Almost a week later, Daryl, Rick and I were on a run for more supplies. We weren't running low on anything, but we wanted to always keep stocked up with the growing number of people in the group. We waited for Daryl to get his bike working, a problem he wanted to fix on his own, and when he was finished with that we set off.

It was quiet for the most part. Rick focused on driving, following Daryl, and I sat in the passenger seat, ignoring the task I'd been set on trying to follow where we were going on the map. I had it for a little while, but then I got lost, partly because my brain had been elsewhere anyway. After 40 minutes of driving, I gave up and put the map in the glove compartment in front of me.

"Lost?" Rick questioned.

"I got bored," was my answer.

"I see," he said sarcastically, nodding slowly.

And the car went quiet again, but different this time. It was like me giving up on the map was his indication to try and say something he'd been holding in, breaking the silence. Rick kept glancing over at me, and I assumed he had something to say, probably serious with how he looked. I kept quiet, waiting for him to come out with what he wanted to say.

"Hershel spoke to me today," Rick went quiet after that, a gesture that made me assume that he was waiting for me to respond before he explained what they had spoken about.

"Yeah?"

"Said I should stay behind today, help set up a farm at the prison," he explained. "Learn from him, then I can teach Carl."

I thought about it for a second. "I mean, all he really has to do is man the gates. It could be good for him to have something else."

Carl was getting better, it was a slow progress, but he was getting better. After the war, he wouldn't speak to anyone new, and wouldn't talk to his dad for letting them stay. He hated that we'd kept the people from Woodbury, despite the fact that they would've died if we hadn't. Obviously, he didn't care about their lives after shooting that boy, but I think now that maybe he didn't have such heavy jobs anymore he would start caring about those things, that it would bring him back.

"I don't want to do this, and then the Governor just shows up," Rick added. "We should be ready."

I've been ready. "We're in a better place than last time he came. We have lookouts, people on the fences in every direction killing walkers. And he doesn't have an army anymore. If he comes back, I don't think it'll be any time soon."

"But you've been worried about it," it was more of a statement, than a question. It wasn't hard to see what the war had done to people, as much as they tried to hide it. I assumed that my attempts to keep my feelings hidden were just the same. "You built that gate for a reason, and said you wanted to work on the towers next."

"I mean, yeah," I agreed after a beat. "I'm always going to be worried about it. He killed more than his fair share of our people. I did too. My chest still hurts sometimes from getting shot, you don't just get over stuff like that."

Rick was nodding in understanding. He hadn't gotten over it, he was resistant to the idea purely because he was worried that he would have to fight when the Governor came back. I was worried, sure, but I still had other responsibilities. All Rick really had to do was go on watch or kill walkers on the fence.

"It's been a little while, and I need to get myself to stop being scared that he's going to come here every day," I said finally.

"What you're going through, it doesn't just stop," Rick said. "I get it."

"Yeah," I mumbled.

"Do you think I should do it?" He asked. "Stay back from the runs, start a farm in the prison."

I would miss Rick on the runs, but this may be good for him as well, not just Carl.

I knew that he meant what he said: he did get it. Rick must have gone through the same thing I was, which I assumed was PTSD (if that's what was wrong with me). I barely slept anymore, which was weighing down on me, but even if I did get some shut-eye, then I'd be riddled with nightmares. Every time I saw the bullet holes in the side of the prison I was reminded of the day, heard the sounds sometimes.

Rick went through the same things, I'd seen that much when I tried helping him with his hallucinations. I assumed that even if he wasn't hallucinating anymore, he probably also suffered some of the symptoms I'd been going through.

Still, I knew what it was like to be asked to step back from the jobs that were built up as important. A farm was important, but Rick was used to leading and runs, which sometimes included fighting dead and alive. If he didn't do it, then someone else would have to, which is the same reason I didn't want to stop.

"If you want to," I answered finally. "I mean . . . it doesn't have to be an everyday thing if you don't want it to be. If you want to take a break or step back from anything then no one is going to blame you. Least of all, me."

"I just don't know if it'd work," he mumbled. "I don't know if we get to come back."

I was quiet for a moment, understanding what he meant. Did we get to come back from everything we'd done? Is that even what he meant? Because Rick was quite far gone at one point, but mainly it was because of what happened or what we did.

Did he want to come back from whatever caused his hallucinations? If he couldn't get back to normal after going through those things, that meant that I wouldn't be able to get through this. That I wouldn't come back from it.

