Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

     "Tyreese! Wait!"

    Carl ran across the littered prison courtyard, jumping over fallen walkers and concrete rubble. The swirling wind blew smoke in every which direction, taking his sheriff hat with it. And only for a second did he slow down to reach for it—but one second wasn't enough. Lungs burning from the thick smoke, he ran on, leaving the hat to pass over an open flame and land feebly onto the crumbled walkway. No time to worry about that, he thought. Not when there were other— much more pressing— matters. So he ran on, desperate to reach the man who carried his baby sister away.

    Judith. He has Judith.

   "Tyreese!" Carl yelled again, when—boom!— the ground shook violently beneath, powering over the boy's weakened voice. That damned tank, he surmised. Someone take it out already. Regaining his balance, the boy leapt clumsily over another body, and shouted for Tyreese again. Then for Lizzie, then Mika. He let out a frustrated grunt when none of them had turned around or stopped. Come on, one of you has to hear me. Instead, Carl's shouting drew the immediate attention of three walkers. Looking back, he raised his gun, and fired. Round after round, the bullet cases flung and clinked onto the cement. The corpses fell one after another, shots drawing clotted, orange blood from their rotted skulls. Carl checked left, then right; the nearest walker yards away. Alright. Clear.

    Carl spun back around and scanned the corrugated field, only to see the last of Mika just before she straggled behind the others and into the woods. Great. From concrete to grass, he sprinted over the torn fence and down the field. Panting, his lungs grew evermore desperate with each step. Only a forced puff of air came out when he tried shouting for Tyreese again. He threw the much too heavy assault rifle onto the ground; a handgun was all he needed anyway. Behind him, the battle grew quieter; fellow prison mates had already fled the scene, some on a bus, some on foot. Yet what few gunmen were left planted a firm foot onto the bloodied soil, raised their weapons, and kept firing. God, I hope Dad's alright, Carl thought. Last the boy had seen, the Governor's hands were tight around his father's neck—

    He's fine. He'll be fine. He always makes it out.

    Blinking sweat and ash out his eyes, Carl strode across the prison's treeline. He and his lungs were thankful to find Tyreese and the girls just yards into the thick swamp. They had stopped to gather themselves and catch their breath. Carl joined them briefly, hunched over, hands on his trembling knees. "Judith," he huffed, "she needs to...stay with me."

    "Carl," Tyreese spoke in a whisper, "I didn't know you were—"

    "I need my sister to come with me."

    Before Tyreese could say anything in reply, Lizzie approached the weary boy, and crossed her arms. "Don't you trust us?" she spat. "We can take care of her just f—"

    Carl ignored the girl and pushed her aside. He stepped up to Tyreese, then reached for his sister. "She has to go with me."

    "You can come with us, Carl," Tyreese offered, holding the baby girl even closer, "but we've gotta hurry. I'll carry her—"

    "No."

    "—But Carl—"

    The boy shook his head. "I need to go back. My dad, he..."

    "Did you see how many walkers are out there?" Tyreese's eyebrows furrowed. "Going back is suicide."

    God dammit— Carl let out a hurried sigh. "Just give me my sister and leave if you have to! I need to go back!"

    "You won't make it through carrying her. Please, just come with us—"

   "I'm not leaving my dad behind, god damn it!" He'd had enough. Carl glared up into the towering man's eyes. What part don't you understand?

    "Stop yelling," Lizzie barked, "you're making Judith cry!"

    Her sister anxiously tip-toed closer. Mika's eyes shuffled about the surrounding forestry, expecting flesh-eating corpses to jump out any second. "They'll hear her..." she whimpered.

    Tyreese swallowed. His eyes never trailed away from the boy's once. "Here," he finally said, handing Judith over. He waited until Carl had his sister situated. "You'll need this bag, too," he said, pulling a light backpack out of Lizzie's arms. "I grabbed as much as I could for her, but it doesn't have much food in—"

    Carl snatched it out of Tyreese's hand and threw it over his knotted shoulder. "Thanks," he sputtered, already backing away.

     Tyreese watched the boy run straight out of the trees, back into the autumn sun. "Be careful!" he bellowed, worried he was already too far to hear.

    Nonetheless, Carl soon learned Tyreese was right about the walkers after all; dozens had already lurked into the defeated and suddenly quiet prison yard. Judith's cries had calmed with it, but Carl gently shushed her anyways, hoping it'd calm him down, too.

    The boy scanned the smoking ruins for a clearing. Near the side of the prison, he spotted an opening in the gate. Perfect. Carl propped Judith's head onto his shoulder, and made a run for it. His sister's tiny hand, fearfully clinging to the collar of his shirt. Oh god...Carl's heartbeat amplified. Dad, you better still be here.

    Carl scurried through the opening, passing a clump of walkers that clawed for him through the fence. He glanced up at a stricken watchtower, smoke pouring out from the top. God, everywhere there was smoke; coming out of windows, out of torn walls...the sulfuric odor encapsulated the two children. Carl held his baby sister close at his chest, hoping it couldn't get to her there.

    Then...there was nothing. No more gunshots. No more explosions. Only the eerie silence of the awakened dead. It blanketed the shredded warzone, leaving nothing to hear but the crackling of fire, the scraping of feet. Warily, Carl halted all movement and put his back to a cold wall. He waited for some sort of signal. Exhaling, he swallowed.

    ...Is it over?

 

    Impossible. Throat swollen with blood and fear, Rick thought it to be damn near impossible to breathe after his little episode with the Governor. He felt around his bruised neck, doubtful that Philip Blake's hands were no longer constricted around it. Yes, he saw Michonne put her sword through the madman's chest, but was that just a hallucination? Why was it still so goddamned impossible to breathe? Where is Michonne, anyways? he wondered. Rolling onto his hands and knees, he cracked a swollen eye open; everything ahead a blurred and dizzying graveyard. And as undoubtedly ready Rick's arms were to fall off, his leg was far, far worse. With that fresh bullet wound at his thigh—also courtesy of the Governor—it'd be impossible to stand. The dizzying train wreck of a headache; his inability to see straight; the alarming failure of his lungs; how the hell was he to simply stand—much less walk— after what he'd just gone through? So the Governor's dead. Great. Wonderful. But Rick still had a much larger problem to deal with. Now he was homeless and surrounded by hungry corpses. The drained man hadn't made it out alive yet.

    But now was the time to try.

    So he painfully—but surely—rose to his feet, and started walking.

    That crooked and hindering limp. His pale, beaten skin. His swollen, bloodshot eye. Those wheezy, gravelly inhalations. Only one difference remained between him and the dead: his growing expression of petrificant alarm.

    He soon spotted a gangly body laid dead in the grass. Despite his hazy double-vision, Rick knew it was the Governor. Someone had put a bullet through his thick skull. ‘Some ruler,’ Philip Blake's sneering last words reverberated in Rick's shuddering mind. Philip's life-ridden eye dully gazed into the Heavens above, Who glared back down with the indifference of the devil. No less indifferent, Rick heaved the blood out his throat, and spit it onto the prick's sorry face.

    Some killer.

   Rick proceeded towards the gaping mouth of the fallen gate. Until he was swallowed by it whole, he hadn't realized just how abandoned the prison had become. Beth, Maggie, Sasha, Bob, Tyreese...all of them, gone. Each one of them replaced by ten groaning corpses. He did a sloppy three-sixty, but even Daryl and Michonne weren't anywhere to be seen. Not even his own son—

    Oh, god.

    "Carl!" Rick's voice tore gracelessly through the toxic air, hope already draining. God knows where he is. Rick waited—no, demanded— for a reply. There was no stepping foot outside the fences ever again. Not without Carl. Yes, it was possible his son could've fled without him, but Rick despised the idea of everyone leaving him to die. Especially his own son. So, stuck right in the middle of the suffocating clouds, the father had no choice but to continue.

    While the broken man limped on, he called out to his boy again, and again, and again. Then he listened, and heard...Nothing. Not a damn thing. Squinting to see through the hazy clouds of smoke, Rick froze.

    The only remnant left of his son: an abandoned sheriff's hat, turned over on the dismal concrete ahead.

    Every step taken towards the hat was a flat foot on a landmine for the heartsick father. He limped forward nonetheless, refusing to believe his son was already gone. He stopped with the hat at his feet, then bowed his head down. Hunching over, Rick clawed at the hat until his fingers folded weakly round its burnt edge. "Carl..!" He pleaded, whipping back upright to scour the desolate courtyard. He'd lost his balance, and would've tripped backwards if it weren't for the fiery tank that'd caught him from behind.

    Pouting lightly, the father regained his stance, and swiveled his bobbing head left and right. Walkers were closing in from every visible angle, not one lingering soul his son's. Thank goodness, the man thought, least he ain't one a' those. Breathing unevenly, he proceeded forward, deeper into the prison's susurrant remains.

    Rick hobbled past the plants he'd fussed over not too long ago, when his son had forgotten to water them—when such insipid chores were the most of his worries. He clung onto their chain-link cage, and turned the corner of the bleak fortress he'd learned to call home. Forcing his eyes off the dismal concrete, Rick finally landed sight on what he was so petrified to see.

    A seat carrier—Judith's seat carrier—sitting middle-way down the barren alley, quiet and empty.

    Oh, no...

    Rick clenched his quivering jaw, still tottering helplessly forward. Oh, god no...please... The baby seat sat alone and abandoned. The grievous father could only stare numbly ahead, for the seat had turned from a sweet, innocent pink, into the darkest of reds.

    "...J-jud—" his voice wavered into a terrible, hopeless cry. The sight of Judith's deathbed nearly kicked the broken man to the ground, where his heart now lied. Bereaved, Rick hunched over. He regretted opening his damned eyes to the fallen prison, regretted ever breathing, standing, walking after what the Governor had done. He death-gripped Carl's hat, the only part he had left of his missing son. And in the other tremulous hand, nothing for his darling baby Judy. Nothing. Crippled and torn, the childless father pressed that empty hand hard against the cold, damp wall, as if it was all that kept him from collapsing with his shattered heart. They can't be gone, he denied. Not after all I've tried. Not after all I've done...

    The urgency of his tears made an ocean of the father's cerulean eyes. Behind him, voracious walkers closed in on their ascertained meal, jaws snapping in anticipation. Numb to their presence, Rick pushed their raspy groans out his mind. Let 'em come, he challenged. Let them approach me... Maybe there was a clearing ahead; maybe he could've looked up right then and there and escaped. But why? What for? The father was nothing without his two children. Laughing sickly inside, he shook his throbbing head, and pulled out his gun.

