Carl just didn't get it.
Mind you, he trusted his dad and Shane to do right by him, by the whole group, and he trusted them completely and without regard for the fact that they didn't exactly see eye-to-eye on what "right" was most of the time.
He trusted them to do what they thought was right even if it meant killing each other in the process, but that didn't translate to his gut just lately.
No one talked to him like he was one of them. His dad had given him his hat, sure, that was great, but even though Carl was just a kid he saw the gift as what it was ... a gesture, designed to make him feel grown up and important. He loved that hat. But he wasn't falling for the gesture.
He knew Sophia was out there. He knew she was alone and afraid, maybe hiding out in the storm cellar of some abandoned farmhouse and praying for one of them to find her. Carl wanted to be the one to do it. Not just because she was his friend, although that was a big deal, too. More because he didn't think his dad and Shane were going to do it. More, still, because it could just as easily have been him.
Dad had maps and Shane had a new haircut and way of looking at the world that wasn't lost on Carl just because he was a kid. He knew, too, that Shane's toughened-up way of speaking to him these days wasn't cut and dry. Shane cared about him. When Dad was—gone—Shane was almost a father, not that he'd ever be able to take his real dad's place. But having him there to be strong and take care of Carl's mom, to make things seem okay when they weren't, to teach him to catch frogs because anything beat being scared all the time ... those things were father things, and Carl loved him for doing them.
But now he was going to steal something from Shane. He knew stealing was wrong; they'd harped on that in Sunday school most of Carl's life and his own dad had had more than a few sharp words with him that time Carl had taken a pack of baseball cards from the store. But this wasn't stealing for stealing's sake, and this wasn't baseball cards.
Dad and Shane weren't going to find Sophia. Not with Dad's maps and sure as hell not with Shane's hardened worldview. Carl had a better chance because he knew her. She wasn't just The Kid who was holding them back, or The Burden that weighed on his heart. She was Sophia. She was a kid just like him and together they had played games and done regular kid stuff and passed the time between bouts of terror because that was all there was. He could think like a 12-year-old because he'd be one not too far in the future. He knew what it meant to be young and scared with no adult around to tell you how not to get yourself killed.
Most of all, he didn't want to wait around anymore, sending one man out at a time, two at most, armed with a gun or a crossbow and the wits to use them. Carl thought they were wasting time, and all the time wasted was time that she was Out There. Alone.
Just like he could've been.
Creeping up on someone in the middle of the night isn't all that easy when there are sleeping bodies surrounding you and the only sound is the soft snores coming from Glenn's tent. Carl knew he'd be in for a world of hurt if he was caught, so he barely dared to breathe as he made his way toward Shane's tent.
Shane was sprawled on a blanket just outside his tent, and Carl knew the guns resided inside, as if they deserved a better shelter than he did.
Carl would crawl inside the tent, armed with his pocket flashlight, find the artillery bag, take a gun, the one that looked least likely to clatter on its way out of the bag, and get the hell out without anyone knowing. That was the plan.
Plans rarely work out the way you thought they would or the way you want them to. That's what ran through Carl's mind when a voice, whispered but gruff, broke the silence just as he was unzipping the gun bag.
"What do you think you're doin', little man?"
Carl jumped as if the bag were electrified and it fell back to the floor of the tent with that clatter he'd been trying to avoid. "Nothing," he said too quickly, not quite meeting Shane's eyes.
"You lie, you make things worse. I asked you a question."
"I was ... just lookin."
"Carl."
"Don't tell my dad. Please, Shane."
"I'll decide if I'm tellin' your dad when you tell me what it is you don't want me to tell him."
Carl felt stuck. He really should have had an excuse at the ready for this possibility, but he hadn't thought about it. He'd left his parents a just-in-case note and everything, tucked under the pillow in his tent, but he hadn't entertained the idea of being busted before he'd even left camp. He felt tears sting his eyes and silently cussed at them.
He didn't know what to say, so he didn't say anything. He just knelt there, willing himself not to cry and waiting for the worst.
"You were gonna take one, huh? And why would you be doing a thing like that? 'Cause I know you're not nearly fool enough to take off by yourself after that girl in the middle of the night. Right, Carl? Tell me you're not that dumb."
"Don't call her 'that girl.' She has a name." The spark of anger Carl felt at Shane's insensitivity overshadowed his fear momentarily.
"Listen here, little man, I don't think you're in much of a position to be back-talking. What do you think your dad would do if he knew what you were up to right now?"
Carl shrugged.
"Well I'll tell ya. He'd tighten the rope he and your mom got around your neck, that's for sure. They'd be glued to your side morning noon and night. You'd sleep in their tent. You'd be lucky to take a crap by yourself. You get me? And you know why that is? That's because they wouldn't be able to trust you no more. They'd think they have to watch you every second just so you don't go running off and become a walker's midnight snack. Do you want that to happen, Carl? Do you want to disappoint your dad that way, make him treat you like a baby? Just when he gave you his hat to let you know he's seen that you're growing up?"
Carl stared at his hands. Finally he shook his head.
"I didn't think so. Now here's what we're gonna do, you and me. You're gonna make a note of this night as the night your buddy Shane didn't wring your scrawny little fool neck. You're gonna get your butt back over to your tent and go to sleep like a good boy, and you're gonna forget whatever half-ass plan you hatched to go after your little friend ... Sophia. Do you understand me so far?"
Carl nodded.
"You're gonna forget any such plan in the future, too, because you'll know your buddy Shane is keeping an eye on you every minute of the day, just so your folks don't have to. And you'll remember that if your buddy Shane even thinks such a half-ass plan has crossed your fool mind again, he'll not only wring your scrawny little fool neck, he'll tell your folks all about it and let them handle you. You get me?"
Carl nodded again.
"I need to hear you say you get it."
"Yessir. I get it."
"That's more like it. Now go."
Carl scooted around Shane and out of the tent, knowing he was going to lose his battle against tears the second he got back to his own tent and thought about how he'd failed Sophia, how his carelessness had sentenced her to at least one more night out there by herself.
In fact, it hurt him so much to think of it that he turned back to Shane. "Please ..." he began, but the words died on his lips when he saw the look in Shane's eyes.
"Go," he said, and there was no trace of the good humor and understanding the two shared in the days he was Carl's almost-father.
Carl went.