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A whole night has passed full of Hershel working on gathering all of the bullets out of Carl's chest.
The sunlight glimmers in through the window, early in the morning. The sun lays upon Carl's pale body, his chest going up and down with each breath he inhales and exhales.
Rick leans back in the old wooden chair, placing his hat in his lap. The floorboards creek as Grace walks into the room, gently knocking on the side of the door. Rick perks up his head and meets her soft eyes.
"Hey, how's he doing?" Grace asks, her eyes raking over Carl's face. Tiny sweat beads rest on his pale cheeks and his brown hair hangs down on his forehead.
"Good. He's much better," Rick's eyes admire Carl with a warm smile across his face.
"I'm glad," Grace nods her head and Rick shoots her a quick glance. The room starts to fill with silence and Grace leans against the doorframe.
They bask in a peaceful silence, getting to know each other through the silence.
A motorcycle engine roars loudly from outside the Greene farmhouse and Grace lifts her head up, peeking outside the blinds.
"Who is it?" Grace asks curiously, glancing over at Rick as his eyes widen.
"The rest of our people," Rick replies dryly, standing up from his chair and rushing to the front door with adrenaline. Grace and the others follow Rick out of the house to a yard full of vehicles and a large group of all different kinds of people.
"How is he?" an older man asks with concern, his eyes searching for an answer in Rick's.
"He'll pull through, thanks to Hershel and his family," Lori glances over her shoulder at the Greene family. The older man pats Rick on the shoulder and his facial expression relaxes at the good news.
"And Shane. We'd have lost Carl if not for him," Lori points out, gazing over at Shane with gratitude. Shane smiles weakly and lowers his head.
"How'd it happen?" the man asks, his eyebrows furrowing with concern.
"Hunting accident, that's all. Just a stupid accident," Rick speaks with relief and a certain softness to his voice.