    Shutting his eyes tight, Rick cocked its hammer with a shaking thumb, and lifted the muzzle to his skull.

    It was time to end this goddamned nightmare.

    "Forgive me..." He muttered, forefinger locking defiantly over the trigger. "Forgive me, my son..."

     Then, this voice—this beautiful voice— rose out from the dreaded chorus of moans:

    "Dad?"

    Rick's eyes flickered open. Lowering the weapon, he instinctively spun around. And there Carl stood, wide-eyed, with Judith safe in his arms.

    Rick dropped his gun.

    "Dad!" Carl hollered again, dashing towards his speechless father. Arms outstretched, Rick stumbled forward, seeing nothing but his daughter and son. A new pain surfaced within the father's effusive heart: relief.  "Oh, thank—" his words crumbled into senseless blubbering once again. Nearly falling to his knees, he and his son embraced, tears streaking both of their faces.

    "Tyreese," Carl explained, somewhat apologetic, "he ran off with Lizzie and Mika. Had Judith, too. But I ran after him. I got her back...I had to..."

    "You're alive," Rick stammered, stuck in a state of disbelief. He kissed the top of Judith's head, then placed the hat back atop Carl's. "You both are..."

    A smile cracked across the father's lips—but only for a moment. Over Carl's head, he could see a vast herd of walkers nearing his family. Pushing an arm atop his son's shoulders, Rick stood, and said, "We have to go."

    Carl returned an arm around Rick, alleviating his father's deterring limp as they walked out and away from their destroyed home. Every few steps, the boy glanced over his shoulder and at the herd straggling behind. Rick had a terrible limp, but even then the two were able to lose the herd as they passed the treeline. Judith whimpered softly in her brother's protective arm as they stumbled out into the long and forsaken road, having nowhere to go but away.

    Breath rough and forced, Rick muttered, "Don' look back," not only for Carl, but for himself. Their food was gone. Their home was gone. Everybody they loved was gone.  ‘Yet so many other...things could'a happened,’ he contemplated, ‘Carl could'a been—...and Judith...’ He pushed back the forbidden thought, and held onto his quivering son even tighter.

    It was no accident that Rick had made it alive with his two children. Granted, it was the closest he'd gotten to losing Carl—hell, to losing himself—but lucky for them, their tragic separation hadn't been allowed. No, not yet...

    For Whoever was up There had given them another second chance.

Chapter Text

After All We've Tried

 

(1)‘Hey, I'm like you now. We've both been shot. Isn't that weird?’

‘I think your mother would rather hear we got the same eyes. So let's keep that between you and me.’

‘She should've seen it—the deer. It was so pretty.’

‘Yeah. It was.’

‘Did you see the way it looked at me? I think it would've let me pet it, if it hadn't—...you know...’

‘How's your side feeling?’

‘It doesn't hurt anymore.’

‘Doesn't hurt? Those painkillers can't be that strong.’

‘But you are. You’ve always been strong. You probably didn't feel anything when you got shot. So I won't either. I'll be strong, just like you always are.’

God, how could I have been so stupid? Of course Dad had felt pain when he was shot.

I walk down the road, wondering how on earth I was even reminded of this pointless memory in the first place. I haven't had a conversation with him like that since...well, since we had that particular one. Not like it matters, anyways. I shake my head and let out an inflamed sigh, as if it would help me forget. But no matter what I think, or how hard I try...

It just keeps coming back.

‘Since you're in the club now, you get t'wear the hat. Didn't y'know?’

I roll my eyes. Yeah, this stupid, piece-a-shit hat I'm still wearing today. I stare vacantly up at its torn edge, then tilt it further over my forehead. What I want to do is throw the damn thing on the ground.

‘Won't you miss it?’

‘Maybe you'll let me borrow it from time to time.’

‘We'll share it.’

Psh. He can have it back for all I care. It doesn't mean anything to me. He doesn't mean anything to me. He's pretty much dead to me now. Yeah, he made it out of what was left of the prison, but from what I had to see, and what he put me through...I could never—

‘I love you, Dad.’

‘I love you too, Carl.’

...I could never forgive him for that.

 

 

---

 

 

Adamant clouds shrouded the road, and hung over like weights crushing down onto my tired shoulders. They drowned out the sun's warmth by the minute. By the looks of it, the light wouldn’t last much longer. Few hours at the most. I’d already been walking for god knows how long, but I still hadn’t found any old neighborhoods or houses or sheds or anything at all. Just more flattened cement. But there had to be someplace I could crash at before dark—faster I went, the more likely that was to happen. So I hurried along the bending road, unwilling to stop or slow down for anything.

Wind howled and groaned in my ear, like the susurrant echoes of a long-perished corpse. The chilled breeze snuck beneath the collar of my shirt and down my sweaty back—I gladly shivered. 'Bout goddamn time Georgia got some cool air. I watched the treetops as they wavered about and tore a jagged line through the sodden sky. The red and yellow mixture of leaves jumbled in their branches; my eyes followed an orange leaf as it spiraled downward, and fell onto the cracked road to lie dead and crumpled amongst all the others. The road dipped ahead, almost like a large bowl, and turned a sharp left corner to God Knows Where. Leaves shuffled and crunched beneath my shoes as I followed its cold, grey path. Yet behind me I heard nothing. No footsteps, no torn breath, no voice that called out for me. Good. Maybe I finally lost him—

I crossed some train tracks that bisected the road, then strode faster as I my feet hit the hard cement again. Judith wailed incessantly in my arms, making them a hell of a lot more sore than they needed to be. She tucked her little head into my shirt to hide from the crisp sting of the wind. While I found the air refreshing, she found it merciless and cold. The world was unfair to her like that, taking every chance it could to bring her discomfort and pain. And she'd been crying the whole way because of it. Her thick tears seeped through the fabric of my shirt, and onto my damp chest.

"I know, Judy," I said, wiping a tear from her pink face, "I'll find us a place soon. I promise." I almost wished to lie down and cry with her, after all the shit we'd been through. After all he'd put us through. But I had to be strong for her, because as much as my feet throbbed, as much as the raw blisters on my heels burned, I had to keep going. I had to keep that promise. Not for him, not for myself, but for her. Clenching a dirty hand into a fist, I looked up at the sky again, praying it wouldn't get too dark too soon—

"Carl...slow down..."

...I kept walking, not even bothering to look back. Just like he said earlier—

"Carl, stop!"

I stopped.

And as painful as it was, I waited. I counted Dad's steps as they grew ever-so-slowly closer. One, two...three, four...five, six—can't you at least try moving a little faster? When he finally reached me, he placed a shaky, clammy hand over my shoulder. For a moment I stood still, hoping he’d drop whatever he wanted to say and let me go. But the resignation never came, so I glared up at his sorry face.

The hell do you want?

He could hardly breathe, much less speak, but made a pathetic attempt anyways, "We...we need to stay together..."

Yeah right.

I tried turning away, but he only grasped my shoulder harder. My neck constricted tightly, as his hand sent an uncomfortable tensity throughout my body. He might not've wanted me another foot away from him, but I sure as hell didn't want him an inch closer.

"Hey," he managed through exhausted lips. I swiveled back again and met his eyes with an impatient stare. Well get on with it already. "W-we're going to be—..." he started, but was unable to finish.

"Going to be what," I questioned, "fine? Okay?? That's bullshit—"

"Carl!"

"—and you know it!" If Judith wasn't in my arms, I would've shoved him away.

"Be quiet!" He snapped, and lowered his voice to a demanding whisper. "Judith's already loud enough."

Well, whose fault is that, Dad? Who's the reason we're even out here? Who should've been left behind with everyone else—

I jerked my shoulder out from his grasp and proceeded forward. Dad took a moment to breathe, then continued to follow me again. "We need t'feed her," he urged. "I'll get'er food out the bag."

"We'll have another herd on us if we stop moving."

"Jus' hand her t’me, Carl."

"You'll probably drop her."

"She isn't goin' t'stop cryin' unless we—"

"You can hardly hold yourself up!" I resisted from turning back and shutting him right up. Under my breath I muttered, "Chances are you'll trip and smother her."

Dad was too exhausted to drag the argument out further. And that was just fine with me. He moved slower. Much slower. Figured if any nearby walkers came, they'd only bother with him—he looked so damn easy to kill. I kept a rushed pace and soon enough, his footsteps and choked breath were faint once again.

It just wasn't fair. This wasn't supposed to happen. The prison was the safest, most secure place we had. Everything was starting to look perfect: supplies were abundant, food wasn't a worry, there was room to run around, and toys for Judith to play with. Everybody was safe—well, as safe as we could've been. Even the littler kids were kept protected. Everyone was together, and happy. Glenn, Maggie, Daryl, Michonne, Beth...Hershel. We were all happy…

But of course, just when everything started coming together, just when our hopes got up, it all had to be taken away. The Governor was there to kill us all, and my dad didn't do shit. Hell, he invited the Governor to come live with us. He wanted him under the same roof. He thought something so crazy would've actually worked. Well guess what, Dad? It didn't. And now everyone's scattered and alone. And for all we know, they're already dead. We might as well be dead. All because you had to be so damn stupid—

"Carl!" Dad yelled from far behind, snapping me out of it. What does he want now?  I glanced back—

He had company.

"Run!" He yelled as a cluster of walkers crowded around. So of course I ran, but not away. I ran towards him, heart thumping as he disappeared behind their scrambling limbs.

I shifted Judith into one arm and reached for my gun. Before I could even draw it from the holster, Dad yelled, "Don't shoot!" I rolled my eyes. Here we go again. If for once he'd just let me help him, he wouldn't have to--

Judith's wailing had drawn two roamers our way. I froze, tightening the grip on my gun. "Don't shoot," Dad managed, brandishing his knife, "just stay back!"

The walkers swiped hungrily at his flesh. One—no, two—close calls. If he'd been just another inch to the side... I waited for something to happen—waited for it to happen. Something urged me to help, but as he so smartly wished I just watched—halfway hoping he'd make it out alright, the other half of me, well, expecting him not to.

And that was okay.

Dad swung sorely at their heads, and elbowed back at the walkers sneaking over his shoulder. One by one, the bodies started to fall. He took the quickest breaks between attacks, desperate to catch each weary breath. Staggering sideways, he struggled to stay afoot as he took the last one out. I exhaled loosely, and shuddered as I watched him stumble over the rotten corpses. A small twinge fluttered in my chest; his limp might’ve worsened, but he still made it out. He always does.

