Chapter 19: Where the Wild Things Grow
"You want me to teach them what?"
"Agriculture," Castiel repeated. It didn't take long for him to rejoin them at the rec room, flanked by lieutenant Rodriguez and an older man who was introduced to them as general Ulysses.
"You know," Enid was quick to point out, "farming and stuff."
"I know what agriculture means," Carl grumbled, becoming exasperated by all the attention. He angled his head so his good eye landed on the general. "I'm not saying no," he stressed, voice even, "but you should know, I'm probably not the best guy for the job."
Ulysses gave a minute inclination of his head. "I have a feeling you'll do fine."
"You don't know me," Carl pointed out.
The old man's eyes crinkled. "That's why they call it a hunch, son."
"I'm not your son," Carl said dryly, ignoring the way Enid's foot suddenly bumped into his in warning.
None of the soldiers seemed affronted by his attitude, in fact, Ulysses was starting to look a little fond. "My apologies," the general said amiably.
"I'd like to speak to the children privately," Castiel said. Immediately, the general responded, giving Castiel a brisk nod. He took the rest of his people with him, even Dr. Ganguly and the glaring soldier on guard duty.
"What did you tell them?" Claire rounded on Castiel as soon as the door closed again.
Shifting a little on his feet, Castiel answered without meeting her eyes, "Oh, you know, Plan A."
"Really."
"It worked beautifully, Claire," Castiel assured her. Without giving her a chance to ask anything else, Castiel turned to Carl. "You have doubts?"
Carl felt his shoulders slump. Unconsciously, he raised a hand to his face but stopped himself before he touched the fresh bandage. The others hadn't seen his face when Dr. Ganguly took off his bandage (and she herself had been kind enough not to look horrified) but he was still feeling all too exposed.
"Carl?"
"I don't think I can help them," Carl admitted in defeat. For the first time in forever, he felt like he was unraveling, anxiety getting the best of him. "I know I said we had a garden at the prison, but I only helped with it. Only sometimes. My friend's dad Hershel, he was the one who was running things. He used to have a farm. We did stay there a while but I didn't help there much either. 'Cause I just got shot. Again."
Carl took a breath, feeling the heat rising in his face. "It was before the eye thing. So, I really only ever helped out at the prison - a little - and we only spent a year there, and a lot of other stuff happened so it wasn't like I was always at the garden anyway. So, um, I don't think I'm really capable-"
"Carl," Castiel interrupted, coming to grip his shoulder. "I have faith in you," he said plainly.
That was all it took, really. An angel saying he had faith in Carl. What the hell happened to his life? Somewhere in Actual Heaven, Hershel was looking down at Carl and laughing his ass off.
Over in the next few hours, Carl found himself regurgitating Hershel's teaching to the people of McLaren. It had been a little intimidating at first, though he did his best not to let it show. Yet the more he talked, the more he found himself remembering. It never stopped feeling weird, though.
They were not complete beginners, he had learned. Technically, they had a lot more experience than Carl did. The farmers in McLaren had taught themselves using books with titles like "The Organic Awakening" and "Easy Urban Gardening". Unfortunately, they had picked up a lot of misconceptions along the way. It wasn't their fault; while Carl himself had had practical lessons in sustainable farming, they had to do with manuals for growing cherry tomatoes in store bought dirt.
It was approaching sundown when Carl was preparing to end the lesson (again). He dipped his hands into a bucket of soapy water, scrubbing away in an attempt to remove the accumulated dirt. His students (all twelve of them!) stood around him in a circle, their notebooks held at the ready for his next insight.
"To wrap it up," Carl said, "the most important thing, always, is to keep the soil healthy. Do as I showed you and next time these-" he jerked his head to the pile of sickly-looking potato plants, "-will definitely come out better."
Scribble, scribble, scribble.
Picking at his nails under the water, Carl added to the lesson's conclusion, "And, um, like I said, keep it diverse. Because, um..." Twelve pairs of eyes looked up from their notebooks expectantly. "Well, I'm not sure," he admitted, sheepishly. "I just remember that rotation is really important. Three or four years at least."
He tried to remember what else Dad or Hershel ever said on the topic. Likely, they never got around to it. The prison hadn't really worked out for them in the long run, but maybe the folks in this community would have better luck.
One of his students - a spiky-haired, heavily tattooed middle-aged woman who looked weirdly out of place in her farmer's overalls - raised her pencil. "Could you show us the layering technique one more time?" she asked.
Carl stopped scrubbing his hands. "Sure," he sighed.
The sun had set by the time the lesson was really finished. McLaren was a large community, well lit even at night, with enough space inside its walls to hold the town, the military base, and even a small lake. Carl had learned that they were using the walker herds as protection from raiders and kept the herds moving away from the community by the use of remote controlled drones.
Tomorrow morning, the soldiers would use the drones to clear up a path for them, distracting the walkers in their way. Together with the fuel they'd received and the brand new map approximating the state of the roads ahead, Carl and the others were looking forward to a much easier start to their journey.
