A/N: Hello, my fellow readers! Honestly, I'm not even going to apologize for being so late. I have no real excuse other than it is the end of the school year and teachers are making me do so many projects. If it makes you feel better, this chapter is the longest I have written so far for this fanfiction, and I'm very proud of it.
I"m super excited; there is only ONE chapter left for this fanfiction! Only one after this!
I only hope that I actually have it out on time lol. But, knowing me and my fucked-up schedule, it won't work out that way. I have a kind-of, sort-of schedule set up for this whole project of mine. After I finish this fanfiction, I'm going to re-write a LOT of, "The World We Live In." Honestly, I'm embarrassed of that work. I'm going to change things up, and fix this and that. Then, by the time that's done, I hope that season 5 of TWD gets on Netflix (That's my only TWD source,) and I'll write that out. I'm super excited to write that out. I have so much planned for Alyssa and Carl in there!
Before I forget, There is something a bit serious that happens in this chapter. In the episode, "A," of the Walking Dead, there is an almost rape-scene. One of the people from Joe's group attacks Carl, and he tries to. So, just a warning. Thought it was important to warn about.
Okay, end of my author's note. Onto the chapter!
We walk.
And walk.
And walk.
Then we walk some more.
It is the same routine, day in and day out. I don't know how many days it has been. A week could have gone by. Maybe two. Hell, a whole month could have passed and I don't realize it.
There isn't much the four of us have done. It has been the same very single day. We jump between following the tracks during the day, and moving into the woods during the night. We pass by a few signs that the group, "Terminus," has put up by the tracks. Each says the same thing.
THOSE WHO ARRIVE, SURVIVE.
We seem to be getting closer, but I am not so sure about that. The schedule that mom, Rick, Carl, and I have is almost the same each day. Follow the tracks. When the sun is going down, we head into the woods for cover. The only way that it is changed is if we find a herd, or if we need to find some supplies.
We are running low on those. Dangerously low. We each have one meal a day. That meal almost always consists of a gulp of water and some crackers. Maybe even a can of peaches, if we're lucky enough. But we haven't found much these last few days (or was it weeks?) and I think it shows. We're all a bit skinnier than we normally are. Bones have become more prominent in our physical appearances. Being without our normal, large group has taken its tole on us. It is almost as if we were becoming more feral. Our guards are always up. We're always watching, calculating, scrutinizing. Sure, we can be relaxed, but most of the time we have our weapons in hand and the sights are in our eyes.
We don't hold back. Not anymore.
At the moment, we are walking along the tracks again. It is a hot day; the sun is having a joyful time blaring in our eyes. It nearly makes me blind.
"We have about a days worth of water left." Rick says, in front of us. I am immediately behind him, my hand resting just above my Glock. Carl and mom are behind us. "We're lucky enough it's cooled off a little bit, but..."
He turns around and stares at Carl and mom. I turn too, and roll my eyes at the scene I see under the brim of the sheriff's hat on my head. They are on opposite sides of the tracks, and trying to balance along the beams. Both have their arms stretched out, helping them remain balanced. They are grinning as they look up at me and Rick.
"What are you two doing?" Rick asks them.
"Winning a bet." Carl answers, the bright gleam in his eye again. I roll my eyes at the answer and cross my arms, my fingers drumming along my heated skin.
"In your dreams." Mom taunts, walking a bit faster on her side of the tracks.
"I'm still on!" Carl says defensively, and he laughs lightly. He nearly loses balance. His arms flail out at his sides and his footsteps are clunky.
"Spoke too soon, wise guy." Mom laughs at him playfully. Carl manages to regain his balance within a few seconds.
"Children." I mutter under my breath, but smile a little.
"This might go on a while." Rick says, and takes a few steps to the two. "Maybe we can... Speed this up?"
"Yeah, you're right." Mom nods. "We shouldn't be fooling around. We should probably- CARL!"
She yelps his name, trying to get him to jump and lose balance. But, still, he remains on the tracks, and mom falls off the side. He turns to her, still balancing on the tracks, and smirks. "I win."
He steps off the tracks and holds out a hand. "Pay up."
She pouts at him, but grabs her duffel bag and rifles through it. Rick smiles at the scene. I can tell that he's getting antsy, as am I, but he doesn't stop them as mom holds out two candies. One is a, "Big Cat," bar. The other, a, "Crunch!" bar.
"Is that really the last Big Cat?" Carl asks. Mom doesn't answer. Carl takes his hand and moves it above the candies, stopping above the Crunch bar. Then, he moves it back just a bit more, above the Big Cat.
"Oh, come on!" Mom pouts.
"Hey, but you said winners choice!" Carl grins. She purses her lips at him as he takes the bar.
"Go ahead, take it." She pouts some more as she puts the Crunch bar back. "It's yours. You won it, fair and square."