Dad held a trembling, bandaged hand over his ribs as if it kept him from falling apart. "If...if that happens again, Carl," he began, hardly even upright, “Jus’ run.”

Whatever you say.

I turned around and continued down the road. Dad called out again, wanting me to slow down. I only walked faster.

‘Carl,’ that voice in my head spoke. Mom's voice. ‘I know this doesn't feel right to you. Please, go back and help your daddy.’

"He doesn't want my help," I replied, pulling my hat down.

‘Whether he wants it or not, he still needs you.’

"Yeah? Well I don't need him."

Not like I would've done him any good anyways.

 

 

---

 

 

Sammy Jo’s

Pizzeria & Pub

 

Finally. The first sign of anything since the prison.

As I marched onward, a building appeared beside the sign, out in the distance. The sign stood on the peak of the roof, gently shaking in the blowing wind. Its paint was weather-worn, drained of freshness and vibrancy. Absolving nonetheless, to see a standing building within reach. I let out a sigh of relief and picked up speed. From spotting the old restaurant to reaching it was the shortest, most rewarding distance I’d traveled all day.

I took a seat on one of the motorcycles out front. There was another on my left, and another three on my right. But one had fallen onto its neighboring cycle, crushing it with its weight. Shattered plastic spotted the concrete unevenly, burnishing the ground with dim reflections of the white sky. Both motorcycles laid rusted and dead like the fractured, strewn bodies they were.

Wonder if Daryl left the prison on his.

It took me a moment to realize that Judith was still crying. I’d gotten so used to it that I hardly even noticed it anymore. But once I noticed it, it stuck. Didn't sound like she was about to stop any time soon, either. "Judith, please..." I grumbled, gently rocking her in my trembling arms.

‘Why don't you feed her, Carl?’ Mom asked.

"Because," I explained, "this isn't exactly a great place to get distracted, out in the open."

‘Least do somethin' to get her calm.’

"Like what, sing a lullaby?"

‘Why not? Ain't that what Beth always did?’

I rolled my eyes. Judy let up on the crying, enough to where she was merely whimpering. She looked up at me advertently, as if she was waiting for me to start. "Oh come on," I said, widening my eyes, "what are you looking at? You know I’ve never been one to sing…”

Judy, of course, could only reply in her garbled baby-talk. She reached for my face, her tiny fingers hardly even able to clamp my chin. I kissed her hand then gave her mine. Her eyes glowed as she felt around my palm. We both smiled.

Who could say no to a face like that?

I cleared my throat.

I took a second to check around for walkers. We were alone, far as I could tell. I softly hummed the tune of a song I used to know, one that Mom used to sing to me. Judy was mellow for a bit, but when she threatened to cry again, I finally started singing. "‘Darling don't cry, don't you know why, this bird never flies...’"

She calmed down again. Grinning, I wiped the tears from her puffy cheeks. “‘It's night at the end of this heavenless day, it's night at the end that will show me a way, I tell myself, we may still be saved’––” Judy hugged her tiny fingers around my pinky, “––‘Darling don't cry...’"

I stopped at the crackling of a branch.

I promptly checked behind me, where the sound had come from. Thankfully, no one was there. I hopped to my feet (god they were sore) and went over to the building anyway, just in case. “Shh,” I hushed Judith as she started crying again. With my back on a wall, I felt we were a little safer. I eased up...

Until another faltering scrape sounded around the corner.

It was followed by a pair of crooked footsteps, unevenly dragging closer. I shushed Judith again as I pulled out my knife. Quietly as I could, I side-stepped to the edge of the wall, then waited. When the footsteps seemed close enough, I jumped out and wound my arm back––

It was Dad.

"You made it," I said, breathing a sigh of relief. I lowered my knife and sheathed it again. "...Thought you were a walker."

Dad chose not to respond. He lurched passed me and over to the entrance of the old restaurant. I did one last check for roamers, then followed behind. He kept quiet the way over, which was fine I guess. I didn’t have much to say either.

We reached the door. Before opening it, Dad took out his gun and looked back at me. "Stay out here,” he said, “and keep watch. We don’t know what’s in there—"

"Are you serious?" I frowned. "You keep watch."

"‘Scuse me?"

"You can barely hold yourself up. I'm not letting you go in there alone." I plucked my gun out of my holster and pointed it at the door behind him. "I should just do it myself..."

For a moment, Dad just stared at me. Hard-eyed. Stiff breath. Then he looked at himself, at his bruises and wounds. As if he was completely unaware of them until now. Then with a crooked, reluctant nod, he reached for the door again and said, "Stay close, try 'n' keep Judith quiet." And in one graceless jolt he had the door wide open.

Dad stomped in and swept his head left and right. Then left again. Grasping his knife firmly, he took one cautious step further. He held the knife in front of his chest and pointed it directly outwards, in case anything were to come flying around the corner. He took another step. His other hand kept glued to his thigh; finger wrapped around the trigger, thumb clicking the hammer of his gun. I rolled my eyes. Seriously, do you have to be that dramatic? Glancing around, I shoved past him and freely scouted the place out.

Dad followed me as close as he could. Once every few steps I felt his arm brush against my back. After a handful of such instances I finally nudged him away.

“Do you have to get that close?” I questioned, annoyed.

“Just keep lookin’ around,” he said, “see what we can find.”

I rolled my eyes. Any idiot could see that there wasn’t much to find. Just a cluster of tables thrown against a broken window, enough broken peanut shells to fill my bag twice, and––a trail of blood snaked down a hall. Huh. It probably led to a back room. Curious, I followed it around a corner, squinting to see through the dark shadows ahead. I listened for any growls or shuffling movement, but before I could detect anything, Dad yanked me back.

“What are you d––”

“Go back to the tables,” he muttered, “find one t’sit at and wait for me.”

“But––”

His frigid expression told me he’d rather not argue. “Go back,” he asserted, “to the tables.”

I narrowed my eyes at him. After a second, I mumbled “Fine,” and turned away. What’s he think would happen? I can handle myself just fine.

Before I got far, he added, “Change Judith’s diaper. ‘N’ feed her. I’ll look around, clear out the rest of the building.”

I sighed. “Aye-aye, Captain.”

I'd watched Beth change Judith enough times to figure it out myself. I took her blanket out from the bag and unfolded it on a table. Then I set Judith down. She started crying again as I got out the wipes. Hushing her, I removed her soiled diaper and cleaned her up. Once she was nice and dressed again, I wiped down my own hands, and picked her up again. "There," I said, taking a seat, "all better."

With Judith in my lap, I grabbed her bottle from the bag and went on to prepare her food in silence. I mixed the formula and water in her bottle. Tyreese could've at least grabbed another bag of formula or two, but there was only this half-empty one left. Oh well, I resolved. Least he grabbed something.

By the time I had it prepared, Judith was pawing at my shirt, ready to bite my fingers off. "Sorry" ––she snatched the bottle from my hands–– "didn't mean to starve you." I rubbed my thumb over her smooth, pudgy cheek to wipe her tears away. She frowned, and tried turning away. I grinned; she was just so grumpy, and cute.

I wish Mom could see you…

That’s when I heard the wall shake.

Something thumped against it again. A walker, maybe? It came from the direction I’d left Dad in, followed by clambered footsteps and strained grunts. A thud, like a body falling. Then nothing.

I readied my gun. “...Dad?”

I let out a sigh as he came limping around the corner. He held a bloodied axe. Lungs tight, he made his way over, and tossed some findings onto the table. For a while, he just watched me feed Judith in silence.

His face was spotted red.

Coughing, he pointed to her bottle, and asked, "How much’s left?"

“That’s it,” I replied, nodding to the half-deflated bag of formula. Dad fell onto a seat on the other side of the table, and rubbed a tired eye. I continued, "And there's not a whole lot of clean water left to mix it with."

"She's goin' t'need more than that," he noted grimly.

I took a moment to check out the food he'd collected: stale crackers, three bottles of water, and a jar of peanuts. "We're not doing so hot either."

He shrugged. “Hey, least it ain't dog food.”

Dad tore the lid off of one of the waters, then proceeded to down the entire thing. Panting, he bowed his head, and ran his fingers through his tangled hair. “You should eat,” he croaked, pushing a can of green beans towards my side of the table.

“...Not hungry,” was my flat response. My stomach then betrayed me with an empty growl.

“Eat.”

“Later.”

“Carl, you haven’t eaten all day. At least have a few––”

“I don’t want to, alright?”

Silence followed. Cradling Judith, I turned my attention to the window. Behind the dusty glass, I could see the trees blowing in the wind. All else was still, until a crow swooped down and landed on the seat of the broken motorcycle.

(2)Dad cleared his throat to regain my attention. Though I kept my eyes at a distance, I listened as he said, “What happened back there, at the prison...I never meant for you to see that.”

Well, that caught me off guard. I slumped my shoulders, and grimaced. Although I knew exactly what he was talking about, I asked, “See what?”

He took his gun from the holster and placed it in the middle of the table. He’d pointed it towards himself. “I don’t know what I was thinking,” he solemnly began, “but I know that without you, or Judith...I wouldn’t make it very far.”

Yeah. As if your near suicide attempt wasn’t obvious enough. I grumbled at the raw memory of him at the prison, bent over Judith’s carrier in sadness, hesitant but willing to put a bullet through his own skull. Someday I’d punch him in the face for that. 

“Was there a walker back there?” I quickly asked, pointing behind him. By observing the wet blood splattered on his shirt and face, the clear answer was yes. But I didn’t want to think about that anymore.

He nodded. “It was weak. Easy to take care of.”

Hm. That’s not what it sounded like, I thought. But whatever, long as the subject changed.

Before I could stop it, I caught myself mumbling, “You should’ve let me help you...”

“Let you what?” Dad asked, not hearing me correctly.

I sunk into my chair. “Nothing. Forget it.”

He sighed. “We should go, once Judith’s done. Can’t be too much longer till we find someplace to stay.”

I wondered why we couldn’t have just stayed there, in the diner. There were four walls, none of which were torn down, and a perfectly good roof. But I knew Dad wouldn’t change his mind, so I didn’t bother asking. Judith finished feeding sooner than later, and we started to pack. Dad shoved all he’d gathered into a small white bag and insisted he carry it with the axe. Said Judith was enough for me to haul. Even though it was a relatively short break, my arms had gained back the strength to carry her with ease. Still, just the thought of walking made my feet ache.

