This story popped into my head, out of absolutely nowhere, last night and I've been writing it like a person possessed.
Warning: This is a Mature story with adult subject matter. It involves dark, sometimes unpleasant, situations that may not be suitable for some. Turn back if that sort of thing makes you uncomfortable. What I love about TWD world is that it pushes the limits of the human psyche and can make for some very pliable fiction. This is a little outside of anything I've ever written, but if you're not scared off, please enjoy! Reviews are welcome, but no flames, I beg of you!
P.S. I do not own The Walking Dead, this is purely fan based.
Carl Grimes didn't know what he had expected, but this was certainly not it. It wasn't even close, which isn't to say that this was better, it wasn't. Not by a longshot. Gareth pushed him forward roughly towards one of the four dog kennels in the middle of the poorly lit room. The kennels alone were intimidating, just barely the size a grown human being could, uncomfortably, fit inside. What really disturbed Carl was that two of them were already occupied; one of them, by what it sounded like, a Walker. The one beside that, on the left, held what Carl thought was a girl, curled up in a ball. She didn't stir and Carl honestly wasn't sure if she was even alive. Carl was vaguely thankful that he was being steered towards the kennel farthest away from the Walker, as the only other choice was the empty cage on the right side of the writhing, decaying form. He would be next to the girl, whom he silently prayed wasn't actually dead, and wouldn't rise as one of the undead. He didn't like the idea of being next to one of them. He didn't like the idea of being there at all, but small comforts would have to do until the others figured out a plan to get them all out of this mess.
Terminus had not been the happy, peaceful retreat they had hoped for. He should have known. They all should have known. He was worried, not just for himself, but his family, his friends. They were locked up like cattle and he understood that he was to be locked up like some rabid dog. He hadn't wanted to leave the crate with Gareth, but there was no choice. The crate's door had opened and they'd all been momentarily blinded by the invading sunlight. It had been over a day since they'd been put into that dark, box. When a voice had called out for 'the kid', Carl had felt his stomach sink. They wanted him. He was told to come out without a fuss and, anyone who wasn't Carl, would be shot. Carl had felt his Dad's hand on his shoulder, felt it tighten as his father's gruff voice answered, "No, you aren't gettin' my son." The disembodied voice from outside had replied, "He comes out or we open fire on you all, we'll kill you right now. Besides," the voice went on, "We aren't here to hurt him; we just want some insurance for your continued cooperation. You have my word, the boy won't be harmed." No one in the crate felt reassured as they murmured their distress to one another. Rick wasn't buying it, "What makes you think your word means anything to us?"
The voice was calm, collected as it shot back, "If we had wanted him dead, or any of you for that matter, we had our chance earlier. You're still alive right?" Rick didn't like it, didn't want to take a chance on his sons life. The voice, sensing this, said again, "We will open fire if you don't comply, that's a promise. We do that, your boys dead anyway. You're all dead." It was Carl who had made the first move. He stepped away from his dad, walked towards the sunlight. Rick had stopped him, "Don't. You don't need to do this." Carl didn't want to go, he really and truly didn't, but he also didn't want to see everyone hurt, or worse, when he could have stopped it. He looked at his dad, straightened up and said with more confidence than he felt, "I want to, I have to. He's right; they could have already killed us by now. I'll be alright." He leaned in closer and whispered just loud enough for Rick to hear, "Keep thinking of a plan. Maybe I'll be able to help from the outside. This is our best option, Dad." Carl didn't think his dad would agree, but after a long pause he saw his father nod, "Okay. I don't like it, but okay."
That had been that. Rick had given Carl a hug, said he loved him, and told him to stay safe, that they would be coming for him soon. Carl had clambered out of the cart and the door had been slammed shut behind him. It was Gareth who had been talking to them; he was with a group of armed men. They'd bound his hands with a zip tie and led him into the compound. Carl didn't have the chance to run like he'd hoped. There were too many of them and he was weaponless. When they'd gotten deeper into the building, Gareth had waved the armed men away, leading Carl roughly by the back of his neck. They'd come to an imposing looking door and Carl had braced himself for the worst.
He returned to the present moment, wondering how he was going to get out of his current predicament. Gareth shoved him to his knees when they reached the kennels opening, prodding him to move forward into it. Carl resisted, an action that earned him an angry swat to his backside; it hurt, but not enough to make him crawl inside. Gareth chuckled menacingly beside his ear, alarming Carl at how close he was, "Kid, you're gonna get in there one way or another. You can do it the nice and easy way or I can make you, your choice." The threat was taken as it was intended, seriously, but Carl Grimes was a stubborn boy. He wasn't going in without a fight. He pretended to do as he was instructed, moving just slightly in the direction of the kennels opening. It caused the desired effect he was hoping for; Gareth loosened his grip on Carl's neck. Not completely, but enough for the young boy to jerk backwards and connect the back of his skull with Gareth's face. "Fuck!" He heard, dimly aware that he'd broken completely free of the older man's hold. Carl hadn't considered that a head-butt would cause him pain too, but he ignored the sharp ache; there wasn't any time for it. He pressed off of the cold cement ground with his bound hands and lurched, unsteadily away from Gareth who had a hand up to his face, blood trickling through his fingers. Good, Carl thought venomously, I hope it hurt like hell.
