Dale community was a small place. A dozen rows of identical white washed houses boasting four bedrooms and perfectly kept gardens. Well, they were that way once. A neighbourhood built for well off citizens who wanted some peace, away from the city. Dale was one of those places the dead never got too close too. Everyone who ever lived there drove away to Atlanta after the government declared it a safe zone. Walkers didn't wander much around a place so silent and empty. When survivors stumbled across Dale, it became a safe zone for a while. A base for them to stop and breathe and plan ahead. A few months they stayed, then the dead started noticing and they abandoned Dale. Alexandria was their next stop and that's where they made the safe zone. Seeing it all now, Douglas couldn't quiet remember how they'd ever thought the community was a good idea. Running from the walkers that pursued them, close behind Rick and Michonne, a crying baby in her arms, he didn't dare glance back at the groaning undead. Running through the entrance gate, he cursed his people. Cursed them for not being here. A gunshot had summoned the walkers and he knew, in his bones, that whoever was here wasn't friendly. The whisperers most likely. Hiding here while they planned another way of attacking Alexandria. Bastards last attack didn't do much damage but he'd lost some friends in the process of keep ingot he walkers from getting past their defences. Abe, Daniel, Jack. All good men lost because of a group of thugs wearing walker skins. He could almost smell them up ahead. The air was cold but something was rotting. Not just the walkers behind them. He hadn't mentioned to Rick about the whisperers tendency to skin their kills and now he was starting to regret keeping secrets. Behind them, Tara and Noah were racing forward.

Noah struggled to keep up, thankful for Carol watching the back, shooting a few walkers who got too close. His leg ached and he was afraid it might just give up and buckle at any moment but he kept going. He wouldn't give up. He'd lost too much and seen too many fall prey to the dead. Today wasn't gonna be the day he let himself give up. Glancing ahead, he saw Rick aiming his rifle at something, shooting before ducking down, a bullet flying last him. Whatever they were running into, it couldn't be any worse than what lay behind.

...

"You got it?"

Beth waited for Morgan to answer her call, leaning over the staircase railings, knife in hand. He'd been down in the basement room a long while. They'd left the hall hours ago but finding the radio room wasn't easy. Most doors were locked, others leading onto rooms that were empty of anything helpful. They hadn't planned on staying here long but it didn't seem like they had much choice. Beth wanted to go down there with him and scout the room below but he wanted her here. She could see the front doors and keep an eye out for any unwanted intruders.

"Damn generator is dead, needs a new belt."

She sighed in relief as he emerged from the room, a torch in one hand, a broken belt in the other. Beth knew enough about generators to know they wouldn't get far without a belt. Shawn showed her how to start one up and what parts it needed to keep going. The farm used some old generators in emergencies. Storms, power cuts. A belt was simple enough to replace but finding gone was gonna be easy. Besides, this one was shorter than most. It was made for a certain type of generator.

"The shed out back, it's gotta be full of tools and spare stuff. I'll be careful."

Beth didn't wait for a reply, knife in hand as she walked toward the double doors, eyes skimming past the empty class rooms, half expecting them to be filled with the ghost children whose names she had spoken. The cold air was almost a relief as she emerged into the cold, ice crunching under her boots as she made her way to the small building she'd fallen off earlier that day. The gate was still locked, and through it she spied a few walkers aimlessly roaming about, skin almost blue from the ice settling on them. It occurred to her that maybe they might die, for good, if the ice got into them and the starvation was severe enough. A crazy, wishful thought that seemed too easy, but she didn't let herself dismiss how slow and weak they were now the summer had finally died away. Reaching the splintered wooden door of the structure clearly meant for storage, she glanced at the lock, jamming her knife between the wood and the mechanism. It broke easily. The door wasn't made for withstanding much force. Who ever broke into a storage room full of school supplies.

