"So, do we ring the bell?" Glenn looked back at me, but I could only shrug in response. From what I could see through the windows, the lights that illuminated the porch, it seemed like it was the right house. "I mean, it looks like people live here."

We continued walking up to the house, Glenn bearing a shotgun in his arms. I walked silently behind them, the thought of Carl never leaving my mind. Is he okay? How did he get shot? This was all my fault—if I hadn't lost Sophia, he would never have been out there.

T-Dog rolled his eyes, barely able to hold the blanket over his own shoulders. "We're past this kind of stuff, aren't we? Having to be considerate?"

"Did you close the gate up the road when you drove in?"

I jumped at the new voice, but I couldn't see the person past Glenn or T-Dog. She sounded like the same one that took Lori on the horse. I took a few steps to the side, now able to see past Glenn, and the woman glanced over at me.

"Yeah, we closed it," Glenn got out. "Did the . . . did the latch and everything."

I looked over at Glenn. He was always a little awkward talking to . . . well, anybody. Only now, he seemed so much worse. Was it because of the woman? Probably. She was around his age, and it had been a little while since he'd seen anyone closer to his age. It was kind of cute.

"Hi again," Glenn gave a very awkward smile. "We—uh, met before, briefly. I'm Glenn."

"I'm Maggie."

"Look, we came to help," T-Dog stated before Glenn could get any more words out. I was grateful for that. Maggie stood up, moving closer to us. "If there's anything we can do—"

He was cut short, groaning at the pain his arm was giving him. I felt myself frown, knowing there was nothing I could really do to stop his pain. It was a little distressing to me. She glanced down at the bandage on his arm, not taking her eyes off the wound.

"It's not a bite," he told her quickly. "I . . . I cut my arm pretty bad, though."

"We'll get it looked at," she walked closer to us to get to the door. "I'll let them know you're here."

Before she could enter the house, Glenn spoke again. "We have antibiotics and painkillers. I already gave him some," he gestured to T-Dog with the bottle. "If Carl needs any. . ."

"How is Carl?" I asked.

"He'll be okay," Maggie told me, but I knew she was lying. "My dad, Hershel, he's a vet and-and he's going to help him."

I pursed my lips, glancing at the ground.

"Come on in," Maggie nodded to the door. "I'll make you something to eat."

She led us into the house and into a room immediately after. Inside was Lori and Rick, sitting next to a bed where Carl was lying, unconscious. Rick was leaning over, his head in his hands as he looked at Carl, and Lori was at his side.

My eyes widened. All I could do was stare at Carl, his pale, lifeless body unmoving on the bed. It was my fault he was like this. If I had protected Sophia, Carl would never have been shot. This is all my fault.

Glenn removed his hat, being the first to speak up. "Hey."

Rick didn't even look over, but he answered, his voice quiet. "Hey."

"Um . . . we're here, okay?"

Lori nodded, not able to look over either. "Thank you."

"Whatever you need," T-Dog told them.

I tore my eyes from Carl, following Maggie out of the room.

It was taking every ounce of my energy to keep it together. I'd messed up terribly. The sight of Carl, so little and pale and fragile, had given my insides a rotten feeling. If it hadn't been for the slight rise and fall of his chest, I would have thought he was already dead.

Carl can't die, I thought desperately. Sophia can't die.

But they could. I knew that; I'd seen that. We'd already lost too many. Kids have already died. There was nothing to stop them from following the same fate; no God, no doctors, and no hope.

No matter how bad everything was, I couldn't commit to there being no hope. Not yet. Even though it felt as if it was all already gone. Coming across this farm and Hershel. Not a doctor but a vet; it was better than nothing. That had to count for something. That had to mean something.

Didn't it?

"Ace?" T-Dog looked at me with a heavy, pitying expression. "Are you okay?"

The way his eyes shifted, I knew he regretted the question because everyone knew the answer. T-Dog was a sweating, feverish, bleeding, sick mess, and he was looking at me as if I was worse off.

