After putting in some thought, Carl believed he was better off like this; alone.
That way, it was just one person, singular; unattached, that ensured no indescribable pain when he loses someone so close to him.
Most of all it was about responsibility.
His father, for one, was an example.
A man he put so much faith in, who everyone put so much faith in, but time and time again, he failed. Especially when they needed him the most.
And in doing so, his mother, Judith, Michonne, Daryl, Beth, Hershel, Maggie, Glenn, everyone.
Even Shane.
All of them lost their lives.
They were just sitting ducks, waiting idly as The Governor came, ruining what could have been home. All because his father wanted to continue being what he couldn't afford to do; play the farmer.
He remembers the Prison's final moments so vividly, the arrival of the Governor, the death of Hershel, the array of bullets, and chaos that erupted afterwards. However, the one thing that rung so clearly was his father's speech and how wrong he was.
He was too far gone.
Carl had remembered the grisly details of how he searched through the burning fields for his father, only to find the moans and groans of people dying or being eaten and Judith's bloody car seat, he tried to continue to look for Michonne, Daryl, Carol, Beth, Glenn, Maggie, anyone and almost died because he had refused to believe that everything could crumble so easily to shit after a split second of happiness.
And that was the problem, they were not prepared and it hit them so hard.
Carl had known the fallacy of trying to piece together this new world with the shadow of the old one, it was the reason so many people like his father had died, it will be the reason they will continue to do so.
He, for one, finally knew through the repercussions of others, that in this brutal and lawless place where the walking dead was the least of your concerns, you cannot obtain concord, because there will never be one. The repulsive human nature would not allow one to, at least not in his lifetime.
That is why he chose to be everything his father could not. Where his father failed, he would succeed.
Carl watched his step as he walked carefully down the steep hill, trying not to step on any twigs or leaves, remaining as silent as possible to not give away his position as he crotched behind and a tree, his feet gently brushing across the underbrush as he did so.
The only thing that guided him through the thick black veil of the night, was the warm light of a crackling fire that stood only a few feet away. His breath was ragged but quiet as he stared at the men around the flickering flames.
A single drop of sweat cascaded down his forehead, skin rough and bumpy from the humid air. His dingy long sleeved stuck to his wet chest, the designs barley traceable due to it being caked with dried mud. As he took in the surroundings, he could feel the dark circles caving into his eyes and it made him wonder how long he has been without sleep.
His lips were pressed tightly together and he could feel the cracked skin that begged for water to touch and nurture them. In his pocket was only one granola bar, the only thing he could manage to salvage, his stomach not even close to being full, the hunger gnawing at him and with the water supply he had was completely drained, leaving him victim to the summer's heat, he felt more and more anxious to get what he needed done.
The five men roared loudly as they conversed with each other, their malicious faces and ridged features illuminated by the fires light, uncaring to the things around them. How could they not? their camp was secured by a string of barbed wire lining across the trees around their small clearing, their supplies filled with things they stole from others.
He looked around, taking in his surrounding and being alert by any walker's that were brought there from the obnoxious sound. When he was certain of there being no threat, his eyes returned to the camp.
Carl remained still behind the thin bushes that kept him camouflaged in the hot night air. His fingers twitched in anticipation as he waited in silence; eyes darting for an opening.
From the corner of his eye, Carl catches a single black duffel bag - his duffel bag - resting behind a tall, gnarly looking man, his stringy auburn hair stuck together in greasy clumps. The boy looks at the hunting knife in his hand, carefully grazing the sharp end against his fingertip before pressing down slightly.
The small pain felt good, it was a relief of some sort as he did it as it also became a way to keep him steady and awake, slowly turning into a habit, whether it be pricking his finger or placing light cuts across his ankles and arms - it showed him he was still alive.
He stares intently at the small trail of red liquid that trickles down his finger, and he sharply exhales, feeling his senses clear, even if just for a moment before gripping the knife's handle with a shaking and bloody hand.
He had been following them for two days now, just waiting patiently for a chance to strike and take game.
He planned and coordinated, waiting for a right place and time to strike and take back what was rightfully his.
Carl's hand tapped against the gun that was holstered to his hips, there were only two bullets left, and from what he had studied, he could not take on the other three.
He moves from his crouching position as he sauntered closer to the site as the men were occupied with something else. He stared at them intensely as he made his move, he recalls barely making it out unscathed as they took what was his, nearly killing him in the process, but his eyes were mostly trained the long-haired and greasy man that he harbored raving hatred for.
Carl makes it around their camp, hidden in a blanket of thick trees, backing farther away until they were completely covered by the forest and only little rays of light pervaded through the leaves.
He goes about unnoticed as they dig into the cans of beans with silver spoons as a bucket of water boils over their makeshift stove.
