The city disappears behind us and we hit the highway as concrete gives way to countryside. Our speed picks up and I have to stop myself from whooping with joy. The bike flies across the asphalt and I cling to Daryl as tightly as I can, grinning into his back as the wind whips my hair around.

We don't get far out of the city when Daryl slows down and I peek over his shoulder. The highway is littered with cars, trucks, and other vehicles. Just ahead of us, a semi-truck lies tipped on its side, surrounded by various other cars parked in the ditch, their doors hanging open, abandoned by their drivers. Daryl turns the bike around and drives back to the RV as Dale leans out the window.

"See a way through?" Dale asks.

Daryl glances over his shoulder, then nods. Again, the bike turns, and he starts picking his way through the wreckage. I gape at everything. Some cars are empty, but I can see corpses left behind in a concerning number of them. These people were the ones I saw fleeing the city through the department store windows. I heard them screaming, honking their horns, trying to run, and now I know that most of them never made it.

I press my face into Daryl's back and take deep breaths, unconsciously hugging him closer to me like he's a giant teddy bear. I feel him tense up but he doesn't say anything.

I hear a pop and a hiss as a loud, sputtering, creaking noise pierces the air, and I look back as the RV grinds to a halt. Once again, the front grill steams and smokes. Daryl parks the bike, puts up the kickstand, and he waits while I climb off.

"So, how was it?" he asks.

I smile at him. "Amazing."

He smirks a little and we head back to the others, gathering around the RV and its poor, beaten grill.

"Problem, Dale?" I hear Shane ask.

"Just a small matter of being stuck in the middle of nowhere with no hope of—"

Daryl goes to the nearest car, its trunk already open, and reaches inside, rifling through the stuff left there. Dale goes quiet.

"Okay, that was dumb," he admits.

"If you can't find a radiator hose here..." Shane starts.

"There's a whole bunch of stuff we can find," Daryl says. He grabs a bright pink backpack and opens it, checking for anything good.

"I can siphon more fuel from these cars for a start," T-Dog offers.

"Maybe some water?" Carol suggests.

"Or food," Glenn says.

"This is a graveyard," Lori says.

T-Dog stops moving. Daryl looks back at her. We all share a few looks. Lori wraps her arms around herself, rubbing herself in a comforting motion as she darts her head down.

"I don't know how I feel about this," she adds, quieter.

No one answers. Daryl confirms that he does know how he feels about all this as he keeps raiding the car. T-Dog heads back inside the RV to get extra gas cans.

"Just look around," Shane says. "Gather what you can, y'all."

Everyone splits up. I go after T-Dog and climb into the RV, heading to where Dale left the first aid kit. It's not a typical one—no hard white case with a red cross—but instead a simple blue shower bag with a carrying handle and a zipper. I set it on the table and check the inventory; medical tape, a few gauze pads, bandaids, and a small pair of scissors. I frown, taking the kit with me when I go back outside.

"Dale, you don't have any Polysporin hiding somewhere, do you?" I ask as I move to the front of the RV.

Dale arches an eyebrow at me. "Polysporin?" he repeats.

"Yeah, you know, antibiotic ointment. Keeps wounds clean?"

"You mean Neosporin?"

I blink a few times. I must be thinking too Canadian. "Is that also a topical cream?"

"I think so," Dale says. "I don't have anything like that, to answer your question."

I nod. "That's okay. I'll figure something out."

I head off into the maze of cars. If I can't find any abandoned first aid kits here, then I'll count myself as intensely unlucky. I'll admit, I feel weird digging inside people's cars, even if they're dead and gone, but I tell myself that things should be used rather than left to rot. I don't find much in the way of medical equipment.

I pass Daryl and T-Dog working to gather fuel. Daryl has an arrow in his mouth as he moves from car to car, popping the lids off gas tank after gas tank. I also notice Carol picking through clothes in the open trunk of another car. She smiles to herself as she holds an elegant red shirt up to her chest, looking down at herself.

"That's pretty," I comment, making her startle as she looks up at me.

She folds it, sighing. "Ed never let me wear nice things like this," she admits. She sets the shirt down inside a suitcase and hauls it out of the trunk. "We're gonna need clothes."

Lori also searches nearby, checking over a few baskets strapped down to the back of a jeep. Carol sets the suitcase down and I give a cursory glance over the interior of the car she's working on. Carl and Sophia linger, looking bored as their mothers take care of things.

"If any of you see first aid kits or medical supplies, please let me know," I say. "I'm trying to replenish our supply."

"We'll let you know," Lori says. She looks past me. "Carl, always stay in my sight, baby."

