Lori curses the impulse to seek out Fort Benning when they reach the outskirts of Columbus. She isn't sure how none of the adults considered that if the military bombed Atlanta and then disappeared entirely, it would mean that Fort Benning was likely lost. Maybe it was just hope that one of the largest military installations in the country would somehow survive, because if they couldn't, how could anyone else?

But whoever gave the order to destroy Columbus had a lot more firepower to do it with because the city is a jumbled mess of blown-up buildings. The only blessing is that she doesn't smell napalm anywhere, but that just means this was done with planning and forethought.

It took them just over a day to make a drive that should have taken a couple of hours at most in the past. Why there are so many herds in an area where the major population source is so far gone puzzles her, and she wonders if she'll ever understand what happened here.

"Maybe they blew everything up to act as a barrier?" Jimmy suggests from his spot in the driver's seat. "I mean, it's pretty thorough, and no herds are going to get through all that."

"Like a really weird fence," Beth says, leaning forward between the two front seats as she frowns. "But that would only work if they could do the same thing on the other sides, right?"

"Yeah." Lori smooths out the map. None of them have ever had a reason to really visit the area, much less the military base, and from the markings on the map, it's a massive piece of property. From what she can tell, most of it is open land, so the real place to check out would be tucked up between Columbus and the Chattahoochee River. If they could block off access to a smaller part of the property, surely Fort Benning could hold out for years.

With no other real direction to take, they turn around and head back the way they came until they find a passable road going east. Getting down to Cusseta takes a while, and the light is fading fast. Lori isn't about to venture into unknown territory in the dark, especially since there's really only one paved route to take from where they are now. Just as they did the night before, she finds a church to hole up in, hoping this one has a better-stocked kitchen than the last one did.

For once, luck is with them, and the place actually has a full-blown food pantry, and Lori feels an immense sense of relief that there's at least a month's worth of food still on the shelves. She figures it probably would have only lasted the church a couple of disbursal nights in their community, but with just her and four kids, it's a godsend.

"Maybe we need to find a little tow trailer," she says. The Bronco is sturdy and, more importantly, has four-wheel drive, but it doesn't have much in the way of cargo capacity with five passengers. "I'll bet they'll have one at the high school for band equipment, and if not, somewhere someone has one stashed in a yard."

"Or maybe we could look for an RV or something? Newer than Dale's, so it's not always breaking down?" Carl asks from where he and Sophia are making sure the side door is fully barricaded by pushing a small chest freezer in front of the doors.

"RVs are hard to maneuver, though. They can't really offroad around obstacles." Still, Lori considers the idea. There are smaller ones than Dale's Winnebago, after all. Before she can really mull it over, she gets distracted by the fact that Jimmy and Beth aren't in her immediate line of sight.

Heading to the only other access point to the windowless back room of the church, she spots the teenagers at one of the windows. It makes her nervous, them standing in the open like that, but they also haven't encountered another living soul in all their driving.

"Anything wrong?"

Jimmy shakes his head, but then Beth nudges him, and they both nod.

"Nothing immediately dangerous," Beth says, not turning from the window. "But did you notice how empty the whole town was? There weren't any wrecks or dead walkers or anything."

Lori thinks about the drive through town, and she realizes that Beth is right. It's easy to be grateful that there were no herds or stray walkers, but now that Beth's mentioned it, the town is eerily clean compared to everywhere else they've gone, especially considering what happened to Columbus. This is the closest non-military point other than the destroyed city on the Georgia side of the river.

"It looks like one of those rapture movies," Jimmy mutters. "Look at how many cars are in the driveways, all neatly parked. Where did all the people go, and how did they leave?"

There's a suddenly terrified part of Lori that remembers Shane telling her about the military slaughtering people in the hallway at the hospital, and she has the uneasy thought of what might lie behind all the closed doors they passed by. If the military could murder doctors and nurses and napalm a major city, they could have been ordered to commit worse atrocities. What if Columbus' destruction is part of that same pattern? Cusseta is just big enough that Lori can't imagine the army managing to go door to door to kill off all its residents, not without some signs of a struggle, so she's just being paranoid.

