Michonne stands on the porch. Rick and Carl speak to each other by the car parked in front of the house, debating something she can't hear. Her hand goes on her hip. She can see neither of them are happy and she debates intervening.
Debate over. "What's wrong?" She doesn't raise her voice, but they both hear her.
Rick turns, hand on his holstered gun, eyes squinting against the sun. He jerks his head in a, c'mere, motion. Michonne moves down the steps, stopping in front of him. She glances at Carl. He looks annoyed and she wonders what his father said to put that look on the younger boy's face.
"Come with us," Rick says.
Michonne meets his eyes. "Why?"
"This is stupid," Carl says.
Rick rolls his eyes. "That's why. His attitude." He turns to his son. "It's not stupid. Get in the car."
Carl yanks open the rear passenger door, climbs in and slams the door shut. Rick sighs, giving Michonne an imploring look. "If you don't come with us, we'll kill each other. He's so angry. You can always get through to him."
She nods. "Give me a minute." She dashes back into the house and grabs her sword. "Daryl…Daryl?"
He comes out of the downstairs bathroom. "Yeah? W'sup?"
"I'm going with Rick and Carl."
"Keep them from killin' each other?"
She snorts with little humor. "Something like that. Carol has Judith. Can you let her know one of us will swing by when we get back and pick her up?"
"Yeah." Daryl smirks. "Have fun."
"Right." Before she leaves, Michonne has an idea and heads for the bathroom. She finds what she needs and hurries to join Rick and Carl in the car.
They drive for half an hour, forty minutes tops when Rick pulls the car over. The three exit and head toward the wooded area on their right. Silently, they walk for ten or so minutes until they reach a moderate clearing. Rick lets out a whistle that cracks the air like a whip. They wait. Nothing. Rick whistles again. Michonne scans the area watching, waiting. Carl looks like he wants nothing more than to leave and never come back. Then they hear it. As one, the three become alert, the finely honed team they are. Five walkers approach, two from the left and three in front of them.
"How many will we need?" Michonne asks.
"Um…three for now," Rick says.
"Got it." She moves to her left. Her sword blurs and two walkers drop.
Rick kicks a big walker in the chest, knocking it back a few steps. Michonne hacks both its arms off. Rick kicks it again in the chest. This time it falls to the ground, unable to get up without arms.
"Michonne, get the legs on that one."
She levels it. From the knees down, gone. The walker flops over and tries to drag itself with its hands, but Rick and Michonne have moved onto the third and final walker.
"Arms and jaw," Rick says.
Michonne makes quick work of divesting the walker of its forearms and jaw. Rick ties a rope around the walker's waist and secures it to a tree. He leaves two feet of rope between the tree and the walker for mobility. The legless walker gets tied lowdown on a second tree and the final large, armless walker gets bound tightly to yet another tree.
When Rick and Michonne are done, they turn and find a scowling Carl glaring at the scene.
"That walker"—Rick points to the loosely tied one—"is your moving target. The legless one is your low target and the big immoveable one is your distance headshot."
Carl folds his arms over his chest, looking more despondent than Michonne has ever seen him.
"I don't need this, Dad. I hit the sandbags already. I'm good."
"I know you hit the sandbags and that is good," Rick says. "But when you find a walker or a person who just gonna lay down and play like a sandbag for you then I'll leave you be. Until then, you practice. Now draw and get that headshot." He points to the big walker twenty feet ahead.
Carl draws his gun, then switches it from his right hand to his left. Michonne can see each little change takes something from him. He was such a sure shot and now he has to learn to shoot with his weaker hand. His depth perception is off and his blind spot is massive. She wishes she knew what to do to make it better for him.
Carl sights the gun in his left hand with his left eye and squeezes the trigger. He misses.
"Bring your arm up higher," Rick says. "Go again."
Carl follows his father's instructions, fires again. Misses again. And again. And again. "Enough!" he roars. He fumbles to holster the weapon. In frustration he throws the gun to the ground.
"Pick that up!" Rick says. "You wanna throw a tantrum? You don't have the luxury. You gotta learn this and learn it quick!"
"I can't fuckin' see! What part of that don't you get?"
"Stop." Michonne steps between the two Grimes men. "Yelling at each other isn't going to help anything."
"I can't do this," Carl says. "I can't shoot anymore."
She hears the defeat in his voice and it breaks her heart. "Look at me." She places her hand on his cheek. "You are the most capable kid I have ever met. Somewhere your brain got stuck on what happened to you. Understandable. But cut the bullshit, Carl. You and I both know you can do anything you want to do." His gaze drifts away from hers. "Pick up that gun and for god's sake put that holster on your left, or fix it so you can draw and fire in a split second with it still on your right." She sends him a small smile. "Give me a minute to talk to your father."
She places her hand on Rick's chest and pushes him a few steps away. In a low voice she says, "He can do this, but you have to have patience."
Rick draws in a deep breath. "I know, but…"He runs a hand through his hair.
"I know, Rick. I know." She squeezes his arm. "You were scared for him before and now…now it's…" She can't bring herself to finish that sentence. Carl had come through his injury and they thought they were out of the woods, but then a whole new set of worries cropped up. In a normal world things like adjusting to skewed depth perception and blind spots might cause him to walk into walls or delay him getting a driver's license. Now, in this world it could cost his life. Neither of them were willing to allow that.
"I have an idea," Michonne says. "Do you trust me?"
Rick squints at her as if to say, 'stupid question.' She reaches in her pocket and pulls out a square gauze pad and a roll of bandages. She places the gauze on Rick's right eye and wraps the bandage around his head.
"What are you doing?" Carl asks, suddenly beside her.
"Your dad taught you how to shoot, right?"
"Yeah."
"Well he hasn't been able to get through to you this time because he can't fully understand what it's like for you to shoot now."
Carl and Rick stare at her through their beautiful blue left eyes. They really gape at her when she places a gauze over her own right eye and wraps her head.
"You're doing it too?" Carl asks. The corner of his mouth lifts into a small smile.
"We're a team aren't we?"
"We're family," Rick says and hands her his extra gun.
Michonne's heart palpitates and she fights the smile that wants to light up her face. "Right," she says as the three of them get into position. "We don't leave until we all can shoot left-handed and left-eyed. Okay?"
"Okay," Rick and Carl answer together.
"On three," Michonne says.