Two days passed.
Carl remained unconscious but stable.
Rick rarely left his side.
Meanwhile the rest of the group helped around the farm.
Repairing fences.
Collecting water.
Watching for walkers.
Ghost spent most of his time patrolling the edges of the property.
One evening he walked toward the barn.
Something about it felt wrong.
The doors were chained.
Locked tightly.
He could hear something inside.
Groaning.
Walkers.
Several of them.
Before he could investigate further, a voice spoke behind him.
"Those are sick people."
Ghost turned.
Hershel stood nearby holding a lantern.
"They're not dead," Hershel continued.
"They're just… infected."
Ghost looked back toward the barn.
"They are walkers."
Hershel shook his head.
"They're my neighbors."
Ghost didn't argue.
But he also didn't agree.
From the porch Beth watched the conversation carefully.
She had grown curious about the masked soldier.
Everyone else seemed either afraid of him…
Or confused by him.
But she noticed something different.
He was always watching.
Always protecting the camp without anyone asking him to.
And when he fought walkers…
He never hesitated.
Beth didn't fully understand why…
But she wanted to understand him.