"Maybe they evacuated them. If they came through fast with buses, they wouldn't have given anyone much time to pack up, and it would explain the cars."

It would also explain the fully stocked food pantry if the pastor hadn't had a chance to ever give anything out. The town is remote enough that most survivors wouldn't really wander down to it. She imagines most would take one look at Columbus and turn around.

Her explanation soothes both teenagers, who move away from the window to retreat to the back and help her block the door. With the Bronco hidden thanks to the overgrowth of shrubbery behind the church, they're as safe as they can be for the night. Wanting to keep the kids' spirits up, she has them treat themselves by shopping through the shelves to pick out favorites for a supper they all enjoy and end up completely full. Since the church had plenty of candles and even a couple of oil lamps for emergency lighting, they don't immediately shuffle off to sleep and use the time to sort through the small selection of clothing the church also had on hand for charity and to pack up what food will fit in the Bronco.

Lori is a lot more tired than the kids are, though, and she finds herself dozing off until Carl settles next to her on the sleeping bags they spread out to make sleeping on the floor a little less uncomfortable. The camping gear is musty, as the prior owner back at the doublewide must have been too busy or disinterested to use it, but it's clean, and when they crowd all three bags together, they can all mostly fit. She blinks a few times to clear some of the sleepy fog in her brain before focusing on what Carl has in his hands.

"Sweetheart, I don't need those just yet."

He just shrugs and grins. "Well, it's not like we're gonna go shopping at the mall now, so maybe we save it while we have it?"

At how proud he looks for planning ahead, she can't argue that she just figured she could wear larger men's sizes. She reaches out and takes the stack of maternity tops, unfolding each one to give it a good look. They're all in good condition, maybe even new, and really cute.

"These are much prettier than what they had back when I was pregnant with you," she says. "I think I spent most of the pregnancy in maternity overalls and stole shirts from your dad." Although the truth was that there were some really pretty things on the market, Lori was far enough in the doghouse with her mother-in-law that she hadn't really dared spend the extra money on things she'd only wear for a short time. The overalls were hand-me-downs from another deputy's wife, who'd been budget conscious, too, so no cute tops or dresses at all.

Carl grins, pleased that she's accepting his idea, and scampers off to find a sturdy reusable shopping bag to tuck the items into. The next morning, when they head out to the Bronco, he makes sure the bag is tucked among their things. She makes the decision not to immediately leave Cusseta, taking advantage of the eerie lack of anything moving larger than a bird or bug to refill the Bronco's gas tank and their cans. It brings to mind the issue that the Bronco is really too small for the long term, but an RV would be too bulky. They pass by a couple of fifth-wheel travel trailers still tucked in their parking spots before Sophia spots a silver cargo trailer tucked almost behind an overgrown hedge.

"Would that work?" she asks as they back up and pull into the driveway.

Lori checks the area for anything moving before nodding. "There's no hitch lock, so it's a good possibility."

They leave Beth in the driver's seat while Lori and Jimmy exit to inspect the trailer up close. It's about the size of a small U-Haul trailer, no more than twelve feet long, and looks in good condition. She taps on the side a couple of times, although she really hopes no one stuffed a walker in something like this. When there is no reaction, she releases the latch and slides the door slowly up while Jimmy covers her. All they find are the leftovers from someone's handyman business, and from the looks of it, they were a painter. It doesn't take long to toss the ladder, paint, and other supplies into the bushes, and then they're on their way to having more supplies and more of a safety net while they travel.

Once they've gleaned enough supplies to fill half the trailer and satisfy Lori's worry about fuel by packing away another twenty gallons in the trailer, she takes a deep breath, takes the turn onto Route 27, and heads toward Fort Benning. The area is desolate enough on its own, made remote and mostly uninhabited by the sheer size of the land owned by Fort Benning. What's disturbing is that unlike everywhere else they've driven, there are no abandoned cars at all, no wrecks, and no traffic jams.