"I hope we do," I muttered, now slightly depressed.

Rick glanced over, squeezing my shoulder when he saw my expression. "No, I didn't mean—of course we do. We do come back. I just don't know if this is the way to do it."

I nodded.

"There's no reason not to," I said, trying to address his worry about whether he should try farming. "We may not get over it but there will be a time when the Governor isn't our biggest concern."

Even though his eyes remained fixated on the road, I could tell that he was listening. He was taking in my opinion, hanging onto every word, which made me feel like I was actually helping. I was on the council, but this felt like the most someone had ever listened to what I had to say. It was basically why I just kept working on projects without telling them.

"We don't want to be hungry or dependent on non-perishables and runs," I continued. "Having a farm, planting, that's building a future. We wanted that, right? In the beginning, when we first cleared this place? We wanted to build a life, a future. We can't lose sight of that, because of all that happened, especially with all that happened."

It all took me back to when the farm got overrun, and we all found each other after being separated by the herd. Rick knew we'd find this place, the prison, somewhere to live, not just survive. He was so confident the prison could work when we found it, and so far, he was right. It was working.

There's gotta be a place. I know it's out there, we just have to find it.

Sure, maybe Rick didn't think he'd turn away from the harsher jobs, but maybe that's what he needed to get the prison done. He and Carl needed something more stable after Lori, something to show them that it could get better, and maybe this was their thing.

"I think I'll give it a try," he said finally, "for Carl."

I nodded but didn't say anything, giving him the chance to continue the journey in silence. He probably had a lot to think about anyway without me talking over him and distracting him from the obvious doubt he had over the idea.

It was a nice silence, despite the topic of conversations we had covered. We never got the chance to talk about what happened since the new people came to the prison. No one wanted to bring anyone down or stop newcomers from not trusting us, so the Governor talk was normally kept within the group that was there to experience it.

We typically asked if anyone had seen him, or someone who looked like him when we brought someone in, but they were all unaware or had never seen the person we were looking for. A lot of them could tell why we wanted to find him, the bullet holes in the walls and around the prison would probably give that away.

We weren't driving for too long after that before we came across an abandoned car in the middle of the road. Standing up, I had the chance to stretch my legs, looking back over the car to Rick. He was watching Daryl who stopped at one of the windows, wiping dirt away with his hand to take a look inside.

"Don' see nothin'," he called back as we both walked over to join him.

Rick pulled at the handle, but the door didn't open. "Locked."

"Do we really need any more cars right now?" I questioned. "We already have to keep a bus filled up for if things go bad at the prison, it doesn't really seem like we need this too."mk

"It can't hurt," Daryl said. "Might be stuff inside."

"Is there any way we can do this quietly?" Rick asked. "I don't want that alarm drawing every walker in for miles."

"Ain't much we can do about it," Daryl said with a shrug. "S'not like we gotta wire or hanger or anythin'."

Wire. "Oh, I know what to do!"

I reached my arms behind me, unhooking my bra through my shirt, before sliding a strap down one arm and out of my sleeve to get it free. After removing my next arm from the strap, I pulled the bra out of the other sleeve of my shirt. The wire had poked through, and it had been killing me all day. The least it could do was be useful and open the car door for us.

I pulled the wire out from the bra and chucked the broken clothing backwards so it landed down the bank at the edge of the road. I then used the wire of the bra to break into the car, sliding it between the opening of the window and the body until there was a click.

"Ta Da!" I said, holding my arms (and the bra wire) out to the side of me. Rick was the first one to glance back, and then Daryl, but both of them looked confused—no, they looked uncomfortable. I frowned, lowering my arms, "Are you guys kidding me?"

"Did you really have to break that for this?" Daryl questioned, coming around the car.

"It was broken already, it really hurt," I explained.

Daryl opened the car door, leaning inside to inspect the pockets and sun visors at the front of the car. When he was done looking for supplies he turned his head to the dashboard, looking at all the gauges.

"Empty."

"Worth a shot," Rick said, pulling open the back door.

I moved around to the boot of the car, seeing shopping bags in the back. I pulled them open and inspected the contents inside before smiling to myself. "Tins here," I called out. "Quite a lot of them, as well."

"I got some batteries," Rick said, standing up. "This was good. Get this stuff in the car and we'll keep moving."

