The hum of the Jeep's engine filled the silence as Abel Grimes gripped the steering wheel, his gaze locked on the R.V. ahead. Warm air blasted through the open windows, offering little relief from the oppressive humidity. Shane sat slouched in the passenger seat, his hat tilted low to shield his face from the sun.
Abel rolled his neck, the frustration clear in his expression as he glanced at the dusty radio.
"Wish we had some music.."
Shane snorted and adjusted his hat, glancing over with a smirk.
"You and me both. These quiet drives are gonna put me to sleep."
Abel gave a dry laugh, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel. "Man, I miss blasting heavy metal. I used to love the looks people gave me."
Shane leaned back, his smirk growing into a chuckle.
"Oh, I remember that. You're talkin' about that time at the ice cream shop, right?"
Abel's laugh came easier this time, the memory bubbling to the surface.
"Yeah, yeah... that Sunday afternoon. Should've thought twice about cranking Slipknot with those church ladies coming out. They were horrified."
Shane laughed harder, slapping his knee.
"Hell, I don't blame 'em! That one song's got lyrics about slittin' throats and worse. Mortifyin' for anyone, let alone a church crowd."
Abel's grin faded slightly as he glanced out the windshield, the trees blurring past. "Feels like that was a lifetime ago. Back then, my biggest problem was scaring old ladies. Now, we're just trying to keep everyone alive."
Shane sobered at that, his face tightening. He nodded, staring out at the road ahead.
"Ain't that the truth." Suddenly, Shane leaned forward, narrowing his eyes. "Wait, hold up... What's that up there?"
Abel squinted and frowned. A cluster of cars clogged the road ahead, their rusting frames baking in the sun. Smoke billowed lazily from the R.V., which had rolled to a stop just ahead. Abel eased his foot onto the brake, slowing the Jeep. Daryl's motorcycle pulled up alongside them, the bike rumbling softly as he signaled them to stop.
"The R.V.'s in bad shape. Something's smoking under the hood."
Abel sighed, shaking his head as he brought the Jeep to a halt. "Of course it is."
He turned off the engine and climbed out, Shane following suit and slinging his shotgun over his shoulder. The two of them approached the R.V., where Dale, Glenn, Andrea, and T-Dog were gathered around the open hood.
"What did I say? I've been sayin' it for days—this thing is dead in the water." Dale said, his voice dripping with frustration.
Shane gave a dry chuckle, glancing at Dale before scanning the area around them. "What's the problem, Dale?"
Dale straightened, looking exasperated as he gestured to the engine.
"Radiator hose is gone. Without it, we're not goin' anywhere."
Abel stepped closer, leaning in to inspect the smoke pouring out of the hood.
"That's bad. Real bad."
Dale wiped sweat off his brow with a greasy rag, muttering under his breath.
"Yeah, well, being stuck in the middle of nowhere with no spare parts and no hope—" He cut himself off, his eyes drifting to the sea of abandoned cars surrounding them. He cleared his throat awkwardly. "Okay, maybe I'm being dramatic."
"You're tellin' me there ain't a radiator hose somewhere out here? We're surrounded by cars." Shane said.
Further down the line of vehicles, Daryl whistled, waving Abel over. Abel jogged toward him, watching as Daryl rummaged through the trunk of a battered sedan. With a faint smirk, Daryl pulled out a pink backpack and tossed it to Abel.
"Here. Bet you'd rock this." Daryl said, his voice dripping with amusment.
Abel caught it and gave a small laugh, slinging the backpack over his shoulder.
"Hell yeah, this place is a gold mine. There's gotta be something useful in all these cars." Abel said while searching through a pile of clothes.
T-Dog joined them, glancing at the vehicles with a more optimistic expression. "We can siphon gas, at least. That'll help us keep moving."
Carol stepped forward, holding Sophia protectively close to her side.
"And maybe we'll find some water, too."
"Or food." Glenn added.
Lori's voice cut through the hopeful chatter, her words low and heavy.
"This isn't a gold mine. It's a graveyard."
The group stilled, her words sinking in like a weight. For a moment, all anyone could hear was the faint buzz of cicadas in the humid air. Abel finally broke the silence, his voice steady and practical.
"Graveyard or not, we don't have a choice. There's food, gas, water—everything we need to keep going. Now's not the time to start moral debates."
Lori shot him a glare but turned her attention back to Rick, who gave her a quiet, measured look before nodding in agreement with Abel.
"He's right. C'mon, y'all. Let's get to work before someone—or something—finds us first." Shane said before walking further down the line of cars.
The group spread out, cautiously beginning to search the line of vehicles. Abel gave Daryl a quick pat on the shoulder before heading further down the road, his crowbar in hand and his eyes scanning for anything that could make the difference between life and death.
The sun hung high over the highway, casting shimmering waves of heat across the blacktop. The group had spread out, each focused on their own tasks. Near the R.V., Glenn and Dale were busy with the engine, Dale muttering his usual commentary about the state of the world and predictable mechanical failures. Andrea sat inside the R.V., quietly dismantling her handgun to learn its inner workings, the faint metallic clicks breaking the heavy silence.
Rick stood at the crest of a small hill, his rifle slung over his shoulder as he kept a watchful eye on the treeline, while Shane paced the perimeter, his gaze sharp and restless. Farther down the highway, Abel worked with T-Dog, popping gas tank latches open with a crowbar while T-Dog siphoned fuel into a canister.
"Got another one," Abel said as the latch snapped open. T-Dog gave a short nod, crouching to siphon.
"Keep 'em coming," T-Dog replied.
Nearby, Daryl wandered between the cars, crossbow slung over his back, his sharp eyes darting between trunks and open doors for anything of value.
As Abel moved to the next car, something caught his attention near the far end of the pileup: a small Volvo parked at an odd angle. It wasn't much to look at, but something about it—the tilt, the faint glint of sunlight on its trunk—piqued his curiosity. Leaving T-Dog to his work, he strolled over and popped the trunk with a satisfying click.
The contents were sparse: two dusty water bottles tucked into a corner. Abel grabbed one and slid it into the pink backpack Daryl had tossed him earlier. As he reached for the second, his fingers scraped against something sharp.
"Shit," he hissed, glancing at his hand where a thin red line had already begun to bead with blood. He wiped it on his jeans, frowning as he noticed a metallic glint beneath the trunk mat.
"What the hell...?" he murmured, tugging the mat aside. Beneath it was a crude, makeshift compartment. Nestled inside was something that immediately caught his attention: an axe.
The weapon was striking in its craftsmanship. The handle was made of smooth ash wood, weathered and worn but sturdy, with a black paracord wrap for grip. The axe head gleamed with a wicked edge, its design angular and sharp, clearly well cared for. Abel whistled low as he picked it up, testing its weight with an experimental twirl.
"Damn... you're a beauty," he said to no one in particular, a grin tugging at his lips. He gave the weapon one last spin before gripping it tightly. "You're coming with me."
He turned, still admiring the axe, only to come face-to-face with Daryl standing silently behind him. Abel jumped back with a sharp intake of breath, clutching his chest.
"Jesus, Daryl!" Abel snapped. "You trying to give me a heart attack?"
Daryl smirked, clearly amused by the reaction. "You're too easy, man." He glanced past Abel into the open trunk. "Find somethin' good?"
Abel held up the axe, his grin returning. "Found this beauty. What do you think?"
