I hug my arms tightly, attempting to ward off the chill coming in through the cracked window. The Jeep hums softly as Rick eases it along the narrow back roads, the city of Des Moines looming on the horizon. We've been driving for hours since leaving the Inn, the landscape outside shifting from endless fields to the scattered remnants of suburbia. Everyone's tired; we need to stop soon. My foot taps against the floor, uneven and restless, as my gaze darts from the road ahead to the tree line on either side.

Stepping out of the Jeep, I feel the chilly air bite at my face. The vehicles are idling in a loose line, their engines humming softly, filling the quiet with low, steady noise. Ahead, the city of Des Moines looms on the horizon, jagged and broken.

Rick stands by the Cherokee, his face set, scanning the group as we gather. "We have enough fuel to drive through the city and a little beyond," he begins, his hands resting on his hips. "But sooner or later, we must stop and replenish. Do we stop here, hit one of the petrol stations in Des Moines, or push past the city and refuel from what we've already collected?"

His words linger, and silence envelops us. We stare at the city, shoulders stiff and breaths shallow; only the faint rustle of the wind breaks the quiet. A crow caws distantly, its sharp cry cutting through stillness.

"Cities ain't good places to stop," Daryl says, breaking the silence. He leans against the truck, his crossbow slung over his shoulder. "Too many places for those things—or worse—to hide. We don't stop if we can help it."

"You got that right," Merle adds, his voice dripping with his usual drawl. "Only thing a city's good for is getting your ass killed."

"Maybe," Hershel says, stepping forward. "But if we pass through without stopping, we could miss a chance to restock while we're still close enough to do it."

"Why not use what we have now?" Maggie asks, her brow furrowed. "We stocked up while at the Inn. We don't need to take the risk."

"And once it's gone, then what?" Beth cuts in, shaking her head. "We're out there with no fuel, supplies, or where to find more. We've gotta think ahead."

"That's easy to say until someone has their throat ripped out," Merle snaps. "But sure, let's all stroll through Zombie Central for fun."

"Enough," Rick says, his voice cutting through the back and forth. He looks at Michonne, who's been quiet, standing a few feet back with her arms crossed. "What do you think?"

"We've seen what happens in cities. Even if it looks quiet, it's not. We should push past. Use what we've got and find someplace safer to stop."

I glance at Carl, sitting on the edge of the RV's step, Sophia beside him. His voice is steadier than I expect when he speaks. "If we stop, we should do it fast," he says, looking at Rick. "No going inside buildings. Get the fuel and go."

Sophia nods beside him, her face pale but determined. "If it's safe."

Rick's gaze lands on me, and my stomach twists a little. "Lauren?" he asks, his tone even, but there's something about how he looks at me—like he already knows what I'll say.

I scan the crowd, my gaze resting on the city. "It's a risk either way, but if we pass through and don't stop, we're gambling that we'll find something better later. If we stop now and move fast, it's less of a gamble. But we can't waste time once we're there."

Rick nods slightly, but I can see the tension in his shoulders. He's not thrilled about it, and neither am I, but it's the kind of call we've had to make too many times.

I see a faint twitch in his jaw before he looks at everyone. "Alright, we stop if we find a station on the city's edge—nothing deeper. We move fast, we stay together, and if things go sideways, we're out. No second guesses, no arguments."

Daryl mutters something under his breath, but he nods. Michonne adjusts the strap of her katana, her expression unreadable, while Merle snorts softly, shaking his head. "Fine," he drawls, "but when this all goes to hell, I'm sayin' I told ya so."

Rick ignores him, turning back to the Jeep. "Let's move."

The group begins to break apart, but there's a slight change to the rides. Glenn and Maggie hop into the jeep with Rick and me. Merle is on the motorbike while Carol steps into the RV behind Lori. D, Michonne, and Daryl squeeze into the truck. The engines rumble louder as we start to pull back onto the road. My gaze lingers on the city ahead, a mix of dread and resolve churning in my chest. It's a risk. But then again, what part of this world isn't?

I spot the gas station off the main road, and its pumps remain intact. It's a lucky find, miraculous even, considering how long it's been since the start of the world's end. After a moment where everything is still silent and peaceful, all vehicles pull up to a my surprise, snowflakes drift lazily through the air, melting as they land on the metal frames of the RV and the Jeep. The world feels deceptively quiet; I clench my hands and search the station before anyone steps outside.

Rick exits the Jeep, hand on his pistol. "Alright," he his voice steady yet low. "We'll get the pumps running, fill up, and move. Quick and clean."

"Quick, huh?" Merle mutters, slinging his crowbar over his shoulder. "Nothing ever goes quick."

Rick ignores him, grabbing the radio. "Kids, on top of the RV. Keep your eyes sharp. If you see anything moving, shout."

I can see Carl and Sophia immediately scrambling up the side of the RV without hesitation, Carl helping Sophia steady herself before both of them settle into position. Their silhouettes look tiny against the grey sky.

"Lauren, Maggie, D—you're on the pumps. Be ready to move as soon as the generator is running." He glances at me, and I nod while grabbing the nearby crowbar. "Hershel, keep driving. Lori, remain inside the RV." Rick puts the radio down and gestures to an approaching Daryl, Michonne, and T-Dog. "We'll find the generator. It should be a shed out back or somewhere nearby. Keep your eyes open."