They reach the first accessible checkpoint and finally see some signs of anything, but it's only a line of abandoned school buses just outside where people would normally wait for the military police to clear them to enter whatever is at this part of the base. It isn't the main gate, but the fact that buses from towns southeast of the base are here at least confirms the theory that the army base evacuated at least some of its closest neighbors. The problem is that there's no one guarding the entrance at all, just the road blocked by a closed gate that is short enough that it's meant more as a reminder not to enter than something that could actually stop anyone.

"I think we keep going. If anyone is here at all, maybe they don't have enough people to guard the more remote gates," Lori says. It's even a real possibility. This gate is at least four miles south of the next place on the map that looks like they could find another gate, and the directions she found in a Cusseta gas station show the main gate even further away.

"We won't know until we try," Beth replies, although Lori catches Beth and Jimmy sharing a worried glance the two younger kids don't catch onto. "Maybe it's better closer in."

It isn't.

Every access point they find shows signs of evacuees arriving but no human life at all. The lack of walkers or bodies persists here, and Lori suppresses a shiver. She never thought she'd be so unnerved by not seeing any shuffling undead at all, but even a walker would show that people even existed here.

There are no more entrances to try at this point, and while she'd never risk trespassing on a military base before the virus, she's starting to suspect there's no one here at all. They have to double check, because what if the seemingly abandoned gates are an illusion and there are survivors further in? Since the only vehicle on the other side of the barrier is a small work truck that won't fit them all, she debates for a moment before pulling the Bronco around to hide among some of the abandoned buses. It can't be seen easily, and if need be, Jimmy can drive away and get the kids to safety.

None of them like this plan at all, and all four protest, not just Carl. It's not like she likes it either, but the alternative is to pick another direction and drive randomly and hope they don't encounter unfriendlies.

"I'll be wary, and I won't be gone long," she assures them. "But we can't get everyone in the truck, and if we do somehow encounter walkers, I don't want any of you in the back of the truck and exposed since there's no guarantee we can outrun them."

In the end, the kids listen, and Lori thanks her lucky stars that they're all still young enough that a parental statement of no more arguing still works. The little truck has a full tank of gas, although it gives her a moment of worry when it takes a minute to start. Based on the dust and pollen collected on the exterior, no one's moved it in weeks or even months.

The only change between outside the gates and inside is that she starts seeing more vehicles, although like Cusseta, these are simply parked as if it were their normal place to be. Most are civilian cars or trucks, and she wonders how many of the actual military vehicles were deployed into Georgia, Alabama, and Florida to help. Shane stated that was mostly left to the National Guard, but it's hard for Lori to imagine they have that many soldiers and that much equipment that wasn't normally used for active duty.

Although she's breaking the posted speed limit, there's no one to react to her speeding along in the truck. The scavenged visitor map doesn't help her as much as she'd like, but she's able to locate the base hospital. Here she finds the first bodies, or what remains of them. Just like Rick described at the hospital back home, body bags are lined up neatly in what was once the parking lot. There are no actual signs of life around the building, just the same air of abandonment she's seen everywhere else.

She doesn't risk going inside, unwilling to find out if all the bodies are safely zipped in those bags, and navigates to the airfield instead. It confirms her growing suspicion that Benning was evacuated once she arrives, because while everything was neat and tidy elsewhere, there are abandoned vehicles here that show signs of having transported supplies. With Eglin Air Force Base just across the state line in Florida, she supposes it wouldn't be very hard at all to get planes in here. Isolated from the kids for the first time since the farm fell, Lori takes time to cry out all her fear and frustration that her best hope of safety is months gone.

Once she's done, she dries her face with her shirttail before climbing out of the truck. The evacuation here wasn't as helter-skelter as she's seen elsewhere, but they did leave a few things behind that will be useful to Lori and the kids. It doesn't take her long to toss anything interesting into the bed of the truck before heading back to make sure no undesirables discovered the kids while she was gone.

"We could stay on the base, maybe," Jimmy suggests. "If it's really abandoned and they did away with all the dead around here, maybe it's safer?"