Daryl nodded with a slight smirk. "Don't matter if it's an axe or a spoon. Long as it takes down walkers, it's worth havin'."
Abel chuckled, slinging the axe over his shoulder. "A spoon, huh? You ever seen someone take down a walker with a spoon?"
"Nope," Daryl said dryly. "But I'd pay to see it."
Curious as ever, Abel leaned over Daryl's shoulder as the archer opened the car's back door to inspect the interior. "Anything good in there?" Abel asked.
Daryl rifled through a few items, finally pulling out a small pink wrapper. He held it up between his fingers, his expression unimpressed. "Unless you count tampons and panties as 'good,' then no."
Abel burst out laughing, leaning on the car for support. "Well, they might not kill walkers, but someone back at camp'll probably appreciate 'em. Never know when tampons'll save the day."
Daryl gave him a look, though a smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. "All right, smartass. Let's get back to T-Dog. You can show off your new toy later."
Abel gave the axe one last appreciative glance before sliding it into the pink backpack. "Lead the way. But I swear, if I find a spoon, I'm keeping it."
Daryl chuckled as the two of them made their way back toward T-Dog, the faint sound of Abel's laughter lingering on the warm, stagnant air.
The sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows across the cluttered freeway as Abel picked through the mess of cars. He had broken off from Daryl and T-Dog after helping them siphon gas from several vehicles, curiosity driving him further along the line of abandoned cars. The hatchback in front of him had been promising at first, but so far, it was just another graveyard of trash and forgotten items.
With a grunt, he yanked open the glove compartment and sent a cascade of old receipts and junk mail fluttering onto the asphalt. "Nothing but crap," he muttered, tossing a broken pair of sunglasses onto the growing pile. He reached for the center console when a faint sound stopped him cold—a low, guttural snarl carried on the still air.
Abel froze, his pulse quickening as he glanced over his shoulder. A small group of walkers, their bodies twisted and rotting, shambled out from between the cars. Their lifeless eyes fixed on him, their pace quickening as their hunger ignited.
"Shit," he hissed, his mind racing. He looked around frantically for somewhere to hide. A few cars ahead, a pickup truck loomed, its bed partially hidden by debris. Without a second thought, he darted forward, staying low and silent, and threw himself into the truck's bed.
The stench hit him immediately—thick and suffocating, the unmistakable odor of decay and death. Abel covered his mouth, fighting the urge to gag. He turned his head slightly and froze.
A corpse lay sprawled beside him, the remains of a man who had taken his own life. The revolver was still clenched in his bony fingers, and the top of his skull was blown out, the dried remnants of brain matter staining the truck bed. Abel's heart hammered as the snarls grew louder. He pressed himself against the side of the truck, trying to make himself invisible.
Walkers shuffled past, their footsteps slow and uneven. One passed so close that he could see the ragged tear of flesh hanging from its jaw. Abel held his breath, his hand tightening around the axe he'd found earlier. Just a little longer, he thought.
The silence was shattered by the clatter of metal as his axe slipped and struck the truck bed. The sound echoed like a gunshot.
Abel's heart sank as the walkers froze, their heads snapping toward him in unison. Their snarls grew louder, guttural and hungry, as they surged toward the truck.
"Fuck!" Abel cursed, scrambling to his feet. Rotten hands clawed at the sides of the pickup, scraping against the metal as they reached for him. The truck rocked under their weight as they surrounded it, a sea of decay and death.
He climbed onto the cab, the metal creaking beneath him. His eyes darted around, searching for an escape. The highway stretched out before him, but there was no clear way out. A sudden, vice-like grip on his ankle made him cry out.
Looking down, he saw a walker clawing at him, its teeth snapping inches away from his boot. With a fierce swing of his axe, he severed its wrist, black, viscous blood spurting out as the hand fell away.
Panic surged in his chest. He cursed himself for being so careless, for letting his curiosity nearly get him killed. Then, his eyes landed on a car at the edge of the freeway. Its front end had smashed through the guardrail, leaning precariously over the edge. It wasn't much of a plan, but it was his only option.
He took a few deep breaths, adrenaline coursing through his veins, and backed up as far as the truck cab allowed. The snarls grew louder, fingers brushing his pant leg as the walkers clawed at him. With a burst of speed, Abel sprinted forward and leapt.
Time seemed to slow as he sailed through the air, the car growing larger in his vision. But he hadn't jumped far enough. He slammed into the side of the car with a grunt, the impact jarring him. Gritting his teeth, he scrambled onto the hood, rolling across it before crashing into the guardrail.
The walkers were already closing in, their snarls deafening. Abel vaulted over the rail, letting himself fall down the steep embankment. The world became a blur of leaves and dirt as he tumbled down, hitting the ground hard at the bottom. Dazed and bruised, he forced himself to his feet.
The snarls echoed above him, growing more distant, but he wasn't safe yet. He sprinted into the woods, weaving between trees and brush, his legs burning as he pushed himself harder. The sound of moans seemed to surround him, the eerie chorus pressing closer.
Spotting a large tree, Abel dove behind it, pressing his back against the rough bark. His chest heaved as he tried to quiet his breathing. The walkers stumbled past, their movements slow but deliberate. Abel stayed frozen, counting the seconds until the last one disappeared from view.
The forest fell silent again, save for the occasional rustle of leaves. Abel exhaled shakily and turned back toward the highway, his goal clear: get back to the group. But a sudden snap of a branch made him freeze.
He spun around, his grip tightening on his axe. Something barreled out of the underbrush and slammed into his chest with a shriek. Abel staggered, instinctively catching the small figure. Looking down, he saw Sophia, her eyes wide with fear as she scrambled to get away.
"Sophia! It's me!" he whispered urgently, kneeling down to steady her. She whimpered, trembling as she clung to him.
Abel held her close, trying to calm her. "Are you okay?" he asked softly. She nodded weakly, but her wide eyes betrayed her terror. Her gaze darted to the revolver tucked into his belt, and she reached for it.
"Get them," she whispered, her voice barely audible.
Abel gently grabbed her hands, pulling them away. "Sophia, listen to me," he said, locking eyes with her. "If I shoot, they'll come back, and it'll put you in danger."
Her lip quivered, but she nodded reluctantly. Abel scooped her up, holding her tight as he took off through the woods. The distant sound of moans grew louder again, forcing him to change direction.
Finally, his legs gave out, and he set Sophia down, gasping for breath. His eyes scanned the area, landing on a small space covered by sticks and bushes. "In here," he said, kneeling in front of her. "You have to hide."
Sophia shook her head, clinging to him desperately. "No! Please don't leave me!"
Abel cupped her face, his tone firm but kind. "If there's more than two of them, I can't protect you, sweetheart. You'll get hurt. I promise I'll come back, but you have to hide."
Tears streamed down her face, but she nodded. Abel helped her squeeze into the small hideout, brushing the sticks back into place as the snarls grew louder.
He stood, facing the walkers as they emerged through the trees. Abel grabbed his water bottle and splashed it at them, drawing their attention.
"I'm right here, you ugly fucks!" he yelled.
One walker stumbled forward and fell into a shallow pool of water. The others followed, shambling toward him. Abel backed up, his boots splashing as he moved. Suddenly, his heel caught on something underwater, and he fell backward, water rushing over him. He scrambled to his feet, coughing, as the walkers closed in.