Wandering in, she knew her task wouldn't be easy. There were a dozen tool cabinets. A wide plywood table in the centre covered with cans of paint and old wood. The walls were adorned with spare bike wheels and sports equipment. She started at the tool cabinets, already losing some of her drive as she stared into a drawer of mismatched tools and screws. Whoever owned this place didn't do much to organise it. Not like Shawn had. Beth bit her lip. It had been a while since she though of him like that. As though he were still there, in her life, alive and safe. Her big brother. Shawn always wanted her to know about that kind of stuff. About tools and farming and how to work things out. They used to sort out her dad's tools when she was young and there wasn't much to do, or when he came back from college for summer break, they would go fishing or camping. Shawn didn't like her being helpless. He also hated all the high school stories she'd tell him. Any mention of a boy or going someplace out of Georgia would trigger his overprotective streak. It had annoyed her once but now, she appreciated what it meant, worrying about someone you loved. When Shawn was gone, Maggie stepped up and took his place, but no one could replace her brother. He was the only one who listened to her. Who really knew her. He wanted her to be strong and smart. Didn't want his baby sister to ever depend on other people, or depend on the world working perfectly. Beth wished he'd made it. A guy like Shawn would have done well living like this. He'd have the generator fixed in a heartbeat. She could sure use him now. With a sigh, she let her mind linger on his face, the last time she saw him, before he got bit. Smiling, wearing that stupid old baseball cap her mom kept trying to toss in the trash. Another ghost lingering in her conscious. Searching the tool cabinet, she could almost hear him, laughing at her when she didn't know the difference between a wrench and a spanner.

"Come on Beth, can't be a princess all your life."

There wasn't anything in the drawers that would help Morgan. She took a spanner, just in case, but without a belt they didn't have much of a chance. The back wall was lined with shelves, filled mostly with balls and sports equipment. The baseball bags were plastic and she doubted they'd be of any use. Past some old tyres, she stumbled on a box and cursed as a rain of screws fell on top of her, rattling as they struck the floor. Exasperated, she lent against the centre table, pushing away pots of paint and glue, surveying the surface. Knowing her luck, supplies for a back up generator weren't even kept here. Maybe they were sent in when needed. Maybe they'd come here for nothing.

"Have a little faith, Greene," she murmured to herself. There was no reason for her to think of him, but in her thoughts, she suddenly thought of Daryl. If he was here, he wouldn't give up so easily. He knew mechanics a lot better than she did, always tinkering with his bike back at the prison, but thinking of him, here, searching alongside her, helped. The reassurance of that thought scared her, unable to understand how remembering him always made things easier, but she wasn't willing to question herself. She had a job to do. Crawling under the table, she pulled at the crate she'd spied earlier, sifting through it carefully. It was full of bags, labelled with names she didn't recognise, till she lifted a bag labelled V-belt.

"Please, please," she whispered, tearing open the plastic, a long black belt falling out onto her lap. She almost wept with relief, rushing to the door, bursting into a run as her boots gripped the rough surface of the play ground. It was a long shot but she felt hopeful. She let herself feel hopeful. The sun was just staring to escape the clouds above and she could almost feel it's burning into her. Fiery and warm like those days gone by.

Colliding with the front doors, she ran down the hallway, avoiding the degree as she reached Morgan, beaming at him. His eyes widened as he saw her, standing from his place on the stairs, a half open tin in his hands. Heaving, she handed him the belt, taking a few more deeper breaths before she spoke.

"It's... It's a v-belt...is that...ok?"

He looked grim, studying it, taking the spanner she handed him with a shrug, "only one way to find out."

...

When they reached the gate, Tara helped Carol close it behind them, swearing as the priest and Douglas ran to cover, her fingers almost bitten by the first walker to strike the gate, teeth cracking against the metal bars. Noah tried to find some way of barricading the gate but it was hopeless. More gun fire began to go off and Noah took hold of Tara, forcing her to duck down, bullets hitting the walkers who were closest to the gate. Tara groaned, seeing a fresh wave of walkers closing in, wishing she'd taken a gun from a Rick.