Tonight, though, they were going to stay at a very nice house in the rich part of the town. Castiel must've really made an impression on the general, Carl thought.
As he approached the house, Carl saw that the van was already parked and ready in the driveway. To Carl's surprise, it was no longer white but covered in graffiti. At least the two duffel bags were still secured to the roof. One of them was starting to look a little light, he noticed. It was amazing how much food they went through in just a few days on the road, in spite of their rationing.
Enid was sitting on the porch steps, illuminated by the small light above the front door. Her hair was tied in a ponytail, and there were paint spots on the tan, oversized jumpsuit she'd liberated from the ship. She gave him a little smile in greeting when he approached.
"Please tell me there's hot water," he said straight away. He'd forgotten how hard the farming stuff actually was. Besides the fact that he was sweaty and covered in muck, Carl's back and shoulder muscles were incredibly sore.
"Yep, Claire just went in. I'm supposed to go next but..." She looked at him appraisingly. "You can have my turn."
"Thank you," Carl said and meant it. He sat down next to her on the porch. "So, what'd you do all day?" He looked at her and then, pointedly, at the van.
"I helped Cas set up the wards," she whispered, leaning closer.
"The warts?" Carl asked, confused.
"Wards. W-A-R-D-S." Still whispering, she explained, "We painted them all over the walls. They're these symbols for protection. Cas says they stop bad things from coming in, like, um, evil things. Not walkers, though. Anyway, I don't think the townies are supposed to know about it." She added with an embarrassed smile, "I might've used the last of the paint on the van."
"It looks nice." Carl grinned. "Is that a unicorn?" He gestured to a blob on the van's hood and then dodged Enid's answering swat. "Seriously, though," he added, lowering his voice, "the wards thing - how does it work?"
"Magic?" Enid's mouth quirked. "Who knows."
"Huh. Well, it wouldn't hurt to do the same in Alexandria," Carl suggested. A sudden thought came to his mind. "Hey, you are coming back, right? You're not thinking about staying here or anything, are you?"
"What?" She pushed at his shoulder, mindless of the dirt on his shirt. "No, I'm not thinking about staying. Are you kidding?"
Her angry expression softened when she sighed. "I get it now, okay? It's not just about surviving. I… want to go home. I miss everyone. I miss Glenn and Maggie."
"Me too," Carl admitted. "My dad must be losing his mind. He's so… so fragile when it comes to losing people he loves. When Mom died… It was bad, Enid, really bad." He swallowed the lump that rose in his throat. "I'm worried," he said, and almost wanted to laugh. Worried didn't really cover it.
"It's going to be okay." Enid's hand landed on top of his on the porch step. "These guys gave us a better map and everything. I mean, Annabelle's staying here, and the twins are practically our next-door neighbors anyway, so it's straight to Alexandria from here. We'll be home in no time, okay? Your dad's not going to lose you or Judith."
She squeezed his hand. "Now quit whining and go take a shower; you smell."
"'Little pigs, little pigs, let me come in.'"
Carl had to hold back on his laughter. Most people adopted a strange intonation whenever they read out loud to children. Not Castiel; his gravelly voice was as monotonous as if he was reading out a grocery list.
"These are highly advanced animals," Castiel said, pausing in his reading. "I wonder, is it based on a true story?"
Castiel and the two younger children had been occupying the hideous green leather sofa in the borrowed living room. Judith had progressed to sitting in Castiel's lap, her blonde head tucked under his chin. She was staring at the book in his hands in wide awake fascination, tracing the pages with her stubby fingers. Oliver was curled up at Castiel's side, head listing forward as if he was on the verge of falling asleep.
Leaving them to it, and trying not to laugh out loud, Carl tiptoed his way back up the stairs. He and the other teenagers were "celebrating" their last (and technically only) night in McLaren. While Carl had been slaving away in the mud and manure, Jake had somehow managed to procure a half-full bottle of whiskey from his new soldier buddies.
"They've moved on to 'The Three Little Pigs'," Carl announced, taking back his spot on the king-sized bed. "Whose turn is it?"
Deciding not to waste the whiskey by simply drinking it, they'd come up with a game which they called "Cozy Apocalypse". It was simple: someone would ask a question, and the person who came up with the least horrifying answer had to drink. They went through a few rounds before it hit them: they forgot about Mikey.
"S'not fair," Mikey insisted, slurring a little. "You guys know I didn't go out much." He took another shot of whiskey. "Okay… just. Just, one more and then I fold. Heh."
"No, man, you're done." Carl laughed, reaching over to battle with Mikey for the bottle. He then settled back against the headboard. "Okay, I've got one. Worst meat." He added, "We had snake a couple of times, but it's actually not that bad." He didn't mention the time he'd almost been tricked into eating human flesh. Almost didn't count.
Scott and Jake looked at each other. "Rats," the said in unison.
"Rats, definitely." Claire agreed. She gave a full body shudder. "Bugs, too."
Enid said, "Raw turtle." She sniffed. "Poor little guy."