"What if it's not there?" Glenn questions as heleavesthe jeep, draping his rifle across his shoulder.

"Then we improvise," Rick replies, his tone leaving no room for debate.

As they move toward the back of the station, I see Amy and Beth exiting the RV, and before I can say anything, they slip quietly toward the station entrance. "Amy—"

D touches my arm. "They'll be fine," she says softly. "We have enough eyes out here. If they find anything, they'll shout."

I nod reluctantly, my stomach twisting. My fingers tighten around the crowbar as I glance toward the treeline, scanning for movement. The kids' voices drift down from the RV's roof, Carl telling Sophia what to watch for.

I hear the generator sputter to life first, coughing and wheezing before settling into a steady growl somewhere behind the station. It's loud enough to echo faintly through the lot, the sound jarring against the quiet of the open road. Moments later, the hum of the pumps fills the air. I grip the nozzle tightly, watching the numbers on the pump crawl upward, a painfully slow process which feels like it takes longer than it should.

"Keep going," I whisper to myself. The Jeep is nearly full, and a slight scent of petrol wafts toward me. Maggie is close by, her rifle leaning against her shoulder, her gaze continuously surveying the treeline.

D moves between the pumps and the RV quickly and purposefully. "RV's almost topped off," she calls out, her voice steady but loud enough to carry over the sound of the pump. "How's the Jeep?"

"Just about there," I reply, giving the nozzle a shake as the pump finally clicks off. I pull it free and secure the cap before moving toward the truck.

D waves me off with a nod. "I've got this. Work on the bike."

I glance at her briefly, my brow furrowing. "The truck needs more."

"We'll fill it enough to keep moving," she says, her tone leaving no room for argument. "The bike is a priority, or it's dead weight."

I bite my cheek but nod, stepping over to the motorcycle. The cold metal feels slick beneath my hands as I unscrew the cap and fit the nozzle into the tank. The fuel flows, but it's obvious there's not much left in the pump.

"It's done," Maggie says from the truck, her voice low and tense. "No more coming through."

I glance at the pump, my stomach sinking as I realize the bike's tank is only half full. D joins me, her eyes narrowing as she assesses the situation.

"Good enough," she says finally, tightening the cap on the motorcycle's tank. "We'll figure it out later."

Across the way, the RV's engine rumbles to life, Hershel's signal that it's ready to roll. The kids climb back inside from the roof, Carl's silhouette visible through the side window as he waves at me. I raise a hand automatically, my focus shifting back to the others.

Maggie slings her rifle over her shoulder, her breath clouding as she joins me. "You think they're done with the generator?"

"They'd better be," I reply, glancing toward the station building. The pump handles hang limp now, the silence pressing around us again. "We've got what we can."

I linger momentarily, my gaze sweeping the area one last time. The pumps are dry, but they've given us enough. It'll be fine. The sound of a gunshot shatters the stillness, followed by a crash. My heart leaps into my throat as I whip toward the station. "What the hell was that?"

Beth and Amy stumble out, wide-eyed and breathless, a jerry can clutched tightly in Beth's hand. Behind them, another gunshot rings out, and a walker collapses in the doorway.

Rick emerges moments later, his jaw tight, the muscles flexing beneath his stubble. His lips press into a firm line, and his brow furrows enough to cast a shadow over his sharp, calculating gaze. "We're done here, everyone, back in the vehicles. Now." There's a streak of dark blood across his jacket.

I hear a faint crash from inside the building, the sound of something heavy hitting the floor—my pulse pounds in my ears. Daryl's voice follows, sharp and commanding, though the words are lost in the wind. Glenn's next out the door, the weight of the duffle bag pulling slightly at his shoulder. His movements are quick but measured, his gaze darting to the lot's edges before settling ahead. His eyes are sharp, his jaw set tight, and his movements deliberate, each step feeling as if bracing against an invisible pressure. The slight furrow in his brow grows deeper while his gaze stays fixed ahead.

Rick is the last to climb into the Jeep. There's a stiffness to his movements, and when he slides into the passenger seat, the door closes with more force than necessary. I adjust my grip on the wheel, my eyes flicking toward the RV ahead of us as it rumbles to life. The kids are back inside now, their silhouettes visible in the windows as Hershel eases the massive vehicle forward. In the rearview mirror, Maggie and Glenn settle the duffle bag between them.

When we're back on the road, I glance sideways at Rick. His jaw is tight, his eyes fixed on the horizon, but it's not just focus—it's something heavier, something sharper. His fingers tap against his knee once, twice, before curling into a fist.

I already know what he's thinking. Amy and Beth, their wide-eyed, breathless dash from the building, the supplies they stumbled out with like some miracle. "They're safe," I say quietly, my eyes on the road, but the words feel thin.

Rick exhales sharply, leaning back in his seat. His hand scrubs over his face, and for a moment, the lines around his eyes deepen, the weight of the last hour settling into his features. He doesn't respond, and I don't push. There's no point. Not yet.