NICOLETTE
They didn't need that, not so soon.
The plan was perfect; Randall would have survived. Why would he risk everything right now? If they found him, they would kill him. Shane would do it without blinking an eye; he seemed eager to get rid of the guy, and now no one would oppose him.
"It's getting late," Sarah said, folding her hands as she paced the dimly lit room. The sun had disappeared, leaving the sky a deep, unsettling darkness. The familiar view had turned gloomy and creepy, haunted by memories of what had happened just the night before.
"I'm sure they'll be back soon," Patricia reassured her, moving closer and rubbing Sarah's arm in a comforting gesture.
"Maybe we should go find them," Carl suggested, his brow furrowed with concern. But Lori shook her head firmly.
"No, we're not moving," she insisted, pointing towards the stairs. "Go to Maggie's room."
"Mom, they might need our help!" Carl protested, desperation creeping into his voice. But Lori was resolute, her eyes steely.
"Go, Carl! Now!" she exclaimed, her tone leaving no room for argument. Nicki watched as Carl's lip tightened, a mix of frustration and fear flashing across his face before he trudged upstairs, the weight of uncertainty heavy on his shoulders.
Outside, the night deepened, the air thick with tension, as the house fell silent, each creak and whisper amplifying their growing dread.
"It's dark," Sarah said nervously, her voice trembling. "Daryl never follows traces in the dark; he said that!" Nicki stood up, glancing at Andrea, who moved closer to her sister, trying to convince her that they were safe. But deep down, everyone felt the tension. Nicki looked up the stairs again, took a deep breath, and made her way up. She glanced around the dim hallway before heading toward Maggie's room. When she opened the door, she found Carl by the window, poised to climb out.
"You're nothing if not predictable," Nicki said, closing the door quietly behind her.
Carl scoffed, glancing back at her. "What? Are you gonna tell my mom?"
Nicki crossed her arms defiantly. "That her son is playing Spider-Man to sneak out of the window? I'm sure she'd love that." She tilted her head, a hint of sarcasm in her tone.
"What do you want?" he asked, exhaling sharply.
Nicki shrugged. "Preventing you from breaking your neck seems like a good start."
Carl shook his head, determination etched on his face. "I have to help my dad," he insisted. Nicki studied him closely; he had always been the kind of person who wanted to help the group, but there was something different about him tonight.
"What if he'd rather have you here?" she asked, watching his reaction. He seemed more nervous, jumpy, as if the weight of the world rested on his shoulders.
"If I'm here and he dies," Carl said finally, his voice heavy with emotion, "I would never forgive myself."
Even Rick would never forgive himself if his son died trying to save him.
Nicki moved closer to Carl. "And what's the plan?" she asked. "Throw rocks at Randall?"
"I don't know yet," Carl replied, his gaze dropping to the floor.
"That doesn't sound like a good plan," she said, frowning as she kept her eyes on him.
"You don't get it," he said, shaking his head. "I have to."
She observed him silently for a moment, his eyes cast down, hidden beneath the brim of his hat, as if he didn't want her to see his pain.
"Why?" Nicki finally asked. Carl took a deep breath, his shoulders tense.
"I can't... let this happen again," he muttered, and Nicki frowned, struggling to grasp what he meant.
"What?" she pressed.
Carl sat down on Maggie's bed with a deep sigh, his frustration evident.
"Dale," he admitted at last, looking up at her. His lips quivered slightly. "It's my fault that Dale died."
How could it be his fault? A walker had killed Dale.
"Yesterday I went outside," he continued, his voice shaky. "I took Daryl's gun and found a walker. I was going to shoot it; it was stuck. But... it got free, and I... ran away." He inhaled deeply, trying to steady himself. "It was the walker that killed Dale." Nicki looked down, absorbing the weight of his words.
"It was my fault," he repeated, anguish flooding his voice. "Because I didn't do anything. I could have ended it there, but I didn't, and now Dale is dead..." He paused, gathering his thoughts. "I won't let this happen again. I want to know that I did everything I could."
Nicki felt a familiar ache in her chest. Whatever they did—or didn't do—would affect the group. She had reminded herself of that over and over since that day on the highway. Every single day. She could understand what he felt.
"Come on," she said, gesturing for him to follow her toward the door.
"What?" He looked up at her, confusion etched on his face.
"Let's be smarter," she replied, glancing into the corridor to ensure no one was watching.
"Where are we going?" he asked as he followed her, curiosity mingling with concern as they made their way toward Hershel's room.
"Out," she said, closing the door behind him. Then she moved to the window, opening it carefully. "But from a place where we won't kill ourselves." From this window, the roof was less steep, and if they were lucky, being on the opposite side of the house from the entrance might mean no one would notice them.
"We?" he asked, disbelief flickering in his eyes.
"Yeah," Nicki answered simply, determination in her voice. "Come on."
Carl stared at her, wide-eyed, and she frowned, sensing his hesitation.
"What's with that face?" she challenged, pointing toward the window. "Get your ass out."
Carl was quick to climb out of the window, making little noise as his feet hit the roof. Nicki glanced at the door before handing Carl her bow. He took it from her hands, then she climbed out the window herself. Once her feet touched the roof, Nicki turned to close the window softly.
"Alright," she said, and the two of them started to run across the roof.
"We could climb down using the porch," Carl suggested, peering over the edge. "I'll go first." Nicki nodded in agreement.
"Give me your hand," she said, reaching out to him.
"I can do it myself," he replied, ready to turn away, but she grabbed him by the hood of his shirt, stopping him in his tracks.