Carl unwraps the bar and tosses the wrapper to the ground. He breaks the bar in half and hands her a piece.
She stares at the bar in his hand. He gestures to the bar. "Come on, we always share."
She looks at the bar in his hand, and takes it from him with a smile. She takes a bite out of it, savoring the sweet flavor before we begin walking again. My eyes turn forward and my steps are strong as I move between the rusted tracks.
I feel a hand grasp my wrist slightly as it swings behind me. I twist my neck around and look at the person grabbing it. It is Carl.
He holds out the Big Cat piece that he has. There is a large bite taken from it.
"Want it?" He asks, a relaxed smile on his face.
"It's yours." I say as we keep moving forward.
"Come on, I don't mind." Carl says, pushing it closer towards me. "Have it."
I look at the melting chocolate in his hand, and my hardened gaze softens. I tentatively take the chocolate from his hand and take a small bite out of it. I savor the cocoa that melts on my tongue, and smile at him.
"Come on, eat the whole thing." Carl says. I hold it back to him.
"No. It's yours."
"I really don't mind sharing."
"Eat it!"
"You eat it!"
"You eat it!"
We banter back and forth until Rick tells us to stop.
"Take it." Carl says a last time, dropping the chocolate in my hand. I roll my eyes, but finish the last bite as Rick and mom stop walking in front of us.
Rick rifles through his bag, and the rest of us are silent as we watch him.
"Looks like we'll need to go on a run." He says before shouldering the pack. "We need more food."
I nod silently, and stand in place until he zips up his bag and leads us through the familiar brush. I have grown accustomed to the wild now. I'm not saying that I know it like the back of my hand, but I do know how to make my way through them and catch game when I can. The large trees provide a sense of cover, so I feel safer in them than I am when we walk along the tracks. I never feel protected near them. I feel almost naked without the green coverage of leaves above my head.
We make our way through the woods and on to a paved road about half a mile from where the train tracks are. We look around at the street, seeing all of the buildings on the road. There aren't many of them. From what I can see, there is a small pharmacy on the far right, an old pet shop across from it, a restaurant and bar, and a few scattered houses around.
"Okay, we split up here. Alyssa, you and I'll go to that house on the left. Michonne, Carl, you two get that restaurant." Rick orders us. We all nod, agreeing silently with the demands. "We meet up here in about twenty minutes. Got it?" Again, we nod. "Good."
The group disbands, and we all walk to our destinations with our partners. Rick and I make it to an old, light yellow house. It isn't big; it looks like a two bedroom building. I'll be surprised if there are two bathrooms on the inside.
"Ready?" Rick asks me quietly as we get to the door. His hand is on the knob, and it doesn't look like he's having trouble twisting it. Whoever lived there left it unlocked. In his other is his Python, which is pointing at the wood in front of us. I nod to him and hold my Glock out defensively and point it at the door. He nods in agreement and counts off, "One, two, three!"
He pushes the door open, and in an instant both of our bodies walk over the threshold, and we point our guns in front of us. He turns to the right of the house, I turn to the left. Nothing.
We look around the room we just went into. It looks like what used to be a living room. There is a large tv on the left, with a circular wooden coffee table in front of it. There is a large, red plush couch and love seat to the right of the room. Small pillows adorn the couches.
"I take right, you take left?" Rick asks. I nod, and lower my Glock a fraction of an inch. My Glock is finally in my right hand, my normal one. My shoulder has gotten much better over the last few days (or was it weeks?) and I've begun to use it again. I make sure to work out the muscles each day so they stay strong. Most of which are minuscule tasks, but I know that, if anything happens, it can take the rebound of a shot well enough.
I can't hear any movement besides me and Rick, but it doesn't mean that the house is completely vacant. Rick pounds his fist against the wall, luring any walkers to the front of the house. Nothing moves.
Hm. Interesting.
I make my way over to the hall that is down the left as Rick goes to the kitchen on the right. There is barely a hall where I move to. Just a small little walkway that has the openings of two rooms: a bedroom and a bathroom. Connected to the living room is a kitchen through an open doorway that Rick is rummaging through. First, I go into the bedroom. The sheets of the large, king-sized bed are made neatly. The pillows are set up at the head of the bed perfectly. It is as if there wasn't an apocalypse. The room is made without any mess ups. Completely neat.
It makes me shiver.
So odd, it is. Why would someone even bother to take the time to clean up their room? I toss the thought aside and look through the drawers. No clean clothing that would fit anyone in our group. I trifle through the small bedside table that a lamp perches atop on. I find a notebook, a called ballpoint pen, and a set of double A batteries. I smile. They will work in the flashlights we have.
I take the batteries and stuff them in my pocket. My next stop is the bathroom. I walk through the "hallway" and move to the closed door. I take my knife out of its sheath and hold it defensively in my right hand. I open the door with my left.