"You too, Sophia," Carol murmurs.

Both children nod. I leave them to their cars and keep poking around. I come across a little blue car with the trunk wide open and, as I approach, my attention latches onto something small, white, and plastic. Like a beacon from God, there's a little white case, and I grin as I reach for it. When I flip it open, there's not only bandaids, but alcohol wipes, thick rolls of bandages, and a tube of Neosporin. I whisper a thank you as I stuff everything into my bag.

A hand covers my mouth and I almost scream before a familiar, low voice whispers in my ear.

"Ssh..."

Daryl hauls me to the pavement, arms around me, and he pulls his hand from my mouth as he puts a finger over his lips. He jerks his head to the side and I finally notice what's happening. A huge herd of walkers stumbles down the highway, their raspy groans becoming so apparent that I'm stunned I didn't notice sooner.

Daryl motions for me to get under the car I was just searching and I'm too freaked out to question it. I get on my belly and scoot until the car completely covers me, but Daryl doesn't join me. He waits, crouching, his boots still visible.

I hear panting, far too laboured to be a walker, and T-Dog rounds the corner. His right arm is covered in blood, his hand clamped over what must be a deep wound. He stumbles, then collapses, trembling, clothes soaked with sweat and blood.

Daryl's shoes move away from my line of sight and I clamp my hands over my mouth, afraid to breathe, to move. I hear a walker groaning, then a brief snarl and a crunch before I see Daryl again, pinning the walker down as he pulls his knife from the base of its skull.

He drags T-Dog by the feet until he's lying on the ground, then throws the dead walker over him before he grabs one from the nearest car and covers himself. His eyes lock with mine, the walker's face pressed against his, and I still don't move.

Walkers groan and stumble through, but they don't take notice of any of us. Then, they're gone, and things go quiet again. Five seconds pass, then ten, and Daryl shifts as he throws the dead walker off him. I scramble out from under the car as he frees T-Dog from his corpse blanket.

"T? T-Dog, hey, stay with us," I urge, tapping his cheek and trying to get him to open his eyes. He groans, but his eyes open and stay open. "Daryl, my kit. The blue one."

Daryl hurries off and I get a look at T-Dog's arm, my stomach dropping. The wound is not only long but deep, a jagged gash that's pumping so much blood that it's clear he must have severed an artery.

Daryl returns with the kit and squats next to me as I flip it open. I grab one of the alcohol wipes and try to clean the site as best I can, even as T-Dog winces and flinches at the touch.

"Dang it," I mutter.

"What?" Daryl asks.

"It won't stop bleeding with just a bandage. He'll need stitches. If I had a sewing kit, I could try, but..." I shake my head. I reach for the Neosporin tube and squeeze a dollop onto my fingers, then spread it onto the cut. I grab one of the triangle bandages inside the kit and fold it into a pad. "This will help keep it clean until we can find some way to stitch it shut. T, how did this happen?"

"A car," he answers. Another wince as I press the pad over the cut. I grab one of the gauze rolls and start wrapping his arm. "There was a jagged piece on the door. I didn't see it."

"You'll be fine," I say, wishing I could promise him more. "There's a good chance it'll get infected. We'll need better antibiotics if we're going to stop that."

"Did you find any in the cars?" Daryl asks.

I shake my head. He purses his lips, deep in thought for a moment before he grasps my arm. He tugs me away from T-Dog, his voice low.

"What kinda drugs does he need?" he asks.

I rack my brain, snapping my fingers a few times. Moment of truth, here, Hope. Remember anything you've read or learned about sickness and medicine. "He'll need painkillers and something to kill off an infection, so, at this point, any potent antibiotic will do," I say. "The cut's from a car, maybe a rusty one, so...infection is a matter of when, not if."

He nods a few times. "I've got my brother's stash. Crystal, X, but I'm sure he's got something worth it in there," he says. My eyes widen in surprise and he adds, "He got the clap on occasion and he should have the good stuff. Think those meds would do?"

I blink. "Like...doxycycline?" In vet med, we use it on cattle and pigs, but in people, it's common treatment for infections.

"Maybe? I gotta check the bag."

"That...that would be amazing. Daryl, thank you. So much."

He nods. "Yeah, you're welcome."

Until then, T-Dog needs to get back to the RV. Daryl and I haul T-Dog to his feet, although I'm sure Daryl's doing most of the lifting, and we wait for a moment as he regains his bearings. His pupils roll as he blinks rapidly.

"Think your blood list would help here?" Daryl asks.

T-Dog frowns. "Blood list? The hell?"