We stopped in the town Glenn and Maggie had found in the phone book. There were a few buildings, the town just barely bigger than Grantville I found with Isaac on the way to Loan Oak. I stood up, glancing at the shops to choose what one we should search through first.

Daryl waved us over from the bike, and we walked the small distance he took to park ahead of us.

"Look at that," he said, and I followed where he was pointing to a small building at the edge of the street. SURGERY AND PROSTHETIC CLINIC. "Think we can find somethin' for the ol' guy back home?"

Rick was smiling as he nodded, staring at the building. "Maybe, we should take a look."

We locked the vehicles and walked across the long open road to the building we'd seen. Daryl tapped the window a few times that led into the reception, but it was completely blocked off by shelves so we couldn't see in.

Rick tried the door instead, but it didn't open. "Locked."

"Buildings are connected," Daryl pointed out. "Could be a way in next door."

We followed Daryl to the next store over. As we stopped outside, Daryl knocked on the window of the kitchen store and leaned back against the pane. While we waited, I got a chance to read the description of what it sold on the front window, but I still didn't really understand what it meant.

"What is this?" I questioned, looking at the sign and window.

"Store," Rick answered. "Sells kitchen wares."

"Do we need any more kitchen stuff?"

"Maybe more pots and pans," Rick said. "It's not a priority right now. Let's work on finding Hershel a new leg."

"Should be good now," Daryl said.

Daryl pushed the door, but it didn't budge. He took a step back before jamming his shoulder against the door again and it only budged open a small way. He took a step back, trying to push it again but the door just slammed back against whatever was blocking it.

He took a step back, and pointed at me and then to the door. "Squeeze in there," Daryl said. "See what's blocking it."

"Be careful," Rick added.

I nodded, before squeezing through the narrow gap in the doorway. Behind there was a counter that had been shoved over, partly in front of the door, now sticking out the small distance Daryl managed to push it.

Leaning down, I pressed my shoulder against the display counter and pushed as hard as I could. It barely moved but my feet slid back against the ground. I panted and stood up, my hands resting on my hips as I thought of another way to move it.

"Hold on, it's heavy!" I called out.

"Take your time," Rick answered.

Instead of trying to push it, I grabbed the edge nearest the door and yanked at it a few times to get it to move further out of the way. It scraped in small distances, but eventually, with Daryl's help on the other side of the door, we moved it far enough out of the way that they could squeeze through after me.

"Good job," Daryl patted my shoulder as he passed, taking a look around the room.

Rick was just behind him but stopped next to me in the light of the doorway. He took a look around, pulling a torch out and shining it around the room. This was the first time I saw the place in any kind of light. It was in a state of disrepair, with walls broken and items all over the floor, everything caked in a layer of dust.

"Buildings pretty run down," Rick said.

"Well, man-made structures are actually not as permanent as you'd think," I shrugged. "In a decade or so everything is probably just going to be taken over by nature."

"Comforting," Rick mumbled sarcastically.

"Looks like there's a way back here!" Daryl called back to us. When we caught up to him, he was pointing his torch down a gap between the foundation and the drywall. "Gonna be a squeeze, but we can do it."

I heard Rick sigh as he walked to the gap, "I'll go first."

He twisted to the side and squeezed into the gap, there being enough room for him at a squeeze. Daryl nodded for me to go past him, so I moved to the gap behind Rick and managed to get between the foundation with my bag on my back. Then Daryl squeezed in beside me, and we walked along through the walls.

As we made it around halfway in, I could see the light coming under a hole in the bottom of the wall, and as we got closer, a shadow moved past it. Rick stopped just before the hole and held a finger up to his lips while we waited there. Now, closer, the quiet groans from the walkers were now more apparent.

"Walkers," Rick whispered back. "If we're quiet they shouldn't hear us."

As Rick kept moving, he ducked under a pipe in the wall and stepped over the hole so none of the walkers heard or saw him. He stopped, flagging his fingers for me to follow after him, which I did very slowly.

I held my hand up, reaching for the pipe as I ducked underneath, but it bent downward with a loud creak that left me scrabbling for something to hold onto. Rick grabbed my arm, holding me up when the noises in the next room started to pick up as the walkers got riled up. I tried stepping towards him, but the drywall near me came inwards, and something grabbed at my feet through the hole in the wall.

A scream ripped out of me as I tried shaking the arm away, desperately trying to make it let go of my leg. Daryl held his arm against my chest, stamping down on the arm but it didn't do anything to the walker.