Rick couldn't focus on the gate. One of the gun men emerged from behind a fence, aiming, just missing him. He ran toward him, striking him down with the butt of his rifle, shooting him in the skull. The man looked like a walker, wearing a second skin, his face smeared with black blood. Running back, he took hold of Carl's arm, warning him to stay close to Michonne who was holding a gun while trying to calm Judith. They headed toward the nearest house. Rick reloaded his rifle, watching them get in. Then his attention drew back to Daryl. He'd disappeared with Tyrese and Sasha but the shot they'd heard might have taken one of them out, or at least injured them. Leaving Glenn and Abraham to cover him, he darted toward the garden of the closest house, a rain of gunfire splintering the wood of the gate as he flew over it, falling to the grass , startled when strong arms pulled him to cover. It was Daryl, his arm bleeding, though his expression was stony and focused. Rick knew the bullet hadn't hit deep.

"Bastards got us outnumbered. Load of 'em in the house..."

Rick cut him off, "we got a hoard coming through. Something drove em toward us."

Daryl groaned inwardly, trying to catch site of the gate, startled when he saw Noah and Tara failing to hold it back. Luckily, Abraham and Rosita joined them, but it would hold. Risk was, anyone who went running to the gate would be taken out by the bastards across the road. Swiftly, he climbed up the decking and onto the low roof of the house, not waiting to hear what anybody thought of the situation, running up the slanted tiling, gripping the gutter of the top roof. From here, he was still covered. More shots were fired, a scream from far off telling him someone on his side had taken out one of them. Holding his breath, he pulled himself up, using the drain as a footing, peering over the top, high enough to see what was going on. The house across the way had two shooters in the tops windows. The sick bastards wearing walker skins were by the car, reloading. Semi automatic guns. He wasn't sure they could match that kind of fire power. Aiming his gun, he focused on the shooter in the window, lining up the shot, firing. The guy fell back, shot to the head. Daryl almost let himself feel relieved but when another gun man came to the window, he realised they weren't dealing with a small group. House must be full of them.

"Burn it down."

The wind was blowing wildly and he knew somehow it was carrying her voice back from the past. Her voice. Beth. Smartest idea he could come up with. A fire would distract them. Give them time to get their people into the house and out of the walkers way. He called down to Rick, almost slipping from the roof as he saw he was already behind him.

"We get that car of theirs lit..."

Rick nodded, wiping blood from his lip. Glenn was close behind, breathing hard, gun swung over his shoulder, "we got everyone inside...they... They got Eugene."

A moment wasn't spared to mourn the loss. Daryl couldn't remember the guy much and Rick was already absorbed in how close the walker heard was. Someone had jammed the gate shut with an iron rod but it wouldn't hold. They had to be quick. They had a few minutes before the house would become surrounded by the dead and those wearing their skins.

"Rick! Catch!"

Abraham's voice rang out. Spinning round, almost loosing his footing, Rick the bag, opening it to find a single grenade. Abraham smiled as he reloaded his gun, "I gotta find Rosita, use them well."

Something in his voice was final. As though he were giving them some wise words before he left them for good. Rick noticed and wanted to call him back but Abraham was gone and the deafening roar of gunfire left him with no choice but to move ahead with the plan. Counting the grenades, he glanced at Daryl.

"We got three, think you can get them on target from here."

Daryl nodded. He'd taken a tank out at the prison. This wasn't much difference. As long as they didn't spot him. Rick and Glenn left, joining Tyrese and Sasha, firing at the walkers. A loud crash from below told Daryl some of the thugs had gotten in, but he willed himself to keep focused. Michonne and Carol could handle it. At least till he got this done. His breath slowed, peering over the roof, studying the house. Some of them were by the car, pulling out more guns. Pulling the pin from the grenade, he held it back, tossing it over. If he were a man of god, he'd have thanked the heavens, but Daryl knew it was dumb luck that the grenade hit the pavement and rolled under the car. He ducked down. Three. Two. One.

The explosion left him deaf for a moment, wincing as the sound resonated through his skull. The heat warmed the air, the fire setting the world alight for a second. He saw pieces of wood and degree fly over the roof.