It made me wonder if I looked as broken and guilty as I felt.

I looked away from them, unable to bear their heavy gazes. Maggie led us through the house, and we followed without another word.

I felt guilty again for a whole new reason, ignoring T-Dog. A small and simple thing that compared to the whole day really meant nothing. But still, I was agonising over how rude I acted. What was I supposed to say? Lie and tell him I was fine? None of us were fine, and they would know I was lying. Tell them the truth and say something that, once again, everyone knew.

I'd endangered and injured two children, but I had no right to complain about it. To say I wasn't okay and go on about how terrible it all was . . . This wasn't about me. Rick and Lori were afraid, sitting, waiting, crying for their child to die. Carl was in pain, T-Dog was in pain, Sophia was gone, and Carol . . . What right did I have to complain about a shitty day?

Maggie introduced us to another woman of the house, Patricia. I had enough energy to just nod and sit with them at a table in the dining room. Glenn didn't sit, which bothered me; I hated him hovering.

After T-Dog explained what happened with his arm, Patricia took the time to inspect it while updating us on Carl's condition. The details made me sick to my stomach so much that I spent most of the time concentrating on my breathing, trying not to vomit. I didn't catch most of what was wrong with Carl, which was fine. All I needed to know was that it was bad; he could die.

And it was my fault.

"Where's Shane?" I spoke finally, knowing my voice sounded like a ragged mess.

"He went with Otis, my husband," Patricia explained. The worry creased her forehead, which did not escape me. "To get equipment for the boy's surgery."

"When will he be back?"

There was more. I could see it.

Maggie frowned, looking at me sadly. "We were expecting them to be back by now."

Another reason for my stomach to drop, another reason to sob and scream. "Where did they go? How far?"

I didn't know how to ask. I just knew they were leaving something out.

Patricia fumbled with the first aid kit while Maggie explained. There was a high school five miles away that they were hoping to have everything that Hershel needed for the surgery. The problem was that it had been completely overrun.

With my focus on the worries and terrible outcomes that could happen, I hadn't noticed Patricia beginning to treat T-Dog until he yelped in pain. My eyes widened when I saw she was actually stitching the wound shut. Maggie stood over them, holding T-Dog's arm down, so it was kept still.

Patricia ignored his yelps, continuing to stitch the wound on his arm. "You got here right in time. This couldn't go untreated much longer," she glanced at the bottle of tablets on the table before continuing. "Merle Dixon. Is that your friend with antibiotics?"

"No, ma'am," Glenn shook his head. "Merle's no longer with us. "Daryl gave us those, his brother."

T-Dog groaned. "Not sure I'd call him a friend."

"He is today," Patricia told him. "This doxycycline might have just saved your life. You know what Merle was taking it for?"

"The clap," my eyes shot to Glenn, and I dropped the sandwich back on the plate. I guess I'm not hungry anymore. Glenn glanced around the room before correcting himself. "Um, venereal disease. That's what Daryl said."

Patricia glanced at T-Dog. "I'd say Merle Dixon's clap was the best thing to ever happen to you."

"I'm really trying not to think about that," he hissed out the answer, his eyes squeezing shut. I internally questioned what possible reason Patricia had for asking what the medication was used for.

At some point, I excused myself from the dining room, taking my plate with my unfinished sandwich to another room. I didn't know the layout of the home, but by lucky chance, I stumbled into the kitchen and sat at the table.

I stared at my sandwich in dismay, giving it a poke as if that would cause my hunger to reappear. I needed to eat, but the thought of food had never been so unappealing. I kept trying to force myself to reach for the sandwich, but any time I thought about eating it, I felt sick to my stomach.

Holding my head in my hands, I appreciated being alone and away from everyone else. I had no right to break down, but it seemed just as bad to keep it together. Eventually, the emotions would leave me, whether I wanted them to or not.

I finally managed to choke down my sandwich; every swallow felt sickening. But as my stomach began to fill, I felt a little better. In fact, the small amount of food in my stomach seemed to remind it of how empty it was. After eating, my appetite regained slightly, though I still felt sick. My stomach was doing a flip of dread with every thought of Carl and Sophia.