After we got ourselves situated, Dad stood and reminded me, “If anything happens out there, you let me take care of it, alright?”

I sighed. “Sure thing, Dad. Cross my heart.”

Hope to die.

 

 

---

 

 

Hardly a mile later, we found a neighborhood.

Not just one house to clear, but dozens, all openly at our disposal. A treasure trove, really; each house containing god knows how many clean shirts, how many perfectly comfy beds, how many cans of food…

So of course, I stopped at the very first house we reached.

It didn't look all that bad; white fence, small windows, two stories––almost looked like our old home, like the one we lived in before the end of the world. A familiar ache rolled over my side as I realized it was the first real house we’d come across since Hershel’s farm.

"This one's good as any," Dad said, not too far behind me. He especially needed to stop. Ten more feet and he would've collapsed. He motioned towards the house. "We'll stay here for the night."

At this point, my feet stung so bad it felt like I was stepping on needles. So I silently (but gladly) agreed with him.

I started down the cracked walkway. A rusted mailbox slumped unsteadily up front, covered in holes. Half the fence was torn down and plastered with swampy, crooked footsteps. The overgrown lawn was stirring with the wind; weeds tangled themselves amongst the long blades of grass. Yellow leaves piled beneath a tree near a corner of the house. A wind chime sounded the cold, autumn smell of mushrooms and dirt. My shoulders shivered as the cool breeze snuck down my neck—I held Judith closer.

Tilting my head back, I noticed that nearly half the shingles were missing from the roof. Both the house and the splintered porch bared worn, chipped paint. I looked up at the small window on the second floor and at another close to the front door, but they were both curtained and covered in dust. I turned around.

Dad was a little less than halfway down the walkway. He could hardly put one foot in front of the other. I waited until he reached me so I could help him up the porch steps. Situating Judith into one arm, I reached the other out to him.

"Go ahead," he muttered, bent over with his hands on his knees. "I'll get up myself."

"But—"

"I don't want you droppin' Judith..."

"I've been carrying her this whole way. Three little steps won't hurt me. Now come on," I put an arm beneath his shoulder, "I don't want you passing out right in front of the door."

After a moment, he agreed and put his arm around my neck. It startled me, how much he was shaking. With each step I felt his weight collapse over me, rubbing sweat and dirt into my shirt. "Think you'll make it?" I asked, one more to go.

He only took long, wheezy breaths in response. His face was red with strain; his eyes no different.  "Dad," I griped as he nearly fell the other way. I tried pulling him back, but his balance was lost.  "Come on—Judith's slipping!"

Before either could fall, I nudged Dad's arm off and shoved him up onto the porch. Stumbling forward, he snapped out of it and caught himself with a wooden beam. Huffing, I took Judy back into both arms. "You okay?"

Dad coughed. "I'm fine," he said huskily.

"I was asking Judith."

I stepped up to the door and reached for the knob. It was unlocked. Dad, still gathering his bearings, reached a hand on my shoulder and whispered for me to wait. I pushed his hand off and opened the door anyways.

Dim. The place was dim.

My shoes scraped abrasively on the wooden floor as I shuffled in. There were boxes everywhere; the shelves and taken-down pictures coated a thin layer of dust. The living room was dirty and cluttered, but acceptably so. I could only expect so much from a post-apocalyptic house.

Dad shut the door behind us. Once he noticed the couch hiding in the corner, he didn’t hesitate. Dust erupted from the cushions as he gladly collapsed onto it. The axe fell right out of his palm and clattered onto the floor. Breath wavering, he threw a hand over his forehead and promptly shut his eyes. He clenched and unclenched his hand intermittently, as if to check that it was still working. It almost looked like he was a broken machine, spitting out gears and falling apart.

I stepped over to his bag and grabbed the last bottle of water. “Here,” I said, handing him both the water and my sister, “I’ll be right back.”

Before I could make it halfway across the living room, he’d sat up and asked, “Where’re you goin’?”

I pointed. “Upstairs.”

“Not without me, you’re not.”

“But I’m just standing here watching you vegetate. I’d rather do something helpful, like clear the rest of the house––”

“We don’t know what’s up there.”

“Yeah, that’s why I was going to check it out in the first place.”

“Jus’ hold on a minute, a’right? I’ll go with you.”

I rolled my eyes. “I can handle it myself.”

“And I’d rather not risk it.”

“Oh come on. What’s the worst that could happen??”

He enforced his words with strict finality, “I said, I’d rather not risk it.”

Then try and stop me.

I went ahead and climbed the stairs, despite his continuing insistence against it. It made no sense to let him to do everything for us. More than anything he needed to rest, not to climb a flight of stairs. Securing the place was a simple enough task to handle on my own. Too simple, even. It frustrated me to know he didn’t trust my abilities. Never had; probably never would.

First room I checked was nearly full of cardboard boxes, sagging with mold and age. Alright, no walkers there. So far so good. Another room produced the same results. A shelf down the hallway caught my eye, stacked with all sorts of books. Comics, even.  "Cool," I said, picking up an issue of Savage Starlight. I flipped through the pages, scanning over chaotic panels and expressive typography. “‘To the edge of the universe and back,’” I muttered under my breath, grabbing the next issue. “‘Endure and survive’––”

"Carl."

Dad was at the top of the staircase, feebly dropping his weight unto its railing. Judith clung to his side. “I told you t’wait for me.”

“And I told you not to worry about me.”

“Carl,” he grumbled.

I set the comic book down and dragged myself over. "You should sit down,” I suggested, taking Judith so she wouldn't be dropped, “before you fall down.”

“I’m not goin’ t’fall down.”

“You nearly passed out going up the porch–” I snapped irritably, then sighed. “You know what? Fine. Go ahead. See how far you make it.”

Dad then pushed me aside, and accepted the challenge.

Which was a big mistake on my part. Nearly took him an eternity to reach the closest room. Once we were there, he checked back to make sure I was still following him. I rolled my eyes and readied my gun. But I probably won't get to use it, will I? See a walker, and you'll just throw yourself at it, tell me to run.

Dad pushed the door open and hobbled inside. Cautiously, he searched around the floor, the bed, under the bed, in the closet. And for what, walkers? Please. Were there any growls? No. Had we heard any other footsteps? No. Well then gee, Dad. I guess that means there aren't any walkers. Mentally slapping myself in the face, I turned around and went for the door.

"Carl," he called out. I swear, if he says my name one more time— "Carl, get back here!"

His eyes burned on my neck. I spun back around and met them sharply. Now's the time you decide to be careful? Now, when there's absolutely no walkers, no Governor? No threat?

I banged a fist on the wall. "Hey asshole!" I yelled, then hit the wall again. "Hey shitface! Hey—"

"Watch your mouth!"

"Are you kidding me?" I pointed out the room, "If there's one of them in here, it would've come out by now!"

Judith started crying again. Great. Heart pounding, I stared at my father and waited for some idiotic or hypocritical bullshit to come out of his mouth. Instead, his eyes cowered away. I let out a quiet laugh and left for the next room.

“Carl, stop!”

I hurried out into the hall. He could try stopping me all he wanted. It was never going to work. Coming up to the next room, I bounced Judith into one arm and reached for the next door. I glared back at Dad as I twisted the knob.

“Carl! Don’t go in th––”

The door tore open without warning.

Walker. I didn’t even have time to brace myself for its pounce. I could only turn away so Judith wouldn’t get crushed between its body and mine. Dad yelled illegible things, and the walker slammed onto my side. I staggered sideways, feeling its rotted hand squeeze around my arm. For a split second I tried prying it off, but it was no use. Its teeth were already closing in on my shoulder.

Just before it could take a bite, Dad yanked us apart.

I smacked into the wall from his powerful shove. Wasn’t expecting that. I snatched up my bearings, and checked to make sure Judy was alright. She was crying, but I hadn’t hit her on anything. She was okay.

As for Dad, I don’t know what happened. It was like a flip had switched his broken machinery into emergency fight mode. He had the walker pinned against the wall, helplessly scrambling for his flesh. Without hesitation Dad reached for his knife and sunk the blade deep into its eye.

The walker promptly sunk to the floor. Dad pulled out the knife with excessive force, the adrenaline still ripping through his veins. Once he was sure the walker was dead, he turned to me. He looked as if he were about to scream his head off, bearing a snarl on the brink of damning me to hell. The brutality lingering in his eyes told me to back away.

“I-I didn’t know,” I stammered, taking a step back.

But he soon calmed down, and let the event speak for itself. Without any further acknowledgement of my existence, Dad slipped passed me and went for the stairs. I realized I must’ve been wearing my fear right on my face. Even as we marched back downstairs, quiet and separate, I found it poisonously difficult to wipe that fear away.

 

 

---

 

 

Dad allowed a sufficient amount of space between us as we reached the bottom. The thrill in his eyes was gone; he was back to the sickly, crippled mess he’d been. Part of me wanted to apologize; seemed like all I ever did was piss him off. Ask for my gun back, piss him off. Try and protect people, piss him off. Try and protect him...same results. But I figured it’d already been that way for a while. No point in being sorry for it now.

I sat down on a couch, and was bouncing Judith in my lap when Dad silently left for the bathroom. I was thankful he didn’t make me stick to his side for that.

I looked down at my sister. Maybe it was her I should apologize to, considering we made her cry so damn much. “Sorry,” I said, using the edge of my sleeve to wipe her tears. “Next time him and I fight, feel free to slap one of us in the face.”

‘Maybe you should just stop fightin’ with your Daddy altogether,’ Mom intervened, ‘it’d sure save you both some energy.’

Psh. Like that was ever going to happen.

After a minute or so of just sitting around, Judith was starting to fall asleep. She nuzzled into my chest, closed her tired eyes, and softly cooed. I kissed the top of her head, took the hat off mine and lied down. Judith dozed off on my chest. She was peaceful, serene, and content, like the world was no longer evil or unfair. I grew envious; even in the prison I found it hard to fall asleep, knowing there was just a concrete wall and fence between us and the entire world. Before I could help it, I realized how much I already missed it. Digging up dirt for farming sucked, but it sure as hell beat being out here. I missed having my own “room.” I missed all the things I had in it: the desk, the bed, the books Michonne brought back from––

I really miss Michonne.