He sheathed his knife before he pulled out a rope from his backpack, eyes scanning for a single Walker; within a few minutes, he found one not too far away, standing still, looking into a void in it's stupor, wearing nothing but a dirty and ripped nightgown.
Seeing them like this is what truly instilled fear, they look human, but not quite. Only a haunting empty shell of what they were, completely unaware of their existence and it's nihility; it made him wonder, will he too become one of the walking dead?.
He took a deep breath, thankfully, it's back was facing him. He carefully moved a few inches closer before lurching forward, wrapping the rope around its chest and it released a yelp in confusion and hunger. Tying it into a quick knot and to quiet its excessive growling, he removed a cloth from his back pocket, placing it on its mouth, blocking its chomping teeth.
Carl got ahold of the end of the rope, pulling the corpse towards him and brought it to a nearby tree, using the remaining length to tightly tie around it.
He examined it for a moment as it continued to thrash about mindlessly, hungry for flesh with it's wide and yellow rotting eyes, with grey hair that sparsely filled it's head and had patches of its scalp missing which also was falling apart.
It was causing too much noise, more than he'd like to take a chance with.
As he looked around the forest floor, he found a thick wooden branch and picked it up, reminding him of the time he played baseball, and as the leaves under the Walker's feet continued to crunch as it moved, it gave him an immediate idea; so, with a swift and hard swing to it's left leg, the weak bone broke effortlessly with a sickening crack.
It crumbled to the floor, unable to sustain its own weight, again, he whacked it's right leg, starting at the knees, completely disabling it.
The only thing it could do now rapidly moved its head from left to right, desperate for prey it could not have.
Carl sighed and began to walk toward his previous location, but before he could fully do so, his ears caught the rustling of bushes from one of the entrances of the camp, stumbling out was a man who was tall, lanky, and more importantly, drunk.
He quickly crept back into the darkness before the man saw him, making so that Carl could see him, but the other could not.
The man, unbeknownst to any danger, unzipped his pants and pissed, sighing in relief as he did so.
He would have preferred it be the beer-gutted fuck, but he supposed it was now or never to take a target.
He disregarded the wooden stick, finding immense pleasure in what he was going to do next.
Carl walked closer and closer before he ran for him, getting the man off-guard, placing a hand over his mouth and before he could react, the boy grabbed his knife hiding in his leather belt, plunging it into the man's back, more specifically, the spine.
The man's upper torso jerked forward and with the palm calmed over his mouth, Carl could feel the wet substance of saliva from the man's scream.
With precision, he could tell what was happening at each exact moment.
The mans leg's went slack, unable to hold it's upper body.
Paralyzed from the waist down.
Carl twisted the knife, hearing the squishing sound of the blade displacing flesh, but he could feel, through the handle, the weapon lodged between the spinal cord.
Dead.
He had trouble holding the body up, almost falling over as the man went limp. He hurried up before his friends had noticed and placed him on the floor and begun to drag him to where the walker was tied.
It was a grueling task and the man was heavier than he looked, also, with the lack of food and sleep, it felt like he was going to fall over and pass out from exhaustion.
Eventually, Carl laid the body down, breathing heavily and feeling sick from the hollow feeling in his belly being and felt like he was on the verge of vomiting. Wiping his wet hands on his pants, he looked down, taking in a deep breath.
He removed the cloth from its mouth and went back to the man, pulling him from his collar and brought him closer to the rotting corpse, removing the cloth as he did so.
It's teeth clicked as Carl held the man's neck high enough for its black teeth to dig in to. After he was done, he pulled the man away, curling his lip as he watched the walker's teeth hold on tightly, stretching the skin, revealing the red meat inside and causing blood to ooze everywhere.
Carl searched every inch of the man, not finding any ammo or anything useful, looking through every small pocket of the leather jacket, however, in his jeans was a glass bottle with a brown liquid called Hennessy.
He took off his hat, scratching the scalp inside his brown curls as he picked up the half drunken bottle. He yanked it open and he jumped from the loud 'pop!', he quickly took a sip and grimaced as it went through his throat, burning it. He couldn't contain the coughed that irritated his esophagus and placed his sleeve over his mouth as he wiped his wet lips.
"Hey, Wren?." A deep, throaty voice called out, the sound of crunching leaves as footsteps approach catch his ears, making it Carl's cue to leave.
The boy hurried and closed the cap, dropping it next to the deceased man and cut the rope holding down the corpse loose and took it with him, dashing further into the woods.
When he feels that he has gotten far enough, he looks back, seeing nothing but faint light and hearing the other man call for his friends.
He smiles placidly, feeling accomplished as he watches the men gather around the dead body.
One down, four more to go.
He knew he could do better on his own.