Abel stepped backward through the shallow stream, the cold water swirling around his boots as the walkers followed, their guttural snarls filling the air. His chest heaved with exertion, but he kept taunting them, his voice sharp and mocking.
"Come on, you ugly bastards! You want me? Let's go!" he shouted, his voice echoing off the trees.
The walkers lumbered toward him, their movements sluggish but unrelenting. Abel led them further into the dense foliage, away from Sophia's hiding spot. The trees closed in around him as he moved, ducking under low-hanging branches and stepping over tangled roots. The stream became narrower, flanked by bushes that snagged at his clothes, but he kept moving, determined to draw them as far away as possible.
Back at the hiding spot, Sophia crouched in the small, makeshift hole. Her knees were tucked against her chest as she clutched her doll tightly. She listened to the fading sounds of Abel's shouts and the walkers' snarls as they disappeared into the green haze of the forest. Minutes stretched on, her only company the rustle of leaves and the distant call of birds.
Her heart pounded in her chest. What if Abel didn't come back? What if the walkers got him? What if more came? The thoughts churned in her head, and fear clawed its way up her throat.
She couldn't take it anymore. Slowly, she peeked her head out from beneath the branches, her wide eyes scanning the area. Nothing but trees and shadows greeted her. Taking a shaky breath, she crawled out of the hole, her doll clutched tightly in one hand.
"Sophia, stay hidden," she whispered, mimicking Abel's voice in her mind. But fear overrode reason, and she took a hesitant step forward, then another. Her bare feet moved silently over the forest floor as she wandered deeper into the woods, driven by a desperate hope that she might find her mother.
Farther away, Abel crouched behind a tree, his chest rising and falling as he steadied his breathing. His axe rested in one hand, a jagged rock in the other, his knuckles white from gripping them tightly. The snarls were closer now, accompanied by the uneven shuffle of footsteps.
A walker emerged from the brush, its rotting face turned in the direction Abel had gone. It stumbled past the tree, oblivious to the man hiding inches away. Abel waited until it was beside him before he sprang into action.
With a guttural roar, he swung his axe in a wide arc, putting all his strength into the motion. The blade connected with the walker's neck, slicing through decayed flesh and bone. Its head flew through the air, landing with a wet thud several feet away. The body dropped limply into the stream, blackened blood pooling in the water.
The remaining walker snarled, turning toward him with newfound aggression. Abel glared at it, his breath hissing through his teeth.
"You're next," he muttered.
He hurled the rock with all his strength. The projectile struck the walker's face with a sickening crunch, sending it sprawling onto its back. Abel advanced, his boots splashing in the water as he approached the fallen creature. It clawed at him, its teeth snapping just inches from his boot.
"You just don't quit, do you?" Abel growled, raising his foot high.
He brought his heel down with brutal force, the walker's skull caving in under the weight of his boot. Bone and rotting flesh splattered across the forest floor, the snarls fading into silence.
Abel stood there for a moment, panting as he wiped the sweat from his brow. Then, his thoughts snapped back to Sophia. Spinning on his heel, he sprinted back toward the hiding spot, his boots pounding against the ground.
When Abel rounded the bend and saw the small hidey hole, relief flooded him. He slowed to a jog, kneeling in front of the branches that covered the entrance.
"Sophia," he called gently, pulling back the branches. "It's safe. You can come out now."
He waited, but no response came. His brow furrowed, and he leaned closer, peering into the hollow. His stomach sank as he realized it was empty.
"Sophia?" he said, louder this time.
Nothing.
Panic gripped him as he stood, his eyes scanning the area. He turned in a frantic circle, his breathing quick and shallow.
"SOPHIA!" he shouted, his voice echoing through the trees. The only reply was the rustling of leaves in the wind.
Abel cursed under his breath, running in the direction he thought she might have gone. "SOPHIA!" he yelled again, his voice breaking.
He searched for hours, his calls growing hoarser and more desperate with each passing minute. The forest seemed to stretch endlessly around him, the same trees and shadows blurring together. His mind raced with dark possibilities: What if walkers found her? What if she was hurt?
By the time the sun began to dip toward the horizon, Abel's legs felt like lead, his body aching from the relentless search. Every snapped twig and rustle of leaves sent a fresh wave of hope surging through him, only to be crushed when it turned out to be nothing.
Defeated, he slowed to a walk, his head hanging low. He knew he had to return to the group, but dread coiled in his chest. How was he supposed to face Carol? How could he tell her he'd lost her daughter?
Abel trudged back toward the freeway, his thoughts a chaotic mess of guilt and self-recrimination. He gripped his axe tightly, the weight of it a bitter reminder of his failure to protect her.
When he reached the edge of the forest, the sight of the freeway came into view, the scattered cars gleaming faintly in the light. Abel stopped and took a deep breath, trying to steel himself.
He had no idea what to say. No idea how to explain.
All he knew was that he'd failed her.
The group stood in the shallow creek, surrounded by towering trees and dense foliage. The quiet murmur of running water underscored the tension hanging in the air as Abel explained the situation, his voice tight with guilt.
Daryl crouched low, peering into the small hidey hole Abel had used to shelter Sophia. He swept his eyes over the scene, his sharp instincts scanning for any clue. After a moment, he straightened and glanced over his shoulder. "You sure this is the spot?"
Abel rubbed his face with both hands, trying to hold himself together. His jaw clenched as he let out a deep breath, nodding. "Yeah," he said, his voice heavy with remorse. "I told her to wait here. I told her I'd come back. I drew the walkers up the creek a ways." He pointed upstream, his eyes fixed on the hollow he'd left her in.
Daryl grunted and scanned the shallow water, his boots crunching against the creek bed as he stepped around. "Without a paddle. Seems where we've landed," he muttered.
Abel stared at the hidey hole, his thoughts spiraling. "She was gone by the time I got back," he said, his voice trembling with self-recrimination. "I searched for hours before I came back to get y'all... If anything happens to her... fuck. I don't think I can face Carol. Or Carl."
Daryl glanced up briefly, his sharp eyes flicking to Glenn, who had wandered into an area with faint tracks. "Hey, Short Round," Daryl called, his tone biting but calm. "Why don't you step to one side? You're mucking up the trail."
Glenn looked down, confused, and quickly stepped aside. "Sorry," he mumbled, moving closer to Shane.
Shane sighed, resting his shotgun over his shoulder as he looked at Abel. "Kid's scared, man," he said, shrugging. "Tired, too. She had a close call with a couple walkers. Gotta wonder how much of what you told her really stuck."
Daryl crouched near a set of tracks in the mud, his gaze narrowing as he pieced together the story they told. His finger traced the outline of a small footprint heading toward the highway. He stood, shouldering his crossbow, and nodded toward the direction. "Got clear prints right here," he said. "She was headin' back to the highway."
The group exchanged glances, their tension easing slightly.
"Let's spread out," Daryl added. "Make our way back and keep an eye out."
Shane offered a hand to help Daryl climb out of the creek, while Rick stepped forward to pull Abel up.
"She couldn't have gone far," Shane said, his eyes scanning the trees for any sign of movement.
Rick clapped a hand on Abel's shoulder, his voice steady but tinged with sympathy. "We'll find her," he said firmly. "You did the only thing you could. There weren't many choices available."
Shane nodded in agreement, his tone lighter. "She's probably holed up in a bush somewhere, tuckered out."
Abel swallowed hard, his guilt written all over his face. "I pray you're right," he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper.