My face quickly crumpled into an ugly frown. I didn’t spend any more than a few seconds wondering if I was ever going to see her again. Dad and I had gone so far in this direction, while she went god knows where. I doubted she was already dead; she’d made it out here on her own for months. Maybe she was holed up somewhere, maybe she was out looking for us. Maybe she’ll find someone else to look after and forget about me. I hated the thought, but it wasn’t any less plausible than the other scenarios. Whatever the case, I was reluctantly sure I would never see her again.

Before I could think too long about it, Dad called out to me, “Carl. I need you over here.”

Oh, now you ask for help.

I lazily stood, careful not to stir Judith too much. Dad called for me again as I set her carefully on the couch. “Just hang on,” I nagged, leaving for the bathroom. When I got there the door was already propped open. Dad stood half-naked, searching through the medicine cabinet. He looked up and down the shelves, hands shaking as he moved pill bottles around.

"What are you looking for?" I asked.

Snatching a bottle labeled “ibuprofen” was enough of an answer. He shook out three tablets and downed them all at once. Label said they expired “6/30/2011.” From what I could've guessed, that day had already passed. I looked around the counter; a small hand towel dappled with blood, and an open bottle of rubbing alcohol. Wiping the sweat from his forehead, Dad handed me the tweezers. "Here," he managed, just before hunching over to cough. He reached out for the cold wall––damn near fell on it. He turned his bruised back to me.

"...Dad?"

Holding onto an empty towel rack, he asked, "See that bullet wound?"

I looked down at his leg, and—ugh. "Uh, yeah." How can I not? Lacerated flesh hung barely on, dark and red. The surrounding area was swollen purple. Thick blood trickled down to his knee, and dripped onto the tiled floor.

“Can you see the bullet?” he lulled.

"Can I see it?" I squinted my eyes. "No. Isn't it already out? Don't you have an exit wound?"

"That is the exit wound. But I think it broke into pieces," he explained. “There's still a shard in there. I can feel it. I'm gonna need you to try ‘n’ dig it out. Clean those tweezers off, and—"

"Wait, what? I told you I can't see anything. There's too much blood."

"It's goin’ t’get infected if we leave it in," he coughed, "I need you to take it out."

"Why can’t you?”

“I can’t twist back enough t’see it right.”

“Well, I can’t see it right either. There’s too much blood for me to––”

“Just get it out,” he snapped.

Fine.

Grumbling, I snatched a towel and dribbled some alcohol on it. "I don't know, it looks pretty bad to me." God, it's disgusting. He didn't say a thing back, probably too busy choking on his sweat to reply. I rubbed the tweezers clean. "How do you want me to do this, exactly?"

“Just get the bullet out,” he spat.

“You say that like it’ll be easy."

“You have a better chance at findin’ it than I do.”

“That doesn’t mean I will.”

“Carl––”

“There’s too much blood, and it’s way too dark in here! If you want me to actually––”

“God damn it Carl, jus’ get it out!”

"...Fine.” Can't promise you anything, though.

I hesitantly reached the tweezers at the wound, but stopped just above the opening. In all honesty, I just didn’t want to do it. It was a stupid plan. Surgery wasn’t exactly my forte, and I knew how much it would hurt him if I blindly prodded around a bullet wound like that. If anything, I’d probably just make it even worse.

But hey, king’s orders.

My stomach dropped as I dug into the wound. Unable to hide the pain, Dad immediately cringed upon contact. He stifled a cry, trying hard not to fall apart. I clamped the tweezers closed, and–no bullet so far—tried digging deeper. That only made him retreat again.

"I can't do anything if you keep moving," I griped, trying to hold his leg steady. I let out a puff of air, then tried again. Dad could only keep it together for a few seconds before he shook me away. "Jeez, do I have to knock you out for this?"

He barely managed to say, "Jus’ keep tryin’," as beads of sweat fell from his neck and back. I tried again.

His blood seeped onto my hand, turning it a deep, warm red. Oh god––my stomach nearly hurled itself up. I took away both hands, then buried my nose and mouth in a sleeve. Eyes shut tight, I refused to breathe in. I would’ve thrown up otherwise. When Dad called my name, I just groaned and said, “Gimme a second…”

It was kinda backwards. I could handle the smell of rotting corpses, but not the dank stench of fresh blood.

It took a while for my stomach to settle. But when it finally had, I reopened my eyes and pulled my arm from my face. Dad was in noticeably worse shape.

“Your leg is pale,” I told him flatly. “Dad, this isn’t going to work.”

"Just get the bullet out," he muttered for what must've been the tenth time. "Jus' get it out..."

“This isn’t going to work,” I stressed. The blood was already coming at a steady stream. Poking at the wound only helped it leak faster. Heart racing, I stammered, “Y-you're going to bleed to death!"

"Carl,” Dad pleaded sincerely, “just...just keep tryin’."

He was begging me to kill him.

"No,” I threw the tweezers at the ground, splattering the pool of blood onto the wall. “I'm done!" He turned to yell at me, but I didn't want to hear any of it. I shouted over him, "I'm through with watching you die! Over a stupid bullet, o-or a herd, or me—over nothing!"

"Carl!"

"But if you're so goddamn eager to die, then fine! Just do it already! Go crazy for all I care! Just don't keep asking me to help!"

I'd already watched one of my parents bleed to death. Sure as hell wasn't about to do it again.

I slammed the door shut after stomping out. Until then, I hadn’t realized I was crying. I wanted to fall to the ground and curl into a tiny ball. God, I’d wanted to do that all damn day. Instead, I just wiped my eyes and I paced back into the living room.

Dad stumbled out behind me. "Carl!" he shouted. Ignoring him, I emptied his bag onto the floor and grabbed my hat. I gotta leave, before I—...

I made my way to the door.

"Where are you going?" Dad questioned, somehow already right behind me.

I kept turned away. "Out."

"'Scuse me?" He pulled me back. "No you're not."

I pushed his hand off my shoulder and reached for the door. "You said Judith needs more things. And we aren't doing so hot on food either. So yes, I am going out."

"You don't have to ," he said. "I-it's getting dark, and we have enough t'last the night."

"Yeah? And what about the night after that??"

"We'll figure somethin' out then." He sighed, "Look, goin’ with a group still ain't safe, much less alone. You've never gone on a run, or—"

"Yeah, because you never let me!"

"And I sure as hell ain't gon' t'let you now!"

"Why not?!"

"Because it's not safe!" he boomed.

Not safe?  "Oh, come on!" I heaved. "When are we ever going to be ‘safe’?!" Silence cloaked over our shoulders like a deadly shiver. I glared up at him, and waited for an answer. I rolled my eyes when he gave none. “You're such a hypocrite!"

“Carl!”

“Like throwing yourself at a herd of walkers is safe! O-or inviting some psychopath to live with us! You might think I’m weak, that I can’t handle myself. But I know I can. You’ll have to let me go at some point.”

"Just not now, Carl!" Clutching his head, he stumbled backwards. His voice faded as he whimpered, "Jus' not now..."

Dad reached for the couch's arm as he sat down. Judith had awakened from all our yelling; she certainly wasn't happy about it. She only cried louder when Dad took her into his arms. Dad held his head down, though I'm sure his eyes were blank. He spoke desperately under his heavy breath, “I can't risk losing you. I-I can’t… You’re all I–..."

I threw the bag at the ground, and reached for my gun; my fingers squeezed around the handle. It took everything to keep it holstered.

Dad kept his head bowed. But Judith, she looked right at me. Almost glared at me—those puffy, wet eyes. She clung to Dad's trembling arm, viciously wailing for his dear life.

‘Listen to her, Carl.’

I exhaled, then loosened my grip on the gun. Without another word, I exited the room, Judith's eyes stuck on my back as I disappeared upstairs.

I threw myself into the nearest bedroom. I snatched a cord from a desk, then tied and locked myself in. Rubbing my eyes, I sat on the edge of the bed; elbows on knees, face in palms.

(3)That’s when Mom came through. ‘Want to talk about it?’ she offered.

"About what? How I almost just—..." My throat tightened. I curled into a ball. "Not this time," I hardly muttered, falling sideways. My head plopped down onto the soft mattress, but it felt like it'd cracked open. Hmph. If only it did.

A sigh burst out my mouth as I watched the door. I wanted to get out of there—to get away from him. I'd just hurt him otherwise…

I plucked my gun from its holster, and laid it in front of me. Staring into the barrel, I flicked its hammer back and forth.

‘Carl,’ Mom began uneasily, ‘just what are you doin' with that gun?’

"Nothing," I said, hardly moving at all.

‘Sure don't look like it.’

"Do you see me touching the trigger?"

‘No...’

"Right. And as long as Dad doesn't come up looking for me, it'll stay that way."

‘You know, you can't shut 'im out forever.’

"Yeah," I mumbled, "I know... "

But it wasn't Dad I was trying to keep out, or me that I was trying to lock in. It was something…

Something else.

 

 

---

 

 

‘There hasn’t been a sound down there for a while now, Carl. You should check on them.’

My eyes flickered open. The barrel of my gun stared back. Grumbling, I pushed it some other direction and gradually sat up. Hrmph, must’ve dozed off.

‘You’re lucky you didn’t end up shootin’ yourself in your sleep.’

“Shut up.”

Bent over my lap, I stuck my elbows on my thighs and held the side of my throbbing head. I guess I hadn’t been asleep for too long, considering there was still daylight coming in. Or maybe I slept a whole day. Who knows. Either way, I had an awful headache that wasn’t going away anytime soon.

After heading back downstairs, I found Dad knocked out on the couch with Judith asleep on his chest. He hadn’t bothered putting back any the food I’d dumped outa his bag. “Hey, Dad,” I said, nudging his shoulder. “Wake up.”

He didn’t budge.

I felt his forehead; a little warm, but not feverish. I almost tried waking him again, but then I realized without him up, there wasn’t anyone around to tell me what or what not to do.

Sweet.

‘You goin’ outside?’

“Hell yeah I am.” I declared, when my stomach started grumbling. “...But not without something to eat.”

I grabbed the bag of cereal and went into the kitchen. After searching the cabinets a bit, I found a bowl and sat at the table. Luckily the cereal hadn’t been opened before, but it was a bit stale. Oh well, at least it isn't oatmeal. I hate oatmeal.

I soon realized just how hungry I’d been. After two bowls of dry and bland-as-hell cereal, I was about to pour another when Mom said, ‘There ain’t a whole lot’a food left. At least save some for your daddy.’