My nose instinctively wrinkles at the smell of decaying flesh. A disgusting, very distinguished scent that I have smelled so often these days. My eyes scan the bathroom and I find a walker, or at least the rest of one, lying limply in the porcelain tub.
It slowly turns its head to the left, where I am standing. It begins to growl weakly at me, and its arms move from its sides in a futile attempt to make a meal out of me. As the walker growls, I notice the red that stains the top of its shirt. There is a large slit across its throat, where the blood came from. The sight of the large, killing gash makes me uneasy. Then I notice the writing on its arm. The person, while alive, cut the words, "FORGIVE ME," on their forearm with a razor blade. The bloody tool rests on the floor beside the tub, stuck in a dried pool of red. A knife lies in the walkers lap, in a mess of red too.
"Oh, I'm sorry." I whisper, even though I know that the decaying body in front of me can't comprehend the words I speak. In fact, they just rile the corpse more, but I can't help myself. "I'm so, so sorry."
I take small, baby steps to the tub. The walkers' creamy, lifeless eyes stare up at me as its jaw clenches and unclenches. I bring the knife down into its skull, effectively putting the soul out of its misery. The head twists to the side, and limps. No longer moving. No longer in pain. I yank out my knife, and wipe the blade with the end of my shirt. So much for keeping it clean.
"Hey." Ricks strong southern drawl grabs my attention behind me. I jump at the sudden sound, but resheath my knife and address him with a quiet, "Hey."
"You okay?" He asks, his piercing blue eyes looking at my face. He is standing behind the threshold of the door, looking in. I can see that his back hasn't been filled much. He probably didn't find anything.
I quietly nod. "Yeah, it's just..." I shake my head, thinking that it is best to not speak. "Yeah, I'm fine." I walk over the threshold of the door. Before I continue my stride, Rick rests his hand on my shoulder, a silent way of telling me that, "It's okay." He pats my shoulder roughly twice, the way he would with Carl. I smile at the gesture before he and I walk to the living room.
"Find anything?" He asks me. I grab the two double A batteries from my pocket, grinning proudly. He takes them from my hand and puts them into a small pocket on the side of his backpack.
"How 'bout you?" I ask as I fiddle with the rim of the sheriff hat. It still feels like a foreign object on my head, but I have begun to get used to it. Rick opens the main flap of the pack, showing off two whole cans of beans and a few pieces of plastic utensils. Not much, but hey, it is food.
"Food!" I exclaim with a smile. He nods and puts the zipped up pack back on his shoulders. We meet up with mom and Carl outside. They have a bit more luck than we do. They found a few water bottles.
The four of us trek our way through the familiar forest again, to a nice cozy clearing that we deem safe enough to set up camp at. Rick sets up a small barb of wire around a few trees, just to slow down walkers if they get near us. Almost like a safety circle.
While he continues his task with the circle, mom, Carl and I have the task of making a fire. We make a small circle of rocks in the middle of the large circle that Rick is making. We toss dried leaves and sticks that we deem will start a fire, and start it. Just a few small flames to heat up our food. When the perimeter is set up and the flames are high enough, we all grab long sticks and make makeshift prongs out of them to hold the cans of beans.
"How hungry are you, on a scale of 1-10?" Rick asks Carl.
"15." Carl answers, holding a can of beams above the fire, roasting them. Rick turns to me.
"22." I say, looking through Ricks backpack to find spoons. I am successful in my endeavor.
"28." Mom says, roasting her own can of beans. There is only two, which means that we all have to share.
"Yeah, well, it's been a while." Rick says as I pass out the spoons.
When the beans are cooked (at least, warmer,) Rick opens the cans. He and mom share a can, and Carl and I do the same. I manage to get the first bite out of the can, and savor the taste of the beans. They are not the best flavor, but food is food. At least we have them.
The second Rick and mom finish off their can of beans, Rick stands up. "I'm gonna go check the snares."
"Can I go with you?" Carl asks, dropping his spoon into the can. I pick up the spoon and thrust it at him.
"Put it in a paper towel or something. Don't just leave it in the can." I say, and he takes the spoon.
"Jeesh, it's just a spoon." He mutters, but proceeds to put it in a loose paper towel from his bag.
"In my beans." I say, poking him in the arm with the end of my spoon. I then shovel the last bit of beans from the can into my mouth, savoring the last bit of flavor I would taste for a while.
"Can I go with you?" Carl's asks again as he stands.
"Well, how else you gonna learn?" Rick says, a small smirk playing on his lips, which are hiding under the scruff of his large beard.
The three of us stand up, and I brush loose dust off of my old clothes. It really is a pointless move; it is almost as if the dirt is permanently glued to my layers.
Together, Rick, Carl, and I kick dirt, dead grass, and weeds onto the small flames of our feeble fire, effectively putting it out.