Lori considers it a moment, and perhaps if it were a smaller area or they had more people, she might. "I can't imagine we're the only people to think about this as a place to come, and some would come for bad reasons, like looking for ammunition and weapons."

"Like Randall's people?" Beth asks, looking toward the road uneasily.

At the quarry, Lori never really considered how far into monsters the living would descend, but even among her own people, they started to lose grasp on reality. Surviving the dead isn't dependent on someone's good morals, so she has to consider that those most equipped to survive are those who are prepared to be vicious about it. As much as she wanted to reject Shane's assessment of the world as it is now, she understands his paranoia now that she's the only thing between four children and the remnants of the world.

"We'll find somewhere less likely for people to come looting. Somewhere not on everyone's map with a neon sign of possible supplies here, I think."

"What about Grandpa's house at the lake?" Carl asks.

Lake Lanier is massive, although she's a little worried about its popularity leading to a fairly established population around the lake. Granted, it's likely people listened to evacuation orders and left for Atlanta or Chattanooga, so it wouldn't be what it used to be. The lake house was a source of strife for Lori and Rick because, once his father passed, Lori wanted to either use it regularly, rent it out, or sell it. Going up to the lake hadn't happened with Rick's work schedule; he refused to have strangers in his father's beloved lake house. Selling it was sacrilege, despite the fact that it had doubled in value.

But Carl is right that the house may be a good option. It's not directly on the water, but some of the neighboring houses are, and if the area is reasonably safe, the lake will provide a source of protein year-round. She's wary of hunting, not when none of them know how to use a quieter bow like Daryl used, so fishing will help. If nothing else, it's a goal, and if the lake is a bad idea, they can keep going north into the mountains and find some more remote cabin.

It takes them three days to reach Chestatee, and one of them involves navigating around a herd large enough to terrify them all. Lori suspects that more and more of the dead are migrating out of Atlanta, and she wonders if the lake is far enough away. At least the house isn't right in Gainesville, but when they cross one of the bridges west of town, she spots one of the islands in the distance. They weren't islands originally, but hilltops that were all that survived when the Corps of Engineers flooded the area to create the reservoir. She vaguely remembers people talking about old house foundations and remnants of roads that reemerged during the drought that ended just last year.

The smaller islands might not be their best bets in case it floods, but what about some of the larger ones? Those are big enough that they could push inland and not be seen from shore, although they'd be back to living in tents.

The winding little street that the lake house is on is mostly deserted, but they do spot one walker trapped inside the fence of one house. It can't get out, which makes stopping to put it down easier than expected because the stupid thing more or less impales itself on the top of the fence. However, it's a reminder that this area isn't clear and might not be safe. Lori gets back into the Bronco as she cleans her knife, sighing as all the kids watch.

"If the house is secure, we stay a night or two. But then we gather up and get somewhere those things can't reach us."

Carl figures it out quickly. "They can't swim. We can go out to Three Sisters or something."

He seems excited, and she supposes it's a bit of normalcy for him. Back when his grandfather was alive, they'd taken the boat out to the islands regularly enough to fish and picnic.

"It'll be safer, even if we have to go back to camping." She pulls into the driveway of the lake house, suddenly glad the keys are in a hidden lockbox, not that she minds a bit of breaking and entering at this point.

"Or we could go back into town and get a houseboat," Jimmy says. They all turn to look at him, and he shrugs. "Saw a billboard when we were routing around Cumming. Is there somewhere big enough to tie one up?"

It's an interesting suggestion. If they go to one of the really big islands, there are coves big enough that they could hide the boat from being easily seen from shore, and it saves them from spending what's left of the summer being eaten alive by bugs. Plan settled, they all take a deep breath and ease out of the Bronco. With any luck, the house is clear of everything except a year's worth of dust that gathered since the last time Lori had the place cleaned. Even though Benning was a huge disappointment and she's still worried about the lack of a doctor with the baby on the way, at least for now, everyone is safe.

That's all she can ask for.