A young girl walked into the kitchen; she looked around sixteen years old, her blonde hair tied in a ponytail at the side to drape down over her shoulder. I saw her pause briefly when entering, clearly caught off guard at the sight of a stranger in her kitchen. But she recovered quickly, trying to pass off the surprise with casualness.

"Hi," the girl greeted.

It was strange seeing someone my age. The closest people I had to the same age as me were Carl or Glenn, and neither of them was particularly close, but she was basically the same age. That was a lie; she looked a little older, maybe a few months or a year at most.

"Hi."

"I'm Beth," she gave a small smile.

I raised a hand, "Ace."

She looked at me for a second, wondering if she should continue the conversation. "I just came down for a sandwich."

I could see how uneasy my presence made her, and I wasn't surprised. I was just some stranger in her kitchen, eating her food. We were complete strangers, and under any other circumstance, this greeting would have seemed more normal.

"You don't have to speak to me if you don't want to," I told her quickly. "I understand how awkward this is."

"Okay," Beth glanced down at the bread before looking back at me. "Do you want a sandwich? You must be hungry."

"No," I knew it would be awkward to ask for anything, especially when I had already eaten since being here; I had just finished my food. Glancing around, I tried to ignore that my stomach wanted a different answer. I was still hungry. "Yes."

Way to make it more awkward, I thought.

Beth grabbed two more pieces of bread from the packet and began making the sandwiches. When I looked over, I realised that she was making three sandwiches, which meant she was probably making one for someone else. Or, you know, she was really hungry. I didn't blame her. She pulled two plates from the cupboard, putting her two sandwiches on one and mine on another.

"You can come upstairs if you want," Beth handed me the plate with a sandwich on it. "Me and Jimmy are just talking up there if you want to join."

I had been here for an hour, maybe two, and I had not once seen Jimmy or Beth before. Maybe they were just as uncomfortable with all these new people in the house as I was being here. I would be if this happened to me.

I couldn't stay here much longer. I kept thinking about Carl and what had happened to him. How if I had just saved Sophia, Carl wouldn't have been shot, and Shane wouldn't be risking his life right now to save him. The thoughts were slowly eating away at me, and I couldn't tell anyone because they were all going through so much worse.

Maybe speaking to Beth and Jimmy—whoever the hell Jimmy was—would be a nice distraction.

"Yeah, okay," I nodded. "Cool."

She smiled and nodded her head for me to follow. She led me to the hallway where the stairs were, and then into the first door on the left.

When the door opened, I saw a boy. He was lounging back on the bed, flipping quickly through a small book. He looked up when he saw us, a confused frown falling on his face as I stood there awkwardly

"Nice to meet you," he sat forwards off the end of the bed, leaning over and reaching a hand out for me to shake. I awkwardly accepted the handshake, and he sat back down in the chair.

"It's nice to meet you, too," I had to ignore how awkward it actually was to meet these people and try to hide how uncomfortable I felt by playing along. "I'm Ace."

"I like your accent," he said.

"Jimmy!" Beth scolded in a quiet whisper.

"What?" Jimmy exclaimed. "I said I liked it!"

"Guys," I smiled while groaning internally. "It's okay, really."

"I'm sorry," Beth said, looking over at me.

I just raised my hand, shaking my head to tell her that it was okay again. I was used to reactions like this all the time, mostly from children just being in awe of how I spoke and their parents telling them not to be so rude.

That's what this reminded me of.

Jimmy and Beth were both nice. I didn't feel as intimidated or worried around them as I would with others my age. Beth was quieter, more shy, but the more Jimmy and I conversed, the more she opened up. Seemingly, she just needed a short while to get used to me, just as I had with them.

Even though we only hung out briefly, I ended up really liking Beth. Her presence was calming and sweet, and I found I was feeling a little bit more at ease as we spoke. Whenever she laughed or smiled, I found myself wanting to do the same; her positivity was infectious.

