The night sees them huddling together for warmth. They're scared and cold enough that they don't sleep, staring into the dark with wide eyes.

Cal remains distant, her eyes shut despite the soft panic roiling in her – the treacherous thought that maybe, just maybe this is it. She hasn't a fever, but the pain pulses so unbearably along her arm, bubbling under her skin, that she can think of nothing else but a slow death and an eternal thereafter.

This is an enemy she cannot fight; an enemy she cannot escape. She can't fight like hell – not this. Never this. All she can do is sit and wait to see if the fever sets in or the chills start.

Her uncertainty is a silent hell – one that chases her through the night.


Daryl keeps watch at the archway for most of the night, his eyes dark as he considers the impenetrable shadow that surrounds them. The moon's light, despite her fullness, is muted by the thick trees growing overhead. He can hardly see a few feet in front of him, but he knows where she is; he knows where she sits stoically against the mossy rock wall, eyes shut and jaw tight with pain.

Best keep an eye on you, he'd said.

He watches her for the group, for his own conscience, and for her. On the highway her fear had been real and so opposite the defiant woman he had met in the woods. There had been no hope, but a disbelief and uncertainty of something she could not escape. Even with his reassurances, which she had only halfheartedly accepted, there had been resignation in her eyes. She had been convinced she was already dead.

Daryl would be lying to himself if he said he knew what it was like. That was the sort of rattling disbelief he could only imagine. Even when he had wandered back to the farm, half dead already, he hadn't been faced with a walker bite. He'd been too lost to delirium to fully understand his end – the only thing he had known was that it was not a certainty, but rather a potential.

He looks at Cal again, her jaw tight with her worry.

It takes him a moment to realize he's mimicking her expression, his own jaw growing tense as he grinds his teeth with concern. He scowls and looks away, shrugging a shoulder as if to shake himself of whatever that was.

When he glances back at her she is looking at him.

"Thank you," she says.

He hesitates, and then nods.

When she shuts her eyes, her expression is soft, her worry seemingly gone. It is all he needs.


The dawn is cool and grey, and their breath lingers in the air before their eyes. As Rick pushes off the ground from where he sits with his family, the others rise to join him. Their eyes, dark and hollowed, follow him as he stands at the archway and considers the outlying woods.

"Ain't nothing all night," Daryl murmurs, eyes as dark and hollow as the rest.

Rick nods, his hand resting on Daryl's shoulder a moment in silent appraisal. He turns to the group with their tired eyes and wane expressions, hands clasped tightly together or bound about themselves. The cold of the grey morning presses on them, and he can see their resentment for the chill, and for him, burning in their eyes.

"We need to move as soon as we're able. We need to find something, somewhere," he says.

"We're tired, Rick," Lori's voice is sharp.

For a long moment he considers them; their somber expression; their quaking and quivering bodies. "I know," he replies. "But we can't just sit here and hope the herd will pass us, or that Randall's people won't find us. We need to move – we need to get further away from the farm. We need to find shelter, and food."

They shrink back at that – at the intensity of his gaze and voice. Rick looks each and every one of them in the eye, and in that look they find his intensity to be unyielding. Some of them see hope, and some see a man who had murdered his best friend.

"You can be tired when we're safe."

Lori bristles in discontent, but Carl's fingers pinch at her elbow and she quiets. She glances at each of the people around her. The ones who quiver and shy are fewer than the malcontent. Carol looks to the ground as if she has been struck, and Hershel stares in resignation at some unseen ghost. The rest stare with wild eyes at Rick, their lips drawn and tight in grim expressions. Only Daryl and Cal stand off to the side, still as the wilderness around them.

"Rick-" Lori begins, but a glance from her estranged husband silences her.

"We need to go," is the only thing he offers her, the only thing he offers any of them. "Now."

They collect what little they have and move from the mossy ruin. A grey mist engulfs the world, and they stumble close together through the woods to the highway. They twitch and jump and spook at every sound, eyes wild with fear as dark silhouettes drift in and out of the fog.

As big as the highway is, it yields nothing. A few stray cars further along offer enough gas to get the SUV and one of the trucks running. Daryl begrudgingly leaves the motorcycle beside Carol's Volkswagon, a last parting glance the only goodbye he surrenders.

They pile into the vehicles. Cal finds herself between Daryl and T-Dog in the back seat of the SUV. Carl smiles tiredly at her from where he sits between his mother and father.

"Where are we going?" Lori asks through tight lips.

Rick doesn't say anything as he starts the car and pulls out from the shoulder. He doesn't say anything at all until he glances in the rear view mirror and makes sure the truck loaded up with the others is following close behind.