A little ways ahead, Daryl paused. He crouched again, tilting his head as he examined the ground. The tracks he'd been following veered sharply to the left, heading away from the highway. He frowned and straightened, gesturing with his crossbow.
"She was doin' just fine till right here," Daryl said. "All she had to do was keep goin', but she veered off that way."
Glenn's brow furrowed, his concern evident. "Why would she do that?" he asked.
"Maybe she saw somethin' that spooked her," Shane offered. "Made her run off."
Abel shook his head firmly. "No," he said, his voice resolute. "I killed the only two that were chasing her."
Daryl nodded in agreement as he studied the tracks again. "Don't see any other footprints," he said. "Just hers."
Shane scratched the back of his neck. "So what do we do?" he asked. "All of us press on?"
Before Rick could answer, Abel stepped forward, cutting in. "No," he said firmly. "You, Rick, and Glenn head back to the highway. People are gonna start panicking if we don't show soon. Let them know we're on her trail, doing everything we can. But most of all, keep them calm."
Shane nodded, tipping his head toward Glenn and Rick. "I'll keep 'em busy scavenging cars. Think up some other chores. We'll keep 'em occupied. Come on."
Glenn hesitated, then followed Shane as he started back toward the highway. Rick lingered, his eyes fixed on Abel.
"Rick," Shane called back, his tone impatient.
Rick ignored him for a moment, stepping closer to Abel. "Look," Rick said quietly, lowering his voice so only Abel could hear. "This ain't on you, son. I know you're tearing yourself up over this, but you did right by her. We're gonna find her, you hear me?"
Abel nodded, though his eyes stayed fixed on the tracks ahead. "Thanks," he muttered, though the guilt in his voice lingered.
Rick placed a firm hand on Abel's shoulder, his grip strong and reassuring. "Daryl's got your back," he said. "You'll bring her home."
Reluctantly, Rick stepped away, turning to follow Shane and Glenn back toward the highway. Abel stood there for a moment, watching his uncle disappear into the trees.
Daryl's voice broke the silence. "You ready?"
Abel turned toward him, gripping his axe tightly. "Yeah," he said. "Let's find her."
The two of them moved silently into the brush, following the faint trail of small footprints veering away from the highway.
The forest was quiet except for the crunch of leaves and the occasional rustle of branches as Daryl led the way, his crossbow at the ready. Every few steps, he paused to crouch and inspect the faint tracks left behind by Sophia, pointing them out to Abel. Abel followed silently, his axe slung across his back, his thoughts swirling with regret. The image of Sophia peeking out of the hidey hole flashed in his mind, and he clenched his fists. If he could go back, he would have stayed closer, never left her side.
Daryl stopped abruptly and knelt down, brushing leaves and twigs aside. Abel crouched beside him, scanning the ground. The tracks were faint, nearly obscured by moss and fallen debris.
"The tracks are gone?" Abel asked, his voice tight with concern.
Daryl shook his head. "No," he said, brushing aside more leaves to reveal a faint outline of a shoeprint. "They're faint, but they ain't gone. She came through here."
Abel leaned closer, narrowing his eyes at the light imprint of a small sneaker. "They seem lighter," he said. "You know why?"
Daryl traced the outline of the print with his finger. The front edge of the shoeprint was pressed deeper into the soil than the rest. "Could be a lot of things," he replied. "Leaves and branches takin' most of her steps. Or maybe she's tiptoein' around. See here? The front end's heavier than the back."
Abel frowned, absently scratching the stubble on his jaw. "Wonder why she started doing that..."
"Like Shane said, somethin' could've spooked her," Daryl answered, rising to his feet and scanning their surroundings. "Or maybe she's just scared."
They pressed on, following the faint trail as it meandered deeper into the woods. The tension between them was palpable, each step heavy with the unknown.
Suddenly, a rustling sound ahead made both men freeze. They dropped into a crouch, Daryl raising his crossbow as his sharp eyes scanned the trees. They moved forward cautiously, their steps silent against the forest floor.
Over a small ridge, they spotted the source of the noise: a walker. It shambled aimlessly through the trees, dragging one leg behind it, its guttural moans breaking the stillness.
Daryl tapped Abel on the shoulder and pointed toward the walker. He made a circular motion with his finger, signaling a flank. Abel nodded, understanding the plan.
Moving low and fast, Abel circled to the left, crouching as he jogged around the walker. He positioned himself behind it, rising to his full height.
With a sharp whistle, he got its attention. The walker turned toward the sound, its dead eyes locking onto him as it let out a guttural snarl.
Before it could take another step, the air whistled, and a crossbow bolt pierced its skull, entering through the back of its head and protruding from its left eye. The walker collapsed to the ground in a heap, motionless.
Daryl emerged from the trees, stepping toward the downed walker. He placed a boot on its shoulder and yanked his bolt free, wiping the blood and viscera on his pants.
"That's one less," Daryl muttered. He raised his voice, shouting into the trees, "SOPHIA!"
The sound echoed through the woods, carried by the dense canopy. They stood still, waiting for any response, but the forest remained silent.
Abel's gaze lingered on the walker, his brow furrowing. Something about it seemed off. He knelt beside it, studying its face. Blood covered its lips and chin, smeared like it had just eaten.
"What're you lookin' for?" Daryl asked, sliding his bolt into his quiver.
Abel lifted one of the walker's hands, inspecting the nails. "It fed recently," he said grimly, pointing to the scraps of flesh caught under its fingernails. He pried its jaw open, ignoring the stench of decay. The teeth were stained red, and bits of flesh were still caught between them.
"There's flesh in its teeth," Abel said, his voice low. He hesitated, then reached into the walker's mouth, pulling out a stringy piece of meat. He held it up, the foul-smelling chunk dangling from his fingers.
Daryl leaned closer, his expression grim. "Yeah? What kind of flesh?"
Abel stared at the meat, his stomach twisting. "Could be anything," he muttered, letting the piece fall to the ground.
Daryl pulled his hunting knife from its sheath, pointing the tip at the walker's bloated stomach. "Only one way to find out," he said.
Abel unbuttoned the walker's shirt, revealing its swollen abdomen, the skin stretched taut over its rotting innards. The smell hit them immediately—a putrid combination of death, decay, and rot. It was the kind of stench that clung to the back of the throat, making it hard to breathe. Abel turned his head, fighting the urge to gag, while Daryl pressed a hand over his nose and mouth.
"Goddamn," Abel muttered, his eyes watering. "That smell could make a buzzard puke."
"Yeah, well," Daryl replied, his voice muffled, "it's only gonna get worse."
He plunged the knife into the stomach, black blood spurting from the incision. The skin tore easily as he dragged the blade downward, opening the walker's abdomen. The intestines spilled out in a tangled mess, the blackened organs slick with decay.
"Here comes the fun part," Daryl said, pulling a pair of oil-stained gloves from his pocket. He slid them on and reached into the cavity, his hands disappearing into the gore.
Abel watched as Daryl felt around, his face twisted in concentration. "Hoss had a big meal not too long ago," Daryl said, his fingers closing around something solid. He pulled out the walker's stomach, a bloated, gelatinous sac that jiggled in his hands.
Daryl dropped it onto the ground with a wet splat. The stench intensified, a sickly-sweet odor that turned Abel's stomach.
"Here's the gut bag," Daryl said, wiping his gloves on his pants.
"I'll do this part," Abel offered, holding out his hand for the knife. "Least I could do since you gutted the bastard."
