The road ahead stretches long and quiet, blanketed in frost. The snow hasn't started falling yet, but the chill in the air is sharp, biting at my face, which my scarf doesn't cover. Through the windshield, the trees press close on either side, bare and skeletal, their branches weighed down with ice.

Rick watches from the driver's seat, gripping the steering wheel as the Jeep's tires crunch on the icy road. "We're close," he says quietly, the first words spoken in hours. "Few more days—less, if we don't run into anything."

I nod, pulling my coat tighter. We've been moving for days, stopping only for a few hours of sleep when exhaustion strikes. Our supplies—canned beans, jerky, a few energy bars—are dwindling, barely enough to sustain us. The gas is also running low. Carl shifts in the backseat, bundled in his coat and a thick blanket. Sophia is in the RV with Carol to stay warm. We've prepared for the cold with warm clothes, gloves, and coats, but the ache still settles into our bones. The frost feels heavier every day.

A walker staggers off the road, sluggish, arms half-raised, fumbling through the snow. It seems unaware of us. Another lies frozen further back, half-buried in frost. As we pass, the walker's head turns toward us, a slow, lazy lurch in our direction.

The cold is buying us time.

The radio crackles, breaking the quiet. "Road's clear behind us," Daryl's voice filters through, calm but tight. "We're burnin' through fuel, Rick. Might wanna think about stoppin'."

Rick lifts the radio. "Understood. We'll find something. Keep close." He keeps glancing at the fuel gauge like it'll drop faster if he looks away.

I shift, watching the road stretch endlessly ahead. "We're close enough, right? A few more days—"

"A few more days," Rick repeats, cutting me off, his knuckles pale against the steering wheel. "If we can make it. But we won't without food."

The radio crackles again. "How much longer?" It's Lori's voice, clipped and tight. She's been more vocal lately and agitated since we crossed into colder ground. "We've been pushing too hard. Maybe it's time we think about stopping somewhere... permanent."

I clench my jaw, wishing she'd shut up, but Rick responds first. "The cabin has always been the plan. We're not stopping now."

There's a long pause on the other end, then static.

Carl sits up straighter; his voice is soft but clear. "Do we have enough to make it? To the cabin, I mean?"

Rick exhales slowly, his gaze never leaving the road. "We will. But we must find fuel, food, anything to keep us moving."

A shape sways in the distance. Three walkers stumble, frostbitten and barely upright against the cold. As we head north, the world feels emptier, and silence deepens. Rick slows the Jeep as the road bends, revealing the skeletal remains of a small hunting lodge, half-buried in frost with clouded, cracked windows. Snowdrifts block the door, while trees provide some cover.

"Looks empty," I say softly, scanning the area for movement.

"Could be," he mutters; his posture is rigid as he stops near the lodge. He reaches for the radio, signalling the others. "We've got a place to stop. We're checking it now."

Daryl, Michonne, and Glenn approach cautiously, weapons drawn. Rick and I step out together, the bitter air biting at my face the moment I'm exposed to it. My boots crunch over the snow, the quiet too perfect, the cold dampening every sound.

Daryl signals ahead with a sharp nod. "I'll sweep the back."

Rick lifts his gun. "Lauren, stay with me."

I nod, keeping my hand close to the hilt of my knife as we push the door open. It's stiff with ice but gives with a splintering crack, and the scent inside is stale—dust, old wood, and decay, but no immediate rot.

The space is small, but it could have been called cozy once. It has a wood-burning stove against the far wall, a few bunk beds with musty, moth-eaten blankets, and a table with scattered, yellowed hunting magazines. The shelves are half-raided but not stripped clean.

"Clear," Glenn calls from the side room, his voice echoing slightly.

"Same out back," Daryl adds, reappearing at the door, crossbow still raised.

I exhale slowly, lowering my guard. "Looks secure enough."

Rick's face doesn't ease. His gaze sweeps the corners, his instincts still sharp. "We'll stay long enough to eat, sleep, and refuel."

The group filters inside; Daryl and I start the wood stove, the heat barely cutting through the chill. Carl sits with Sophia, sorting the few supplies left. Lori stands by the door, arms wrapped around herself, watching silently. When Carol offers a blanket, she declines with a curt shake.

It's been like this since Amy. Since we crossed into colder ground.

