We try to keep ourselves busy, making the house as nice as possible considering our new sleeping arrangements, but there's only so much you can do. I keep looking out the window, between the slats in the boards, waiting for their return.

I had thought Daryl would track him down without any trouble, but it's already dark out and there's no sign of them. It leaves me with an uneasy feeling in my stomach.

Maybe it's a good thing. The longer it takes for them to come back, the more time I have to formulate a good reason for confessing to Daryl like that. At the thought, I cringe at myself. He looked like a deer in headlights and I don't blame him. I shouldn't have said it, but I wanted to, or maybe it was habit. I'm the kind of person who used to accidentally say "love you" to workers at grocery stores or pizza delivery guys.

But I do love Daryl, or at least I'm falling in love with him. Whatever it is, I'm screwed.

The night drags on.

Andrea stands from the couch. "I'm going after them," she says.

"Don't," Lori says. "They could be anywhere and if Randall comes back, we're gonna need you here."

The front door opens and immediately, all heads turn. I look away from the window, heart lifting, and Daryl comes in with Glenn on his heels.

"Rick and Shane ain't back?" Daryl asks.

"No," Lori replies.

"We heard a shot."

"Maybe they found Randall."

"We found him."

"Is he back in the shed?" Maggie asks.

Daryl shakes his head. "He's a walker."

"Did you find the walker that bit him?" Hershel asks.

"No, the weird thing is...he wasn't bit," Glenn says.

"His neck was broke," Daryl adds.

"So he fought back," Patricia says.

"The thing is," Daryl continues, "Shane and Randall's tracks were right on top of each other. And Shane ain't no tracker, so he didn't come up behind him. They were together."

"But, then..." I start.

Lori moves to Daryl, hands almost folded in front of her as she pleads with him. "Would you please get back out there, find Rick and Shane, and find out what on earth is going on?"

"You got it," Daryl says.

"Thank you," Lori breathes.

I smile a little at Daryl. Done being an errand boy, he said. Seems he's too good to mean that.

He goes back outside, Glenn and Andrea following, and I go too after a second. I can keep watch on the porch.

We don't get far. Out on the porch, even in the faint moonlight, it's easy to see the horde of walkers stumbling across the fields. My blood runs cold. At first, I think they're just coming from behind the barn, but then I look over the other way and there are even more of them. The growls are getting louder, prominent in the previous silence of the night. A few of the others trickle outside.

Shit.

"Patricia, kill the lights," Hershel orders, hushed.

"I'll get the guns," Andrea says.

"Maybe they're just passing, like the herd on the highway," Glenn suggests. "Should we just go inside?"

"Not unless there's a tunnel downstairs I don't know about," Daryl retorts. "A herd that size would rip the house down."

"We have to leave, then," I say, my voice tiny. "We...we can't stay."

Lori rushes out the front door, eyes wide and frantic. "Carl's gone," she says.

"What?" Daryl asks.

"He...he was upstairs. I can't find him anywhere," Lori explains, pressing one hand to her chest, trembling.

"Maybe he's hiding," Glenn says.

"He's supposed to be upstairs!" Lori retorts. "I'm not leaving without my boy."

"We're not," Carol insists. "We're gonna look again. We're gonna find him."

The two of them disappear back inside. Andrea returns with the gun bag and she and Maggie start passing out rifles and shotguns alike. I step back when Maggie offers me one, hands up as I shake my head, and she doesn't argue.

"Maggie," Glenn says as she hands him one.

"You grow up country, you pick up a thing or two," she says, loading her gun even as her hands shake. Bullets clink together.

"I got the number—it's no use," Daryl says.

"You can go if you want," Hershel says.

"You gonna take 'em all on?"

"We have guns. We have cars." He cocks his gun.

"Kill as many as we can," Andrea says, "and we'll use the cars to lead the rest of them off the farm."

Daryl looks around at all of us. "Are you serious?"

"This is my farm," Hershel replies. "I'll die here."

"Alright. It's as good a night as any." He hops on the railing, swinging his legs over and dropping to the ground.

I go back into the house, where Lori and Carol are still searching for Carl. Just in case, I go to my backpack and make sure I've got my medical kit with the blood type list, then run to the bedroom where I spent my first few days at the farm and gather the respirator and tube, plus the transfusion kit. Who knows if we'll need it. I pack it up, swing the bag over my shoulders, then head to the kitchen and start packing whatever canned goods I can get my hands on into my bag.

