The miles blur together as we press northward, the rhythmic hum of the Jeep's engine broken only by the occasional radio crackle or the muffled movement from the RV behind us. The road stretches endlessly ahead, flanked by barren fields dusted with frost and the occasional skeletal tree swaying in the wind. The chill seeps through the cracked windows, nipping at my fingers as I grip the wheel. Time feels slippery out here, measured by the shifting light in the sky and the faint grumble of my stomach.
The convoy moves like a well-oiled machine, but even machines wear down. Every bump in the road, every shadow stretching too long across the asphalt, tightens the coil of unease in my chest. A glance in the rearview mirror shows the RV still trailing us, its hulking frame steady despite the rough terrain. The truck and motorcycle remain in front, with their drivers alert. Echo isn't far now, though the faint ache in my back and the growing weight of fatigue make it feel farther.
The Jeep rumbles softly as we pull off to the side of the road, the convoy settling into a loose formation. The fields stretch wide around us, their frost-covered grasses swaying faintly in the wind. Ahead, the faint outline of Echo looms on the horizon, little more than a cluster of distant rooftops against the dull sky. Rick steps out first, his boots crunching on the icy gravel as he waves for the rest of us to gather.
Their eyes are shadowed, dark circles etched beneath them like bruises, and their shoulders slump as if weighed down by the miles behind them. Lips press into thin lines, and every movement feels deliberate and slow. Even their fleeting, almost vacant glances reveal a deep-seated fatigue.
Rick clears his throat, his voice cutting through the stillness. "We've been pushing for hours and have two options. We can pull off the road before we hit Echo and rest for a bit, or we can push on another forty minutes to Upper Sioux State Park and stop there for the night."
"Upper Sioux?" Hershel asks, his brow furrowing. "The state park with the river? I know the area—it's secluded, plenty of trees for cover."
Daryl nods faintly, his eyes fixed on the horizon. "Ain't a bad choice. Quiet spot, good sightlines, and less chance of runnin' into walkers—or anyone else."
Merle snorts, crossing his arms. "And who's to say it's empty? Bet there's a pack of deadheads sittin' pretty in the trees, just waitin' for us to walk in."
"Better there than a wide-open road," Maggie counters, brushing her hair back from her face. "Stopping here means no cover, no safety. We'd be sitting ducks."
"Forty minutes," Michonne says, her tone clipped. "That's the difference between risking it all on the road or finding somewhere defensible. I say we keep moving."
Rick's gaze shifts to me, and I can see the weight of the decision pressing on him. "What do you think, Lauren?"
I glance at the kids, huddled close to the RV, their breath fogging the air as they try to stay warm. "If it's secluded and we can make it there before dark, it's worth it," I say carefully. "But if we're wrong, we might not have the energy to flee."
Rick nods, his jaw tightening as he glances toward the truck. "Alright. We push on to the park. Daryl, Michonne, and Merle, take point. If it looks bad, we'll find another spot. Everyone, load up."
The drive to the state park feels surreal in its quietness, the kind of calm which is hard to trust. The roads stretch endlessly, lined with skeletal trees coated in frost, their branches reaching into a sky that shifts from grey to inky blue as dusk sets in. The convoy hums along steadily, and nothing stirs in the distance for once—no walkers shambling out from the treeline, no shadows flickering with the promise of danger. When we finally roll into the park, I half expect something to go wrong. But there's nothing. No movement, no noise beyond the soft rustle of the Yellow Medicine River in the distance. Daryl and Michonne scout ahead, and when they return with nothing to report, it feels like we've stumbled into a miracle.
By the time camp is set with the vehicles forming a protective circle and the fire burning low, the unease I've carried all day finally starts to ease. T-Dog, Beth, Amy, and Hershel have already settled into a quiet sleep, their exhaustion pulling them into rare stillness beneath the faint warmth of shared blankets. Carl and Sophia are in the RV, their quiet giggles carrying through the open window. Maggie and Glenn sit near the truck, heads close together, whispering like the world hasn't completely collapsed around us. Even Daryl looks at ease, leaning against the truck bed with D and Michonne close by. Lori sits in the RV, her silhouette visible through the window as she fusses with supplies, her movements more restless than purposeful. Merle leans against the truck, his gaze sweeping the camp, but it lingers briefly on Carol as she tends to the fire.