She and Jimmy went to high school together, only dating for a few months. Hershel was nice to him and gave him a job working around the farm after school. He was a distant neighbour of the farm, so was able to come around often.

I didn't ask about Jimmy's parents, the look on his face when he'd only mentioned that he lived nearby was enough to tell me.

"I'm grateful to her family," Jimmy smiled at Beth, who mirrored the expression sweetly. "I don't know where I'd be without Hershel."

I nodded.

I felt the same about Shane and Glenn. I still regretted leaving the house, afraid that dad did come back at some point and wasn't able to make it to camp. But I knew I'd done the right thing; I'd seen how terrible it all was. If I'd stayed, it would have been worse. I could be dead or just alone.

"It's really nice," I started, "that you were able to stay in your home. So many have to evacuate or leave."

Beth nodded. "We've gone to our neighbours a few times. At first, to see who had stayed, if anyone needed help. But . . . there's no one. We go back sometimes for supplies if we need them."

I nodded back in understanding, imagining what it was like, living in your neighbourhood when everyone you knew that you'd grown up with was gone or dead. Though, it kind of happened to me. All my friends were gone, my dad was gone, and I had to leave the place I had lived most of my life.

"But we don't take everythin'!" Beth said quickly, as if she had somehow tarnished my opinion of her. "Just when we really need to, you know, in case they come back. We aren't stealin'."

I kind of wanted to laugh. We'd completely cleaned out houses before; I alone did it while dad had gone on his run. I took basically everything that fitted in my bag. I didn't tell her, now afraid she would think I was a horrible thief—

Wait.

Was I?

Shit, I did not need another guilt trip to myself.

"Are there a lot of sick people out there?" Beth asked me later on. I blinked at the term she used; it reminded me of how I called them that not so long ago. I wondered if she really still thought of them as sick or called them that out of habit.

I told her where we were camped at the quarry before and how there weren't many until we got attacked by a swarm of them. Moving place to place, we'd seen a lot, and then I told her about the herd on the highway.

Beth and Jimmy looked horrified.

"That many?" Jimmy sounded shocked. "So close to here?"

I nodded. "It seemed like they were sticking to the motorway. So I don't think they're coming this way."

"Still . . ."

"We don't really get them here," Beth said, shifting in her seat. "Sometimes we get one that wanders on our property, but that hasn't happened in a long time."

"You haven't had walkers here?" That didn't sound right. With all the walkers I had seen, with the herd that passed by.

"Walkers? Is that what you call the sick people?" Jimmy asked.

I nodded.

"Anytime we had one, Otis dealt with them," Beth told me.

"Otis," I repeated the familiar name. "He's gone with Shane?"

Beth and Jimmy nodded.

"Are you worried about them?" Beth asked. "Shane and Otis?"

"A little," I answered. "Shane knows how to deal with Walkers, but with what we saw on the highway . . . I don't know."

I glanced out of the window at the sound of a vehicle nearing the house. It was a blue pickup, and my eyes widened.

That has to be Shane.

I immediately bolted out of the room and sprinted down the stairs. When I reached the bottom, Rick had left the room where Carl was, followed by Lori and Hershel. They ran outside, and I followed behind them.

Shane stepped out of the car, limping as he tried to pull a second bag from the car. His breathing was heavy, and I could see the pain in his eyes as he limped over to the house. He struggled to shed the bag from his back, handing the second one to Glenn.

"Carl?"

"There's still a chance," Rick answered.

Hershel grabbed the last bag from him, peering around him and back to the truck. "Otis?"

Shane shook his head. "No."

Hershel was quiet for a second, and he pressed his lips to a thin line. "We say nothing to Patricia, not till after. I need her."

Hershel ran past me, straight into the house. Glenn followed him to bring in the second bag.