"I don't have anything for a transfusion. We'd need needles, tubes..." I look at T-Dog. "I got a list of blood types from Jenner, just in case. You've lost a lot of blood and if I could, I'd be looking at getting you a transfusion."

He laughs a bit, slow and still breathy from exertion. "Damn. Wouldn't have thought of that."

"Let's go," Daryl mutters.

We help T-Dog back to the RV, only to notice that everyone's gathered by the side of the road. Carol wails into Shane's chest, Lori's hand on her shoulder.

"The hell's going on?" Daryl calls as we join them.

"Sophia," Carol sobs, unable to get another word out. "My baby..."

"Walkers chased Sophia into the woods," Lori explains softly and my blood runs cold.

"Nothing to do but wait," Shane murmurs. "Rick's out looking."

Daryl hops up onto the hood of the nearest car, keeping watch. After a few more minutes, Lori pulls Carol away from Shane, allowing him to take watch on top of another car, and they sit down together.

----------

It's been a good long time when the trees rustle and every eye turns to the woods. Daryl raises his crossbow. More rustling.

"Lori!" Rick's voice, hoarse with effort. "LORI!"

"We're here!" Lori calls.

Rick emerges from the treeline, scrambling up the steep ledge of the ravine, breaths fast. Blood stains his white shirt. Carol whimpers a bit as Lori reaches over the metal railing and helps Rick to his feet, gripping his hand.

He straightens, still huffing and puffing, looking around at all of us. Carol's lip trembles.

"Where's Sophia?" he asks. We stare at him and he looks at Carol. "She's...she's not back?"

Carol's weakening composure shatters and she sobs again, stumbling back into the hood of the nearest car. Rick's expression falls and he grips his head as he looks at each of us, and Carl sniffles a bit. Lori hugs him close.

Carol sinks to her knees, still crying, and Andrea brings her into a hug.

"Daryl, Glenn, Shane, come...come with me," Rick says, stumbling over his words a bit. "I'm...I'm sure we can still find her. I...I told her to come back—"

"We'll handle it," Shane says. Glenn nods and moves towards Rick.

"Hope," Daryl murmurs, nudging me to follow him. He gives Rick a brief nod before pulling me aside.

I follow him to his bike, where he retrieves his crossbow and swings it over his shoulder. Then, he digs into the saddlebag and pulls out a plastic baggie filled with yellow prescription bottles and a small pile of tiny blue crystals. I feel wrong just holding the bag, but I take it. In the rush of losing Sophia, I had almost forgotten about his offer.

"For T," Daryl says. "Look through it. Take whatever you need."

All I can do is gaze at him. "Thank you, Daryl."

He grunts a bit and heads off to join the other men. They disappear into the woods and the others slowly trickle back to the RV. I sit T-Dog down and look through the medicine options, finding painkillers and doxycycline, just as Daryl said. I return whatever I don't need to the saddlebag and the rest goes into my kit.

With that done, all there's left to do is wait.

----------

I wander a bit, trying to occupy myself. I spend some time with Carol, then I check on T-Dog, and then I look through a few more cars. I'm still hoping to find a sewing kit. It won't be great but I could at least try to close T-Dog's wound.

As I'm looping back to the RV, I spare a glance at the woods and see movement. My hand moves to my knife, sitting snugly in its sheath, but it's only Shane and Glenn who come out of the trees. I feel relief, only to immediately feel worried again. Rick? Daryl?

Glenn seems to notice my expression. "They're fine. Don't worry," he says.

"They're gonna keep looking," Shane says. "Turns out Daryl's quite the tracker."

"So no luck then?" I ask.

They shake their heads. Shane clears his throat and shifts his shotgun to his shoulder, hand on his hip. "We've got more fuel now—means we can double back and get around this mess. We'll need to clear some cars. Give the RV some room to turn around," he says. "Let's gather everyone up and get things moving."

We do. We release parking brakes, pushing cars into ditches, clearing a path. Carol stays at the edge of the highway, staring into the woods with her arms wrapped around herself. Others gather our findings from the car raids back at the RV.

T-Dog rests in the RV and I make sure to keep checking on him and the cut. It's too soon to see if the antibiotics are doing their job, but I hope for the best. He's warm to the touch, a little too warm, and I'm sure the blood loss isn't helping his case.

I checked my list, and he's O-positive. I could donate to him if we had the means. I can't help but worry that I haven't done enough to help him and, if he dies from this, I don't know if I'll be able to forgive myself.

I head back outside to find that Carol's moved from the side of the road to speak to Dale.

"We're not going anywhere 'til my daughter gets back," she says.

"Hey, that goes without saying," Lori insists, patting her shoulder as she stops beside her.