"Hell Yeah!" Glenn yelled and Daryl knew without looking over that they had evened the odds. When he saw what was left of the house, his eyes widened. The damn thing was collapsing, wood splinters everywhere. The car must have been loaded with more than just guns. He didn't have long to linger on the fiery ashes before him, the sound of metal giving way behind him urged him back, the walker hoard double the size it had been. Gun fire. Cries. Groans. A woman's scream. Daryl knew the sounds too well and leapt from the roof, knowing too well they wouldn't all make it out of this.

...

Morgan couldn't bring himself to look at her. An hour had passed and still he couldn't let himself look up and face her disappointment. Beth hadn't said much, but he knew she was taking this worse than he had. Moment he put the damn belt in, one thing rattled and it had blown in his face, steaming and hissing. Days like this he wished he'd paid more attention to his dad. Man owned a used car establishment and yet Morgan knew little about engines. He could just about change a flat tyre. When it had died, he'd kicked it hard and cursed, using a few words he'd never repeated since high school. Truth was, the situation was getting to him. Being in a school full of dead children, praying they wouldn't be found by the people Beth had seen patrolling the roads, every day getting further away from finding Rick. It wasn't like before, when he'd had markers, or painted words on wooden boards. The trail had ended and they were at risk of never making it. It was getting colder by the day, food was running low, and he wasn't sure he could stay sane sleeping with the smell of decaying flesh invading the air he breathed. He raised his eyes, catching sight of her frown, gut clenching as he saw how she was resting her chin on her knees, staring into the weak fire he'd been forced to light. the spare wood in the hallways had come in handy, but he didn't want too much light to show. Just in case the car came by again. God he missed having a car. Missed that security, that safety. Having that last resort if things got too bad. Drive away and move on.

"Some days, I just don't know what to think."

Morgan was inadvertently speaking his mind, eyes tracing the outline of the mound of bodies behind her. The fire was burning bright enough for him to see some of the names. Not that he needed to be reminded of them. They were carved into his memory. When Beth looked up at him, he realised he'd spoken the words aloud instead of thinking them. He was about to explain but she already understood their meaning, her small shoulders dropping slightly as she let out a shuddering breath. Beth didn't need to see the bodies, she felt them, weighing down on her heart. Her voice was steady, almost calm, "Best not to think. Just keep goin' and take what comes."

He nodded. Of course she was right but it didn't make things any easier. She hadn't let much show since the generator blew, but he could read the disappointment in her pale face. The loss of hope. It tore him apart and he loathed himself for ever failing her. He looked at the bodies again, wondering how he'd ever had the stomach to do what he'd down. To end them... He shivered. Without needing to look over at him, she spoke again, voice lower, all too aware of Morgan's stare.

"Its how the world is now. We did what we had to do... I was always too scared to do what needed to be done... I was so lost, when the prison fell and daddy died... Just a stupid kid who didn't know her place. I used to wonder, how the hell did I make it when stronger people didn't... For a while, I just lost myself."

He sighed, tearing open a packet of jerky, wishing the dog was here to distract her, make her laugh, "so did I... When my boy died. I know how that feels...How'd you find your way back?"

Beth raised her eyes to his, fire reflecting in her irises, her soul burning before him, her scars a deep red, "Day I had my first drink, it was also the day I finally understood just how bad a world it was... And how, no matter how dark it is out there, good people still survive. You had to be strong but you didn't have to be a monster... I wouldn't have know that without Daryl. He was everything I wanted to be and yet deep down... Deep down we were the same. Lost kids with no families, no future... Alone. He showed me how to be strong, that it didn't matter about who you were before. If I didn't let my last define me, I could be strong.. And in a way, I think I am."

There was something in her words. In the way she mentioned Daryl. In the way she declared her strength. Somehow, she felt as though something had changed, deep within her. The remnants of her doubts and weaknesses burnt away by the fire before her. Morgan saw it. Saw her breathe in and banish her doubts. As silence fell, she wiped her eyes, remembering something Andrea told her, "The pain doesn't go away. You just make room for it."