Rick checks the fuel reserves. "We've got enough to get us through a few more hours on the road, but we'll need more. We could split up. Search the sheds out back—"

Lori suddenly speaks up, cutting him off. "No. We don't need to keep pushing north."

Rick frowns, turning toward her. "We've talked about this. We're almost there."

"Almost," Lori snaps, stepping closer, her voice rising. "You keep saying it. But what if we're driving straight into nothing? What if the cabin's gone? What if—"

"It's still our best option," I interject softly. "Lori, we've talked about this—"

Her head snaps toward me. "You don't get to speak for this group, Lauren. You've been acting like you're in charge. But I was here first! You weren't."

I bite my tongue, holding back the urge to snap. I know she's emotional. She's scared. She's pregnant. I can feel the weight of every eye in the room pressing down on us, everyone suddenly still. "Lori…I'm not trying to—"

"You've taken everything from me." Her voice cracks. "My family. My friends. Carl barely looks at me anymore because you're always there. You think you're the hero here, keeping everyone safe, but you're not!"

The words hit harder than I expected. I feel my chest tighten and my mouth flatten, corners twitching downward. My nails dig half-moons into my palm, the pain grounding me enough to keep me as level-headed as possible. "That's not fair," I manage, voice tight. "I'm doing everything I can for this group—"

Lori's face twists with something raw. "My group. They were mine first."

Rick steps forward, voice low. "Lori, enough."

Her glare shifts to him, her lips curled, but there is no heat behind the expression, only exhaustion lingering beneath the surface. "Of course, you're defending her. You always do. I was your wife, Rick! You're supposed to stand with me, not—"

"Lori!" Rick's voice sharpens. "We're not doing this. Not now. Not like this."

Before Lori can respond, Carl pushes his chair back with a loud scrape, his tiny voice cutting through the tension. "Mom, stop."

The room goes silent. Lori stares at him, her face falling as Carl continues, his voice steady but firm. "Lauren's helping us. She helps you, too, even when you're mean to her."

For a moment, the only sound is the crackle of the stove. Lori's face contorts. When she speaks again, her voice is low and fractured. "You don't even see it, do you? How she's taken everything?"

Rick exhales, voice softening. "Lori, no one has taken anything from you. We're all doing what we can to survive."

The silence stretches too long, and the crackle of the stove is the only sound until Lori's voice, trembling but sharp, cuts through it. "Carl," her face is pale, and her lips are pressed thin. "Come here."

Carl shifts but stays close to my side, his fingers clutching my coat sleeve. "Mom…"

"I said come here," she repeats, the authority in her voice forced, cracking under the weight of everything else she's feeling. Her arms fold tighter around herself like she's holding everything in or holding it back.

Rick's voice cuts in, calm but firm. "Lori, he's fine where he is."

Her head snaps toward him, eyes narrowing. "No, Rick. He's my son. He should be listening to me."

"He is," Rick says, shifting slightly, angling his body enough to stand between them. His shoulders are square, his feet planted steady, but his hands remain loose at his sides—ready, not threatening. His voice stays calm and steady. "You're upset. We get it. But don't take it out on him."

Lori's face twists, the hurt morphing into something sharper. "You get it? You're always standing with her—defending her—like she's part of this family when she's not!"

"Lori." Rick's voice pierces the tension, low and strained. His jaw is tight, words clipped.

Glenn steps forward from the corner, his face pale but set, voice sharper than I've ever heard from him. "You're doing this? Right now?" His gaze locks on Lori, unwavering. "You're mad at Rick when we all know the baby isn't his. It's Shane's. And you know it too."

Lori's face goes rigid, her lips part as if to argue, yet no words emerge. The truth lingers, undeniable, pressing into the space like a weight no one can ignore. Her face drains of colour, her lips parting, then pressing into a thin line.

Carl presses closer to me, clutching the front of my jacket now. His small fingers twist in the fabric like he's holding on for stability. I can feel his shallow breathing as he mutters, "Stop it."

She points at Carl, her voice trembling, "You don't get to hide behind her! I'm your mother, Carl! Not her. Not Lauren!"

Carl flinches.

"You want to be angry? Fine. I understand. You're scared and hurting. But how dare you turn this on him?" I glance at Carl, his pale face fighting tears. My throat tightens. "He is your son, and he loves you. He's trying hard to be brave after everything we've endured. He needs comfort now, not guilt or being used to make a point."

