Notes: A central problem, I've always thought, with apocalyptic tales has to do with the loss of accumulated human memory. Especially for a setting like TWD, coming at a point in human history where so much of what we know is not stored internally by people. It's "exported" and stored externally, in books, computers, etc. Further, in a world with no electricity, and without the networked communication we've come to rely on, much of that exported information is not accessible at all. If it's on a computer, it's really hard to get to, and if it's stored on "the cloud," you'll never see it again. There do exist ways to deal with many of the issues of necessity like food, medicine - and even luxuries like electrical power – that are either really old or really new technologies that could potentially be recreated by survivors. Yet, without access to information about them, they might as well not exist. I understand that the structure of the story of TWD is about immediacy and horror. The result is a constant focus on emergency drama. And it's exciting – I love it, too. But I do think focusing on the need to kill or be killed in order to survive underestimates the thing that allowed a species with bad eyesight, poor hearing, no natural weapons, and offspring that take over a decade to mature to actually survive: big brains, and the accumulation of the inventiveness of those brains.

Disclaimer: Copyright for The Walking Dead belongs to AMC, et al. My writing belongs to me, as do errors.

Title: "Inventio"
Chapter: "1: A Tone"

"If I'm going to do this right, there are things I need to know, Rick, and nobody here can tell me. It'll take some time to find out if the information is even there. I'll probably need to spend at least a couple days and nights on the search. But if I find what I'm looking for...just think about what that could mean? Some independence if we get shut out from access to cities for supplies? We all know that eventually the drugs and the ammunition will be gone. This is – well, this is the run of all runs!"

Rick rubbed his jaw, playing with the graying whiskers a bit as he thought it over. He didn't like the idea at all that the proposal would take Carol away from the safety of the prison for such a long time. And he certainly didn't think he could spare the amount of people he wanted to send with her. She had come to represent the stability of place for him. Wherever Carol was, that was the place they came back to – the axis of the compass that mapped their world.

She waited in front of him with her lips held in a tight line, quiet and still. She had braced her feet in a soldier stance and had her arms crossed over her chest, one hand steadying the strap of her rifle. She balanced herself against the weight of the weapon with nonchalance, as easily as she adjusted to holding Judith. When had this happened to her? To all of them? He felt bad about it, like it was something she shouldn't have been asked to do. But he was also relieved that she no longer felt the need to beg him to do something, when they all knew there was nothing to be done.

The intensity of her gaze was making him uncomfortable, all the more because it was unexpected. She usually wasn't this direct. Carol preferred to make a suggestion and wait for her target to decide that he (and it was always he) had come up with the idea himself. Then she'd smile that small smile to herself, agree that the idea was very wise, and ask how she could help. Once Rick had figured out how she accomplished it, he had been amused at how masterfully she'd handled a disgruntled Merle, a pouting Daryl, a huffy Hershel, and a panicky Glenn. Then he'd been resentful when he realized that if she'd been manipulating them then he surely hadn't escaped her cleverness.

Rick moved to look over the map again. Carol had marked the location of the college and the most advantageous route. A series of notes were jotted in Hershel's hand at several spots along the way, indicating possible locations for supply scouting, safe harbors, and work arounds for herds or blocked roads. There were also some calculations approximating needs for fuel and food scratched in the margins.

"The risk is worth it, Rick. We can do this. I can do this. I know what I'm looking for. If I don't find it, we come back with some supplies. If I do, we gain so much more." Her voice held that rarest of tones, and he knew he couldn't refuse her when it resonated from his eardrums to settle in his chest: hope.

He turned to her, his decision made, but not ready to tell her. "How many would you want to take, who, and what vehicle would you want?"

Carol's eyebrows contracted and she stepped forward. "We would want to be agile. Stealth if we met any kind of trouble, the living or the dead. I don't want to fight anything at all if we don't have to. I would want Michonne for sure. And I was thinking...Carl."

Rick's eyes grew stormy, and his mouth moved to speak.