I linger near the Jeep, my gaze drifting upward to the stars that have begun to poke through the canopy of trees. It's a rare moment of peace, and I'm almost afraid to let myself enjoy it. Rick's footsteps crunch softly on the gravel behind me, and I glance back as he approaches, his face illuminated by the faint light of the fire. There's darkness in his eyes, but his touch is warm and steady when he reaches for my hand. He doesn't speak at first. The silence between us feels like its own kind of comfort.
"You alright?" he finally asks, his voice low.
I nod, my fingers curling around his. "I think so. It's just… strange. A place like this. Calm. It doesn't feel real."
He squeezes my hand gently, his thumb brushing against my knuckles. "We'll take what we can get. Days like this… nights like this… they're rare."
The words hit me harder than I expected, and I lean into him without thinking, his arms wrapping around me. I press my forehead against his chest, letting his heartbeat steady my own. The rest of the world falls away momentarily—the walkers, the fear, the journey. There's only Rick. Solid and unyielding, holding me like I'm worth keeping safe.
"You worry too much," he murmurs, his lips brushing against my hair.
I smile faintly, the weight on my chest easing a little. "Says the man who's carrying the world on his shoulders."
He chuckles softly, a rare and precious sound, before pulling back enough to meet my eyes. "I'll carry it if it means you don't have to."
I don't know what to say, so I lean up and kiss him instead. It's slow and sweet, a reminder of everything we still have. When we pull back, his forehead rests against mine, and the firelight dances in his eyes, softening the edges of the weight he carries.
"Let's get some sleep," he says, his voice still gentle but with a quiet authority I've come to trust. "We'll need it."
The morning sun filters weakly through the bare branches, casting long shadows across the camp as everyone moves with the quiet efficiency which only comes from routine. The fire is long extinguished, its ashes scattered, and the vehicles sit waiting, their frost-coated windows catching the light. The air feels colder today, biting and brisk, urging us to keep moving.
Rick stands near the Jeep, his arms crossed, and watches Daryl secure the last supplies in the truck bed. "Everything ready?" he asks, his voice cutting through the stillness.
"Just about," Daryl replies, tugging at a bungee cord. "Bike's strapped down, truck's good to go. Gotta wake T-Dog."
"He's up," Hershel says as he approaches, his breath fogging in the cold. "Beth and Amy, too. Everyone's moving."
"Good," Rick nods, then turns toward the RV. "Lori, how are things in there?"
Lori leans out of the RV door. "We're packed."
Merle saunters over from the truck. "About time. Feels like we've been sittin' ducks long enough."
"Let's hope the walkers didn't think the same," Michonne says dryly, adjusting her katana. She glances at Rick. "Which way?"
"North," Rick replies. "We stick to the backroads and keep the pace steady."
"Figures," Merle mutters, but he shoulders his pack and heads toward the truck, Carol already waiting in the vehicle.
We disperse to our vehicles, the quiet punctuated by gear clanging and the low murmur of instructions. As I settle into the Jeep's passenger seat, Rick adjusts the mirror before turning the key. The engine sputters to life, and the sound feels louder than usual in the stillness of the morning. The convoy begins to roll out, one by one, until we're all moving again, the camp fading into the distance behind us.
Carl leans forward, looking between Rick and me. "Let's play something," his tone hopeful but hesitant.
Rick glances at me from the driver's seat, his expression softening slightly. "What do you have in mind?"
"Would you rather."
"Carl," I said, glancing back at him, "you do realize how dangerous that could be with this group, right?"
Sophia giggles beside him, her hands resting in her lap. "Come on, it'll be fun."
Rick smirks faintly. "Alright," he says; his tone lifts, carrying a hint of ease. "You going to let the others know?"
Carl leans in to grab the radio. "Alright, everyone, get ready—it's time for Would You Rather!"
"Do we have a choice?" T-Dog chuckles.
"Nope!" Carl's grin is a beautiful thing to witness. "Okay. Would you rather fight five walkers with no weapons or one walker twice the size of a normal one?"
"That's easy," Daryl's voice breaks through the static. "The big one. Bigger they are, slower they move."
"Yeah, but what if it's fast, too?" Carl shot back.