I realize far too quickly that my bag, while larger than most, is still too small for everything I have. Taking a deep breath, I pull my wallet out, gripping the worn leather in my hands as I try not to let emotions overwhelm me. I slip my driver's license out and pocket it, then put the wallet on the counter. I add my books and my extra clothes to the pile then fill the rest of the backpack with cans. Now it's just food and medical supplies. I dig around a bit and, at the last second, toss in a couple of forks and spoons.

I left just enough space for a few extras. I keep my apartment keys and the novel Daryl and I have been reading. We haven't finished it yet. I toss in a few pairs of underwear, an extra bra, and a pair of socks. The clothes can cushion the medical stuff. The bag is nearly bursting, but it zips up and that's good enough.

"The barn's on fire," Beth says as I return to the living room, huddling by the window.

Patricia pushes the curtain back and peers out. "They're headed for it," she says. "Maybe Rick set it to draw 'em in."

"I can't find him anywhere," Lori says as she hurries down the stairs.

"So maybe he snuck outside," Carol says, emerging from a back room.

Lori whips around to face her. "What do I do?!" she shouts, voice breaking.

I move to her, gripping her shoulders. "Lori, you won't be any help to him if you're panicking," I plead.

"He was here," Carol adds as Lori stares wide-eyed at the two of us. "He must've run off, maybe looking for Rick or went after Randall himself."

"Maybe he set the fire," Patricia adds.

Outside, gunshots keep going off. Lori is pale with fear, breaths fast, and I squeeze her arms again.

"We have to pray that someone found him," I say. "We'll keep looking."

Lori looks between us, then nods. We start for the door.

"I checked the shed. I just can't find him anywhere," Lori says as we get outside. Hershel stands in front of the house, firing his shotgun again and again.

"Not in the cellar or the attic," Carol reports.

Lori looks at the barn, lit up like a bonfire. "Why can't he listen for once?" she asks no one in particular. She pushes her hair from her face. "Okay, okay, if he followed his daddy, he went that way!"

She points past the barn, right into a sizeable patch of the herd. Carol grabs her arm.

"No, you'll lead them right to him!" she says. "We can't stay here!"

Lori looks at her, then at the walkers still stumbling towards the house, and her face twists with agony. "That's my boy!" she cries.

"You're gonna have to trust," Carol says. "If we find him, he's gonna need his mother. We've gotta go."

She tugs her arm. Lori keeps staring at the barn, still shaking, then turns back. "Get the others," she says, voice breaking.

Carol rushes inside, rallying Beth and Patricia. Lori screams Carl's name into the darkness. I pull my knife out and flex my fingers around the handle, heart pounding, and Lori fires off a few rounds. Hershel still stands in front of the house, taking down walker after walker.

"Lori!" Carol shouts. Beth and Patricia huddle by her, terrified.

"Hershel!" Lori calls. She stoops, grabbing the bag of guns left on the porch. "HERSHEL!"

"We've gotta go!" I shout.

"Come on, now!" Carol begs.

He doesn't listen and after another second, Lori gives up and returns to us. I hold my knife in one hand and Carol in the other and she grips me tight as we run off the porch towards the shed and, hopefully, the cars. I hear gunshots behind us, Lori's, and then tormented screams of pain.

"Oh, god, Patricia—" Carol gasps as she looks back.

"Keep running," I beg, refusing to look.

A walker looms at us from the right and I don't think. I swing and lodge my knife in its forehead. I feel its blood splatter against my cheek. I grunt, wrenching the blade out as the walker drops, and Carol lets out a choked sob. Another walker comes and I kick its kneecap in. When it falls to one knee, I dispatch it and move back again. The shed looms behind us. I've lost track of Lori.

Carol grabs a branch from the ground, wielding it as we go back to back. It's so dark that it's hard to tell friend from foe, but I have a warm, breathing body against me and if I can do anything tonight, I'll fight not to lose her.

"We have to find an opening!" I shout. "Then we just have to run!"

"But where?!" Carol retorts.

Headlights flash across us as Otis's blue truck bulldozes through some of the walkers. T-Dog honks the horn as Andrea climbs out, firing off rounds. As walkers drop, I see our opening.

Again, I grab Carol's hand. "RUN!"

We sprint. Andrea keeps dropping walkers, clearing a path to the truck, and a walker looms behind her.

"LOOK OUT!" Carol screams.

Andrea turns, firing a shot. The blast illuminates her blonde hair for just a second and then it's all dark again. I somehow keep running, pulling Carol after me. We reach the truck and I shove Carol towards the truck bed. She climbs in and I whip around to stab another walker. I heave it off my knife and into another walker, then throw my leg over the side of the truck as more of them lunge for us.