"Lauren's right." Rick voices. "Lori, we're all trying. We're doing what we can for each other. For the kids. For the baby. But you need to stop this before—"

She shakes her head sharply, retreating a step. "No. No, you don't get to make me feel like—" Her breath catches. But she's not listening anymore. Lori steps back, her chest rising and falling with sharp, uneven breaths, and then turns toward the door. She's already reaching for the door. The icy draft rushes in as it swings open, snow swirling like fine needles against the cabin's warmth.

"Lori, stop—" I start forward, instinct tightening my chest, but she throws a glare over her shoulder.

"I need air." Her voice cracks. "Just give me a minute. I can't—" The words choke off as she presses a hand to her stomach, her breathing shallow.

Rick takes a step forward. "Wait." He hesitates, but only for a heartbeat. "Lori, you know you can't—"

"I know!" Her voice snaps like brittle ice, echoing in the quiet space. She softens only slightly, blinking rapidly. "I'm not stupid, Rick. I'm not going far. Just outside. I can see the whole damn place from the door."

Rick exhales, jaw clenched, eyes on the frost-blurred windows, scanning the tree line. The walkers we'd passed were slow—frozen, barely moving—but it didn't mean more weren't out there. I can feel the same calculation running through my head, the same risk analysis we've all been forced to make every day since this nightmare started.

She looks ready to argue, but Rick cuts her off with a sharp shake of his head. "I'm coming with you."

Her face twists, too proud to let herself look like she's backing down, but she nods stiffly and steps outside with him trailing close. The door shuts hard behind them, cutting off the cold.

The tension lingers in the silence they've left behind. Carl's still leaning into me, his head bowed, and I rub his back gently, my pulse slowly settling. Daryl shifts from the corner, arms crossed but quiet, while Glenn exhales sharply, shaking his head as if trying to clear the weight of the argument.

Daryl says gruffly, arms still folded. "Ain't got the luxury to act like that out here. Gettin' herself worked up like it don't matter who's watchin' the damn tree line."

I swallow hard, the ache in my chest not entirely leaving. "She's scared," I say softly, half to myself.

D watches me for a beat, then nods, voice softer. "She's not the only one."

Time crawls as we sort the lodge. We'll stay at least a night or more to gather supplies or locate a place to scavenge. I glance out the frosted window where their figures vanished into the trees. Carl makes a sleeping space beside me, with Sophia next to him.

The door creaks open, cold seeping in as Rick enters, shaking snow from his shoulders, followed by Lori. Both were tense but differently. Rick's face is grim. Lori's eyes are sharp and jaw set.

"We found a barn," Rick says. His breath fogs the air as everyone shifts toward him. "About fifty yards west. It looks empty—no signs of walkers, nothing fresh. But there were supplies inside. Canned food. Medical. Blankets. Enough fuel to refill the RV, maybe more."

There was a beat of silence.

"That's…good, right?" Glenn said cautiously from his place near the door.

Rick hesitated. "Perhaps." His gaze flicks towards Lori. "The thing is… it looks like someone's been gathering supplies. Not recently, but it was stored like it was meant for someone to come back for. The barn doesn't look occupied now, but it might've been."

"No one's there now, Rick." Lori huffs, "We can't leave it sitting there because of 'what if.'"

Rick exhales, visibly biting back frustration. "It could've been someone like us," he says, quieter this time. "Someone trying to survive. We've all seen it—people gathering what they can, stashing it, hoping to return. If it were us…what if we left and came back to find it all gone? If we take it, it's not only supplies. It's survival."

"Our survival," Lori counters.

Daryl breaks the silence, leaning his crossbow against the wall with a sharp *clunk*. "This ain't complicated. No one's there now. We need it. We're not exactly swimmin' in options, are we?"

"Daryl's right," Michonne adds quietly. "We can't make it to Black Lake without more fuel. And the food… it could be weeks before we find something better than half-empty shelves in a ransacked gas station."

"What if it was us?" Carol asks.

Carl shifts closer to me. "But it's not. We're here. And we need it now."

Rick nods slowly, the fight slipping from his expression—not defeated but resigned. "Alright. We take it. D, Daryl, Michonne, T-Dog, Merle, and I will haul it to the vehicles. Carol, Sophia, and Carl—you three start inventorying everything we've got left. Write it all down. See what we're still missing. The rest of you—check the rest of the lodge. Anything useful, anything we missed. Weapons, blankets—whatever we can carry."