"Rick and Daryl, they're on it, okay?" Shane assures her. "It's just a matter of time."

"Can't be soon enough for me," Andrea says, tossing Glenn a water bottle before cracking open her own. "I'm still freaked out from that herd that passed us by, or whatever you'd call it."

"Yeah, what was that?" Glenn agrees. "All of them just marching along like that."

"A herd," Shane repeats. "That sounds about right. We've seen it. It's like the night camp got attacked. Some wandering pack, only fewer." He sighs, then clears his throat. "Okay. Come on, people. We still got a lot to do. Let's stay on it."

Everyone disperses again and I watch Carol as she returns to her post, ever vigilant. I can't imagine what she's going through and I wish I had the magic words to say to comfort her. Actions speak louder than words, though, so I make myself a deal. We're already planning to go out as a group and look for Sophia, so I'm going to stay out as long as I possibly can. I'll stay out until the sun goes down and search every inch of those woods if it means we find her.

I go back to scavenging. As I try to pop the lock on a rather stubborn trunk, I notice Carl disappear behind a group of cars. I frown, trying to see where he went, but I've lost sight of him. I look around and there's no sign of Lori anywhere.

I give up on the trunk and follow after him. I don't get far when I hear a short shriek and my heart flies into my throat. In an instant, I have my knife in my hand, and I hurry around a black truck to see Carl on the ground, a black package in his arms, and a walker hanging out the driver-side door.

I'm about to stab it when I realize that it's already dead. I exhale, putting my knife away, and get to Carl's side as he pushes himself back to his feet.

"You okay, bud?" I ask.

He nods, hefting the package. "I found something! Look!"

At a glance, it's just black canvas material, but there's a hatchet sticking out the top of the bag that makes my eyebrows lift. "Woah, nice find!"

He grins. "Thanks! Come on!" He hefts it again and runs off, me following. "Shane!"

"Carl, what happened?"

Lori comes out from behind a nearby van, eyes wide, and Carl grins at her as he keeps going to where Shane works under the hood of a mint green Honda Tuscon.

"Mom, I found something cool," Carl says. He throws down his treasure. "Shane, check it out!"

He unrolls his find, revealing not only a hatchet but a few machetes and other wicked-looking knives. This time, my eyes widen in slight excitement. This is more my style than guns.

"It's an arsenal," Carl says, still looking to Shane for any kind of validation, but he keeps working on his car.

"That's cool, bud. Go give 'em to Dale," he says, deadpan.

"Check this one out." Carl ignores his obvious disinterest and lifts up the hatchet, gripping it in both hands. He swings it a few times. "Woah, it's a hatchet!"

"Be careful. Don't play with those," Lori says.

He ignores her. "They're really sharp."

"What did I just say?" Lori asks, reaching out for the weapon.

"Can I keep one?"

"Are you crazy?"

She takes the hatchet from him and Carl frowns. "No way. Shane." Shane doesn't answer him. "Shane, tell her to let me keep one."

Shane looks up. "Hey, man, go give them all to Dale. Now. Go."

Carl scowls, but he stoops and rolls up the weapons before storming away. Shane and Lori glare at each other and, sensing awkwardness, I go to catch up with Carl. He walks with deliberate, stomping footsteps that every preteen does at some point to convey just how upset they are. I know my mom had to tell me more than a few times to watch my attitude when I did that.

"You did good, Carl," I tell him.

"I think Shane's mad at me," he mumbles. "I don't know what I did."

I sigh, hooking my thumbs in the belt loops of my jeans. "I'm sure you didn't do anything," I assure him. "Maybe...maybe he's just stressed. Today's been quite the day, hasn't it?"

He purses his lips, then nods. "Yeah, I guess." He sighs heavily. "I'm worried about Sophia."

"We'll find her. We're all gonna go out and help your dad and Daryl look for her," I say. I'm tempted to reach out and ruffle his hair, but I stop myself. "We can't give up on her, right?"

"I won't," he insists. He scuffs his shoe on the ground as we keep walking. "Hey, can I ask you something?"

"Sure."

"What's a blood list?" He stares up at me, eyes wide. "T-Dog said something about a blood list and I don't know what that is. It sounds scary."

I can't help but laugh a little at the pure worry on his face. "Oh, honey, no. I have a list of people's blood types in my bag, just in case anyone gets hurt and needs some extra help. T-Dog called it that because...that's what it is."

"Oh...okay, that makes sense," he admits.

"I'm sorry if it scared you."

"I wasn't scared. Just...curious."

"Whatever you say."

We get back to the RV and I cast a look back at the woods, endlessly waiting for good news to come walking from the trees.