I shrugged. “Fair enough.”

I set a full bowl down in front of the couch. “There,” I said to him, “for when you wake up.” I thought about leaving a note, so Dad wouldn’t get confused when he found I wasn’t there. So he knew that I was coming back, that no one just busted in and kidnapped me or something crazy like that. But it probably wouldn’t have made much a difference. Note or no note, Dad would freak out just the same. A bowl of cereal would have to do.

‘You aren’t really leavin’, are you?’

“Why not? I’ll come back.” I bent over and snatched the emptied bag off the floor. After pulling its strap over my shoulder, I reloaded my gun as I continued, “Like you said, there isn’t a whole lot of food left. Someone has to go out and find more.”

‘Your daddy isn’t goin’ t’react well when he wakes up ‘n’ finds you missin’.’

“Eh, he’ll live.”

‘But you might not. Carl, don’t you realize how dangerous this is?’

“Very dangerous,” I acknowledged, heading for the door. “Which is why I have to do it.”

I looked back at Judy. If there had to be a reason for me to stay, it’d be her. I didn’t want her out of my sight, after nearly losing her to Tyreese. I seized one last look at her. She was so calm…

“I don’t wanna leave you, but...taking you with me would probably be even more dangerous, so...just take care of Dad for me, alright?” I said, opening the door, “I won’t be gone long."

Then I left.

 

(4)I stood in the empty road. From there I could see the corner of every house, poking out of bare bushes and trees. Rooftops and chimneys that no longer smoked. A few cars here and there, rusted and baked from the Georgian heat. Everything, all of it was covered in leaves that danced with the wind. Lined up against the street, the houses stood in eternal moments of silence––as if holding a funeral for those who once lived within the comfort of their walls.

‘...So you got this all under control then?’ Mom asked.

I walked on. “I’d say so, yeah.” I checked over my shoulder; there was the sun, just barely perched over the treetops.

‘Looks like it’ll get dark soon. Why don’t you wait till tomorrow? These houses ain’t goin’ nowhere.’

I ignored her. I had at least a few hours. And as far as I could see, I wasn’t in any real danger. There wasn’t a walker in sight, and if any came around, I had weapons to take care of it.

I decided to start at the far end of the street and work my way back. Once I got there I looked to my left, and saw a small, one-story house hiding behind and beneath overbearing trees. Orange, dead leaves covered its rain-stained roof. Its rusted gutters were filled with them. Looked like some old lady used to live there, with all the flower pots and hanging baskets cluttered about. They held wilted, crusted plants. Flowers mostly.

I made my way down the weed-infested walkway. The wind stirred, blowing more dead leaves both in and out of my path. Once I was standing on the porch, I peeked through a cracked window. All I could see were a few lamp-shaped silhouettes and a reflection of my own eye, staring back. I checked the doorknob; damn, locked. Turning around, I searched the porch for something heavy, something blunt.

In whatever form Mom was in, she was wringing her hands nervously. ‘I hope you're bein' careful, Carl.’

"Yeah," I said, picking up a softball-sized rock up off a small wire table. "I'm being careful." Stepping back from the door, I tossed the rock back and forth my hands.

‘Carl, don't you throw that at the window—’

It'd already flown from the tips of my fingers. It crashed into the glass of the door. The shimmering pieces trickled to my feet, and cried a brief, discordant chant as they crashed into the ground.

‘Carl.’ Her fretful voice hung over my shoulders. ‘The noise.’

"Whoops," I muttered. Yeah, yeah, I know. Keep the noise down. I checked around. Far as walkers went, the place was deserted.

I reached a hand inside the door and felt for the lock. ‘Be careful around that glass, Carl. You could get cut.’ After reaching around a moment, my fingers folded around the lock, and twisted it around. I retrieved my hand, but not without getting cut as pulled back. I looked down to see where the thin pain resonated, and found it on the side of my index finger. Blood was already trickling thinly out. ‘Now what did I just tell you?’

"Oh, be quiet."

I opened the door. The second I stepped into the house I felt crammed. Several coats hung out in the narrow entryway, but I managed to get passed them. Silently, I checked around the corner for any roamers, but all I found was a dark hallway. I eased up a little, and waltzed into the living room.

I probably could've touched the ceiling if I stretched up onto my toes. Heavy curtains blocked light from leaking in; long vines hung all over the walls, rotten and brown from the lack of light. Below the vines were brown leather couches, cloaked in small, knitted blankets. A hefty stack of newspapers sat in the corner between them. After glancing over the shadows of the living room twice, I left for the kitchen.

Above a rusted sink were more withered plants, dominating a dirt-tinted window. The sink was overfilled with dirty dishes that never got done. A small yellow fridge had been left open beside the stove. I peeked inside it, only to find a nest of ants gnawing through a bottle of barbeque sauce. Whatever else was in there was too rotten or shriveled for me to make out.

I searched through a few disorderly drawers. After rummaging about them, I had assimilated one spool of string, a staple-gun, a box of matches, a few thin rolls electric tape, and an unopened bag of sunflower seeds. There were bags of seeds of all kinds sitting in a basket, but screw it. No reason to start farming again.

I continued to search through the cabinets, but couldn't find much else of use. Just a bunch of junk.

‘Carl,’ Mom spoke up, ‘get that cut taken care of before you get somethin' in it.’

"Yeah, in a minute.”

I paced back into the musty living room. I circled a coffee table covered in old newspapers and landscaping magazines. A crumbled photograph stuck out between the pages of an album. I pulled it out.

In the photograph were two men: one old, the other maybe Dad's age. They stood in front of a fence, side by side, not more than half a smile on both their faces. I flipped the photo over; on the back was "The Joes, '05," written in careful letters.

I looked up at the shelves. Little glass trinkets and porcelain figurines hibernated beneath a thick layer of dust. Then there were overturned picture frames, flat out dead underneath it all. I stepped closer and tilted one up. There 'The Joes' were again with the same pathetic grins.

‘Carl.’ Mom said. ‘You're gettin' off task.’

I retreated from the frame, and watched the dust stir as it clacked back onto the shelf. "Anything else I should grab?" I asked, ready to give up on this place.

‘D'you think the bathroom might have any pain relievers, or medical supplies?’

"Maybe..."

I made my way back towards the hall. The further I went, the more pungent the smell of rotted flesh had grown. "Ugh..." I muttered, covering my nose as I went into the bathroom. Luckily nothing was in the tub waiting to chomp me down. I searched around the cabinets and drawers, found some pills, Neosporin, and gauze. As I exited the bathroom, that stench strengthened again. Wrinkling my nose, I went a little further down the hall and stopped at a door. On it was a note:

 

“Please do what I couldn't.

- Joe Jr.”

 

Do I dare open it? My stomach was already curled up tight.

"Oh, god." Bringing my arm to my face, I rammed back into the wall and spun away. Yes—I did dare open it. My cheeks and tongue quickly soured from the rancid odor of death.

Then came the groans.

Out from the room emerged a walker-fied old man. I reached for my knife, when I realized...it wasn’t attacking me. It didn't flash any grey teeth, didn't reach out a scratching hand. It merely went straight at me, as if it’d been waiting all that time just to get put down.

I recognized him as the old man from the photograph. Hardly respiring, I peered into his dead, yellow eyes. Please kill me, they begged. Kill me now.

Keeping my nose and mouth covered, I sunk the knife neatly into its eye. Its body fell with a delicate thud, just over the tips of my shoes.

‘Aren't you goin' t'cover him?’

I shrugged, and stepped over the body. "It’s just another dead guy,” I said, “Doesn't need any special treatment."

‘At least put a sheet over ‘im.’

But I couldn’t. All I could think of was getting the hell out of there.

 

I'd crammed my way back through the foyer, tripping over the rock as I bursted out the door. Taking in deep, clean breaths, I scanned the wide-open street. Far down the road was a walker or two—nothing to worry about. The next house over poked out of the trees, sturdy and tall. I resituated my bag's strap over my shoulder, hopped off the porch, and started my way over.

‘It's gettin' dark, Carl. You should head back.’

"You kidding?" I looked up at the sky. It wasn't too dark. "I've only hit one house. Besides, we still haven’t found anything for Judith. I should at least bring her a toy or something.”

‘Now you’re just makin’ excuses.’

“Hm-maybe.”

Glancing around the autumn scenery, I suddenly remembered this one cartoon I used to watch after school. It was about these two brothers who got lost in the woods, and with the help of a talking bird and a woodsman, they try to find their way back home. They meet a lot of funny and absurd characters along they way, which was probably what I liked best about it. I always loved that show; it was so strange and...mystical. I don’t think I ever got to finish it, though. It hadn’t finished airing when the Turn occurred.

I hope they found their way home…

"Hey Mom,” I wondered aloud, “think Dad's alright?"

There was a nervous pause before she spoke. ‘That's what I'm worried about...’

I shrugged. Those looks Dad had given me all day, I'd never seen him so...

"He'll be okay," I said, when a cold breeze slipped down my neck. "...Eventually."

'Well it isn't somethin' one can simply heal from--'

I'd reached the next house, and stood at the edge of the porch. "Hey, think I can knock this door down?"

‘I think you should go back.’

I assumed a running stance, and stared the door down. "I think I can." Couldn't be that hard.

Then I ran at it—heaved my shoulder into it. The frame rattled, but the door didn’t budge. Instead, it threw my ass to the ground. "Damn it..." I mumbled, my hat falling as I laid limp.

‘Well, now that we know you can't...’ Mom said..

"Shut up," I grumbled. Slouching up, I snatched my hat and put it back on.

‘Maybe you should’a just checked if it was locked.’

Well, that would’a been smart.

So I checked it. And as I suspected, the door was indeed locked.

‘Why don't you try the back door?’

"Yeah. Let's try that."

‘And if that doesn't work either, we can just turn back, right?’

"Yeah, sure." I replied, going around the corner of the house. "Whatever."

There I was met by a wooden fence—an easy climb. I reached for the top, and hoisted myself up. In the backyard was a patio, picnic table, tire swing, and a treehouse. And hey, no walkers. Perfect. I felt a splinter drive into my finger as I hopped down to the other side.

I stepped up to a sliding glass door and peeked in. A counter was to the right, the kitchen behind it. And straight ahead was a living room with its leather couches and opulent rug. The place was neat--untouched, almost.

First stop: the kitchen.

Cabinets, shelves, drawers; I raided them all. Fortunately, there was more cans than I expected. I happily grabbed all the peaches, beans, corn, and chili I could find. Thank god for canned food.

