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Later, the atmosphere on the farm had changed completely.
The constant movement of the morning had given way to a heavy, almost respectful silence. Everyone, in one way or another, had gathered at a spot farther from the house—a small clearing surrounded by old trees, where the wind passed more slowly, carrying with it the scent of damp earth and dry leaves.
There, they had erected a simple grave. Although there was no body, they had somehow ended up holding a funeral for Otis. Stones were carefully stacked, forming a solid mound over the freshly turned soil...
The group naturally divided into two sides of the improvised circle. Jason and Maggie stood on one side, close to each other but in silence. Maggie kept her arms crossed, her gaze fixed on the grave, her expression serious but clearly laden with emotions that were difficult to describe.
On the other side, Rick's group was already gathered. Rick and Lori remained side by side, close, sharing a heavy silence. Dale held his hat between his hands, his head slightly lowered, while Andrea stood beside him, quieter than usual. Glenn had removed his cap, holding it with both hands, and T-Dog remained motionless, out of respect, without uttering a single word. A little farther back, Carol watched everything with a distant look. Daryl, who had arrived last, stood beside her, his posture rigid but present. Shane… was also there. Limping slightly, he wore Otis's clothes. He placed the last stone on the grave and then stepped back. His expression tried to remain neutral and controlled… but it ended up conveying something empty, as if it were merely a poorly fitted mask.
In the center of that small circle stood Patricia, Beth, and Jimmy.
Patricia looked almost empty. Her face was swollen, her eyes red, but already without tears, as if she had cried everything she could. Beth remained beside her, holding her hand firmly, being the silent support she needed.
Jimmy took a step forward.
Carefully, he picked up one of the stones and placed it on the grave.
The dry sound of the stone settling echoed louder than it should have.
Beth went next. She took a deep breath before bending down, placing another stone with delicacy, as if that simple gesture carried enormous weight.
Then Hershel stepped forward.
The Bible was in his hands, open. His face carried exhaustion… but also an unshakable firmness. When he began to speak, his voice came out deep and steady, filling the space around them.
"Blessed be God, Father of our Lord Jesus Christ." The wind blew gently through the trees. "Praised be He for gifting us with our brother Otis… for his longevity… for his greatness of character."
Hershel raised his gaze slightly, scanning those present for a brief moment before continuing.
"Otis… who gave his life to save a child. Now, more than ever… our most precious treasure."
The silence around them seemed to deepen.
"We thank You, God, for the peace he enjoys in Your arms…"
Patricia closed her eyes tightly, squeezing Beth's hand.
"…he died as he lived… in grace."
The words hung in the air for a few seconds.
Hershel then looked at Shane and said,
"Shane, would you like to say a few words?"
Shane immediately looked uncomfortable. He ran his hand over his shaved head, his gaze dropping to the ground. His good foot shifted in place, as if he wanted to leave. He cleared his throat, his voice coming out hoarse and hesitant.
"I… I'm not good at this," he said finally, his voice lower than usual. "Sorry."
He seemed ready to retreat, to let the matter die there, but he wasn't successful...
"You were the last person with him." Patricia's voice cut through the moment. She took a step forward, still holding Beth's hand, her eyes fixed on Shane. "You shared his final moments. Please. I need to hear it. I need to know that his death had meaning."
The silence returned.
Shane looked at her. For a brief instant, something passed across his face—hesitation… tension… something deeper, difficult to name. It was as if he were choosing every word before even speaking. He swallowed hard.
"…Alright..." he murmured.
He looked at the grave, then at the ground, choosing his words with difficulty.
"We were almost out of ammunition..." he began, looking at the ground for a second before raising his gaze again. "We only had pistols."
"I was limping… it was bad. My ankle was all swollen."
A short pause.
"'We have to save the boy.' That's what he said."
Patricia's eyes never left him.
"He gave me his backpack…" Shane continued, his voice firmer now, as if he were leaning on his own narrative. "He pushed me forward."
His jaw tightened slightly.
"'Run,' he said."
The wind blew gently through the trees.
"He said… 'I'll take the rear. I'll cover you.'"
Shane stopped.
For a second… two…
"…and when I looked back—"
The sentence died there.
His expression changed subtly. His eyes lost focus for a moment, as if he were seeing something else… another moment… something that didn't belong in that story...
The silence grew even heavier.
Then, abruptly, he picked up a stone and placed it on Otis's grave, finishing his words.
"If it weren't for Otis… I never would have gotten out of there alive." His voice came out firmer, almost harsh. "And that goes for Carl too."
Now he was looking directly at Patricia.
"It was Otis. He saved us. If any death had meaning…" he added after a brief pause, "it was his."
Patricia closed her eyes, her face contracting for a moment before she let out a trembling sigh. Beth squeezed her hand harder.
On the other side, Rick lowered his head slightly.
No one spoke.
Jason remained motionless, his gaze fixed on the newly closed grave. He knew the truth—every detail, every choice that had led to that moment—but he said nothing. There was a time to expose certain truths, and this was not it. Not there, in front of everyone, with emotions still raw and a family being buried along with a man. Contradicting Shane now would not bring immediate justice, only problems...