I gripped Rick's shoulder as the walker yanked at my ankles. "Don't let me go."

"I'm not letting go, just hold on," Rick promised. "Daryl!"

"I'm trying!" The drywall bent inwards as one of the walkers pushed against where they'd heard Daryl yelling, but he pushed his hand back against it and continued stomping on the arm that had grabbed my leg, trying to make it let go.

The hand on my ankle yanked backwards, which pulled my feet out from under me.

"Rick!" I cried, holding him tighter, my other hand coming to grab at his coat.

"I got you," he promised, but his grip tightened to the point where his fingers dug into my skin.

I held onto Rick tighter and felt his grip tighten on my wrist as he pulled upwards. But when the walker yanked my ankle again, I slipped backwards, my head cracking on the wooden foundation as I fell, and I was dragged back through the drywall.

"ACE!"

The room was blisteringly bright, the sun coming straight through the windows and into my eyes. I held them closed, partly because of the light and partly because of the pain in the back of my head that left me paralyzed on the ground. I couldn't move even if I wanted to. I could hear the yelling from Rick and Daryl, their bangs against the drywall, but at that point, I was basically non-functional.

When I opened my eyes I saw the walker that had my foot, now moved up to the top of my body. I was just able to extend my arms upwards as it came down to bite me, but I held it back, locking my elbows out so it couldn't get any closer. The military dog tag dangled down in front of my face, which made me turn my head and close my eyes as it continued hanging over me.

"Ace!" One of them called, their voices muffled. A banging followed as they hammered at the wall to get through. I appreciated it, because the extra noise they made kept the other walkers in the room distracted, the ones that'd missed me being dragged into the open. "We're coming! Hold on!"

I kept my mouth closed, now answering so I didn't get the attention of walkers that I couldn't fight. I could barely keep this one off, not able to get it away or move my arms in the direction that would throw it away from me.

As I pulled one arm back to reach for my knife, I realised that doing that would make my other arm buckle under the weight and I would get bitten before I could stab the walker, so I had to resort to just holding it away from me, despite the immense aching it caused my arms.

Tears poured out of my eyes when it came to me that this might be it; the other walkers would get bored of Rick and Daryl, and they'd realise I was there and I was going to die. I tried shoving it off again, but the walker was so large, I couldn't do anything that would move the deadweight away from me.

Gunshots rang out behind me—one, two. On the third one, the walker I was holding back jerked to the side as blood splattered along the drawers beside me. My arms buckled at the sudden movement, and the walker fell to the ground beside me.

My eyes rolled back, burning some kind of wound on the back of my head, and I saw Rick as he continued using the back of the python to break the wall in front of him. Daryl was doing the same but was having more trouble because a walker in front of him was stuck and he killed it with a knife.

I rolled over, checking for any hints of more living dead, and gripped the medical bed to pull myself to my feet. When I was steady enough, I walked over to Rick and started yanking at the drywall, pulling it away piece by piece. I felt more resistance at that point, so I pressed my foot against the wall and kicked back, and it tore off in one big piece that made me fall backwards, and I landed on the ground again.

"Ow," I groaned and just continued lying on the ground.

"I got you," Rick was next to me now and pulled me up into a sitting position beside him. He leaned me forward a little, and I felt him move my hair at the back of my head, inspecting where I'd hit the foundation on the way down.

When I looked up, I watched Daryl come out from the hole I'd made, ducking under the foundation as he came into the clinic room. He struggled to get the crossbow through, but when he got it free he could get it through into the room.

"A lot of blood," Rick placed a hand on my shoulder, allowing me to sit up straight now. "Are you okay?"

I nodded. "Yeah, I'm good."

"I'll take a look 'round," Daryl said. "Gotta be somethin' to clean that with."

Daryl moved to a cupboard across the room, opening the cupboards and searching through them. As he looked for something useful, Rick stood up and pulled me to my feet at the same time. He patted the bed in the room and I jumped back up on it.

"Here we go," he pulled out a small packet.

"Wipes?"

"Yeah," Daryl threw some back and Rick caught them. "Lotta shit in here we can take."

I could hear the tear of the packet, and Rick turned my head with his hand so he could see the blood again, "Let me see."

He moved some of my hair out of the way, and I winced as the wipe came into contact with the cut of my head.

"Ow," I hissed.

"Sorry."