Carol held up a hand as if to ward him off. "Carl doesn't waste ammo, and you know he's our best lookout. His weapon is the most reliable with a silencer. It never jams. He proved his good judgment on his run with you, Rick. And in terms of the number of jobs he can do here? The better use of resources is to send him with me."

She was smart. And she'd been thinking this over, and probably practicing with Hershel. Rick could feel the influence of the old coot in that speech.

"How long would ya be gone?" He knew he was growling. He didn't exactly care.

"I'd expect at least one overnight, maybe two? There are two libraries we need to get into, could be three. They have the main one, then over in their ROTC building they have a military library. I'm hoping it might have resources on helping us figure a way to make our own shot. And there's one in the nursing school. We won't know the exact situation until we get there. If we are lucky, students would have lit out home when the outbreak started. But, it might have been one of the emergency centers. Library probably wouldn't have been the HQ of that, though." She paused, and her face got hard. "And...there could be people housing up there. We won't take any chances." She tilted her head just barely to the side. "I thought we might appraise it ourselves – you know, as a fall-back position...if we need it, from here? If you think it would be a good idea..." She left the idea hanging between them.

"How do you know all that?"

"Maggie had friends. Dated a couple guys that went there. Drew me good maps."

"And have you talked with Michonne?"

She made a non-committal gesture with the shoulder not burdened by her rifle. "Yes. She wasn't excited, but said if she had to go she would."

"Carl?"

Carol shook her head. "No. I haven't spoken to him yet. I wanted to ask how you wanted to handle it." She didn't quite meet his eye, looking at his left shoulder before slowly sweeping up to tentatively check him through her lashes.

"Uh huh. And?"

"And what?"

"And what would you advise? You've been mighty chummy with my son as of late. I expect you know more about how he'll feel than I do."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "His childhood is gone, Rick. He's moody. His life isn't easy, and there isn't much fun to be had. But we both know that he's smart, and tough, and a really great kid. I simply meant that I was waiting to see if you wanted to tell him or if you wanted me to do it."

"Oh." He felt like an ass. Of course that's what she'd meant. He turned, placing his hands on the table to balance leaning over the map again, distracting himself from his embarrassment.

He cleared his throat. "Vehicle?"

When Carol didn't answer right away, he looked over his shoulder at her. She looked uneasy, and was shifting the rifle to her other side. She was going to propose something he wasn't going to like.

"I think we should take one on the road. I think the three of us should start on foot with our fuel, out the western fence. Route 24 is about a two mile hike northwest. Then we'll pick up a vehicle there."

"What!?" Rick was up and standing over her before he knew it. He had to hold himself back.

"Rick, wait. Just hear me out - "

"Leave yourselves exposed for miles? Carrying fuel? Holy hell, Carol! Do you even know how to hotwire a vehicle, you crazy –"

"Oh, no, you will not call me anything like that." Her voice was deadly quiet and she had stepped up into his space. "I am not crazy. Do you really want to compare sanity with me," her pause was icy and menacing, "Rick?" Her eyes glinted at him.

"Explain," he ground out, easing himself back slightly from her stare.

"Woodbury knows our cars. They saw Glen drive in after the attack. Andrea drove back, so they know the ones we found here. If they had any scouts around they would have seen the little green beastie. We can't afford alerting them by taking one of those out of here. We'll take precautions when we leave. We've got the riot gear we haven't really used from the armory. We'll suit up. We'll strap on the fuel to leave our hands free. We can make this work."

"And starting it?"

She stumbled over words as she rushed, "G-Glenn! He's walked me through it on the vehicles here. He's sure I'll be able to start one we find."

He drew in a breath and blew it out in a frustrated humph. "Sounds like everyone's been in on this little plot of yours except me."

Carol didn't say anything. She kept her face neutral. Oh, so there was a bit of conspiracy afoot?

"What does Daryl say?"