"We need gas, supplies, shelter," he glances at Lori for a moment and notes her frown. "It'll be like before."

"That's not reassuring, Rick," she glances down at Carl who is already asleep at her side. She runs her fingers through his hair; something to reassure her more than her sleeping child.

Rick looks away. His jaw tight as he considers the road that stretches before them. "It's not supposed to be."

Nothing is said after that – not for a long while.

They drive the back roads that run parallel to the highway. There is no certainty but to move forward away from the farm, there is nothing for them there but pain and death. Even the highway eventually falls away, and they follow the winding roads for as long as they can.

Occasionally they are forced from their seats; Cal, Daryl, and T-Dog work together to push abandoned vehicles off the road and collect what little gas they can. Sometimes they find an abandoned car, doors drawn shut and covered in dust. They pry open the doors and take what they can; a sweater, an empty bottle, a moth eaten blanket.

They never say a word.

It isn't long before they find a gas station at the side of the road tucked back into the trees. Rick stops the vehicle and stares at the row of gas pumps. A homemade sign taps against each pump – Empty.

"Shit," T-Dog breathes.

"We have enough gas to get us to the next station," Rick glances in the rearview mirror. "But we need supplies – food, water, a map."

"Gas station like this'll have some hunting and camping gear," Daryl says, biting at his thumbnail. He glances at Cal's arm and away before Rick notices his attention. "Medical supplies too."

"A few of us will go in," Rick says to Lori. "The rest of you stay in the cars, be ready to drive."

They pile out of their cars. Rick, Daryl, and Cal meet Glenn and Maggie at the nose of their car, and together they slink towards the gas station. The building seems relatively untouched from outside, the only indication of the station's abandonment are the signs draped across the gas pumps.

Glenn tries the door, wincing as it opens with a twinkle of bells. The sound leaves them all breathless, waiting with weapons poised. A low groan echoes from the dark belly of the store, and they hear the heavy, scraping footfalls of a walker as it ambles out from behind the counter. Glenn groans, but it is Cal who steps forward to slide her knife into the walker's temple.

Rick nods as Cal steps past the walker, into the belly of the dark store, Daryl close behind her with his crossbow ready. "We need to be quiet," he says to Glenn and Maggie. "We need to conserve ammo – we need to find other ways to deal with the walkers."

They nod with tight, determined jaws.

"Look what happened to the farm – one gun shot was all it took."

It isn't hard to convince them, and they draw their knives from their belts with shaky hands.

They begin sweeping the store, moving together through the dark building, inching their way further into the shadowed belly. There are a smattering of supplies; a couple of bottles of water behind the cash counter, a few cans of Spam. They gather what they can into shopping bags and camouflage backpacks, filtering through the aisles, and spilling through closed doors with knives ready. The bags begin to fill.

It isn't long before Cal finds herself in the bathroom, the small window offering little light, but it's enough see the toilet is dried up, and the sink is dusty. She stands in the silence of the drab, grey little room, eyes pulsing with her sleeplessness as she takes in the tired little room.

She pushes the toilet seat down and sits, her fingers fumbling at the button of her shirt. The fabric peels away to reveal her arm; the scabs, the bruising. She winces at the heat of it, but she can't tell if it's just infected or infected.

She doesn't say anything as she looks at it, but she thinks of a lot of things. Her fear had overcome her on the highway, and it hangs around her still. She feels weak; she feels like a coward.

And someone had been there. Daryl had been there to see her unmade. He had seen all of it.

She wishes he hadn't.

The bitter taste of her own cowardice has never been so embarrassing, but she can't tell if it's because of the way she had acted, or the way she had acted in front of him. She almost laughs at the normalcy of it all; of course she would feel self conscious during the apocalypse, especially when it came to her potential death.

She starts when the door to the bathroom opens, but relaxes when she realizes it is Daryl.

"You good?" He asks, easing the door shut quietly. It breathes a soft hiss as it closes.

Cal sits back, leaning against the tank of the toilet, her arm resting against her thigh. She doesn't know what to say to him, her embarrassment still alive and real. She glances at him, trying to train herself to remain the same calm, stoic expression she reserved for every other exchange she had.

But he can see it there in the dark of her eyes; a moment of hesitation as she gathers her words.

"I'm fine."

He cradles his crossbow in the nook of his arm, watching Cal in that careful way of his. She wonders if she ever unnerves him the way he unnerves her.

"Daryl," her tone changes, her voice catching. She coughs, unsure of what she was going to say. She grasps for something, anything. "It means a lot to me," she says quickly. He quirks a brow at her, and she sighs and explains, "for keeping an eye on me."