Morgan suddenly didn't feel defeated. Hell, he'd let life screw him over too many times. He'd be damned if her let her suffer the way he had. Her words rallied his spirits. He sprung to his feet, spanner in hand, suddenly angry with his own willingness to give up so easy.

"I'm gonna have another go at the generator. You start on the food. I promised I'd get you home Beth, and I mean to keep that promise."

...

Carol heard the explosion, heard the front windows shatter, felt the heat surge through the house, but she didn't move from where she stood, by the door, gun raised, ready. Much one had helped her barricade the entrance with a heavy oak shelving unit but if the dead were coming, it wouldn't be enough. She saw how many there were. Judith cried and Carl tried to calm her down, sitting with Michonne, the gun in his hand gripped securely. Carol worried about everyone else. Glenn shouted for them to deal themselves in, staying in the kitchen, avoiding the front of the house where they'd be easy target for the gun men across the road. Somehow, carol doubted there'd be any of them left after the explosion but the groans of the dead soon kept her focused.

Maggie lingered in the hall, still pale and confused, but she was searching for a safer place. Carol heard her mumbling Glenn's name continuously. A week ago she might have found such behaviour frustrating, but since the hospital, since she was back amongst friends, she understood what it meant to care. In her mind, she cared too much. Tyrese. Rick. Daryl. They were all out there, along with the others. She hadn't seen Tyrese when she got in. That scared her but she remained in control. That wasn't who she was. Scared, emotional, anxious. Carol had a duty and shed be damned if she let Judith or Carl fall prey to the dead. Not again.

The door pounded, the groans of the dead warning her of who was knocking, the gunfire outside forcing her to duck down. She heard a scream, followed by a pained cry from... Glenn?! Carol turned, catching Maggie, holding her back as she tried to run to the door.

"We got people to protect!"

Maggie heard her and let out a strangled sob before she nodded, struggling less, pointing a shaking hand at the hall.

"the...the stairs. It's clear."

Michonne took the children with her to safety, while Maggie and Carol covered the door, pushing the shelf as the door began to open. Straining, Carol tried to see through the small gap in the door, eyes wide as she saw a walker reaching in, it's skull caught between the door and the frame, black blood spluttering from its mouth. They pushed harder, Maggie's eyes closed as she have all her strength, the crack of the walkers head urging her to keep going.

"Rosita!"

Abrahams horrified cry made Carol flinch. More gunfire followed. She prayed Tyrese was safe. Glancing at Maggie, she rested a hand on the girls heaving shoulders, forcing a reassuring smile. Suddenly, the door ceased to move and they stopped pushing, the commotion outside seeming to have ceased. Hurrying to the kitchen, Carol peered out the window, pushing away the wooden boards that had been hiding it away. Outside, she saw Rick and Daryl hunched over, breathing hard, Sasha nearby wiping blood from her lip. Alarmed, Carol hurried to the door, clawing back the shelf, rushing outside. She was about to ask what happend when she saw the bodies on the ground. Walkers surrounded them, their bodies curled into each other. Abraham and Rosita. To her shock, Rosita was still breathing, her bare arm bloody, a deep bite visable. The girl shook as she lay a hand on the face of her dead lover, years swimming in her eyes, her voice wavering as she spoke to Glenn who was crouched by them.

"All he wanted was to make a difference... And he did. Don't... Don't let him be forgotten."

Glenn winced, nodding, pressing a gun in her outstretched hand. She smiled at him, eyes closed as she held it to her temple, sobbing as she pulled the trigger. Daryl watched, wincing in pain as he looked away, unable to see them lying there, together, gone. Abraham had run out to his girl, saw her bit, gunning down most of the hoard, taking a stray bullet to the head for her.

Carol raised a hand to her mouth, trying to tear her eyes away from them.

