of a kid waiting for a school bus. But as Rick approaches his son, he sees a fearful expression on the boy's face that he'd never learned in a classroom. It's not a terrified look of immediate danger, thank God, but a certain anxiety for an unknown future. The tension in his stubby brows highlights the distress in his young eyes and Rick's heart breaks for his child. He realizes just how frightening this trip must be for Carl, who has never left the quarry since being whisked away from a dying society. He'd been insulated up here, protected, cocooned. He'd gotten glimpses of the new world with the couple of walkers that made it up the hill to the camp, but conjuring a much grander scale with the imagination of young boy, Rick can imagine all the ghastly horrors that Carl's mind has created, all the monstrosities he believes are waiting for him at the bottom of the hill. Christ. "Hey, bud," he says softly, crouching in front of his son and pushing the brim of his hat up to meet the boy's eyes, a darker version of his own in this precious face.

"What's going to happen to us, Dad?" Carl says sadly.

"Well, we are going to hop in this car and drive out of here, and we're gonna keep on driving until we reach Savannah," he says gently, trying to keep his tone light and his point simple. With the miserable face staring back at him with a look that is begging for reassurances, Rick adds, "It's alright, Carl. We're gonna be okay, buddy."

Carl blinks quickly as if trying to deter the tears that are glistening at the back of his eyes. "I'm scared."

Rick pulls the boy into his arms. "I promise I'll keep you safe, Carl. Always," he vows, squeezing his son tightly before pulling back to hold him at arm's length. "I'll never let anything happen to you. Okay?"

Carl nods his head in agreement but a single tear slips from the corner of his eye, crushing Rick's heart. It kills him that his son will never have the freedom of a normal childhood, where the toughest hardship would be deciding whether to stay at first base or daring to stretch a single into a double. He's trying to be so strong, so mature, but the tears expose his fears and Rick has to look away to hide the fright in his own eyes. Ah hell.

He takes a deep breath and pastes a small smile on his lips before looking back at Carl. "Hey, did I ever tell you that this hat has special powers?" Dropping his chin, he removes the hat that he'd worn so proudly for over a decade. Carl shakes his head, sniffling loudly. "Well it does," he says as he unscrews the dusty gold star from the front panel. "This hat was made with an extra dose of bravery sewn inside the fabric."

Carl looks at him with a familiar tilt to his chin. His eyes soften with wry humor as his mouth curves into a true smirk. "Come on, Dad. Get real."

"Seriously. So much bravery seeped into my head that there isn't room for any more to fit. I think maybe it's time to pass it down," Rick says solemnly as he gently places the hat on top of Carl's small head. The boy lifts his chin to follow his eyes upward and the hat immediately dips down to his nose. Rick pushes it back, setting it right again, for now anyway. "We'll add some padding later to make it fit better. Okay?" he asks sincerely, the one word encompassing much more than the fit of the hat.

Carl nods his head with a proud smile that quickly gives way to a slight pout as his eyes glimmer with a tinge of misery. "Dad?"

"Yeah?" Rick replies hesitantly, knowing that something else is bothering his son.

"Why can't we just stay here?"

"It's not safe here, Carl."

"But what if Mom comes here and she can't find us?"

My God, where did that come from? "Oh, buddy. I don't think she's…," he pauses, trying to say the words gently. "I know you want to believe she's alive, son," he says as softly as possible. "But you have to accept that we aren't going to see her again."

Carl's eyes well up and spill over, crushing Rick under the staggering weight of every teardrop. "I didn't think I'd ever see you again and you came back."

Oh God. He swallows hard, drowning in his son's pain. "Oh, Carl," he says softly, shaking his head slightly. "That was a miracle that I ended up here." That was all Erin and the force of her love for me. "When the virus broke, it happened so fast that people got pulled under it before they knew what hit them. That's what happened to Mom," he tries to explain ever so gently. "You've got to let her go, son."

His little boy's face crumbles and Rick pulls him into a tight embrace. "I'm sorry, buddy. So damned sorry."

Crying hard against his shoulder, Carl lifts his head with a loud hiccup. "Maybe she just got lost on her way home from work."