"Then I'm screwed either way," Daryl replied, his tone gruff but amused.
"Alright, alright," Rick said, steering the conversation back. "Who's turn."
"Would you rather eat squirrel daily for a week or one giant can of dog food in a single sitting?" Amy enthusiastically asks.
The groans from the other vehicles were immediate, followed by laughter.
"Squirrel," Glenn says. "Squirrel. No contest."
"Dog food," D said. "Get it over with."
"Gross," Beth's voice came through, and I could almost hear her shudder.
Rick chuckled beside me, his hold on the wheel relaxing. "Alright, next one?"
Sophia leans back, and a sly smile tugs at the corners of her lips, her eyes glinting with a playful spark. "Would you rather step in Walker's guts barefoot or be sprayed in the face with Walker blood?"
A sudden burst of uneven laughter crackles through the radio, filled with disbelief. Carol's voice follows: "Sophia! I can't believe you!"
"It's a fair question," Daryl mutters. "And the answer's guts."
"Guts? Really?" Beth huffs, but a faint lilt in her tone betrays her amusement.
"Better than blood in your mouth," Daryl shot back.
"Okay, I've got one," Michonne said over the radio, her voice carrying a rare, playful edge. "Would you rather scavenge for supplies with one other in an unfamiliar city or spend two days alone in your abandoned hometown?"
"Easy. City, no question," Daryl declares. "At least there, you don't have to think about what it used to be." There's a flatness to his tone, but something beneath it hints at more—a truth he doesn't care to explain.
I glance at Rick, then back at the road ahead, considering my answer. "I'd take the hometown," I say finally, my voice steady but thoughtful. "Two days alone beats the city's unknowns. And… maybe it'd be good to remember where I came from. Even if it hurts."
Merle's laugh is sharp and dismissive, cutting through the silence. "Y'all are crazy. City's got better odds—more loot, less time sittin' around feelin' sorry for yourself."
I roll my eyes but keep quiet. A moment later, Carol's calm and soft voice follows. "Hometown. Even if it's empty, at least you'd know it was yours." Her words settle in the silence, heavier than I expected, and for a moment, no one responds.
When Glenn finally speaks, his gentle humour lifts the mood. "Okay, last one," he says. "Would you rather play this game for another hour or get out and push the RV?" Laughter ripples through the radio, a rare sound which feels lighter than the cold air pressing against the windows. Even Daryl mutters something resembling a chuckle, though it's hard to tell with him.
As the game fades into silence, conversation dwindles, replaced by the steady hum of the engines. Time stretches out, marked by the changing light filtering through the frost-covered windows. The quiet feels heavier now, the game's novelty worn off as everyone turns inward, focused on the road ahead.
The road stretches before us, flanked by frost-covered fields and patches of bare trees swaying in the wind. Grand Forks rises in the distance, a faint smudge of abandoned buildings against the grey sky. It looks lifeless at first glance, but as we creep closer, the more uneasy details come into focus—shadows shifting between buildings, the unmistakable jerky movements of walkers along the outskirts. They're scattered, not enough to be a direct threat, but enough to remind us why we can never let our guard down.
Rick slows the Jeep, and I feel the vehicle's hum ease as we pull off to the side of the road, well away from the town. The truck and RV follow, forming a loose line, engines idling softly. I glance toward Rick, whose knuckles are tight on the wheel, his eyes scanning the horizon. "We'll rest here," he says, calm but firm. "No one gets out."
The faint groans of walkers carry on the wind, distant but not far enough for comfort. My heart thuds heavily as I twist in my seat to look at Carl and Sophia in the back. Carl meets my gaze, his expression steady but tired, while Sophia leans against the window, her knees tucked up to her chest. They're both quiet, but their wide eyes dart to the treeline as if expecting something to emerge at any moment.
Rick shifts in his seat, one hand moving to rest on the gearshift, ready for anything. "We'll keep the engines running. Everyone stays alert. If something comes our way, we're gone. No hesitation."
I nod, pulling my jacket firmer around me as the cold seeps through the glass. The tension in the Jeep is palpable, but no one says a word. Outside, the trees creak in the wind, and the distant walkers fade into shadows, leaving the hum of the convoy to fill the silence. It's not much of a break.