It took hours.

The barn's supplies surpassed expectations—old hunting gear, canned food, and waterproof ammunition cases. T-Dog and D transport crates towards the vehicles, their breath visible in the cold. Meanwhile, Daryl and Michonne patrol the perimeter while Rick and Merle secure the motorcycle in the truck bed. As the day progressed, the snowfall intensified, and daylight faded rapidly. Carol and Sophia compiled an inventory list inside the lodge while Carl recorded fuel levels. I assisted Glenn in clearing the back rooms, uncovering an old first-aid kit and a few worn blankets.

Once the supplies were loaded and the sun dipped into the pale dusk, I noticed Lori was missing from the group. I found her tucked into the far corner of the lodge, half-curled in a worn armchair with her knees drawn up, her face turned toward the window where the snow blurred the trees. She wasn't crying.

But she looked…hollow.

I approached carefully, the old floor creaking beneath my boots. "Lori?"

She didn't answer at first. "I get it," she murmured finally, voice flat. "You think I'm being selfish."

I hesitated, choosing my words carefully.

"No. I think you're scared. And I think it's making you see things…worse than they are."

Her eyes narrowed slightly, but she didn't argue. I couldn't say anything else when she wasn't ready to hear it. So I left her there, half-hoping the silence would give her some peace.

By the time we finished, the cabin was packed tight with supplies—blankets folded, food stored, weapons secured by the door.

Rick assigned the watch rotations. "I'll take first with Michonne, Daryl and T-Dog will take the second. D, you and Glenn—third."

Everyone nodded. The rest of us huddled in the limited space, sharing body heat as the snow whispered against the windows outside.

For the first time in weeks, we have what we need. And no one spoke of Lori curled alone in the corner.

The wind howls against the windows as night went on. Packed in the cabin, it feels too quiet despite the crackling fire. Shadows dance across the wooden walls, the snow muffling sounds. I lay curled beneath a worn blanket, eyes half-closed but not sleeping. Daryl's quiet steps echoed faintly outside—the second watch started. T-Dog's silhouette passed the window before disappearing into the dark. We should feel safer with supplies and a full watch rotation. The walkers outside are slow, almost frozen.

Lori sat in the same chair for hours, arms wrapped around her stomach, half-turned toward the window. Firelight flickered on her face, deepening the shadows beneath her eyes. She hadn't spoken to Rick, Carl, or anyone since dinner. I try to shake off how she'd looked at me earlier.

A cold draft slips through the cabin's cracks, and I adjust my blanket tighter. But when I open my eyes again, Lori's chair is empty.

I sit up too fast, the cold seeping into my bones as the blanket slips away. My eyes scan the room. Rick is on the far side, his head bowed in restless sleep against the wall, one hand still near his gun. Carol and Sophia are tucked together on the floor, barely visible under the layers.

But Lori isn't here.

The knot in my stomach twists tighter.

Slipping from my blanket, I cross the room carefully, stepping over sleeping forms, until I reach the door. The handle is icy beneath my fingers, and when I crack it open, the night air rushes in, bitter and sharp. Snow no longer falls, but the ground glitters pale under the moonlight. Daryl stands a few feet from the porch, his crossbow raised, watching the woods.

I step out, the frost crunching beneath my boots. "Daryl." My voice is barely above a whisper.

He didn't turn, still scanning the dark. "Yeah?"

"Have you seen Lori?"

His head snaps toward me, eyes narrowing. "She inside?"

I shake my head. Without another word, he turns toward the side of the cabin, gaze sweeping the snow-covered trees. A fresh set of tracks leads away from the lodge. Not walker tracks. Boots.

"Shit," he mutters, already moving, his breath fogging the air as he follows them. I barely have time to grab my coat and knife before I follow, heart pounding harder with every step.

We find her by the barn. The heavy doors cracked open; snow piled inside where the wind had blown it through. Lori stands there, half-shadowed in the pale light, arms around her stomach as she stares at the last supplies stacked along the far wall. But she isn't looking at the supplies. She's standing, frozen.