Rick darted inside to find his children, the rest grieving their loss and recovering from the shock of the past hour. Abraham wasn't their only hero. Beside Rosita lay Tara, her head on Noah's lap, eyes wide open, empty, his fingers shaking as he closed her eyelids, resting a hand on her forehead. He had been sure he was dead when a man with a gun aimed for him, Tara rushing in front of him, a bullet splintering through her head. Rick had taken the guy down but Noah was left cradling his saviour. He had caused two girls to die for him, both refusing to let him die, and all he could do was watch them fall. Glenn was close by, wiping his eyes, mourning the loss of his friends, vision blurred as he looked to the house, catching sight of Maggie running to him, arms wrapped tightly around him as she shook.

"I'm sorry... I'm sorry... I love you..."

Her words eased him back from grief, his arms still tightly wound around her as they both looked down on their fallen friends. The father emerged from his place by the porch, bible clutched to his chest, offering to say some words but he soon say in silence as Daryl glared at him.

"Where's Tyrese?" Carol's voice was edged with panic, but Sasha smiled weakly at her, pointing over to the gate where Eugene was with her brother and Douglas, barricading the way. Carol ran over, embracing Tyrese, his arms tightly woven round her, asking about Judith. As they all regrouped, Daryl stared at the fire across the road, watching it burn, shivering as the wind blew hard. A single snowflake fell before his eyes, closely followed by another. He stopped, watching them fall. Had been a while since he'd seen snow.

"The convoy! It's here!"

He turned, seeing Douglas throw open the gates, two large jeeps driving by. Relief was what he should have felt, but somehow, Daryl wasn't so keen to trust anyone. There were good people out there, must be, but he'd not met many lately. The doors opened, a man and woman hurrying over, carrying first aid kits. Daryl pulled his shirt so it covered the bullet graze. He wasn't one for letting himself appear weak. Not to strangers. Rick emerged from the house with Judith held close to his chest, her eyes red from crying, followed by Carl and Michonne. They went ahead to talk with the new comers, as did most of the others, while he lingered back with Glenn and Maggie, staring at the dead. Felt wrong watching them, seeing Abraham and Rosita curled up together. Whatever Daryl had failed to learn about him, he respected him. Laying down his life to save a dead girl. Dying for her even when she was bit. Maybe he'd done it on purpose. Maybe life's not worth living if you lose the person you love.

Daryl shook his head, walking away, standing at the gate, snow kissing his hands as he leaned against the wall. He studied the road, saw how desolate it was. He'd spent his life on the move, never settling, always leaving for someplace else. Not just because of Merle. He had that kind of soul that never settled. Never had a reason to.

His train of thought was shattered by a white object racing towards him, moving fast on four legs. His mouth dropped open, unable to believe what he was seeing. It wasn't till the dog was putting his paws up on Daryl's chest and howling that he believed he was seeing the one eyed creature. The jeeps started up and a Rick called out to him but Daryl was preoccupied, crouching down, scratching the dogs head, smiling to himself.

"You are a tough lil' bastard."

...

Beth jumped as a mouse darted by her foot. Morgan smirked. For a girl who could knife a dozen walkers without breaking a sweat, she sure as hell didn't like little critters. He'd said as much when he he brought her down here to help him with the generator. Moment she saw the mice darting about in her torchlight, her back had tensed and he'd laughed. Luckily, having her focus the light on the generator kept her from jumping about. Beth was more comfortable down here with him, helping. The room was dark, the generator tucked in the corner, hooked up to a wall of radios and wierd screens. She'd never been a big AV fan in school but Morgan was sure he'd have some idea of how to use it.

"In my day, I'd record song from the radio, make my sister mix tapes," he explained, words muffled by the spanner in his mouth as he tightened the bolt on the fan. She smiled. Resisting the impulse to make a caveman joke. She'd always wished she could have been born in an older age. Back when songs were on records and music was a way of life. Maggie used to call her a damn hippie when she told her that. Maggie was always teasing. Always making jokes and keeping Beth smiling. She missed her. Morgan took the torch, leaving her without much to do. Remembering her abandoned meal, she darted out of the roof, reviewing the tin from her bag, scooping a final spoonful of cold beans. Beth dropped her can by the door, a few beans lingering in the bottom, knowing too well the mice here would be starved for food.

