Nightmares

by NoTimeToStop

One day Carl wakes up to a world free of walkers, but every time he falls asleep he is transported back to the world of the zombie Apocalypse. As the days continue, and in his sleep Carl goes back and forth between the two realities, he starts to think he's going crazy. Which reality is the true one, and which is the dream?

Nightmares

Prologue

Sharp pricks and pain. Bees stinging his tender skin, their needle stingers piercing his flesh. Did bees have venom? Snakes' fangs then, slashing and pumping into his veins their toxic venom. His blood burned in his veins, gasoline for blood. He was in anguish. He wanted to move, but his limbs were too heavy. They hurt too much. Maybe he could just lie here. He slumped forward, but the chair held him fast.

Where was he? He couldn't remember. He wanted nothing more than to sleep. Fire shot through his body, and he cried out. His vision swam. His ears roared. No, not to sleep. Sleep wasn't enough. He needed to escape. How? How to escape?

In his pain-filled fog, he saw it, on the floor, a rusty nail. Four inches long. Half what it took to spike Christ to His cross.

Die. He wanted to die. Or did he? He just wanted the pain to end, and he could see no other way out. Just a slicing of his wrists, and then it was over, all over. He couldn't remember anything in his life but the pain. He couldn't recall a single thing to live for.

He tried to lean forward, but his body betrayed him. Move, his brain commanded. Move. Move! MOVE! But it would not. Concentrate. He needed to concentrate. He squeezed his eyes shut tightly, trying to stop the dizzying, but the blackness only nauseated him further. His head lolled to the side. He didn't even have the strength to give up. Pathetic. He had worked so hard to become the kind of young man his father would be proud of, only to end up here. Now. He couldn't even die in dignity.

His father. What would his father think?

Above the noise, he thought he could hear – but maybe it was another delusion, an illusion caused by the pain – clattering and shouting. The din of fighting. "Get the kid out of here!" A rough hand grabbed his arm and yanked him forward. Lightning shot into his shoulder. Stop, he wanted to beg them. Stop. That hurts. But his mouth wouldn't work.

An explosion rang in his right ear, and the grip disappeared. His gratitude was short-lived. He fell straight, like a tree, and his head hit the floor. He hadn't had enough sense to put out his hands to stop himself.

"Go, Rick! I got this!"

More hands, warmer. Gentler. Familiar. Cradled his head and gently lifted him. A face swam into view. "Carl? Carl, can you hear me?"

"Dad?" He recognised the clean-shaven face of his father, and collapsed unconscious into his arms.