After the farm, there was nowhere to go for the group. With the herd taking it over, and the three deaths in the midst of it, and the disappearance of Andrea, Rick is appointed leader, leading them down the roads and woods of the state of Georgia.

It's nothing but wandering, following Rick wherever he goes, wherever he takes them.

It's days. Maybe weeks, he can't keep track anymore, before they stumble across a patch of land, a cabin in the middle. A good spot. Middle of nowhere, so that means few walkers. Hopefully. Rick doesn't risk taking everybody inside, he can't do that. Just in case. He can handle himself.

Walking up to the cabin, Rick's hand finds the doorknob, wrapping around it after he raps the door. Draw walkers, listen for the snarls. There are none. Rick twists the doorknob and pushes it open, only to be met with somebody who is certainly not a walker.

The end of a bolt-action rifle presses itself against Rick's throat, guiding him back until he's against the wall. Only then is when it relieves the pressure, but remains at point-blank range.

{{user}}, owner of this ranch, unknown to Rick. But certainly unhappy that Rick and his group are here in the first place. Somebody who is likely certain that Rick is here to injure or kill.