He looks away from her, but nods. "Ain't nothing."

"No," she says. "It is something."

He bites at his lip and nods, his eyes and expression are suddenly light.

It doesn't last long however. The door opens and Rick greets them with a somber expression. It's only then that Cal realizes he's staring at her arm, and Daryl has taken a step in front of her.

She notices Rick's hand resting on his gun.

"Daryl," Cal murmurs carefully.

He doesn't say a thing. He doesn't even look back at her. He stares Rick squarely in the eye, jaw tense and lips tight. And then he moves to the side, and allows the other man past with a withering look. Rick returns Daryl's stare, and then he turns his attention to Cal slumped forlornly against the bathroom wall.

"Your arm."

"Yeah."

"I saw it this morning."

"I was going to tell you."

"Were you?" Rick asks.

"Only if it mattered," she breathes, sitting forward and dragging her sleeve down with a tired grunt.

"You mean only when it's too late."

"It might have been too late the moment it happened."

"She might not be infected," Daryl injects.

"What?" Rick asks.

"Thing chomped down on her taped sleeve."

"When? The farm?"

Cal nods, her voice thick with disgust, "I wasn't fast enough."

It isn't a lot, but it's enough to placate him. Rick leans against the counter, eyes on Cal. He hardly knows her, but in the short time he had known her, he is unsurprised that she wouldn't confide in him. Hell, he wouldn't have been surprised if he had woken up in the morning to find her gone.

"Okay," Rick says.

She looks at him, surprised. "Okay?" She repeats.

"I'm keeping an eye on her," Daryl offers.

Rick looks between them, and nods. "Alright."

"It doesn't need to be a big deal unless it becomes a big deal," Cal buttons up the sleeve of her shirt and looks at Rick plainly enough that he can see the challenge in her eye: she doesn't want him to tell the others, she wants to keep it to herself.

"Nowadays that's asking a lot," Rick says.

"I know."


Glenn leans across the counter, digging his finger into the crisp paper, following the long line of the highway. The map had been neatly tucked alongside several others in a display near the cashier. It had been covered in dust and forgotten, but had brightened his expression more than the cans of Spam had.

"We could mark where the herd came through, what direction it was moving," he explains to Maggie, oblivious to the fact she can't seem to look away from him. "We can mark where we've seen people, or where we know people are -"

"Sounds great," Rick walks out from the back of the store, Daryl and Cal slinking behind him.

"It is a great idea," Maggie says, her voice defensive. Glenn blushes at her tone.

Rick nods in agreement, ignoring her hostility, "you're right, it is."

She goes quiet and looks away.

"It'll give us an idea of where we might be safe," Glenn offers. "Well... Safer."

Rick claps a hand on his shoulder in appreciation and looks down at the map. Glenn produces a red marker from his pocket – "Something pilfered from behind the counter," he explains, and marks where the farm house had been with a small X. He scribbles a quick 'Blocked' on the highway where the RV had been stuck before the farm; he draws another X across the small town only a few miles away from the farm, where Randall had come from.

He draws an arrow in the direction the herd had been travelling.

And then they sit there in silence and look down at the map, at the scribbles Glenn marks it with, at the arrows and crossed off sections that slowly dwindle their known world to something foreign – and it reveals the rest of Georgia to be as unknown as ever.

What roads would be blocked? What towns would be razed to the ground or picked over by the dead and living alike?

Where and when would they find others – maybe even Randall's people?

"Where do we go from here?" Glenn asks, his face falling.

The others are quiet for some time, until Maggie pushes her finger down on the map. "There is a development here."

"Not too far," Rick says as he looks at where she points. "We might be able to make it. There are a few back roads."

"It's a gated community," she explains.

"Sounds like a death trap," Daryl grouses from near the front door, peering out the window towards their parked cars and people inside.

Maggie shrugs, "we don't have a lot of options. There is a lot of open farmland around here – who knows if the herd is coming this way. A community with gates and fences might slow them down."

"Might lock us in too," Cal mutters.

Glenn looks at Rick, eyes pleading. "We don't have a lot of options."

He glances at Daryl and Cal, their eyes narrowed, but their words shut behind tight lips. "Alright," he nods, turning to Maggie and Glenn. "It sounds like our best option for right now."


They gathered what they could and continued on. Occasionally they would turn and wind their way through a graveyard of cars, or they would glide across an endless expanse of empty roadway. And despite the greyness to their world, there is an electricity to the air. Only that morning they had suffered a hopelessness, and now there is an end in sight.

An end that gives them a brief glimpse of hope.