‘Alright, you got your food,’ Mom said, ‘now go back to your daddy.’

"But look at this place," I strolled past the living room, and started up the stairs. "I'm just getting started."

‘Look at it? Carl, you can hardly see.’

"Doesn't mean I have to go back."

‘It's not safe t'be out in the dark. At least take out that flashlight you found––’

"What is it with you and Dad, with the whole ‘safety’ deal?" I tried squinting to see through the shadows better. Each step felt darker than the last. "It's bullshit,” I said as I reached the top. "Sure had us all fooled at the prison though, didn't he?"

‘He did the best he could.’

Right. I rolled my eyes, and gathered my bearings. There was a window ahead where blue moonlight sunk in, casting blackness over boxes and walls. It almost looked unnatural, after seeing all those bright reds and yellows all day.

The nearest room greeted me with a rug-full of toys. "Hey," I bent over, picking one up, "think Judith likes robots?"

‘Carl, please. Go back to your daddy.’

"It's not like anything'll happen to him if I'm gone."

‘You left him dying.’

My jaw clenched. "...He did that to himself."

‘So you'll just let it happen? Let 'im slip away?’

"No," I let out a sharp breath, "look, can we not talk about him?"

‘I know about these...thoughts you're havin', Carl. ’Bout your daddy.’

"Yeah, so?"

‘You know he's doin' all he can for you. At least give him that.’

I sighed, and leaned back on the wall. I tossed the toy robot between my hands. "I know. I've been trying, too."

‘Then why are you treatin' him like that? You need to think about—’

"He's the one who told me not to help, remember?" Not wanting to discuss it further, I turned to the closet. Another wretched smell hit my nose as I started my way over.

I’d only taken a few steps out of the dim light, when I tripped over something rigid. I stumbled forward, able to catch myself before I could fall. “What was that…” I mumbled, blindly feeling through my bag for the flashlight. I pulled it out and pointed it at the ground, where I guessed I’d tripped. I immediately regretted switching it on.

“Shit…” I muttered, finding myself staring down at a dead kid. My veins filled with the same burning uncomfortableness of walking through a haunted house. “H-he was shot,” I whispered, “in the head…” Then he was just left there, in the middle of the room. No thought of taking his body someplace better…

“Maybe I should just leave this here,” I said, placing the robot back on the rug.

I hurried outa the room and into the next. I cautiously shuffled my way through a maze of boxes. Before prowling through them, I checked their labels: "Clothes," "Sam," "Henry," “Toys,” "Books," "Peanut Butter"--

Seriously? An entire box just for peanut butter?

Too thrown off to keep reading them, I checked around the floor. Nothing but a bunch of crumpled papers and socks, and...a dead bird. I looked up to see that its cage was closed, but the bird itself’d been ripped right out and torn open. Tussled feathers were stuck to the carpet from the dried blood. Its silken carcass, mangled and ruined with red.

‘Same thing'll happen to Judith if you don't head back.’

I cringed. "No one's getting into that house but me.” I'd kill every walker twice before I'd let anything happen to Judy.

Mom grew impatient, ‘That isn't what I mean, Carl. Your father is dying, and if he bleeds too much, he'll slip away—'

"He isn't dying!"

For a moment we didn’t say anything. Clamping my fists tight, I stood and peered out a window in silence. The tire swing swayed back and forth in the dying wind.

‘...He'll come back, Carl. And Judith will be right there, for him to––’

"Dad won't do anything to her!!"

‘They could be dead already! You think that if you aren't there to see it happen with your own eyes, it won't be your fault, right?’

I covered my ears. "That's not true!"

‘But it will happen,’ Mom rose her voice,  ‘and it will be your fault! But you're just going to let it happen!’

"Shut up!" I yelled, clutching my head. "Just leave me alone!"

‘Judith could be ripped apart by now. Not by some walker, or some wild animal. But your father.’

Doubling over, I shut my eyes tight. "Get out of my head!"

‘Not like I expect you to care about 'im anyways. Damn near shot him yourself.

‘Just like you did to me.’

"Why am I even talking to you?? Judith isn't gone, and neither is Dad! But you! You're gone, I know you're gone! I killed you, I saw it happen!" I––I couldn’t take it anymore, goddamn it. Huffing, I kicked over a stack of boxes and screamed, "You're the one that's already dead!"

(5)For the second time that day, I caught myself crying. Great, I thought. At this rate, I’ll be crying just as much as Judith. Wiping my nose, I plopped onto the floor and leaned against the cold wall. My body shrunk into a ball; I felt tiny. Tiny as the toys I found in the other room.

“...Maybe I should just run away. All I do is make Judith cry, and make Dad worried. Sure, he’d get upset, but...he’d just have to get over it. Forget about me, and move on. I’m obviously no good to him anyways…

“...Mom?” I muttered, sniffling.

I kept my eyes fixed on the floor as I waited for her usual response. Nonsense. You’re every bit of light in your daddy’s eyes. He’d never want you to go away. Some bullshit like that. But it was quiet in there. She was gone, and I’d banished her from my every thought.

Never before had I heard such a silence fill my head.

 

 

---

 

 

Of course.

More walkers.

After heading downstairs, I discovered a bundle of them shambling out of a nearby bedroom. Or rather, they discovered me; one had already seen me. My quickest way out would’ve been the back door, knowing where it was and that it could be opened easily. But from what I could hear and see of the darkness, the walkers blocked a direct path. Holding my knife close, I snuck around the corner and felt my way through a hall, hoping I could find the front door at the end. It was hopeless, trying to be sneaky, but I didn’t want to make them any more attracted to my general direction.

Without any windows, the area was encompassed in black. Though the impossibility of sight made my nerves boil, I went on, knowing the opposite way would lead me straight into their starved claws.Their growls and shuffling footsteps echoed behind me. Not too close behind, fortunately. Maybe if I can’t see, they can’t either. I was completely unassured, but relied on that thought to keep me alive nonetheless.

Soon enough their footsteps started sounding noticeably more intent and...organized. Okay, now they’re getting close. Without any other option I took off. I stretched my arms out in front of me to avoid running into a wall. Good thing, too; otherwise I probably would’ve broken my nose. My elbows locked as my hands hit a solid surface. A door. Scrambling for the knob, I stole a glance over my shoulder––shit. Closer than I thought.

“Come on…” I mumbled, helplessly rattling the locked door knob. The walkers clamored on, all of us stuck in a blind haste. My fingers frantically searched for the deadbolt. Seemed like they’d just reached my back, when I finally got the door to open.

I lept out, and not a second later I had the door shut tight again. Walkers pawing at the other side. Face pressed against the splintered surface, I sighed. An eerie chill seeped beneath my clothes. I was outside.

Found the front door after all…––

I froze. Hand over my gun, I slowly turned to face the groaning road. My eyes widened.

As did theirs.

A few walkers wouldn't have been anything to worry about. Just a quick couple of shots, stabs—done.

But there weren't just a few. There was a whole damn herd.

My gut clenched. Two or three on the lawn, maybe a couple dozen on the street, even more stumbling out of the woods. "Shit," I muttered, backing against the house. I cringed as the door clattered and shook behind me, attracting the hungered street roamers. Maybe a handful started my way. "Shit!"

I tightened the grip on my knife and made a run for it. Dim moonlight was all I had to guide me back, but it was enough to keep me out of the way. Few walkers brushed against my sleeve as I jumped out across the lawn and into the road. I funneled through clusters of undead bodies as they closed in. I dodged each swiping claw, scurried past every moaning corpse. Already dreading the long way back, I realized I had nowhere to go but to Dad and Judith. Every other house was either blocked off or probably locked. So I booked it down the road, hoping Dad wouldn’t be too hard to wake up once I got there.

With a hundred meters or so to go, I charged ahead full tilt. Aside from the few bumbling walkers, the street was finally clear. I held a sturdy fist over my hat, sprinting my way down when––one snagged my bag, jerking me back. I slammed into the walker's stiff chest, rebounding just in time to miss its teeth.

“Jesus,” I muttered, kicking back at the damned thing. I tried running––it dragged me back, the strap tangled around its elbow. My feet slid as I pulled at the bag, but the walker held steady. “Come on…” I hissed, checking over my shoulder.

The herd wasn’t wasting any time. Relentlessly they careened towards us, each one of the walkers dead set on tasting my flesh. Each one of them believing they would. They moved as if they were somehow connected. All of them, with their staggering limbs; their gaping jaws; their lashing hands, were massed into a single conglomeration. Melded into one puppet on a string, whose Master wanted me dead.

The walker at hand called back my necessary attention. It snapped at my neck, more than ready to sink its yellowed teeth in. Eyes shut tight, I pushed back on the corpse with one hand and searched my pockets for my knife with the other. I had to let go of the bag, as it promptly emptied itself onto the pavement, over our feet. The walker squeezed a hand around my arm. Enough of you, I thought, whisking out my knife. Before it could sink its teeth in me, I sunk the knife into its rotted skull and ran.

A handful walkers were ahead of me. I put down the bulkier of them and shouldered aside the rest. I found myself unable to look back as I reached the end of the road––the house just ahead.

"Dad!" I yelled, crossing the lawn. God, he'd better be awake. Panting, I scrambled onto the porch and swung the door open, "Dad—"

Sleeping. Of course.(6)

I slammed my back against the door to close it, but walkers were already fighting to get in. "Dad, wake up!" I pleaded, shoes scraping against the floor. "Dad!" But only Judith awoke. I jerked forward as another body shoved itself against the door.

"Shit!" I swore, ramming my shoulder back. Peeling faces fought their way through the crack of the door, eyes blinded with hunger. Blood dripped from their orifices, staining the ghastly white of their skin. Then an arm reached through. And another. Gritting my teeth, I plunged my knife into one of the heads. "Get back!" I yelled, aiming for another. When their bodies fell, the dead weight only slumped against the door, pushing onto it even more. Great.

Sweat drenched my neck as more walkers pounded on the walls. My shoes only slid on the floor as I tried pushing the door closed. "DAD! WAKE UP!" I screamed. Back aching. Arms quivering. Feet scrambling. And Dad hadn't stirred an inch. Of course, the one time I need your help... "FUCKING WAKE UP—"

My leg gave out.