"Lori,"

She doesn't turn. I step closer and see the tear tracks freezing against her pale cheeks. "I couldn't sleep," she whispers, her voice brittle. "I keep thinking about…"

"You shouldn't be out here alone. It's not safe—"

She turns suddenly, eyes wild. "It's never safe! And I— I don't belong anymore, do I? I can feel it. The way you look at me. The way everyone—"

A low, guttural sound echoes from the far corner of the barn.

My breath catches. Lori doesn't notice. She keeps talking; her words are sharp and tumble out faster. "I feel like a ghost. I don't even know who I am anymore. I'm…the problem. I'm the woman you all have to tolerate."

The moan comes again—louder, closer—echoing from the deep shadows of the barn. My grip tightens on the knife instinctively as I shift. The cold gnaws through my gloves, burning where the frost had settled on my skin.

"Lori—back up. Now." Daryl shouts from the entrance.

But she isn't moving fast enough. The first walker staggers from behind the crates, half-frozen but still moving, its arms jerking forward with unnatural stiffness. I lunge, driving the blade up and under its jaw, the steel biting through flesh and bone. It collapses instantly, but its weight drags me forward, knees hitting the icy ground with a crack as the body sags lifelessly against me.

The second walker came from the left but went down with a bolt to the head.

"LORI, MOVE!"

She scrambles, finally reacting, her boot slipping in the slush as the third walker lurched from the far end of the barn—drawn to the sound of the struggle. I barely register another moan, deeper in the shadows—half-hidden among the supplies. Lori isn't moving fast enough. I slash upward, driving my knife into the side of the walker's skull with a wet, shuddering crunch.

I hear Daryl swear, and from the corner of my eye, I can see him shoving another back before slamming his crossbow into its head repeatedly. "Where are they coming from?"

A crack echoes, and then Lori screams.

I spin. A walker has her. Its teeth sink into the soft flesh of her shoulder, jaws locking down as her cry tears through the air.

"NO!" I dive forward, knife flashing in the firelight as I ram the blade into its temple, the creature convulsing before slumping over her.

Blood is already spreading across her coat. Her breath hitches—short, panicked gasps as she clutches the wound, blinking in disbelief. I grab her, half-hauling her upright even as a walker stirs deeper in the shadows, its movements sluggish but deliberate.

"Come on," I whisper, my pulse hammering in my ears as Lori staggers under her weight. "We have to get back—now." I exhale as Daryl grabs Lori's other side, and we drag her to the lodge.

Snow clings to Lori's coat in uneven patches as we half-carry her back toward the cabin, my breath ragged clouds in the icy air. She's shivering violently, her face pale—too pale. Blood seeps through her shoulder, staining the fabric dark, her breath shallow as her head lolls against me.

"Stay close, Lori," my voice trembling as we navigate the frost-covered grass. The cabin looms ahead, and a soft glow of firelight seeps through the gaps in the boarded windows. Each step feels heavier. "We're almost there."

"Rick!" Daryl yells, kicking open the door.

"Daryl?—what the—"

"Rick—" I gasp, and suddenly, he's rushing forward. He picks Lori up and takes her from Daryl and I.

The cabin is warmer than the barn but feels stifling when the door shuts. The group had been gathered near the fire, half-dozing or quietly talking, but now everyone is moving. Carol and Carl both gasped.

"Mom?!"

Daryl is already there, pushing the table aside to make space. T-Dog helps clear the blankets from the floor while Glenn grabs the medical supplies.

"What happened?" Rick demands, lowering Lori carefully onto the floor.

I try to catch my breath, blood pounding in my ears. "She—there were walkers. She was bit. I—I got her out, but—"

Rick presses his hands to the wound, but the blood keeps coming—so much blood. Lori's eyes flutter open, her face ashen, lips trembling. "Rick—" Her voice is barely above a whisper.

"I'm here," he rasps.

The cabin feels too small, the walls pressing in as the stove crackles low, casting flickering shadows which stretch too far. Rick kneels by Lori's side, his hands pressing over hers where they clutch her wound, trembling, slick with blood. Her breathing is shallow now—each rise and fall fainter than the last.

Carol has taken Carl outside, Sophia trailing after them, whispering soft reassurances I couldn't hear.

Lori's skin is pale, her lips parted as she fights for every breath. Her gaze flutters, struggling to stay fixed on Rick's face. On the man who loved her despite everything. He isn't speaking. Only staring. Frozen. Shock is setting in. I can feel it in the way his hands shake.

Kneel beside him. "Rick." My voice is quiet but steady.