He was wobbly on his feet, but he managed not to fall over as he ran back to the door they'd come in from. He grabbed the handle, somewhat awkwardly, and tugged. It didn't budge at all. For a second, Carl's throbbing head didn't register the meaning behind the doors stubbornness; he tugged again. Still, it didn't budge. He felt himself being gripped around his middle as he was pulled away from the door. He tried desperately to hold onto it, but his hands didn't have a good enough hold. He was spun around, facing the kennels once again. Carl squirmed, tried to kick backwards, but he couldn't manage to land a solid connection. His assailant laughed a cold, hard sound that mixed with the sound of something jingling. Gareth, still holding him around his waist, held up something in front of Carl's face with his free hand, "Door locks from the outside; gotta use these to get out." It took a moment for him to register what it was that was glinting in front of him: keys. Carl reached for them, catching only air as Gareth jerked the ring of keys out of his reach before pocketing them again, "Uh-uh. Bad little boys don't get shiny things, they get their asses whooped." A snort of frustration came from the boy as he attempted to twist around and get his hands into Gareth's pocket, the one that held his only chance for escape. Gareth twisted his own body out of the way of Carl's prying hands, "Come on and stop that now before you really make me mad."
Carl was angry, and naturally hot-headed, so of course he did the stupid thing. He stopped moving, turned and tilted his head around, and spit. The loogie hit its mark, Gareth's face. Carl was particularly pleased to see his spit mingling with the drying blood Gareth had attempted to wipe from his face, thanks to the busted nose Carl had given him. For good measure Carl added, "Go to hell." It occurred to the young Grimes, as he was roughly forced onto the floor, that his taunt may not have been his best idea ever. A revelation made all the more certain as his captor placed a heavy knee on the small of his back, and pressed. "Ah!" Carl cried out as the pressure turned to pain. He could hear the smile in Gareth's voice as he spoke, "That's much better, you smartass kid. I told you earlier, we could do this the easy or the hard way, what you get from here on is your own fault." Carl whimpered involuntarily as the pressure increased, sighing in relief a moment later, when it backed off. He was lifted roughly to his own knees, back pressed against Gareth's chest by a forearm around his neck. With his hands bound, Carl couldn't do much more than claw weakly against the arm holding him in place.
He briefly wondered why the neck of his shirt was being pulled aside, but the question didn't linger as he felt his answer. Teeth were being pressed into the tender part of his flesh, right between the base of his neck and shoulder. That's not right; Carl thought wildly, he's human, he can't do this. Then an unwelcome vision came to mind, his own dad ripping out a man's throat. Carl's eyes widened in panic as Gareth bit down harder; breaking the skin. Is this it? Is this how I die, Carl asked to no one in particular as he'd long since stop believing in a God. Images of what would happen next danced wildly in front of his eyes, none of them pleasant. Then, the teeth were gone. Carl's panicked mind registered the pain, understood that he'd just been bitten and hard. What his brain was having trouble with was the part that the biter hadn't been a walker, but a man. A regular human being had bitten him and Carl didn't understand. The teeth came again, only, this time it was his shoulder. He had been too caught up in the confusion of his thoughts to hear or feel the collar of his shirt rip, exposing more of his pale skin to his attacker.
This time the shock didn't mask the pain; Carl felt it and it was awful. He cried out, renewed his struggles, but Gareth's mouth was firmly latched. His attempts only seemed to cause the man to bite down harder, deeper than the first. "Stop," He choked, "Please!" To his immense relief, Gareth did stop. Carl went limp; this was too much. His young mind had already seen and experienced so many horrors, but this didn't make any sense to him. Walker's he understood, didn't like them, but he understood what drove them to do what they did. His father's actions, he understood them too. His dad hadn't torn into another man's flesh for any other reason than to save Carl, to save all of them. It was gross, desperate, but he could reason with his father's actions. With Gareth though, there was no reasoning. He'd done it to hurt Carl, to punish him. He'd done one of the most taboo things you could do in their world. It was wrong. From behind him came Gareth's voice, amused, "What, don't like my choice in fetish?" Carl didn't know what 'fetish' was, but no, he certainly didn't like it.