Rick walked over to Shane, and I just heard him whispering to Rick, "They kept blocking us at every turn. We had nothing left. We were down to 10 rounds. Then he said—he said he'd cover me and that I should keep going. So that's what I did. I just . . . I kept going. But I—I looked back, and he—"

Shane stopped, and Rick placed a hand on his shoulder, trying to comfort him. I just listened, my eyes wide as I imagined what he had just gone through, what he had gone through to fix my horrible mistake.

And now, this family—the Greene's—had lost Otis.

"I tried."

Rick nodded, squeezing Shane's shoulder. "He wanted to make it right."

He pulled Shane into a hug.

Once Rick stepped away, I ran over to Shane, crashing into his chest and wrapping my arms around him. I couldn't express how glad I was that he was alive, knowing that I wouldn't be able to take any more if we had lost someone else. He tensed, but I felt his hand on the back of my head, pulling me impossibly closer into the hug.

"Hey," his voice was breathy and ragged. "I'm here."

It took everything for me not to break down and sob. After everything he had been through, all that could have happened to him that night. Instead, I let myself be relieved, be happy for a brief time. Happy that someone else hadn't died.

"It's going to be okay," T-Dog was repeating as if he'd thought it would help. "He's going to be okay. He has to be."

I wanted to believe him; I wanted to agree. I also wanted to tell him to shut the hell up because he'd been saying the same things for half an hour. He meant well; he was just trying to convince himself that everything was going to be okay. But I was trying to stop myself from having a mental breakdown, and his constant talking really wasn't helping with that.

Close to two hours had passed when Hershel finally came out of the house. His expression was passive as he wiped the blood from his hands with a towel. "He seems to have stabilised."

Lori's hands covered her mouth. "I don't have words."

"Me either; I wish I did," Hershel told them. He was quiet for a second before asking, "how do I tell Patricia about Otis?"

Rick turned to Lori. "You go to Carl. I'll go with Hershel."

I put my head in my hands, trying to compose myself. I was sobbing and wanted to cry out in relief, the weight of my worry for Carl lifting.

Sophia.

The guilt dropped it all back down again. Carl could be okay. He would be okay, just like T-Dog had said. It had to be true about Sophia. We'd find her; they would both be okay.

Later on, the house was busy. I thought about going back to Beth's room, but I needed more distance. When I stepped outside, I saw Shane's back. He was sitting on the porch steps, elbows resting on his knees.

I sat down on the stairs next to him. He kept his head forward when I looked at him. I was going to tell him that I was sorry about what happened to him and Otis, but as I opened my mouth to talk, I noticed a spot of missing hair on his head.

"What happened to your hair?" I questioned, twisting my body, so I was on my knees and placing a hand on his shoulder to get a better look. I leaned forwards. My eyes widened as I thought about what could have happened. "You weren't scratched, were you?"

Shane whipped his head around. He reached up instinctively to touch the spot with the missing hair. "What do you mean?"

"You have a bald spot," I brushed some of his hair out of the way with my free hand, running my fingers through his locks as I checked for scratches. Luckily, it didn't look like he had any. "It looks like your hair was ripped out. What happened?"

He stood up quickly, and I stood with him.

"Shane?" Again, he ignored me. He turned to the house, limped up the stairs and walked inside, leaving me alone on the porch. I frowned, still looking at the door. "That . . . that was weird."

I tried not to let it get to me. Shane had just been through a lot, and we were all taking a toll on what was happening with Carl and Sophia. Shane did everything he could to get what Carl needed; he watched a man die. Shane had every right to act strange. I reminded myself to be grateful. We could've just as easily lost Shane too. I had to be happy, grateful we hadn't lost another.

Yet.

Here you go, another chapter quickly for two reasons. This one is quite a bit shorter than some of the others, and I am currently in the middle of writing 29. I have written like 6 chapters in two weeks and am almost out of the farm. I'll try to keep updating semi-regularly if I can keep this pace up. I have to do some of the Winter chapters, but I do really want to write Season 3 because it is my favourite.

Where'sMyPenn helped me write this one a while ago, so you can thank them too.

Let me know what you think, and I hope you enjoyed :)