"Well I'll be damned," Morgan murdered, pulling out a long rod of metal from somewhere in the mechanical matrix of the generator, turning the switch, the belt turning. The machine spluttered into life and Beth threw her arms around Morgans neck, pressing a kiss to his cheek, relief flooding through them both.

"You did it!"

Stunned by his own mechanical prowess, he hurried to the wall of radios, turning up the volume, the sound of static almost too reassuring. Tuning it, he began searching for a signal, looking at Beth with urgency, "see of there's any recording equipment over there."

She did as she was told, searching the boxes behind them. The room was narrow and the boxes were stacked on top of each other but she pulled them out and sifted through cables and tapes. The static continued, and for those few minutes, Beth felt breathless, nervous, unable to speak in case they missed a signal. Then, as Morgan turned the dial to its furthest point, voices could be heard. Interrupted and feint but voices nonetheless.

"On our way... Got group... Dale Community... Grimes... Whisperers attacked... Dead..."

The transition ended and Beth but her lip, trying to contain the flood of emotions rising within her. Morgan's hand was frozen, unable to leave the dial. He saw Beth, crouched on the ground, still as stone, tense. He wanted to reassure her her but what could he say? They had a destination. Dale community. Who was reporting in what happens there was a mystery but what other leads did they have. Where else could they go?

Beth swallowed the fear, replaying the message in her mind. They couldn't be dead. Not all of them. She wouldn't believe it. Half of the signal had been lost and the words between those they'd heard could make its meaning a lot less dire. No, she wasn't about to let herself give in to blind panic. Rick Grimes might be alive still, and the group could be aswell. Daryl couldn't be dead. She meant it when she said he'd be the last man standing. Turning around, she stood before Morgan, expression fiery and firm, "we gotta go to Dale. They aren't dead. I know it."

He didn't want to feed her baseless belief but deep down, he didn't believe it either. Stupid and illogical as it was, he didn't believe Rick Grimes was gone. He nodded, swallowing the words he'd intended to say, words of comfort for her loss. Instead, he pulled the map from his pocket, finding Dale, her light focused on the small marker.

"We cross the bridge, find a car... Shouldn't take us more than a few days if we beat the snow."

Beth nodded, turning away, pulling the arrow from her belt, walking over to where she'd left the empty can, thrusting the spear inside of it. A short squeak followed the sharp jab. Glancing up at Morgan, she smiled, "I hate mice but I hear they taste better than snake."

...

Snow. Not too deep that it would cause them an issue when they found a car but it was colder than he ever remembered. Morgan's teeth chattered audibly as he took his first step out the door, wincing his trousers failed to provide any obstacle for the frigid bite of the snow. They'd spent so long indoors, so absorbed in their preparations to find Rick, that any thought of mother natures fury had been forgotten. He was glad to have warm meat in his stomach. The mouse had been small but paired with their last tin of corn, it was almost enjoyable, save for the few pieces of matted hair he'd fished from his teeth. Beth apologised, explaining skinning wasn't something she was well trained with, but he silenced her. The girl had a big heart but the meal she prepared him was a miracle, especially when they had a long walk ahead in the bitter chill of winter. Beth came to his side, smiling despite the blast of wind that chilled her bones.

"Looks like a Christmas card."

Her tone was childish and innocent, a rare insight into how young she was, and Morgan laughed, resting a hand on her shoulder, squeezing it.

"Bridge won't be far. Sure your ready?"

She nodded, walking into the snow, not reacting to how swiftly she felt the ice settle on her skin. Glancing over at him, she watched as he closed the doors of the school, shifting the bag on his back, mouth set in a grim expression. Without thinking, she scooped a handful of snow, compressing it into a ball, tossing it toward him. It struck him on the chest and he took a step back, blinking at her for a moment before laughing. It was a laugh shed never heard from him before. Deep and hearty. It made her giggle and he tossed a handful of snow at her, following her to the gate, the echo if their laughs lingering as they left the school grounds, walking into the road, greeted by the groan of walkers and the howl of the winter wind.