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𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

          "𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐄 𝐎𝐍, Baby. Stay up for me." He whispered as he sprinted with his daughter in his arms. She was whimpering as she lay in his arms. He was panting. His sheriff's button-down was wrapped around her stomach as her frail body lay there.

She had gone pale, her breathing was shallow, and her stomach now had a hole in it. Her body was full of blood, most of which was now hers.

"Hey! You move, shithead! Come on, you get us there!" The man by the name of Otis was taking them to a home where a doctor was. They were running through fields with an injured eight-year-old, an angry godfather, a fat man who shot her, and an even angrier father.

"How far? How far!" He screamed at the man, his tone laced with anger as he came to a stop.

"Another half mile that way! Hershel! Talk to Hershel! He'll help your girl!" He shouted to him. Shane dragged him along as Rick went sprinting again.

He kept whispering as he ran with her. "Stay with me, Casey. Come on, stay with me!" He cried.

A big white house came into view and he slowed up a bit. There were a few people, five to be exact. They had all run down the steps.

"Was she bit?" Asked the eldest man there. He was old, and his hair was thin and gray.

"Shot! By your man! He said find Hershel. Is that you?" Rick was livid. Not only at Otis but at himself. He should've just taken her back to the highway. Why would he just let her watch the deer? Why?

He was angry at the world. Angry at everything. 

"Help me. Help my baby girl." He begged, picking her up in his arms again.

Her eyes had fully closed, bringing a worry to the father. He patted her cheek, one of his tears falling into her. "Casey, stay with me. Come on." He whispered yelled at her.

"Get her inside," Hershel commanded, pulling his sleeves up. They followed him inside as he started commanding everyone. "Patricia, I need my full kit. Maggie, painkillers, coagulates— grab everything! Clean towels, sheets, alcohol. In here." Rick was quick behind the man with Casey still in his arms. Hershel put the sheets up, and Rick placed his bloody daughter onto the bed.

"Pillowcase," Hershel said, needing Rick to get one.

"Is she alive?" He backed away, not getting an answer.

"Pillowcase, quick." Hershel quickly took off Rick's sheriff's button-down, then pushed her shirt up to where the wound was.

He wrapped his belt around where her shirt was as Rick once again asked "Is she alive?" No answer.

"Fold it. Make a pad. Put pressure on the wound." He did as told, and Hershel put his stethoscope on, listening for a heartbeat. "I've got a heartbeat. It's faint." He stated. A slight relief went through Rick, and he let out a breath of air.

"I got it, step back," Patricia commanded, pushing Rick away.

"Maggie, I.V."

"We need some space," Maggie told Rick as he stared down at her.

He thought the worst he'd ever have to see her this way was when she had a broken wrist. When she was on the surgical table with a worried look on her face. Rick was on the other side of her, holding her not broken hand.

Now he stood above her as she had a bullet wound in her stomach. "Your name?"

"R-Rick. Rick. I'm-I'm Rick." He repeated as they put an I.V. in her arm.