Daryl handed over the blade, and Abel knelt beside the stomach. He flipped the knife into a reverse grip and sliced it open.
The contents spilled out—a mixture of half-digested flesh, bile, and unidentifiable chunks. Abel used the tip of the knife to prod through the mess, his nose wrinkling in disgust.
"This thing eat straight-up shit? I can't even tell what I'm lookin' at," Abel said, flicking a chunk of visceral matter aside.
Daryl's sharp eyes caught something in the pile. "Hold up," he said, gesturing for the knife. Abel handed it over, and Daryl stabbed into the gut bag, pulling out a half-eaten skull.
"This gross bastard had himself a woodchuck for lunch," Daryl said, tossing the remains aside.
A small weight lifted from Abel's chest, though his mind still raced. "At least we know..." he murmured.
Daryl gave him a nod, echoing his words. "At least we know."
The sun hung low on the horizon, casting long shadows over the derelict cars that stretched along the highway. The group worked methodically, laying out the supplies scavenged from the vehicles into organized piles. It was a decent haul—water, canned goods, batteries—but the grim expressions on their faces betrayed the reality: supplies couldn't ease the weight of a missing child.
Carol stood apart from the group, her arms wrapped tightly around herself as though to keep from falling apart. She watched the treeline with hollow eyes, her face pale and drawn. Andrea approached her slowly, offering a quiet presence.
"It's late," Carol murmured, her voice shaking. "It's gonna be dark soon."
Andrea rested a gentle hand on Carol's back, rubbing slow circles. "They'll find her," she said softly, though the certainty in her tone felt forced.
Carol nodded, but the distant look in her eyes didn't change. Andrea gave her shoulder a final squeeze before turning toward the R.V., leaving Carol alone with her thoughts.
Nearby, Glenn hoisted a milk crate full of food from one of the cars. As he set it down, he spotted two figures emerging from the dense green of the forest.
"Oh God," Glenn called out, relief and dread mingling in his voice. "They're back."
The group turned to see Daryl and Abel stepping over the guard rail. Both men looked exhausted, their faces smudged with dirt and their clothes spattered with dried walker blood. Abel's shoulders slumped with weariness, and his eyes were shadowed with guilt.
Carol rushed forward, hope flickering briefly in her tearful gaze. "You didn't find her?" she asked, her voice cracking.
Abel looked at her, his guilt etched into every line of his face. "Her trail went cold," he said quietly. "We'll pick it up first light."
Carol trembled, her breath hitching as tears streamed down her face. "You can't leave her out there on her own," she sobbed. "To spend the night alone in the woods…"
Daryl stepped forward, his voice steady but firm. "Out in the dark's no good," he explained. "We'd just be trippin' over ourselves, gettin' more people lost."
"She's twelve!" Carol's voice rose to a near scream, her despair boiling over. "She can't be out there on her own! You didn't find anything?"
Abel opened his mouth, stammering as he tried to find the words, but all that came out was a choked, "I-I know this is hard. But I'm asking you not to panic. We know she's out there." He gestured toward the woods, his hand trembling slightly.
Daryl nodded in agreement. "We tracked her for a while," he added.
"We have to make an organized effort," Abel said, his voice regaining some of its steadiness. "Daryl knows the woods better than anybody. That's why I think he should oversee this."
Rick and Shane exchanged glances before nodding in silent agreement.
Carol's eyes drifted to the blood staining Abel's clothes and Daryl's arms. She began to hyperventilate, her hands shaking. "I-Is that blood?"
Abel sighed, exchanging a hesitant look with Daryl. Finally, he nodded and said, "We took down a walker. It wasn't anywhere near Sophia. It was a different one."
Carol's face crumpled, and she collapsed onto the roadblock fence, her sobs wracking her small frame. Lori hurried to her side, wrapping an arm around her as she tried to offer comfort.
"How could you know that?" Andrea asked, her sharp tone cutting through the tension.
Abel hesitated, glancing at Daryl. The older man stepped in, his voice blunt and matter-of-fact. "We cut the son of a bitch open. Made sure."
"Oh God…" Carol whimpered, her sobs growing louder. Lori rubbed her back, murmuring soft words of reassurance, but the grief was too overwhelming. Lori glanced up at Abel, her expression a mix of pity and simmering anger.
Carol's head snapped up, her tear-streaked face twisted in anger and despair. "How could you just leave her out there to begin with?" she shouted, her voice raw with emotion.
Abel knelt down, meeting her at eye level. The weight of her words struck him like a blow, but he didn't flinch. "T-Two walkers were on her trail when I ran into her," he said, his voice breaking. "I told her to wait, that I would draw them away. She must've gotten scared and tried to find her way back on her own."
Rick stepped forward, his voice calm and steady. "Sounds like he didn't have much of a choice, Carol," he said, trying to ease the mother's panic.
But Carol shook her head vehemently, her voice rising again. "How was she supposed to find her way back on her own?! She's just a child—just a child!" She buried her face in her hands, her sobs muffled but no less heartbreaking.
Abel's heart shattered at the sight of her grief. "It-It was my only option," he said quietly, his voice thick with emotion. "The only choice I could make."
Shane, standing nearby, crossed his arms and nodded. "I'm sure nobody doubts that," he said firmly, his eyes briefly meeting Abel's.
Daryl and Rick shared a glance, both recognizing the storm of guilt and self-loathing written all over Abel's face.
Carol sobbed again, her words choked by emotion. "My little girl got left in the woods…"
Andrea moved to sit on Carol's other side, joining Lori in trying to comfort her, but Carol was inconsolable.
It was too much for Abel to bear. He stood abruptly, his movements jerky as he turned away. He made it a few steps before Andrea reached out, grabbing his hand. Her grip was firm, grounding him for a brief moment. She didn't say anything, just gave his hand a squeeze before releasing him to focus on Carol.
Abel walked away from the group, his boots crunching against the gravel as his mind spiraled. He cursed himself under his breath, the guilt eating at him like acid. He had made a choice—one he thought was right—but he couldn't shake the thought that he'd failed Sophia, Carol, and the group.
As he reached the edge of the highway, he stopped and stared out at the darkening tree line, the shadows growing longer with every passing moment.
"I'll find you, Sophia," he whispered to himself, his voice trembling. "I'll make it right. Somehow."
The sun was just breaking over the treetops, casting a hazy golden light across the highway. The group had gathered around the hood of a car, where Rick unrolled a canvas sleeve of tools and makeshift weapons. Wrenches, knives, a hammer, and a few blades clattered softly as he spread them out.
Rick's eyes swept over the group, lingering for a moment on each face. "Everyone takes a weapon," he said firmly, motioning to the tools.
Andrea crossed her arms, frowning as she glanced at the scattered items. "These aren't the kind of weapons we need," she argued. "What about the guns?"
Leaning against the R.V., Shane straightened, his shotgun resting casually on his shoulder. "We've been over this," he said, his tone edging on frustration. "Daryl, Rick, and I are carrying. We can't have people popping off rounds every time a tree rustles."
"It's not the trees I'm worried about," Andrea shot back.
Before Shane could fire off a retort, Abel stepped forward, picking up a long machete from the spread. He turned to Andrea and held it out to her, a small smile softening his expression. "When the herd's no longer a threat, you'll get your handgun back," he said kindly. "Until then, please use this. It'll keep you safe."
