Morning came slowly over the quarry.
The survivors packed what little they had left.
Tents were folded. Supplies were loaded into vehicles. Weapons were checked again and again.
Rick stood beside the RV speaking with Shane and Glenn.
"We stick together on the road," Rick said. "No one gets separated."
Shane nodded.
"Road's been getting worse lately."
Glenn added, "And the walkers seem to be moving more."
Rick glanced toward the edge of the camp.
Ghost stood there again, watching the treeline like always.
Carl walked over to him.
"You really think the farm is safer?"
Ghost answered without turning.
"Safer than here."
Carl kicked a small rock.
"Will there be walkers there too?"
"Yes."
Carl frowned.
"Then what makes it safer?"
Ghost looked down at him.
"Space."
Carl thought about that.
More space meant more time to react.
More time to fight.
More time to survive.
Rick approached them.
"Everyone's ready."
Ghost nodded.
Within minutes the convoy of vehicles rolled out of the quarry.
The road north stretched through forests and open countryside.
For a while the world looked almost peaceful.
Fields.
Barns.
Empty farmhouses.
But the abandoned cars and scattered walkers reminded everyone that the world they knew was gone.
After nearly an hour of driving Glenn slowed the truck.
"Up ahead."
Rick leaned forward.
A large farm appeared across the hills.
A white farmhouse.
A red barn.
Large open fields.
Rick exhaled slowly.
"That must be it."
The vehicles rolled down the dirt road toward the property.
A man stepped out of the farmhouse holding a rifle.
An older man.
Serious expression.
Hershel Greene.
Rick stepped out of the truck slowly with his hands visible.
"We're not here to cause trouble."
Hershel studied the group carefully.
"You brought a lot of people."
Rick nodded.
"We've been on the road a long time."
Hershel looked at the children.
Then the exhausted adults.
Finally he lowered the rifle slightly.
"You can stay the night."
Relief spread across the group.
But as everyone began unloading supplies, two girls watched from the porch of the farmhouse.
One blonde.
One with darker hair.
The younger one looked curious.
The older one looked quiet.
Beth Greene.
Her eyes slowly drifted toward the masked teenager standing beside the truck.
Ghost.
She had never seen anyone like him before.
A boy who looked her age.
But stood like a soldier.
Silent.
Watching everything.
Beth didn't understand why…
But she couldn't stop looking at him.