I hurtled to the ground, knife flying out of my hand as I fell. Not a second later I was flat on my back. Three gangly silhouettes raged in. One right after another. Scooting back, I pulled my gun from its holster and pointed. Bang! One down. Boom! Two down. The third already kneeling over my leg. I quickly aimed, then cringed my finger around the trigger. The walker’s shoulder jerked backwards with the bullet.

It had my leg now. I scrambled back, and kicked at its head when I could. My skin crawled as it flashed its teeth. They inched closer. Whimpering, I kicked and kicked until its damn neck finally snapped. One satisfying crack and it careened sideways, limply thudding onto the floor. For a second I could breathe, but before I knew it two more walkers had already raged in.

I tried standing, but my foot was still caught in the walker’s stiffened hand. The other two bodies lurched over me, ready to try what the previous had failed. Unfortunately for them I wasn’t about to let that happen, and after a couple of shots they were just as lifeless. But before I could move out of the way they fell onto me, crushing me beneath their dead, laden weight.

Oh, gross. The mephitic pungence wafted eagerly from the bodies, as if it too wanted to get away from its own stink. But what was worse were the maggots spilling from the hole I’d put in one of their skulls. Grunting, I tried shaking the walkers off--damn bastards wouldn’t budge. I cursed, watching as more came rampaging through the door. Only they didn’t stop at me. They passed me, feet shuffling just in front of my nose.

Dad. They were heading towards Dad.

“Hey, over here!” I yelled, failing to stray their attention. Grumbling, I pointed my gun and pulled the trigger—the gun only clicked. Shit. No bullets. Desperately, I called out, “Look at me!”

Panic weighed in. They weren’t going to stop, not until they’d devoured him and Judith whole.

“Dad!” I dropped my gun and tried shoving the others off. Through the ravenous snarls I could hear Judith cry as the monsters neared. “No! Dad, wake up!!” Screaming for strength, I pushed and pushed until the bodies finally rolled off. More feet were bumbling past. When I realized I wasn’t going to get mine free from the walker’s hand, I pulled my foot right out of my shoe. Finally free. I scrambled to my knees and launched off the ground.

I hurled across the room. The urgency made me act faster than I could comprehend; one moment a walker stood not a foot from Dad. Next thing I knew I was driving my knife into its soggy head. Boom, not a second wasted. Even then I barely had enough time to pull the blade out, as another dead one hung just over my shoulder. Having no time to aim either, I shut my eyes and prayed I guessed correctly. I had.

I opened my eyes to my wailing baby sister. She watched in horror as the monster sunk off my shoulder and thumped by my feet. She was right there, right under my dome, right in the moonlight of the opened doorway. Her tears glimmered in the dim light. I’ll protect you, I thought without saying, knowing only my shadow could protect her once I was turned back around. I spotted Dad’s hatchet at the other side of the couch. Perfect. Certainly a better weapon than my piddly knife. Nervously wringing the axe’s handle, I leaned in to yell, "Wake up!!" at Dad, hopeless as it was. Hopeless as he was. Wiping the sweat from my forehead, I grumbled and spun back around to meet the hungered beasts.

My stomach did a nauseating flip. Walker after walker barged in, leaving no gaps of manageable space between one another. Air squeezed around my neck as they closed in on me, on Dad, on Judith. If they weren't yet through the door, they were pounding bloodied fists against the cracking window. My knuckles squeezed tight around the axe as the inevitable thought scrambled to hide inside my head:

We're going to die.

(7)"No..." I muttered, planting a shoeless foot forward. I cranked my arm back, and lunged for the nearest beast. Blood and brains sloshed out as I hurled the axe into its bloated skull. Not tonight. Not after all we’ve tried. Not after all we’ve done.

I pushed on. Three, five, ten more—it didn't matter. I wasn't about to let some fucking herd take us down. With every swing I screamed for more strength. Kicking, shoving, stabbing—I did what I had to do to keep them back. I wasn't helpless. I wasn't weak. And I wasn't going to let any of them near Judith. None that I could stop. None that I could see. No way in hell.

But Hell always had its ways.

Soon every corpse was laid limp on the floor. "Holy shit..." I mumbled, about to fall over myself. It surprised and frightened me that I wasn't yet one of them. I breathed in heavily, hardly able to think at all. I clenched my side, feeling a part of it burn. “That all?” I asked, when I wearily glanced over my shoulder—

I’d missed one. And there it hung, hunched over Dad.

Over Judy.

"No!" I screamed, tackling the monster to the ground. We slammed onto the floor. That’s when everything turned red.

"No one's getting her!" I hollered. "No one!" I wound my arms back, and repeatedly brought the axe down. "No one!" My axe. My fists. My shirt. My face. Walker blood stained it all. But I couldn’t give half a damn. After seeing it hunched over my baby sister, ready like a vulture, something  snapped. Something...possessed me.

My heart couldn't have possibly beat more furiously. The rightest of wrong sparks had been ignited, sending a scorching fire to rage within my chest. I wanted to see its brains splattered across the floor. I wanted to hear the sickening cracks and blows I brought to its head. I wanted to smell the rotten pile of waste its body had become. I wanted to feel the sick warmth of its innards coat the full length of my hands. And I'll tell you now: I got my fucking wish. Blood spurted in every which direction, coating all surfaces within unreasonable range. And in those moments, those rapacious, much-needed moments, I lived to taste it.

The walker was more than dead––god knows how many times I’d stricken it. Hands trembling, I shucked the axe from its indented skull. Crimson pooled out onto the floor, forming a macabre nimbus around what used to be its head. I let its warm blood drip off my fingers. Somehow I was able to choke down the bile that rose in my throat. Until then, I’d never been so happy to hear Judith cry.

When I looked back her I could finally breathe. She was still alive, unharmed. No bites. Thank god. I stood, trembling as I drew in a long, staggered breath.

Somehow, I'd made it through the first wave.

I dropped the hatchet and ran for the door. I didn’t even bother to peek through. Dozens of walkers were still out there, and an encounter with the next wave would've without a doubt been a death sentence for all of us.

There were three bodies to remove from the threshold. I flipped the first two bodies over and out of the way, keeping a keen eye on the herd rampaging near. A few walkers straggled ahead, already tearing through the lawn. Okay. One more to move. Figuring it’d be easier to pull the last one into the room rather than push it out, I lifted it by the sleeve and dragged it in. The doorway was finally clear. Just as another walker reached the edge of the porch, I hopped over the strewn bodies and slammed the door shut.

I sunk to the floor. At last I was able to feel somewhat relieved. Panting, I wearily reached a hand for the deadbolt and twisted it. Psh. I rolled my eyes with a dismal laugh. Like a puny little lock'll hold 'em all off.

My eyes lifted to Dad; he hadn’t stirred an inch. With the door thumping at my back, I stood and made my cautious way over. Once I was standing over him, over his bruised, beaten body, a twinge in my heart told me he’d never wake up.

...Maybe he’s already dead.

I almost felt his forehead for a temperature, when I remembered how bloody my hands had gotten. Figured he had a fever anyways, guessing from the beads of sweat dewing on his face. “Still breathing,” I said, thankful to catch the subtle movements of his chest. “You’re just sick…”

I dug through Judith’s bag for some wipes. Once I found them, I tore a few out to wipe my hands. Judith reached out to me as I gently picked her up. Whispering her name, I made sure she hadn’t suffered any bites. “Shh, it’s okay. I got you, Judy. It’s okay…” Much as I wanted to, I didn’t pull her close to my chest. There was just too much blood. The way she screamed told me she thought that I was the monster. In some ways, she was probably right.

(8)Outside, the herd raged. Fists pounded against the wall, ticking like a cluster of time-bombs, ready to explode. I watched their bleary silhouettes rave on behind the moonlit white curtains. A unison of growls seeped through the cracks of the windows, muffled but dangerous all the same. And they weren't ever going to stop.

"...Dad," I barely managed, watching their shadows flicker on the corpse-littered floor. I took a cautious step back, then turned around—

"...Dad..?" I whimpered, kicking his boot. I bent over his chest, and shook his shoulder. Nothing. Sound and still as a corpse. Heart thumping, I stood straight and called out to him again, "Please, just wake up! Wake up!!"

I nudged Dad again, but it was hopeless. He wasn’t going to wake up. He’d already given up on himself, just as he’d done so many times before. 

"Damn you!" I cried out, ending in a catastrophic fit of blubbers. “This is your fault! I-If you die…”––I sucked in a quivering breath and turned away–– "...it won't be because of me.”

Judith softly whimpered in my arms, and stuck her bubbling nose on my neck. If anything, I had to get her out of there. She didn’t want me to leave Dad like that, so vulnerable and defenseless. But it’s not like I had much of a choice. He’d already made that decision for himself. Before he even fell asleep, his mind had already been made.

"Damn you..." I muttered, wiping my eyes as I stepped away. Judith immediately protested, her soft whimpering turning into a bawling fit as I went for the stairs.

“Judith, please...don’t.” Sighing, I climbed the first few steps, but Judith pinched my shoulder. She screamed into my ear as if in attempt stop me. I cringed, when everything started to grow heavy: my arms, my legs, my heart... "We have to g––" I tried, but tears came instead.

I took another step up, but Judy only cried louder. "Judith," I pleaded, "he doesn’t..." Her fingers clenched my shoulder even tighter. I stifled my breath, and took one last look back.

He doesn't want to be saved.

 

After climbing the stairs, I hid in the same room I’d locked myself in earlier. I warily set Judith on the bed, then changed into a clean shirt I found stuffed in a dresser. It wasn’t until then that I realized I’d left my hat down in the living room. Must’ve fallen off when I was fighting the walkers. Eyes wet with tears, I stared at the bedroom door and listened to the pounding on the walls, to the endless growling of the herd outside. Walkers can’t...climb stairs, can they? I locked the door anyways, wishing I could keep out more than just the monsters.

I returned myself to the bed, and scooped my baby sister tirelessly into my lap. I cradled her with shivers while my feet throbbed in pain, blistered and sore from it all. But the rest of me? Just...numb.

Downstairs, glass was shattering, and wood was splintering. I had no trouble guessing it’d been the windows and doors that were breaking down.

I shut my eyes. "...Mom?" I called out, unable to keep my voice steady. Please... My arms tightened around Judith. Please don't leave me. Dad, he's—...

He's going to die.

I bowed my head and cursed. Of course he's dying. After who knows how many close calls, he's finally dying. 

"What do I do..?" I pleaded for an answer, for Mom to come back. But she couldn't. Mom was dead.

And soon enough, Dad too.