"GO, GO, GO!" I scream, slapping the side of the truck.

The truck lurches, tires squealing as it peels off, slipping me from the dead's fingers, and I think for a second that we've made it. Carol reaches for my hand to help me the rest of the way in.

We hit a bump. For a second, I'm fine, then the weight of my backpack catches up to me and I'm falling. I hit the ground hard, kicking up dust and rolling a foot or two, and I lose my grip on my knife. My side screams and I feel my injury for the first time in days. For a second, I can't move, paralyzed by the fall.

I groan, pushing myself to my knees as I try to get my breath back. My backpack slips off my arm and I grasp it, searching desperately for my knife. The truck isn't stopping even though I can hear Carol screaming and there's a walker coming right at me.

I force myself back to my feet and, screaming with effort, I swing my backpack full of metal and cans and bean the walker in the head so hard that it drops and doesn't get back up. I fumble blindly at the ground, feel my knife handle, and scoop it up as I sprint after the truck, hauling the bag onto my shoulders.

It gets further and further away and, as I run, I see more walkers coming from all directions. My heart sinks. No. Not like this. This can't be where it all ends, not after I survived a gunshot, not after making it this far.

Not before I find out if Daryl loves me too.

Tears flood my eyes and it takes everything I have to try and force them back. My shoulders ache from the weight of my bag, my side hurts when I breathe, and the walkers keep coming. The truck is long gone and I wonder if they even noticed I wasn't there anymore and why they didn't stop.

It gets further and further away and, as I run, I see that there are still more walkers coming from all directions. My heart sinks. No. Not like this. This can't be where it all ends, not after I survived a gunshot, not after making it this far.

Not before I find out if Daryl loves me too.

Tears flood my eyes and it takes everything I have to try and force them back. My shoulders ache from the weight of my bag, my side hurts when I breathe, my leg doesn't want to work and yet I make it work, and the walkers keep coming. The truck is long gone and I wonder if they even noticed I wasn't there anymore. I wonder why they didn't stop if they did.

It can't end here. I don't want to die.

"Hope!"

I hear a motorcycle engine, the sweetest sound in the world. Daryl rides towards me, single headlight shining, and I find enough strength to push myself forward. He whips the bike around and I clamber onto the back, clinging to him as he takes off down the road, breathing in the scent of leather and smoke, just breathing and shaking and trying not to sob out loud.

I look back at the farm, at the barn and the RV going up in flames, at the spot where a line of graves sits beneath the trees. The cross and the wilted Cherokee roses crumble beneath the weight of the dead as they stumble over the graves like no one we loved is buried there.

----------

Walkers appear from the darkness ahead, snarling, reaching for us, but Daryl doesn't give them a second glance as he maneuvers the bike down the dirt road and back to the highway. I hold on and trust him to get us through it.

It's only when the sun starts to rise that I realize we've been awake through the night. When the adrenaline wears off, I'm left with nothing but exhaustion. My hands start to slip and I'm tired but I can't sleep. It feels like my heart is heavier than my eyelids.

I jolt as the motorcycle rolls to a stop. Daryl looks over his shoulder at me, brow furrowed.

"Gotta stay awake. It ain't safe yet," he says.

"Is anywhere gonna be safe?" I ask. He stares at me and I let myself sit back, my chin trembling. "Daryl, we...we thought the farm was safe. We thought—"

"Hope, hey—"

"Who knows if the others even—"

I choke out a sob and he swings his leg over the side of the bike, giving him enough room to cup my face in his hands. He presses his forehead to mine, eyes closed, and I grip his wrists as he takes a deep breath.

"We're alive, Hope. Fuck, I thought...I thought for a second you were gone. Heard Carol screaming your name..."

I sniffle. His thumbs rub circles on my cheeks. After a second, he tilts my head back a bit and presses a long, slow kiss to my lips, and I wish I could melt into it like I usually do. This time, it just makes me want to cry harder.

"Daryl..." I whisper as we break apart. "Daryl, what...where do we go?"

"The highway," he says. He's still holding me. "Where we got stuck the first time. Feels like that's exactly where Rick would go. If they ain't there...it's you and me against the world."

I swallow, hard, but nod. "I trust you."

He stares at me for another second. "You sure you're good? Can you stay awake?"

I nod again. He pauses for a second before he steals another kiss, turns back, grips the handles, and we're off again.

----------

I'm struck by how unchanged the highway is. It's almost exactly the way I remember it but at the same time, it's been so long since I was last here. I hear car engines behind us as we go and, when I look over my shoulder, the green Tuscon and the blue truck are right behind us. My heart lifts.