Rick's eyes sting for the heartache he is causing his child. He knows that the only thing that would've kept Lori from getting home that night was the virus. On the verge of telling Carl just that, he holds his tongue and takes a different route. "I don't know, Carl. But maybe," he says, trying to convey a sense of hope, no matter how thin the thread. Because he doesn't have the heart to make his son suffer through the devastation of losing his mother again, he says, "Maybe she's still driving around looking for you. But there is no way we can call and talk to her, so you can't expect that we'll ever see her again."

Carl straightens up with a stiff sniffle and a small grin. "I know. But maybe we'll run into her on the way to Savannah."

Rick gives him a tight smile. "Maybe," he says, keeping his true thoughts to himself as he picks up the hat that had fallen to the ground in Carl's despair. Rising to his feet, he dusts it off and places it back on his son's head. "Now take care of that hat for me, okay?"

"Sure, Dad." With a proud smile and pure hope in his eyes, Carl jumps into the van with Sophia.

Before climbing into the vehicle himself, Rick looks up to the heavens with a bead of woeful guilt in his gut. I'm sorry for lying to him, Lori. Please watch over him.

Rick glances in the rearview mirror at his son, or what he can see of his son anyway, hunched in the middle row of seats next to Sophia. The large brown King's County sheriff's hat, sans gold star, hides all of his hair and most of his face.

He prays that he can keep his promise to keep Carl safe. Like he'd told Erin last night, he doesn't know if they will all make it to the coast, but he will stay alive to keep his family alive. No matter what.

He'd seen the concern on her face this morning too as they were loading the cars. She'd held her fear in check but she couldn't hide the crystallized anxiety in the green depths of her eyes. Now, riding shotgun next to him, she seems to have settled into a quiet tolerance; not exactly thrilled to be out on the road but accepting it nonetheless.

The interior of the van is as silent as every stoic tree they pass. The level of anxiety has diminished more and more with every mile marker, but there is still a slight current of apprehension swirling on the breeze blowing in through the partially opened windows.

With the passengers relaxed into their own quiet thoughts, the ride has felt almost leisurely. Just a lazy Sunday joyride, except for the brief conversation they'd had after seeing a sign for Atlanta's Center for Disease Control - and deciding that although it would be a good place to search for answers and assistance, it was situated too dangerously close to the city to be worth the effort.

Leading the caravan for twenty-four miles so far, Rick checks the side mirror to see Dale steering the camper behind him, followed by T-Dog's black Jeep, Morgan's Element and then Daryl's pickup truck sweeping the rear with Nikki riding in the narrow back seat.

He turns his attention back to the quiet two-lane road rushing up at him through the windshield of the van. Approaching a sharp bend, he presses lightly on the brake to ease through the turn where the shell of an ancient barn sits, stubbornly forcing the pavement to veer left. As he turns the steering wheel to follow the winding lane, movement at the very edge of his peripheral view pulls his focus to the parking lot of a fairly modern looking church that seems to challenge the old barn across the street. Squinting into the sun, he sees the blurry form of a walker hunched over his breakfast.

"Sophia, look at that hawk up there," Carol says from her seat next to Kelly in the third row, farthest back.

"There he is, Carl. See him up there above the barn?" Erin adds, pointing a finger toward the top of her window.

Rick gives her a quick grateful look, knowing that she is following Carol's lead in an attempt to avert the kids' attention from the walker on their left.

Carl leans forward in his seat to get a better view through the opposite window. "It looks like a buzzard," he says innocently, showing off his skills as an avid birdwatcher.

Rick smiles, knowing his mom would be very proud of her grandson after all the time she'd spent with him on nature hikes. Please be safe, he thinks for the hundredth time since waking up in a world without telephone lines.

He presses harder on the gas as the road stretches forward into a long straightaway, passing a smattering of small businesses. A comfortable silence fills the car as Kelly yawns, setting off a chain reaction. Rick feels the pull in his jaw but contains it until Erin pointedly looks at him with her mouth wide open and a teasing gleam in her eyes, knowing he'll be helpless to fight it. Releasing a great big yawn, he chuckles as she gives him a victorious smirk.

As the road gives way to another sharp turn, twisting back to the right to continue travelling south toward Griffin, he swings the van around a burned out gas station and slams his foot on the brake, propelling his passengers forward in a sea of muttered curses.

"Oh my God," Rick breathes, his heart in his throat as the screech of the tires draws the attention of the walker in front of him, staggering around the upside-down crushed bumper of the Peletier's minivan as the steel of its axle collects the heat of the rising sun.