Andrea glanced between Abel and the machete before sighing, the tension in her shoulders easing. "Fine," she said, taking the blade and gripping it tightly.
Daryl crouched by the hood, unfolding a map and laying it flat next to the sleeve of tools. He tapped a finger against a marked area. "The plan is to take the creek up about five miles, turn around, and come back down the other side," he explained, his voice gruff but steady. "Chances are, she'll be near the creek. It's her only landmark."
Rick straightened, looking between the group. "Stay quiet and stay sharp," he said, his tone commanding. "Keep some space between you, but always stay within sight of each other. No lone wolves."
Shane stepped away from the R.V., slinging a worn backpack over his shoulders. "Everyone, get your packs ready," he said, flipping a water bottle in his hand before sliding it into a side pouch.
Nearby, T-Dog sat with his arm bandaged, beads of sweat glistening on his brow despite the cool morning air. Dale leaned against the R.V., inspecting the radiator with a furrowed brow and a wrench in hand.
"T-Dog and Dale are staying behind," Rick said. "T-Dog's still recovering. That gash he got from that piece of metal hiding from the herd took more out of him than we thought. He's gonna need time to rest."
Dale nodded, wiping his hands on a rag. "And I've got to get this radiator patched up," he added, tapping the broken part of the engine. "If I don't, we're not going anywhere, even if we do find her."
Satisfied with the plan, Rick turned back to the group, dismissing them to prepare.
Abel, restless and unable to sit still, stepped over the guard rail and stood on the grassy hill overlooking the forest. His fingers fidgeted with the straps of his pack as his eyes scanned the tree line. His heart felt heavy, and his mind was a chaotic mess of guilt and desperation. He'd spent all night replaying every moment with Sophia, wishing he could've done something differently.
The sound of rapid footsteps pulled him from his thoughts. He glanced over his shoulder to see Rick jogging toward him, a worried look on his face.
Rick slowed as he approached, his hands resting on his hips as he caught his breath. "You alright?" he asked, though the answer was plain on Abel's face.
Abel shook his head, looking away. "I just keep thinking," he said quietly, his voice strained. "If I'd done something different, if I'd stayed with her... Maybe she wouldn't be out here right now."
Rick studied him for a moment, then stepped closer, lowering his voice. "You're tearing yourself up over this," he said gently. "And I get it. Believe me, I do. But you did the best you could in the moment. Sometimes, that's all we've got."
Abel's jaw tightened. "It wasn't good enough."
Rick let the silence linger for a beat before speaking again. "When I was a teenager, back before the world went to hell, I had a moment like this," he said. "Cain and I—we'd gone fishing down by the lake one summer. Took the boat out, just the two of us. We didn't tell anyone where we were going. Thought we'd be fine."
Abel looked at him, his brows furrowing as Rick continued.
"We were out there for hours when a storm rolled in," Rick said, his voice taking on a distant tone. "Wind picked up, the water got rough, and before we knew it, we capsized. I tried to keep the boat steady, but it tipped right over. Cain went under, got caught in the weeds at the bottom. I thought he was gone."
Rick paused, his hand gripping the strap of his rifle tightly. "I dove in after him. Didn't think. Didn't breathe. I got him free, dragged him back to shore, but I could've drowned us both. I panicked. Made a mistake. And afterward... I beat myself up for it. Told myself it was my fault the boat tipped. My fault he almost didn't make it."
Abel tilted his head, his gaze softening. "What did dad say?"
Rick gave a faint smile. "He laughed. Told me I saved his life. Told me to stop tearing myself apart over something I couldn't control."
He placed a hand on Abel's shoulder, meeting his eyes. "You did what you had to, Abel. You gave Sophia a chance. She's still out there because of you. And when we find her, she's gonna need you to be strong for her."
Abel's throat tightened as he nodded. "I just want to bring her back," he said, his voice breaking slightly.
"We will," Rick said firmly. "Together. We'll bring her back."
The two stood in silence for a moment before Rick gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze and turned back toward the group. Abel lingered, the weight on his chest feeling slightly lighter.
He tightened the straps of his pack and looked out at the forest again, his resolve hardening. He wouldn't let Sophia down.
The sun climbed higher into the sky, beating down relentlessly and making the air thick and stifling. The group trudged through the forest, their boots crunching against dry leaves and twigs. Daryl led the way, his crossbow ready, with Abel close beside him. Behind them, the rest of the search party followed in a loose line, their faces drawn with exhaustion and worry.
The oppressive heat did little to ease the tension among them. The sounds of their footfalls and the occasional bird call were the only things breaking the silence, but even those sounds felt hollow against the weight of what they were searching for.
After a few miles, Daryl's sharp eyes caught something ahead—a flash of yellow peeking through the brush. He stopped abruptly, holding up a hand to halt the group.
Abel followed Daryl's gaze, his heart thudding in his chest as his eyes landed on the object: a small, weathered tent, its fabric faded and slightly sagging under the sun. He looked at Daryl, and the two shared a tense glance. Daryl gave Rick a light nudge, signaling for him to join them.
Rick motioned for the others to slow down and stay quiet as he moved forward. Shane was close behind him, his shotgun ready.
The four men crept toward the tent, their movements deliberate and careful. They crouched low as they approached, Abel and Daryl taking the lead. The rest of the group hung back, watching with bated breath.
"She could be in there…" Abel whispered, his voice tinged with hope and dread.
"Could be a whole bunch of things in there," Daryl muttered back, his tone grim.
They stopped just a few feet from the tent. Daryl held up a hand, signaling Rick and Shane to stay put. He pointed at Abel, then motioned toward the right side of the tent. Abel gave a small nod, gripping his axe tightly as he moved to the designated position.
Daryl circled to the left, pulling his knife from its sheath. Rick and Shane held their ground, guns at the ready, their eyes darting between the tent and the woods.
Daryl crouched near the tent's flap, tugging gently at the tarp that covered it. The material obscured much of the interior, and he leaned closer, squinting into the dim shadows. He glanced at Abel, who shrugged, equally unable to make out anything inside.
Rick turned back to the group and gestured for Carol to come forward. She hesitated for a moment, her hands trembling, but the glimmer of hope in her eyes pushed her forward. Andrea started to follow, but Shane held up a hand, silently ordering her to stay back.
As Carol joined them, Rick placed a steadying hand on her shoulder and spoke softly. "Call out to her. If she's in there, yours should be the first voice she hears."
Carol's breath hitched as she nodded. Bracing herself, she leaned closer to the tent and called out gently, her voice wavering with emotion.
"Sophia, sweetie, are you in there? Sophia, it's mommy. Sophia… we're all here, baby. It's mommy."
Her words hung in the air, met only by the quiet rustling of leaves and the faint buzz of insects. Tears brimmed in her eyes, her voice breaking as the silence deepened.
Daryl exchanged a look with Abel, then gripped the zipper of the tent. He glanced up, nodding briefly, before slowly dragging the zipper down. As the flap opened, a foul stench wafted out, hitting both men like a physical blow. They recoiled instinctively, coughing and turning their faces away from the overpowering smell of death and decay.
Rick and Shane stepped closer, but the odor made them stagger back, their eyes watering. Daryl covered his mouth with the back of his hand, grimacing as he pushed the flap open wider.
Inside, Abel stepped cautiously into the tent, his axe at the ready. The dim light made it hard to see at first, but as his eyes adjusted, he spotted a figure sitting motionless in a chair.