I glanced at the things around the room to keep my mind busy while Rick continued trying to clean the blood. My eyes landed on the walker veteran who had pulled me out from the gap in the wall, seeing the glint of the dog tag on the ground.

Then my eyes landed on its leg, the metallic glint that came from underneath the trousers as Rick moved my head a little. Glint? It was an amputee. It had a leg prosthetic, the exact thing we came in here for.

"Look," I pointed at the walker.

Daryl glanced back, a look coming over his face as he saw the same thing I did. I felt Rick stop what he was doing and lean around to look over my shoulder as Daryl walked across to the walker on the ground.

"There we go," Daryl muttered, pulling a prosthetic leg from the veteran walker. "Somethin's finally goin' our way."

"We should replace the liner," Rick said, wiping at the back of my head again. "These days they were normally custom-made to fit specific sizes, but I doubt Hershel would want to wear one that's been on a walker for God knows how long. There should be some replacements here."

"How do you know?" It was strange to me that Rick expected there to be replacements when the liners were made to be specific sizes for them.

"My grandad," he explained simply, wiping the back of my head. "He fought in the Second World War, and had a friend that lost his leg."

"Oh." Makes sense. "Sorry."

"No, you don't have to be sorry," Rick said. "It's never come up before."

Part of me had forgotten that everyone else had their own families before because obviously I'd only known Lori and Carl. It reminded me how little we really knew about each other because I didn't know anything about the rest of their families and they didn't know anything about mine.

"I don't think this needs stitches, but it's hard to tell. I'll keep an eye on it." Rick patted my shoulder to show me he was done. "We'll get Hershel or Dr. S to take a look when we get back. Just take it easy for now."

I nodded and hopped up from the table.

"Le's find 'em liners," Daryl said. "Grab a bunch of sizes so we can find one that fits."

"Then we'll search some of the buildings around here," Rick said. "But after everything it might be better to call this a day early and get back."

"Yeah," Daryl agreed. "Should send people back out here soon, though. There's a lot of shit we don' wanna pass up."

We walked through the door of the clinic, Daryl holding his crossbow up as we entered all the different rooms until we finally came across one labelled STORAGE. He shrugged and pulled out the torch from his back pocket as he looked around.

It was a small room, so even with all of us squeezed inside it didn't take us long to find a box of the liners we needed. Daryl moved them out to the car while me and Rick sifted through everything else in the store room that we might eventually need at the prison. Just scissors and other medical equipment they kept in bags, surgical face masks.

Then my eyes came across a little white box of light blue surgical gloves. It had a hole in the top so you could pull them out two at a time. I grabbed the box, and instead of storing it with the rest of the stuff Rick was planning on taking, I pulled my bag off my shoulder and opened it to put the gloves inside.

"What's that?" Rick asked.

"Surgical gloves," I said, closing my bag. "I was thinking about giving them to Isaac. We don't know if he's staying and he has OCD and killing walkers is messy—" I stopped myself, letting out a breath so the rambling stopped. "I just want to give him a good chance if he decides to leave."

Rick gave me a long look. "That's very considerate of you. Does he . . . need them? Has he used them for that?"

I shrugged. "I'm not sure. It's just an idea. I thought it could make it easier. That's the whole point, right? Trying to make it easier, manage it, I guess."

"He's killed walkers before."

"He has. I know," I said. "Doesn't mean that we have to live our lives doing things we hate in the hardest way possible. What would be the point in that?"

Rick nodded, "Yeah, I guess you're right. We'll take a few more boxes as well."

After finishing in the store room, we moved into the small reception area to take all of the stationary supplies. People were asking for them at the prison, at least more things to write with or on, so we just grabbed whatever was there so if anything else crossed their minds there would be a good chance we got it: staplers, pens, pencils, paper. Everything, basically.

When we had gotten everything we needed from the clinic, we took another hour or two just to look in the shops and houses closest by, getting more food and clothes for the growing number of people we now had at the prison.

"Wow," the kids called in awe as they ran out to the car. "What happened?"

"You're all covered in blood," said Lizzie, partly concerned. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, what happened," her sister Mika followed.

"Uh, yeah," I nodded. "Just hit my head is all."

I didn't want to give away too much detail about what happened in front of the kids. I could see Carl giving me a look at the obvious lie so I just nodded to the kids and he seemed to get it. I turned to the back of the car to help the others with the stuff we found.

"Do you need help," Mika offered.