I look ahead as Daryl pulls into the patch of highway that the RV used to occupy and Rick, Carl, and Hershel emerge from the snarl of cars, relief on their faces. The other vehicles pull up behind us and park. An old yellow car waits near us with supplies piled on the hood. Sophia's name is painted on the windshield with some other words, but they're too smudged to read from time spent in the elements.

Rick clasps hands with Daryl and I ease myself off the motorcycle, suddenly aware of how bad my body hurts. I've barely turned when Carol's there, wrapping me in the biggest hug she can, and for a second I just stand there like a big, dumb plank.

"God, I thought you were dead," she says. "I'm sorry. By the time we got T-Dog to stop—"

I hug her back. "It's okay..." I whisper. "I'm so glad you're alright."

Rick, Lori, and Carl reunite in a giant, squishy group hug, both parents sharing kisses with each other and their boy's cheeks. Maggie rushes to her dad, reuniting with a tearful smile, and Beth sobs as she tucks herself against his chest.

T-Dog and Glenn emerge from the vehicles and hang back while the families reunite. I finally let go of Carol and she rubs my arm.

"Where's the rest of us?" Daryl asks.

"We're the only ones who made it so far," Rick says.

Lori lets go of Carl and stands up. "Shane?"

Rick shakes his head.

"Andrea?" Glenn asks.

"She saved us, then we lost her," Carol says, nodding to me.

"We saw her go down," T-Dog says. I press my hand to my mouth.

Hershel looks up from his daughters. "Patricia?"

"They got her too," Beth says, choking up again. "Took her right in front of me. I was—" Tears roll down her face. "I was holding onto her, Daddy. She just—" She cries into his chest and Hershel just pets her hair, cheek pressed to the top of her head. She looks up at Maggie. "What about Jimmy? Did you see Jimmy?"

"He was in the RV," Rick says. "It got overrun."

Beth cries harder.

Carol looks around at everyone. "You definitely saw Andrea?"

"There were walkers everywhere," Lori says.

"Did you see her?"

No one answers.

"I'm gonna go back," Daryl says, moving back to his bike.

"No," Rick retorts.

"We can't just leave her," Daryl says.

"We don't even know if she's there," Lori whispers.

"She isn't there. She isn't," Rick repeats. "She's somewhere else or she's dead. There's no way to find her."

"So we're not even gonna look for her?" Glenn asks.

"We gotta keep moving," Rick says. Behind him, I see a male walker in a striped hoodie stumbling towards us. "There have been walkers crawling all over here."

"I say head east," T-Dog says.

"Stay off the main roads," Daryl adds as he goes for his crossbow. He props it up as he pulls back the string. "The bigger the road, the more walkers, more assholes like this one." He lifts the bow, aiming at the striped walker. "I got him."

He takes it down with a bolt through the eye.

"We'll leave Otis's truck," Rick says. "Less vehicles, more gas. Gather what supplies you can, but we're gone in five."

No one argues.

I ease myself back down onto Daryl's bike, finally getting a look at myself. My jeans are dusty and as I check my other extremities, I realize that my elbow is covered in blood.

"The hell, what happened?"

Daryl bends down, his hands replacing mine as he examines the wound, and I wince as he extends my arm to get a better look.

"Just part of the joy of a crash landing," I say. His brow furrows deeper. "It could be worse." I could have fallen onto my knife, left to bleed out as the dead surrounded me, feasting on me while I was still alive. The thought makes me shudder.

He exhales hard from his nose as he straightens up. "You want me to clean it for you?"

I look out at the others. "We have bigger things to worry about."

After all, four of us are gone, just like that. Earlier today, we were discussing winter rationing and setting up watch towers. It went wrong so quickly and we still have no idea what happened with Randall and Shane.

Shane, god, what the hell happened with Shane? I expected a guy like him to make it in this world.

He looks at me for a second before muttering something about calling for him if I need him, wandering off to help the others gather any last-minute supplies. 

T-Dog approaches me almost as soon as Daryl leaves. "Damn, Hope, I'm sorry," he says, rubbing the back of his neck. "I didn't even realize you were gone 'til it was too late, and—"

"Don't worry about it," I say, lightly touching his arm. "We made it out. That's all that matters."

He nods, a troubled expression on his face.

We don't stay long. The highway feels like a ghost town, a remnant of a short time ago when our crew was worried about different things, a lifetime ago in this new world.

We leave the highway far behind us.