"I'm the loser," Carl said cheerfully. He took a too large gulp, then immediately began to splutter. "It's really good," he insisted in a raspy voice. He coughed again. "Ugh, walkers wasted? Personally, I lost count."
Jake and Claire gave a thumbs up. "Same."
"Nine," said Mikey happily, even though he wasn't supposed to be playing anymore.
"Ugh. Maybe fifty. I sneak past 'em," Enid admitted, throwing her hands in defeat. She started to reach for the bottle, but before she could take it, someone else had plucked it from Carl's hand.
"Zero," Scott said quietly. He took a small sip. They all gaped at him.
"What, really?" Mikey asked in drunken bewilderment. "But you told Cas you can shoot!" He gasped. "Didja lie? 'Cause y'know, lying to an angel, that's gotta be, like, a mortal sin."
Claire burst out into laughter. "I love drunky-Mikey," she said between giggles, ruffling the boy's hair.
"I can shoot," Scott said over Claire's laughter. "Just never shot… you know." He sighed. "Forget it."
"Dude," Mikey pushed at Scott's shoulder with probably more force than necessary. "I was joking." He gave an exaggerated frown, leaning closer to Scott. "Hey, um, didja ask him yet?" he said in a stage-whisper, throwing glances at Carl. "'Cause I can. I can totally ask him for you."
"Don't worry about it," Jake answered for his brother. "It was a stupid idea anyway."
"No, no, no, c'mon. It was an awesome idea," Mikey insisted, his eyes wide and sincere "'Cause you guys! You guys are awesome. I love you guys."
"Jeez, man." Jake drew a hand across his face. "Don't make it weird."
"Uh, what's going on?" Carl asked, frowning. "What were you gonna ask me?"
Jake sighed. "It was just a dumb idea, alright? Me and Scotty, we've been thinking, you know, where to head next. We thought about staying here, but these guys, they really mean it about not taking new recruits." He shrugged. "Mikey heard us talking, so-"
"So I said, I said to them, 'why don't you ask Carl if you can come to Alexandria?' Because, you know, your dad's like, in charge now," Mikey said, looking at Carl expectantly.
"Um." It was kind of true, he supposed. Rick always did end up running things, even when he tried to avoid it. "Sort of? But… I thought you guys were going home."
Scott's eyes widened. "God, no."
Jake said at the same time, "No way in hell we're ever going back to Sanctuary."
"Bad place?" Enid guessed.
Scott huffed, then took another drink. "You don't want to know."
"Thing is -" Jake said, rubbing at his eyes tiredly, "The thing is, we wanted to make a break for it, we did, but it was impossible, man. These guys, they don't fuck around. They either kill you or they turn you into one of them. And if you run... which is probably what they think we did..." Jake gave a dry little laugh. "That Aztec douche was probably the best thing that ever happened to us."
"They might kill you too if they see us together," Scott added with an apologetic air. "Trust me, this is a fight you don't want to pick."
There was a little pause of silence.
"Guys, I want to ask you something. Don't, um, don't take it the wrong way." Watching the brothers for their reactions, Carl continued, "How many people have you killed?"
They both flinched. "Way to put it out there, man," Jake muttered, taking the bottle from his brother's loose grip. "Shit. I don't even know. Myself, less than walkers, but..." He grimaced, then took a long swing from the bottle.
"Why?"
Jake chuckled humorlessly, looking away from them. "'Cause we're bad people."
"That's bullshit," Claire interrupted. "You're a bit of a dick - sorry Jackie, you know you are - but you're not bad."
"Come back with us to Alexandria," Carl said decisively.
The brothers exchanged uneasy looks. Scott started to ask, "Didn't you hear what-?"
"I heard you. Sounds like you were in a bad place and it sucks, it really, really sucks, but it doesn't mean you don't get a second chance. And if those Sanctuary assholes come looking for you, well, we'll protect you." Hearing Jake's snort, he added, "Seriously, we're badasses. Right, Enid?"
"Yep." She grinned.
Jake's eyes were suspiciously red. "If you're sure," he said, and then, at Carl's answering grin, launched himself across Claire and Enid (both of them loudly protesting), tackling Carl in a bear hug.
"You're all right for a wannabe pirate." Jake sniffed.
"You're still an asshole," Carl said, laughing and clapping the older boy on the back.
Of course, that was when Castiel decided to show up. "What are you doing?"
Jake squawked in surprise, scrambling to his feet and at the same time throwing the bottle of whiskey down at Carl. It landed on the mattress between him and Enid, spilling its contents and staining the pretty, flower patterned sheets. Carl and Enid jumped to their feet, shoving and smacking away at Jake in indignation.
They stopped at the sound of Castiel's loud, disappointed sigh.
"Busted," Claire coughed into her fist.
Castiel picked up the now almost empty bottle, examining its faded label calmly. He looked at each of them in turn, unimpressed.
"Really?" he asked.
A/N: Another difficult chapter, sorry for the wait.
By the way, you guys remember what Sanctuary is, right? *cackles*