The dense woods of Georgia felt alien and hostile. Hours had passed since Rick, Daryl, and Ethan had ventured off the walker-choked I-85 in search of Sophia. Now, only Rick and Daryl remained, the oppressive silence of the forest broken only by their own movements and the distant, mournful cry of a bird. Sophia's trail, already faint, had been further obscured by the passage of the massive herd.
Daryl Dixon, a master tracker, was visibly frustrated. He knelt, examining a barely perceptible scuff mark on a patch of damp earth, then shook his head. "She came through here, maybe an hour after the herd passed. But the sign's weak. Could've gone any which way from here."
Rick's heart, already heavy with fear for Sophia, now carried an additional burden. "Ethan? Have you seen any sign of him?" They had fanned out an hour ago, a calculated risk to cover more ground, but Ethan had not rejoined them at their last rendezvous point, nor had he answered their increasingly anxious, though still cautious, calls.
Daryl straightened, his keen eyes scanning the dense undergrowth. "Nah. Smart kid, though. Good with that blade. Probably on his own track, or circled back to the highway if he lost the trail. He knows how to move quiet." But even Daryl's gruff reassurance couldn't completely dispel Rick's unease. First Sophia, now Ethan. Two missing from their already fractured group.
With the light beginning to fade and no clear sign of Sophia, a grim decision was made. They had to return to the others on the highway before full dark. The thought of facing Carol was a torment for Rick.
Their return to the RV and van was met with a wave of desperate hope that quickly crashed into despair. Carol Peletier's face, when she saw them emerge from the tree line without her daughter, crumpled. "Sophia?" she choked out, her voice barely a whisper. Rick could only shake his head, the words catching in his throat. Lori moved instantly to Carol's side, holding her as wracking sobs tore through the distraught mother.
"What about Ethan?" Glenn asked, his young face pale and worried. He, T-Dog, and Ethan had formed a bond since Atlanta. Rick recounted how they had separated to cover more ground. "We lost contact. We thought… we hoped he might have made his way back here if he lost Sophia's trail." A fresh wave of anxiety rippled through the group. Shane swore under his breath, running a hand through his hair. "Great. Just great. One kid lost, and now one of our best fighters is MIA too? We should've stuck together." "Ethan can handle himself, Shane," Daryl interjected, though his tone lacked its usual certainty. "He ain't no fool."
The night spent on that desolate stretch of I-85 was one of the longest any of them had ever endured. Every creak of settling metal from the endless graveyard of cars, every rustle in the nearby woods, set their nerves on edge. Carol wept quietly in the RV, comforted by Lori and Andrea. Dale kept a somber watch from the RV's roof, his shotgun across his lap. Rick sat by a low, smokeless fire they risked, staring into the embers, the weight of responsibility pressing down on him.
The next morning brought no relief, only a renewed sense of urgency. Daryl went out at first light for a quick, wide sweep, returning with nothing. The group was on edge, supplies, particularly fuel siphoned from the cars, were limited for an extended search. It was during a tense, hurried effort to siphon more gasoline that T-Dog, his movements made clumsy by stress and fatigue, stumbled against a jagged piece of metal on a wrecked car. He cried out, clutching his arm, blood welling quickly from a deep, ragged gash. Dale and Andrea rushed to him. The cut was bad, dangerously close to an artery. They managed to clean it and bind it tightly with their dwindling medical supplies, but it was clear he'd need proper attention, and soon, to ward off infection.
The pressure mounted. Sophia lost, Ethan missing, T-Dog injured. Their position on the highway felt increasingly like a trap. "We can't stay here," Rick announced, his voice heavy but firm. "We're too exposed. We'll do one more wide search, then we have to consider moving, trying for Fort Benning. Maybe… maybe Sophia and Ethan will try to head that way if they can." It was a desperate hope, and everyone knew it.
Rick, Shane, and Carl decided to scout a little further down a parallel dirt track that ran alongside the highway, hoping for a better vantage point or clearer sign. The others remained with the vehicles, ready to pack up. They walked in silence for a while, the only sound their boots on the path. Carl, trying to be brave for his father, pointed towards a rustling in the trees. "Maybe that's Sophia, Dad!" Rick's heart leaped, then settled. It was just a deer, a magnificent buck, standing in a sun-dappled clearing, its head raised, alert. For a moment, the horrors of their world receded, replaced by the simple beauty of the creature. Carl smiled, a rare, genuine smile.
Then, the crack of a rifle shattered the peace. The deer stumbled. And Carl cried out, a sharp, terrified sound, before collapsing to the ground. "CARL!" Rick screamed, raw terror ripping through him. He sprinted to his son's side. A dark stain was spreading across Carl's shirt, just below his ribs. Shane was there an instant later, his face a mask of shock.
A portly man in overalls and a hunting cap burst from the trees, his rifle still raised, his face pale with horror. "Oh God, no! The deer… I hit the deer! The bullet… it must have gone through! I didn't see him! I swear I didn't see the boy!"
Rick barely heard him. He was tearing at Carl's shirt, his hands slick with his son's blood. The wound was bad. Carl was pale, his breathing shallow. "My boy! My son!" Rick choked out, looking wildly at the hunter. "There's a place," the man stammered, his eyes wide with panic and guilt. "A farm. Not far. Hershel… he's a veterinarian, but he knows medicine. He can help! Please, you gotta let me help!" His name, he blurted out, was Otis.
There was no time for questions, no time for blame. Carl was dying. Rick scooped his son into his arms, ignoring the searing pain in his own protesting muscles. "Show me!" he roared at Otis. "Now!"
With Otis leading the way, stumbling in his haste, Rick ran, Carl a terrifyingly light weight in his arms. Shane followed close behind, his gun drawn, his face grim. They plunged into the woods, leaving the silent highway, the search for Sophia, the mystery of Ethan's disappearance, all momentarily eclipsed by the desperate, frantic race to save Carl's life. The Greene farm, an unknown sanctuary, was their only hope.