The morning came heavy with fog, a thick gray blanket clinging to the earth, muffling sound and vision alike. The Greene farm emerged from it like a ghost—a place of fragile hope in a world gone mad.
Daryl had already gone out to scout before sunrise, muttering something about fresh tracks in the eastern woods. Rick crouched near the porch, drawing rough maps in the dirt with a stick, eyes narrowed with focus. Carol sat close to the farmhouse steps, her hands curled around a chipped coffee mug, watching her daughter with a mix of awe and anxiety. Sophia leaned against her, half-asleep, head on her mother's shoulder. She looked healthier now—better-fed, better-rested—but something haunted her still.
Max leaned against the fence near the edge of the pasture, sipping from a canteen. The dew clung to the tall grass and the air smelled of damp earth and distant manure. For the first time since arriving in this world, there was a sliver of peace.
That's when the gunshot cracked the air.
Sharp. Sudden. Wrong.
Everyone froze.
Another shot.
Then a scream—
"Carl!" Lori's voice ripped through the quiet. She bolted upright, dropping her mug, shattering porcelain on wood.
Rick was already moving. "Carl!"
Max dropped his canteen and ran.
They crashed into the woods, swallowed by bramble and bark. Rick shouted ahead, crashing through the underbrush like a man possessed. Lori kept pace with him, breathing hard, her voice hoarse.
Max's world narrowed to the sound of his own footsteps and the beat of his heart. He pushed faster, ducking branches, hurdling roots.
They found him seconds later.
Carl lay on the ground, blood pooling beneath his small body, soaking into the forest floor. Rick was already on his knees, hands pressed against Carl's side in a desperate attempt to stop the bleeding. The boy's face was pale, eyes fluttering.
A man—late 40s, heavyset, glasses fogged—stood nearby, a shotgun hanging limp from his hands. Otis.
"I didn't see him!" Otis stammered. "There was a deer—he stepped out—I didn't see the boy!"
Rick turned on him, eyes wild. "Shut up!"
Lori dropped beside Carl, sobbing.
Otis stammered, then found his voice. "There's a farm. Hershel Greene. He's a vet. He—he can help."
"Where? How far?"
"Just past the southern ridge," Otis said. "I—I live there. I can take you."
Rick scooped Carl into his arms. His lips were trembling, knuckles white.
"I'll carry him," Rick said. "You lead."
Otis nodded, stumbling into motion. They took off through the woods.
Max caught up with them as they hit the edge of a clearing. Rick was struggling now—Carl was too heavy, and Rick's breath came in ragged gasps.
"Let me," Max said, moving beside him.
Rick hesitated. "Are you sure?"
Max nodded. "Save your strength. I've got him."
Rick passed the boy over, his arms shaking. Max cradled Carl close, careful not to jar the wound.
Otis led the way, panting hard. They crossed a wide pasture and climbed a gentle slope. A white farmhouse emerged from the fog, wrapped in morning light. It looked too perfect to be real.
On the porch, an older man stepped forward—Hershel. He saw the blood, the limp body.
"Maggie!" he called. "Get towels—now!"
We rushed inside. Maggie ran ahead of us, clearing a table.
"Lay him here!" Hershel ordered.
Carl was barely conscious. Rick clutched Lori's hand as she wept beside the table.
Hershel began cutting away Carl's shirt. "The bullet's lodged. I can keep him alive—for now—but I need surgical gear. IVs. Antibiotics. If he crashes during surgery, I'll need epinephrine. This isn't a barn injury. It's a battlefield wound."
"Where can we find that?" Rick asked, eyes darting between us.
Otis stepped up. "There's a FEMA medical station set up at the high school a few miles from here. I've seen it. Might still be supplies."
"I'll go," Otis offered, voice low.
"Not alone," Max said immediately.
Rick turned to him. "You sure?"
"I'm fast. Quiet. And better trained for what's out there."
Rick hesitated.
Then nodded. "Bring him back to me."
The school loomed like a mausoleum.
Otis and Max crept past the broken chain-link fence. The morning fog was lifting, but the world still felt muted. Dead.
Otis had a shotgun. Max carried a revolver and a knife, eyes sweeping every shadow. They moved in silence, boots crunching broken glass and gravel.
Inside, the building smelled of mildew and dried blood. Desks were overturned. Lockers hung open like empty mouths.
They found the medical cache in the nurse's office. It was dusty but untouched. Otis filled a duffel bag with IV bags, gauze, antibiotics, adrenaline shots. Max found clean gloves, surgical scissors, saline.
Then a low beep.
Otis looked down. "Motion alarm—I—I must've tripped it."
Max's eyes went wide. "Move. Now."
From the hallway came the groans.
One. Then two. Then a wall of sound.
"Run."
They sprinted. Max fired behind them, taking down the first few walkers that rounded the corner. Otis kicked open a side door, and they spilled out into the daylight.
But the lot was crawling.
Too many.
Max shoved Otis behind a rusted truck.
"I'll draw them. You cover."
Otis hesitated. "You'll die!"
"I've done worse."
Max grabbed a flare from a roadside kit and hurled it across the lot. It bounced, fizzed, lit up with red fire. Walkers turned, following the motion.
He grabbed Otis's sleeve. "Now!"
They ran. Max sliced a path through the weakest walkers, dragging Otis toward the fence. The horde was split now, distracted by the fire and noise.
By the time they reached the road, Otis was gasping, barely upright. But alive.
When they pulled up to the Greene farm, Rick was pacing in the yard.
Max jumped from the truck, bag in hand. "We got it!"
Maggie opened the door. "Bring it straight in!"
Hershel didn't waste time. His hands moved with steady precision, setting IVs, prepping the wound.
Rick stood off to the side, holding Lori. She was shaking.
Max backed away, finally letting himself breathe.
"You okay?" Shane asked from behind him.
Max nodded.
"You saved his life," Shane said. "You and Otis."
Max looked down at the blood on his hands. "Not just his."
Rick approached slowly.
"Thank you," he said. His voice was thick with emotion.
Max just nodded. "We watch each other's backs. That's the rule, right?"
Rick held out his hand. Max shook it.
And in that moment, something changed.
The group saw him now—not as an outsider, but as one of their own.
Even Shane didn't argue.
Nobody asked who he was or where he'd come from.
But they trusted him.
And for now, that was enough.
Because this world was broken.
And Max Ward had only just begun to leave his mark.