Heart pounding, Abel stalked closer, the blade of his axe raised. But as he rounded the chair, his shoulders sagged, and he lowered the weapon.
It wasn't Sophia.
The decayed corpse of a man sat slumped in the chair, his lower jaw missing and the back of his head blown out. Maggots writhed over his green, rotting flesh, feasting on the decomposing remains. In his limp hand, a revolver hung loosely, the barrel stained with dried blood.
Abel swallowed hard, his throat dry, and pried the gun from the man's stiff fingers.
"Abel?" Carol's voice came softly from outside, tinged with fragile hope. "Abel?"
He pushed open the tent flap, stepping out into the fresh air. The group's eyes were on him, their expressions tense. Abel shook his head, his face filled with regret.
"She's not in there," he said quietly.
Carol's face crumpled as she lowered her head, the spark of hope extinguished. Lori moved to her side, placing an arm around her shoulders in comfort.
Andrea stepped forward, concern etched into her face. "What's in there?" she asked.
Abel glanced down at the revolver in his hand, the weight of it heavy against his palm. "Some guy," he said with a sigh. "Did what Jenner said. Opted out." He held up the gun briefly, a subtle gesture that spoke volumes.
The group barely had time to process his words before a loud sound split the air: the tolling of church bells.
The sudden noise made everyone jump, their heads snapping toward the direction of the sound. Abel was the first to move, breaking into a sprint toward the source.
"Abel?!" Rick called out, but the young man didn't stop. Without hesitation, Rick pointed after him and started running.
"He even goin' in the right direction?" Shane asked, jogging alongside Rick as the two tried to catch up.
"I think so," Rick panted. "It's hard to tell out here."
Behind them, Carol's voice trembled with a glimmer of hope. "If we heard them… maybe Sophia did too?"
"Someone's ringing those bells," Glenn added, his expression uncertain. "Maybe calling others?"
"Or signaling they found her," Andrea suggested with a faint, hopeful smile.
"Or maybe she's ringing them herself," Rick said, his voice filled with determination as he pushed himself to run faster. "Come on.
The group followed, their pace quickening as the tolling bells echoed through the woods, drawing them closer to what they hoped was an answer.
Abel emerged from the tree line first, his boots skidding slightly on the loose dirt as he entered a clearing. Rick and Shane followed closely behind, their breaths heavy from the sprint.
"That can't be it," Shane muttered, gesturing toward the small church ahead. Its plain wooden exterior was stark against the vibrant green of the surrounding forest. "Got no steeple, no bells."
Abel didn't respond. He was already moving toward the building, his jaw tight and his grip on the axe firm.
"Abel?" Shane called after him, but the young man didn't break stride.
The others caught up in time to see Abel reach the double doors. Daryl sidled up beside him, his crossbow in hand. He met Abel's determined gaze and raised a finger to his lips, signaling for quiet. Abel gave a quick nod.
Daryl pulled on one of the doors, its hinges groaning softly, and a foul stench wafted out. Both men turned their heads, coughing and grimacing.
"Shit," Daryl muttered.
Rick and Shane stepped closer, their weapons raised as they prepared for the worst. Abel peered inside, his stomach knotting as his eyes adjusted to the dim interior.
It wasn't Sophia.
Four walkers sat slumped among the pews, their milky eyes snapping to the doorway as the light poured in. They let out guttural snarls, shuffling to their feet as if disturbed from a grotesque prayer.
The four men made quick work of them. Abel buried his axe into the skull of one, while Daryl's bolt found another's eye socket. Shane's shotgun barked once, and Rick finished the last with a precise strike from his machete.
As silence fell, Abel scanned the church interior once more, his hope crumbling. Without a word, he stormed outside, his frustration spilling over.
"SOPHIA!" he screamed, his voice raw and desperate. The sound echoed through the trees, scattering a flock of birds, but no reply came.
Behind him, Daryl stood in front of the crucifix mounted above the altar, gazing up at the figure of Christ. "Yo, J.C.," he muttered, half to himself. "You takin' requests?"
Shane followed Abel outside and found him staring blankly at the small graveyard behind the church, his chest rising and falling with deep, uneven breaths. Shane gripped his shoulder firmly, his voice cutting through the haze of emotion.
"I'm tellin' you, it's the wrong church," Shane said, his tone forceful but not unkind. "It's got no steeple, Abel. There's no steeple!"
Before Abel could respond, the tolling of bells broke the silence, making everyone jump.
"They're ringing again!" Andrea shouted as she and the others ran around the side of the church.
The group found the source: a small speaker mounted on a post, emitting the sound of church bells into the forest. Glenn knelt by the base of the post, opening a metal box and tearing out the wiring with a frustrated grunt.
"It's a timer," Glenn said, his voice flat. "It's on a damn timer."
Carol let out a shaky sigh, her expression crumbling further. "I'm going back in," she said softly, her voice barely audible. Without waiting for a response, she turned and walked back into the church, her head bowed.
The rest of the group followed, except for Andrea and Abel. Abel leaned against the side of the church, his back sliding down the rough wood until he sat on the ground. He ran a hand over his face, exhaustion and guilt etched into every line of his features.
Andrea sat down beside him without a word, wrapping her arm around his and gently interlocking their fingers. Abel glanced at her and gave her hand a light squeeze.
The two sat in silence, listening to the quiet yet intense whisper-shouting coming from Shane and Lori on the other side of the church.
"Are you really leaving?" Lori asked, her voice trembling.
"Don't you think it's best for all of us?" Shane replied, his tone laced with frustration.
Abel shook his head at their argument, rubbing his temples. Andrea tilted her head, confused by the exchange. Abel leaned closer, his voice low and sad.
"She… was unfaithful to Rick," he explained. "Even before all this started. She and Shane…" His voice trailed off, leaving the implication hanging in the air. Andrea's eyes widened, but Abel pressed a finger to his lips, silencing any questions.
Meanwhile, Shane continued. "He'd only try to stop me," he said, his voice growing quieter. "You tell him what you want. Or nothing at all. You're his wife."
Abel sighed and leaned his head back against the church wall, letting Andrea rest her head on his shoulder.
After a few moments, Andrea broke the silence. "I have to ask… if Rick's your dad, why do you call him by his name?"
Abel chuckled softly. "He's my uncle," he said, glancing down at her with a small smile. "Lori's my aunt, Carl's my cousin. My real dad—Rick's younger brother—he passed away about five, six years ago."
Andrea smiled faintly, her fingers brushing against his arm. "Guess that explains a lot," she teased. "But you've got his stubborn streak."
Abel raised an eyebrow, a playful smirk tugging at his lips. "You calling me stubborn?"
"Absolutely," Andrea said with mock seriousness. "It's kind of your whole thing."
Abel chuckled, shaking his head. "Guess it runs in the family."
Their light banter was interrupted as the others began to emerge from the church, their faces somber but resolute. Shane returned from his walk, his expression unreadable.
"All right," Shane said, addressing the group. "Y'all are gonna follow the creek bed back. Daryl, you're in charge. Me and Rick'll hang back, search the area for another hour or so, just to be thorough."
Daryl raised an eyebrow. "You sure about splittin' up?"
Shane nodded. "Yeah. We'll catch up with you."
Carl stepped forward, his young face determined. "I wanna stay too. I'm her friend."
"Not this time," Lori said gently, smoothing Carl's hair with a tired but loving smile. "You got to help, and that's more than enough. Abel will stay back, won't you?"