The silence of the funeral still seemed to echo in the air when the group began to disperse slowly. No one spoke much. Each person carried their own thoughts.
.
.
.
.
.
Some time later, already close to the house, the atmosphere had changed once again.
In front of one of the cars, the hood served as an improvised table.
Hershel, Rick, Shane, Daryl, Andrea… and Jason were gathered there.
Hershel crossed his arms, his expression serious as he observed Rick.
"How long has the girl been missing?"
Rick ran his hand over his face before answering.
"Today is the third day."
The answer landed heavily.
It was at that moment that Maggie approached, carrying something in her hands. Without saying a word, she unfolded a map over the car's hood, securing the corners with two stones to prevent the wind from carrying it away.
"Topographic map of the county," she said, pointing to the markings. "It shows the terrain… the elevations."
Rick nodded immediately, his gaze focusing on the map.
"Perfect..." he murmured. "Now we can organize this properly. We'll map out the entire area. Divide it into sectors and start the search in teams."
But before he could continue—
"Not you."
Hershel's voice cut straight through.
Rick looked up.
Hershel kept his expression firm.
"You've already donated three bags of blood today. You wouldn't last five minutes walking in this heat before passing out."
Rick opened his mouth to argue… but said nothing.
Jason then spoke, without taking his eyes off the map.
"He's right."
The attention briefly turned to him.
Then he tilted his head slightly toward Shane.
"And you're not in any condition to go looking for anyone either."
Shane frowned, clearly displeased.
"I'm fine—"
"No, you're not. Your ankle is compromised. If you push it now, you'll be bedridden for a whole month."
The silence that followed was short… but enough.
Daryl let out a small impatient grunt.
"Then I'll go alone." He pointed directly at an area on the map. "I'll head back to the creek and start from there."
Rick looked at the indicated spot, thoughtful.
Before he could respond, Shane spoke again.
"I can still help," he said, more controlled this time. "I can drive up to the highway… see if Sophia went back there."
Rick nodded slowly.
"Alright… tomorrow then. We'll do this right this time."
But Shane didn't stop there.
"That also means we can't leave our people out there with just knives..." he continued. "They need the firearms training we promised."
Hershel looked visibly uncomfortable. He averted his gaze for a moment before replying.
"I'd prefer you didn't carry weapons on my property." The tone was firm… but there was tension there. "So far, we've managed without turning this into an armed camp."
Shane let out a small snort through his nose, almost incredulous.
"With all due respect…" he said, shaking his head slightly, "if a herd of those things ends up coming this way..."
But Rick intervened before it could escalate.
"Hey—" He looked at Shane, then at Hershel. "We're guests here. This is their property. We respect that."
After saying that, he removed his gun and placed it on the map. Shane did the same.
A brief silence.
"First things first..." Rick continued. "Make a plan. Find Sophia."
Shane remained silent for a moment… but did not back down completely.
He glanced sideways at Rick.
"I hate to be the guy who asks this… but someone has to." The atmosphere changed again. "What happens if we find her… and she's bitten? I think everyone here needs to know how we're going to handle it."
Rick stayed silent for a few seconds. His gaze fell briefly on the map… then rose again.
"You do what needs to be done."
.
.
.
.
.
A little later, the sun had already lowered considerably, bathing the house in warmer, golden tones.
Jason was in the improvised room where Carl was resting, checking the bandages with calm and precise movements. The boy was still sleeping, his breathing more stable than the night before, his face less pale.
Lori was sitting beside the bed, her hands clasped in her lap, her eyes red from exhaustion and worry. She watched every movement Jason made in silence, until she finally spoke, her voice low and hesitant:
"He… seems better today."
Jason finished adjusting the gauze and looked at her for a moment.
"He does. The inflammation has gone down. If it continues like this, in two days he should be able to sit up without feeling so much pain."
Lori let out a trembling sigh, relieved but still filled with fear.
"I don't know how to thank you… really. When I arrived and saw him like that…" She shook her head, as if pushing the image away. "I thought I was going to lose him..."
Jason shrugged, without giving any special weight to what he had done.
"Your husband donated blood in time. Hershel managed to stop the initial bleeding. Without that, I wouldn't have had much to do." His voice came out calm and direct. "In other words, I just finished the job. Even if I hadn't been here, Hershel probably would have been able to perform the surgery on his own… and your son would still be alive."
He paused briefly, keeping his tone neutral.
"So… there's no need to thank me."
Lori smiled faintly, a tired but genuine smile.
"Even so. It would be rude of me not to thank you for saving my son's life..."
Jason wiped his hands on a clean cloth and stood up, looking at Carl one more time.
"Well, do whatever you want then..."
Lori remained silent for a second, then asked, almost timidly:
"And you? How are you? You were here all night yesterday… and today you came several times. You must be exhausted."
"I'm fine, no need to worry..."
Lori nodded, accepting the answer without pressing. There was something about his calm, direct manner—without drama—that made her feel a little safer.
"If you need anything…" she said, "just let me know."
Jason thanked her with a nod and left the room. He went to look for Maggie.
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