She blinked and swallowed, crossing her arms again, drawing herself up to her full height and clearing her face of worry before she answered. "He'll understand." She sounded confident.

"Really." Rick let all his skepticism about the details out in those two syllables.

She shrugged, and one side of her mouth tugged downward.

"You think I'm going to be able to keep him inside this place when he finds out you're gone?"

"I think he'll figure out that if this place is going to stand up to an assault that's where he'll need to stay."

Rick shook his head. The plan was pretty sound, and there was a chance that she'd go off anyway with a more dangerous one if he didn't handle this right.

"Look, Rick. You've asked me to take stock of how we can sustain ourselves. I'm good at it." Her brow furrowed and she caught her lip between her teeth. The next sentence came out aimed over her shoulder at the door to the cafeteria. "Ed only had to beat me once before I learned to figure supplies and ration." She appeared to work out a kink in her neck and rubbed her chin on her shirt as she turned back, half-laughing. "Survivalist wives."

He didn't just feel like an ass; he was an ass. It hadn't occurred to him to wonder where she got the skills. He'd basically asked her think of that bastard every day. He had no idea how he was going to make that up to her. Or even apologize. Shit. But she was still talking. "This would give us the freedom to make some of what we need and not be at the mercy of what's left over out there or a blockade we can't run."

She looked to the floor then up to the windows, as if for inspiration. Her voice was very quiet when she spoke again. "I'm not just thinking of now. It's that little girl. I'm thinking to her life, and a time when this isn't new anymore, a time when you – when I might not be around." She turned her eyes back to him, and there was that bewitching smile of hers. Her voice was still quiet, and that tone was back rattling around his chest again, suspiciously near his heart. "This is a good thing, Rick. This is about a future." If such a thing was possible, it looked to him as if her eyes got brighter blue. "This is," she stepped to him and placed a hand on his bicep, squeezing, "a chance to run toward something instead of away from it! To plan on something other than a war. Maybe it won't be here, but what we find could start to sustain a life for her."

Despite himself, he felt his lips curl at one side. He broke eye contact and nodded at the floor to minimize the temptation and effect. "Fine. When did you think you were gonna leave?"

Even as he'd started to speak Carol had slipped her arms around him and embraced him. She was shaking her head, rubbing her nose into the flannel of his shirt and making some kind of happy noise. Her scruffy, pixy hair tickled at his neck and since she couldn't see him he let himself smile completely. He snaked his arms around her for a quick hug, and kissed the top of her head. Then he moved his hands up to take her by the shoulders and ease her back, crouching just a little to meet her at eye level. "When?"

"Oh! Um, sooner the better. I've got a couple things I'd like to finalize. But tomorrow, early, just before first light."

"Okay." He released her and stood up straight, hands resting on his belt.

"Carl? Did you want to – "

"Yeah, I'll talk with him."

Carol nodded, then surprised him by pushing up on her tiptoes to peck him on the cheek before turning to take up her map and move out of the cafeteria. He thought he caught her skipping for a step as she reached the door. He was an ass, and she had survived personal hell and a walker invasion to be able to hope for the slimmest possibility of a future she might not live to see.

Rick ran a hand through his hair. He hoped she was right. God, he hoped she was right – about Carl, about what she'd find, about everything. Scrubbing the curls at the back of his head he remembered Daryl. He blew out a frustrated breath. That was not going to go well. She hadn't told him, and neither had any of her co-conspirators it seemed. Rick desperately hoped that was one of the things she needed to finalize.

As far as he could tell, nothing had changed between the two since the Dixons had returned. The hints of softness that showed up around Daryl's edges still seemed to be there with Carol, and she was obviously relieved he was back. But the gossip chain hadn't told him of any public status change, and indicated that there had not been much alone time with Merle in the picture. Rick couldn't be sure, of course. He'd been uncertain of so much for those first days after Lori, then away in Cynthia. All the work since he returned didn't leave much time for observation either.

He moved toward the cells to find Carl.