The SUV is quiet, but only because Lori still refuses to say anything to Rick, and Carl is curled in her lap, snoring softly. Cal stares blankly ahead, and Daryl is too occupied with the grey world passing by to say anything. T-Dog is the only one who tries to say something, and every attempt is met with single words or short sentences.

"Find anything cool in the store?"

"A map," Daryl says.

"Any food?"

"Some."

"What do you think of this plan?"

"I don't."

T-Dog goes quiet and glances at Cal. When she doesn't say anything he looks away.

"Can we pull over so I can ride in the happier car?" He asks.

Rick looks in the rearview mirror, "No."


They get to the gated community shortly, the back roads proving empty. Only one or two walkers struggle at the side of the road, but they ignore them and speed past. When they finally turn onto the final drive, Rick slows the SUV down. They press against the glass, faces white with a desperate eagerness for this to be something they can cling too.

They pull up to the gate which is closed and chained shut. Rick steps from the SUV, followed closely by Daryl and T-Dog. T-Dog and Daryl slink up to the gate, eyes narrowed as they look past the iron bars and into the quiet belly of the seemingly untouched community hidden within.

Rick appraises the metal sign sitting proudly on the brick wall, a few leaves from a freshly naked tree clinging standing nearby to the embossed lettering. He brushes them off, adding to the pile already on the ground.

Wiltshire Estates.

"Sounds fancy," Daryl grunts.

"We still have those bolt cutters?" Rick asks as he moves up beside the men, giving the lock a sharp tug.

T-Dog nods and jogs back to the truck where the rest of the group waits patiently. When he comes back with the cutters, Rick takes them and nods to the two men to be ready. It takes him a moment to get the leverage, but he snaps one of the links easily enough, letting the rest of the chain to slither down to the cement.

They swing the gates open, wincing at the slow groan of its hinges.

And then they stand there, waiting.

For a long moment they say nothing. They hardly breathe. They don't move. They simply let the silence of the community flow through them, and in it they feel their fear twist and writhe.

Rick looks back over his shoulder to the truck and SUV, and nods his head.

The three men enter Wiltshire Estates, and the rest wait outside.


They wait for twenty minutes, but it is the longest twenty minutes of their lives. Cal exits the SUV with a disgruntled expression on her face, ignoring the sharp look Lori shoots her when she ignores the other woman's concerns of leaving the vehicle.

Cal paces in front of the truck, her hackles raised. She isn't one to sit back and let others scout, and she feels a deep dread that something is going to go awry.

And then she reprimands herself, because this is her problem – her need to control every moment of her own life. This is why she doesn't do well with groups, she can hardly trust them to be thorough and do a good job and not get everyone killed.

This is why she prefers to be alone.

Groups splinter. People splinter.

She glances back at the SUV and blinks in surprise to find Lori standing only a few feet from her.

"I'm surprised you didn't go," Lori's tone is casual, but the words cause Cal to grimace.

"Me too," she says, and it's just the thing to make Lori give her a double take. "I don't want to be here. Fences and gates never did anyone any good."

Back and forth. Back and forth.

"I hate fences."

"Might prove useful with a herd."

"Or it might not," Cal snaps back, her lips pulled in a snarl.

Lori goes quiet.

Cal feels bad for a moment – almost. "Fences and gates can keep things in as well as it keeps them out," Cal shrugs. She moves over to the pile of leaves near the sign, toeing one of the few golden ones left. She stops, and then begins pacing. Back and forth, back and forth. "I got a first row seat in Atlanta. I watched a lot of people pile behind their fences and their gates. I watched a lot of people die."

Lori frowns."No, they napalmed Atlanta. I was there -"

"Yeah," Cal's voice is quiet. "They napalmed Atlanta after the fences and gates didn't work."

It's then that Rick, T-Dog, and Daryl come out of a nearby house, weapons easy in their hands and their walk confident. Lori looks away from Cal, at the truth she represents, to her husband who refuses to meet her eye.

No one sees the sign half buried under the leaves.

All Dead, Do not Enter.


Author's Note:
First, I apologize for the hiatus. Second, I am back. Third, this chapter has many filler qualities, but it also has a few other moments that I felt were important to the development of the story. I hope it is sufficient. I'll be the first to admit that it wasn't my strongest chapter, but I've been sitting on this bloody chapter for years (years, I tell you!) and I thought I might as well make it as palatable as possible before I just moved on. So, sorry if you think it is the pits. I apologize.

Also, I would love to hear people's fan casts for Cal. I haven't described her at any length, so I'm curious to see what sort of person has popped into people's brains. Please let me know!