The run through the dense woods was a blur of whipping branches, burning lungs, and the terrifyingly frail weight of Carl in Rick's arms. Otis, portly and panting, led them with a desperate urgency, his earlier guilt now channeled into a single-minded focus on reaching Hershel. Shane kept pace, his shotgun ready, his eyes scanning their surroundings, though his face was pale and his breathing as ragged as Rick's.
Finally, they burst through a tree line into a wide, open pasture. Ahead, nestled amongst rolling green hills, stood a large, white farmhouse, surrounded by well-kept fences, a barn, and outbuildings. It was an image of idyllic peace, so starkly contrasted with the horrors they had just fled that it felt unreal. The Greene Farm.
"Hershel! Hershel, open up! It's an emergency!" Otis bellowed as they stumbled towards the porch. The front door opened and an older man, lean and weathered, with kind but stern eyes, stepped out. This was Hershel Greene. A younger woman with short, dark hair, Maggie, appeared behind him, her expression concerned. Patricia, a woman with a gentle demeanor, and a younger, blonde girl, Beth, followed.
"Otis? What in God's name" Hershel began, then his eyes fell on the limp, blood-soaked form of Carl in Rick's arms. His professional demeanor, honed by years as a veterinarian, instantly took over. "Bring him in! Quickly! Maggie, Patricia, get the kitchen table cleared, boil water! Beth, find clean linens, all you can!"
Rick practically fell into the house, laying Carl gently on the large wooden table as instructed. The warm, lamplit interior of the farmhouse, smelling faintly of polish and something baking, was another world. "He's been shot," Rick choked out, his voice raw with anguish. "Hunting accident. The bullet went through a deer first." Hershel was already at work, his skilled hands gently probing the wound, his face grim. "Lost a lot of blood. Entry wound here… exit is messy. We need to stop the bleeding and see if there are fragments."
Lori. The thought of his wife, of the rest of his group still back on that death-trap highway, slammed into Rick. "My wife… the others… they don't know. Shane," he gasped, turning to his friend. "You have to go back. Get Lori. Get all of them. Tell them… tell them Carl…" Shane, who had been watching Hershel work with a mixture of horror and grim determination, nodded curtly. "I'll bring them, Rick. You stay with your boy." He glanced at Otis. "You coming? Show me the quickest way back to that highway." Otis, still shaken, nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, course." The two men hurried out, leaving Rick alone with the Greenes and his dying son.
The next few hours were an agonizing blur for Rick. Hershel worked with a focused intensity, Patricia his calm, capable assistant. Maggie and Beth moved quietly, bringing supplies, their faces reflecting a mixture of pity and apprehension. Hershel managed to stop the worst of the bleeding, but Carl was pale, his pulse thready. "He needs blood," Hershel stated, looking at Rick. "Are you the same type?" "I don't know," Rick admitted, feeling a fresh wave of helplessness. "I am," Shane's voice said from the doorway. He had returned, alone for now, having sent Otis with directions for the rest of the group and instructions for Dale to bring the RV and van. "I'm O negative. Universal donor." Without a word, Hershel prepped Shane, and soon his blood was flowing into Carl, a desperate measure to buy the boy time.
It was near dusk when the rumble of the RV and van announced the arrival of the rest of Rick's group. Lori burst into the farmhouse first, her eyes wild. When she saw Carl, pale and still on the table, a choked sob escaped her. Rick intercepted her, holding her tight. "Hershel's doing everything he can," he whispered. "He's stable, for now." The others filed in, their faces etched with worry and exhaustion. Dale, Andrea, Glenn, and a pale, bandaged T-Dog. And Carol. Her eyes, red-rimmed from weeping for Sophia, now filled with a fresh wave of horror for Carl. The sight of another child in peril was almost too much for her to bear.
Hershel, after ensuring Carl was as comfortable as possible, addressed the newcomers. He was a man of quiet authority, his home invaded by strangers, his peace shattered. "Your son is gravely injured," he told Rick and Lori directly. "I've done what I can with what I have. He's lost a lot of blood. There are likely bullet fragments still inside him. To have any real chance, he needs surgery, equipment I don't possess." He looked around at the weary, armed group crowded into his home. "You can stay the night. In the barn, or the vehicles. There's a well for water. But this farm… it's self-sufficient, but it cannot support this many for long. And I have rules." He paused, his gaze stern. "No firearms in the house. This is a place of healing, not a barracks."
The group was too exhausted, too worried about Carl, to argue. They were guests, by necessity, in this fragile haven. Later that night, as Carl drifted in a shallow, feverish sleep, Rick sat by his side, Lori holding his hand. The rest of the group found places to rest, some in the RV, others in the barn, the weight of their situation pressing down. Sophia was still out there. Ethan was missing. And now Carl's life hung by a thread.
Daryl, restless and antsy, approached Rick. "Soon as there's light, I'm goin' back out for the girl. And for Ethan. Can't just leave 'em." Rick nodded, gratitude in his tired eyes. "I know, Daryl. I know."
Hershel re-entered the room, his expression grave. "He's burning with fever. The bullet… it likely tore through his intestine. Without a respirator to help his breathing during surgery, and proper surgical tools to remove those fragments and repair the damage… his chances are slim." He looked directly at Rick, then at Shane who had followed him in. "There was a high school, not too far from where Otis encountered you. It was designated as a FEMA emergency shelter. They might have a field hospital setup, medical supplies. It's overrun with walkers, no doubt. But it's the only chance your boy has."
The words hung in the air. A dangerous supply run. Into a place likely teeming with the dead. For a slim chance. Shane met Rick's eyes. There was no question. "Otis and I will go," Shane said, his voice determined. "At first light." Rick nodded, a flicker of desperate hope rekindled. The Greene farm had offered them a momentary sanctuary, but it was clear their trials were far from over. Carl's life, and the fates of their missing friends, depended on the risks they were willing to take in this new, unforgiving world.