"I meant it when I said I'm not gonna let you break your neck," Nicki insisted. "Now man up and give me that hand."
Carl scoffed but eventually took her hand, allowing her to help him navigate down the roof. When he seemed secure enough against the wood of the porch, she let go. He managed to climb down, and once he was safely on the ground, Nicki slung her bow around her shoulders and began to descend as well. She could see a faint light flickering from inside the house. Sarah would freak out if she figured out they were gone, but maybe they would find Rick before that.
"Alright," she whispered once she was on the ground. "Let's go."
They ran toward the woods, where Rick and the others had disappeared. Surrounded by the trees, the darkness enveloped them; not even the moon helped them see where they needed to go.
"Why are you helping me?" Carl asked, keeping pace beside her.
Nicki took a breath, taking her time to answer. "I understand," she said finally, "what you were talking about..."
"Sophia?" he asked, and she nodded.
"She ran out of my sight," she admitted, her voice heavy with regret. "I didn't run after her, and she died." That moment haunted her every day since it happened, especially after learning that Sophia had turned.
"You were right when you said I'm blaming myself," she continued, her words pouring out. "I can't stop thinking about it."
"Me too," Carl muttered. Nicki glanced over at him, seeing the weight of his sorrow reflected in his eyes.
"I don't think it's your fault what happened to Dale," she said as they walked through the woods. "But it's not a good place to be... the guilt." She took a nervous breath. "It doesn't matter how many people tell me it's not my fault what happened to Sophia. I just don't believe them."
"I know what you mean," Carl replied, his voice barely above a whisper. "Both Dad and Shane said it wasn't me, but... I feel like that." He looked up to meet her gaze, and she could see that the burden of guilt weighed heavily on him, just as it did on her. It wasn't the fault itself that tormented them, but the uncertainty of what could have been if they had acted differently. Maybe nothing would have changed, or maybe everything would have. Those thoughts screamed in her mind, chaotic and relentless.
She groaned, "I hate feeling confused."
That made Carl chuckle softly. "You're a control maniac, that's why," he teased. Nicki shot him a smirk.
"And you're a constant pain in the ass," she fired back, but it only made him laugh more.
"Thank you for helping me," Carl said after a moment, sincerity in his voice. "I appreciate it." Nicki felt her lips turn up into a smile before she nudged his arm playfully.
"Don't be that nice," she said, feigning annoyance. "It creeps me out." Carl chuckled again, and for a moment, the weight of their burdens felt a little lighter.
Suddenly, a gunshot echoed across the field. Nicki brought her right hand to grab an arrow while Carl pulled out his gun.
"Did they find a walker?" Carl asked, his voice tight with tension.
"Or Randall..." she replied, glancing around. "Where did it come from?"
"The fields," Carl said, starting to run. Nicki cursed under her breath before following him. They dashed out of the woods toward the fields where Dale had lost his life. The only thing she could focus on was the silence. Why had there been only a single gunshot? If Randall had attacked, why weren't the others shooting? And if he had ambushed them, they were four people—why fire just once? A walker? Could it be possible? They had checked the perimeter that morning for any gaps in the fence.
"Nicki, do you see that?" Carl called out. In the distance, there was a figure pacing back and forth. As they got closer, they noticed someone else lying on the ground.
Only two people. But the one standing didn't look like a walker.
"That's my dad," Carl said, his voice urgent as they ran.
Nicki squinted to see better; it was indeed Rick. But why was he alone? And who was on the ground?
Nicki stopped when they were just a few meters away from Rick, who was now kneeling next to the figure. As she got closer, she realized it was Shane. Nicolette's eyes widened in disbelief.
"Dad?" Carl exclaimed, his body tense as he looked at the man on the ground. What had happened? Was Shane wounded? Was he dead?
Rick turned to them, his eyes wide with fear and sorrow. He slowly stood up and moved toward them, calling his son's name. But a movement caught Nicki's attention. It was Shane; his hand twitched. That unsettling movement made her frown. It was strange, but what happened next froze the blood in her veins. Shane was slowly getting up, growling. He was no longer Shane; he had turned into a walker.
Nicolette's body went rigid. Shane was dead. Just like Sophia. He had transformed into one of those things. She knew it—he was no longer Shane, and he was dangerous—but for some reason, her body wouldn't move.
Carl aimed his gun at Shane, tears streaming down his face. He was crying, but he still held steady.
"Just... put the gun down," Rick urged, his voice trembling with emotion.
"Rick," Nicki found herself whispering, fear creeping into her chest.
"It's not what it seems, please," Rick pleaded. Nicki frowned at his words, but before she could react, Carl pulled the trigger, hitting Shane squarely in the forehead. Shane immediately went limp, collapsing to the ground. Carl was breathing heavily, and Nicki noticed tears in his eyes as he ran to hug his father. Meanwhile, she moved toward Shane. Why hadn't she taken her arrow? He was no longer Shane; she knew that. But it was still Shane's face, his body...
Why had she hesitated?
Poor bastard, she thought. He must have been bitten while they were outside. But where was the walker? And where were Glenn and Daryl?
"Nicki, come here," Rick's voice broke through her thoughts, prompting her to turn one last time to Shane before walking toward Rick and Carl, who had gotten closer. Rick passed her by, his gaze lingering on the body of his best friend, lying motionless on the ground. Nicki moved to Carl, who looked shell-shocked, his eyes wide with disbelief. Tears streamed down his cheeks. This was the first walker he had put down, and it was someone who had cared for him. It must have been incredibly shocking.
"I'm sorry, Shorty," she muttered, placing a hand on Carl's shoulder.