Dead Man Walking || RICK GRIMES POV -SLOW UPDATES-

|6|

Refer to ch. 16, 17, & 18

Rick took it relatively easy the following day per doctors' orders. He had given way too much blood, and according to Hershel, he would pass out in a matter of minutes if he exerted himself too much. So, instead of heading the search for Sophia with June and Daryl, he stayed back while the two stalked off.

He felt strange staying put while Daryl and June searched – almost useless. Even though he could've sat back and twiddled his thumbs, he put himself to work, mainly by trying to convince Hershel to let them stay for a while longer and to get a greater read of the area. Together, Hershel and Rick viewed the landscape, taking a moment to admire it before feeling peculiar. The last time he stopped to admire the world's beauty, his son was shot. What a strange sense of humor God has.

Hershel continued giving a run-down of the area, mapping out the distance between the interstate and the farm, giving Rick a good idea of where to begin sending groups out to search for the lost little girl. He was confident they'd find her, just like how he was confident his son would survive. He just had to keep that confidence a little longer. He needed to be the glue that held the group together.

As Rick and Hershel approached the farmhouse, Rick decided to try to plead their case again. They needed to stay on the farm. He wanted to give his son a fighting chance after he was healed. How can he expect his son to live a good life if they're always living in a state of fear? It was a small victory when Hershel agreed to consider it, ending their interaction with a firm shake. Small victories lead to winning the overall war.

~*~

That night, Rick decided to shed his trusty uniform. He had to embrace a hard truth – the world would never return to how it once was... no matter how much he hoped it would. The world was cruel and ugly – hell, some may even argue that it was before the whole apocalypse, but it was worse now. The dead were walking and eating the living. They didn't care about skin color or religion, whether you were a good person or a bad person... All a person was to them was food.

He walked through the house, needing a breath of fresh air, when he noticed a familiar redhead sitting on the steps. She leaned against the railing, her head resting upon the wood, unaware of her surroundings.

Pushing through the house, the screen door squeaked, but June didn't move a muscle, and it wasn't until Rick sat beside her that she finally turned her attention to him. She needs a good night's sleep.

"Any luck?" He asked, to which he received an exhausted sigh.

"No." She groaned as she sat up, "We found a house where she might have stayed for a bit, but it's empty now. Maybe he and I can go back out there tomorrow, further our search by a couple more miles." Rick stayed quiet, truly examining her drained demeanor. Her hair was messy, with a few strands falling before her slightly dirty face. Her deep brown eyes were extinguished as she struggled to keep her eyes open. It took everything in him not to smile at her appearance. Jesus, she's so captivating. 

"You look exhausted." He finally muttered, moving toward her and brushing a strand of hair away, giving him a better view of her face. She flashed him a crooked smile that made him grin as she subtly leaned toward him.

"I am." She said before unclipping her holster and handing it to him, "Here. So I won't get in trouble for walking around with it."

"You wouldn't get in much trouble," Rick smiled, his eyes raking over her face again, "Seriously, June. Get some sleep. You look half dead." She nodded and slowly stood up, groaning as she did so.