"Nah, we're good," Daryl stopped her. "We got it. Go on inside now."

"But we were heading down to the field," another kid said.

Daryl leaned up and glanced down to the field. "Nah, stay up here or go inside. Ya don' wanna be down there right now, the cull crew will get 'round to it tomorrow."

"We don't mind," Lizzie said.

"No, it ain't nice," Daryl denied again. "Stay up here."

Lizzie sighed. "Okay, come on guys."

The kids ran off, leaving me, Rick and Daryl to take everything inside. I wondered about their reaction, but my head was hurting too much to think about it, so I stopped. They probably just wanted to play outside, because the prison

Everyone at the prison was ecstatic when they saw Daryl entering the prison, brandishing the prosthetic leg in some entertaining display. Even Hershel, who acted calm and collected, let out a laugh as Daryl approached him.

We took some time getting the leg adjusted, and the liner replaced so it would fit Hershel's leg without coming off. Hershel took a few minutes to get steady, but after some practice, he was walking around the common room and hugging Rick and Daryl, and coming over to give me one too.

"Was it much trouble?"

"A little," I said, hoping Hershel wouldn't feel bad about it. No one died for it, which was ideal.

"We were actually going to ask about that," Rick added. "Ace hit her head getting dragged out of the foundation. It stopped bleeding, but we thought it'd be best if someone else took a look at it."

Hershel sighed, sounding disappointed with our inability to tell him what happened, and not that we were in any trouble. "Turn around," he said.

I did as told, standing in front of him as he tilted my head forward, moving my hair and ignoring my obvious pained sounds to inspect the cut.

"You shouldn't have gone through this," Hershel said behind me.

"In all fairness, we didn't know it would be as bad as it was," I said, trying to push his hand away when he hurt the back of my head.

"It was very sudden," Rick agreed.

"Well it's not bleeding anymore and Rick did a good enough job of cleaning it," Hershel said. "Let me see your eyes, check for a concussion."

I turned around and held my eyes open, but Hershel only looked at them for a second before pushing me back and away from him. He'd done this before, checking for a concussion after I'd been beaten by that man in the Winter.

"No concussion," he said. "It'll hurt for a little while, but other than that, you'll live.

"You might want to wet your hair before brushing it," Maggie told me. "Let me know when you do that and I'll put it up for you so it doesn't get messy."

"Yeah, okay," I nodded.

Once they were sure I was okay, everyone went back to making a fuss about Hershel, which he more than deserved. I left the group, deciding to go to my cell after the long day, tired, knowing I'd have to wash up and clean my hair soon, but just wanting to rest for an hour or so.

In the cell block, I crossed paths with Isaac, who was also returning to his cell from somewhere else in the prison. I decided not to interact with him, giving him space as I reached my cell, and I would've stuck by that if Isaac didn't speak first.

"Rough day?"

I stopped in the doorway to my cell and followed his gaze down. My eyes landed on the blood that had splattered down the front of my shirt. There also must have been a lot of blood in my hair, which would have been obvious to him. I didn't know whether he was just being observant or whether he brought it up because he wanted me gone, and the sight of me all messy was making him anxious. I took a step back, in case it was the latter.

"I guess, a little," I answered. "But it was worth it."

Isaac's eyes travelled past me, looking at what I assumed were the rest of the group were still in awe of Hershel's newfound ability to walk. He nodded a little, agreeing with me, but making no move to join them or enter the cafeteria.

"I got something for you too," I added before he could leave. I pulled my bag off my back and unzipped it to grab the gloves I found for him in the surgery. I held them out to him, and he took the box from me, reading the blue writing on the side.

"Gloves?"

I shrugged. "I don't know whether you plan on staying or leaving or . . . I thought they'd help either way. At least now you don't have to worry about getting messy when you kill walkers."

"Oh, uh," he nodded, flipping the box in his hands. "Thanks."

I smiled. "No problem."

He continued looking at the box in his hands for a few more seconds, before giving me a nod as if to say he appreciated it. I was happy that he liked it. Part of me thought he might get a little upset, but he was okay.

"Well, my head hurts so I'm going to lay down for a little while," I said. "I'll see you around."

"Yeah, see you around," Isaac nodded and turned into his cell.

Ta Da!

Isaac is okay, and Hershel can walk again. It's a miracle. Hope you all enjoyed and let me know what you think. I love reading comments, even though these chapters are coming so fast it may as well be a full time job to read :)