He doesn't respond. His whole body feels wound too tight, and his focus is locked on Lori as if sheer willpower could keep her here. I touch his arm—gently, grounding him—and feel the shudder run through him as he blinks, finally turning his head toward me. There's nothing held back in his eyes now—just raw, broken grief.

"She's slipping," he rasps.

I swallow hard. "I know." For a heartbeat, I feel like he might collapse. His breath hitches, his head bowing closer to hers, and I can feel the way his pain ripples through him.

I shift, my hand covering his, pressing gently against his, where he clutches Lori's limp hand. "You're here with her, Rick," I whisper. "She's not alone. She's safe. You're giving her that."

Lori stirs weakly, her gaze flickering between us, lips parting. I can barely hear her voice—so faint, but still there. "Rick…"

"I'm here," he chokes, leaning closer, pressing his forehead against hers. "I'm here."

Her breath stutters and then stops. The tension in her frame eases, and her chest stills completely. Her face softens into something quiet and peaceful. Rick doesn't let go. He doesn't say anything. He kneels there, his head bowed, hands cradling hers like they were the only thing keeping him together.

I don't speak. I stay there, my hand never leaving his. Carl is back, moving toward her, his face pale, eyes wide. Carol pulls him back gently, her hand trembling against his shoulder, but he's already shaking his head. "No—no," his voice breaks.

Hershel steps forward from the corner, the old floor creaking softly beneath his weight. He's pale, his face lined in a way I hadn't noticed before. "Rick," Hershel's voice is low and steady but tinged with grief. He didn't reach out but kept his hands clasped in front of him. "You know what needs to be done." Rick doesn't even blink.

"She's gone, son. And if we don't… if you don't—" His voice catches. "She'd never forgive you if she came back like that."

Still no response. Rick's breathing is shallow. I look over at Carol and Sophia, who are still cradling Carl. His face is pressed tightly against Carol's shoulder, his small frame trembling with silent sobs.

The floor creaks again—heavier this time.

Merle steps forward, boots scuffing the wood, arms folded tightly across his chest. "Ain't no way to say this gentle, but she's gone, Rick. Holdin' her hand ain't changin' that. You got a kid right there who needs you standin', not sittin' here waitin' for the damn inevitable."

Rick's head lifts a fraction, his bloodshot eyes narrowing.

Merle exhales sharply, the muscle in his jaw flexing. "You know the drill. Ain't no sugarcoatin' it. You wait too long, and she's not gonna be her anymore. She's gonna be somethin' else."

Rick moves. He shifts. His hand slackens from Lori's, his breath catching as his shoulders hunch forward. I don't let go. Not yet. Instead, I squeeze his hand gently. "I'm here, Rick," I whisper. "We're here. You don't have to do this alone. But we have to do this."

Rick exhales a shuddering breath. Then, finally, with a slow, deliberate motion, he releases Lori's hand. He doesn't say anything—nods once, jaw tight as he pulls himself upright with my help. His eyes flick toward Carl, broken, but he stays where he was.

Hershel steps closer, setting a hand gently on Rick's shoulder. "I'll do it," he offers.

"No. It has to be me."

No one argues. I do turn to Carl to get him back outside. His fists are clenched at his sides, nails pressing half-moons into his palms. His chest heaves, his eyes are wide, jaw set, every inch of him trying so hard to be brave but cracking under the weight. Slowly, I shake my head. A silent plea.

For a heartbeat, he didn't move. But then his lips part, his breath shaky, and his shoulders tremble before his gaze drops, his head bowing as his whole frame deflates. Carol takes his hand, drawing him gently toward the door. The way his footsteps dragged on the floor felt heavier than any scream could have.

Glenn's face is pale, his head bowed as he stares blankly at the floor. T-Dog stands frozen, his hands still bloodstained from trying to help. Daryl hasn't spoken, stands by the window, crossbow still in hand.

Michonne is the one to break the quiet, her voice raw but steady. "We should bury her."

Rick's head lifts, his eyes bloodshot, face hollow. "No graves." His voice is rough. Final. "She didn't…she didn't make it this far to be left in the ground."

I look at him, swallowing past the lump in my throat. "So what do we do?"

Rick exhales slowly, his face hardening. "We keep going. We finish what we started. We make it to the cabin."

I nodded, the weight of his words sinking in.