Abel looked at Carl, meeting the boy's hopeful gaze. A small smile tugged at his lips as he nodded. "Don't worry," he said, ruffling Carl's hair. "I'll find your girlfriend."
Carl's face flushed bright red, and he ducked his head. Abel chuckled softly, his laughter lightening the somber mood, even if just for a moment. He gave the boy a reassuring pat on the shoulder before turning and stepping away from the group.
The air inside the church was cool, a stark contrast to the heat pressing down outside. The soft creak of the wooden floor echoed with each step Abel took as he approached the large crucifix at the front of the sanctuary. The figure of Christ hung above him, the carved face serene even in its suffering.
Abel stopped a few feet from the cross, his gaze fixed on it as a lump formed in his throat. He clenched his fists at his sides, his heart hammering. The words he wanted to say stuck in his chest, heavy and tangled. Slowly, he knelt before the cross, bowing his head as he tried to steady his breathing.
"I know I haven't been here in a while," he began, his voice barely above a whisper. "But I come before you today with a burdened spirit." He paused, swallowing hard. "I messed up in a bad way. I promised someone that I would protect them, and I failed. Sophia is missing, and I need your guidance now more than ever."
The silence of the church seemed to press in around him, but it felt less like judgment and more like an invitation to unburden himself.
"It feels like this unimaginable weight has been placed on my shoulders," Abel continued, his voice thick with emotion. "Every time I look at Carol… my heart breaks. Seeing her plead for her child, I feel like I'm breaking her all over again. And I did that.
"Please, Lord… guide me to find this lost child. Show me the way so I can bring her back to her mother. I don't care how hard it is, or what it takes. Just help me bring Sophia home. Amen."
He remained there for a moment longer, his head bowed, the silence wrapping around him like a warm blanket on a cold winter day. The knot in his chest began to loosen, and the chaos in his mind quieted. For the first time since Sophia disappeared, he felt the faintest flicker of peace.
Abel lifted his head and gazed up at the crucifix, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Thank you," he whispered, his voice steady now. He rose to his feet, turned on his heel, and walked toward the door, his steps more sure than when he entered.
Outside, Shane sat on the bottom step, his shotgun resting across his lap, while Rick leaned against the railing, his arms crossed as he stared into the trees. Both men turned as Abel stepped out into the light.
"Get what you needed?" Rick asked, his tone even but filled with quiet understanding.
Abel nodded, letting out a deep breath. "I think I did," he said, a faint but genuine smile on his face.
Shane motioned with his head toward the trail. "Let's get moving," he said.
Abel glanced back at the church one last time, the building's quiet strength now etched into his memory. Then, turning back to Rick and Shane, he followed them down the path, leaving the sanctuary behind as they disappeared once more into the dense green of the forest.
The forest was alive with the sounds of nature—the distant calls of birds, the rustle of leaves in the breeze, the faint snap of twigs beneath their boots. The three men had been walking for over an hour, the silence between them punctuated only by the occasional grunt or shuffle of gear.
Suddenly, a sharp crack broke the stillness.
Rick stopped in his tracks, his arm shooting up in a silent signal to halt. His revolver was in his hand in an instant, the barrel steady despite the way his heart thudded in his chest. Shane shouldered his shotgun, his finger hovering over the trigger, scanning the dense green ahead. Abel's hand rested on the handle of his axe as his eyes darted through the trees.
"What the hell was that?" Shane hissed, his voice low and tense.
Rick raised his left hand, pointing toward a patch of brown barely visible through the green. "There," he whispered.
The three of them stared, squinting as the shape moved. A deer sauntered out of the foliage, its coat shimmering in the sunlight filtering through the trees. It seemed unbothered by the men, its dark eyes calm as it stepped closer.
"Shit," Shane muttered, exhaling deeply as he flicked the safety off his shotgun.
The sound drew the animal's attention, its ears twitching. Shane raised his weapon, steadying it against his shoulder, but before he could fire, Rick's hand shot out, grabbing the barrel and gently pushing it downward.
"Don't," Rick murmured.
"What?" Shane snapped, his tone a mix of confusion and frustration.
Rick didn't respond, his eyes fixed on Abel, who was slowly moving toward the deer. Shane followed Rick's gaze, watching as the younger man stepped forward, his movements almost trance-like.
Abel tilted his head, his breath catching in his throat. There was something otherworldly about the animal—a soft, golden glow seemed to radiate from it, making it look almost ethereal. He blinked, rubbing his eyes with his fingers, but the glow remained, shimmering like sunlight on water.
The deer didn't bolt. Instead, it stepped closer, its gaze meeting Abel's as though it recognized him. Abel's heart pounded in his chest, but not with fear. There was a warmth to the moment, something unexplainable yet comforting, pulling him toward the creature.
He reached out a hand, his fingers trembling slightly as they brushed against its soft fur. The deer didn't flinch.
"Is this you, Lord?" Abel whispered, his voice barely audible.
The peace of the moment shattered with a deafening bang.
The deer collapsed, its ethereal glow fading as it hit the forest floor. Abel staggered back, his eyes wide in shock. A searing pain tore through his side, and he fell to his knees, clutching at the growing red stain spreading across his shirt.
"NO, NO, NO!" Rick shouted, sprinting toward Abel, his revolver drawn.
Shane was frozen for a split second before instinct kicked in. He swung his shotgun in every direction, his eyes darting through the trees, searching for the shooter.
"Rick, what the fuck just happened?!" Shane barked, his voice filled with panic.
Rick ignored him, dropping to his knees beside Abel. "Stay with me, kid," he said frantically, pressing his hands against the wound. Blood seeped between his fingers, warm and sticky. "Shit, shit, shit, stay with me, Abel!"
"Where the hell did that shot come from?" Shane yelled, spinning on his heel. "Who the fuck is out here?!"
"I don't know!" Rick snapped, his voice breaking. "Help me stop the bleeding!"
Shane hesitated, his adrenaline-fueled instincts telling him to keep scanning for threats. "I can't fucking see anything, Rick!" he growled.
Rick's face twisted in anger and desperation. "Then stop standin' there like an asshole and fucking help me!"
Cursing under his breath, Shane dropped to one knee, pulling a rag from his back pocket and pressing it against the wound. "We need to move him," Shane said, his tone urgent.
"Not yet," Rick shot back, his hands trembling as he applied pressure. "We move him, he'll bleed out faster."
"Jesus Christ," Shane muttered, shaking his head as he glanced at Abel's pale face. "Fuck, fuck, fuck."
Abel's breathing was shallow, his eyes fluttering open and closed. The edges of his vision blurred, the world tilting as the pain in his side burned like fire. He could hear Rick and Shane's voices, muffled and distant, their panic cutting through the haze.
"Rick…" Shane said after a long pause, his voice low. "He's losin' too much blood."
"No," Rick growled, his voice filled with determination. "Don't you fucking say that. Don't you dare fucking say that."
Shane pressed harder on the wound, his jaw clenched. "Goddamn it, we don't even know who the fuck shot him!"
Rick ignored him, leaning closer to Abel. "Abel, look at me. Stay with me, you hear? Just stay with me."
But Abel's vision dimmed further, the forest around him fading into a haze of light and shadow. The pain in his side dulled, replaced by a heavy numbness. The last thing he saw before the world went dark was Rick's face, his eyes wide with fear, and Shane's frantic movements as he searched for something to save him.