"Hey, you, too." Rick says to mom, and she begrudgingly gets up from the ground, and she slings her katana to her back.
We then begin our small trek through the familiar tree line, to where we were only a few days ago. We set up a few small snares in the grass (by we, I mean Rick,) to try and catch some game. They have all been empty, but each day we check up in small hopes that they will catch at least something small for us to munch on.
As we walk, Carl slips his arm through mine, locking our elbows together before he puts his hands into the pockets of his new navy blue sweatshirt. I don't mind though. I enjoy the comfort of him being close to me.
Rick walks over to us, his hand hovering above his Python, as it always is nowadays. "We'll stay another day or two, get some more rest."
"Finish healing up?" Mom asks, though the tone in her voice says that we're not doing anything until Rick is rightfully so. It's the motherly tone she used with me, back when I used to act like a child. She uses it to me even now when I'm stupid.
"I'm almost there." Rick shrugs his shoulders. I can tell by such body language that he, though slightly annoyed that we haven't made much headway to Terminus, is still comforted that mom is watching his back. I feel the same way, since I know that what she had said was meant for both of us. My shoulder is almost completely healed now, so she doesn't worry about as much as she does the sheriff.
"We're close now, right?" Carl asks.
"To Terminus?" Rick replies. I force myself not to roll my eyes. No, Rick, I think, To the carnival.
"Yeah." Carl nods.
"We are."
We continue walking in silence for a few minutes. There are hardly any sounds. Just the rustling of the four of us, making our way through the fallen leaves and broken branches. It unnerves me as much as Carl, who begins to break the silence.
"When we get there, are we gonna tell 'em?" Carl cocks his head to the side, looking up at his father as we all descend a small dip in the grass.
"Tell 'em what?" Mom asks, raising an eyebrow.
"Everything that's happened to us. All the stuff we've done." Carl says, in a big breath. "Are we gonna tell them the truth?"
Rick thinks a moment, before finding the words, "We're gonna tell them who we are."
"But how do you say that? I mean... Who are we?" Carl asks. The question puzzles me. It makes me think, more than just working on the drive I've been on.
Who are we?
It's a good question. But not one that I have an answer for.
The attention that everyone has to the question is broken by a lone walker striding in front of a large tree. It growls at us, limping in our way.
Mom walks in front of us, brandishing her katana proudly. Carl and I let go of each other, and we reach for our weapons that rest on our thighs. His hand goes to his gun. Mine goes to my knife. Rick, beside us, takes out his Python, and points it at the walker. Mom easily decapitates it in one swift swing.
As soon as the walker drops to the ground in a lifeless heap, the weapons we took out go back into their respectful places.
We continue the walk through the leaves and weeds, close to our first snare. My arm and Carl's are yet again linked by our elbows. Rick trails in front of the group. Mom strides behind me and Carl.
"There you go!" Rick exclaims, and he begins to run toward the snare. Inside the string he set up is a bunny. It is small, and frail. Its fur is a greyish color, and it hangs limply from the wire. "It's a small one but it'll do."
Rick gets to the snare and lies on his knees. Carl soon follows after, releasing my arm and sitting next to his dad on the dirt. I go across from Rick, at the other side of the snare. I've seen them before. I used to watch Daryl set them up outside the prison, hiding them in leaves and finding trails and stuff. I never made one myself, but I know a bit of knowledge of them.
As Rick tucks the body of the rabbit into his bag, he begins to teach us about the snare. Mom, not as interested as Carl and I, stands by, her katana at her side. I see that she listens to Rick as her speaks, but she does not hang to the details as we do. "So, this is just a simple slip knot." Rick takes the wire off of the ground, and puts his hand into the circle of wire. "Tie one on both ends, then tighten one side to a branch. Now," he gestured toward the ground that the snare is set up, "you see how the ground here is sort of like a funnel shape?" He then turns to us, expectantly.
I search the ground that he gestures to, and rack my brain to remember what Daryl taught me. "It's a trail...?"
"That's right." Rick nods. His hands go back to working with the wire. "That's where you want to set the noose." He sets the wire to the ground. "So you hide it with leaves, then you put sticks all around it." He haphazardly throws the leaves lightly over the wire and pats it down. "So any animals going by have to run this way, right," he puts his hand back into the slipknot and pulls, "into the trap." His hand is caught in the trap perfectly, the wire tightening around his wrist. He brandishes his tied up wrist to us, and I nod, understanding.
"HELP!" Someone screams, somewhere to our left. It comes out of nowhere, and it is like a slap in the face. One moment, everything was calm. Not even a second later, it sounds like someone's life is in danger.
Carl and I immediately jump to our feet. We run with each other to the sound of the man. In the midst of flight, we grab our guns and run with them.
"Carl." Rick calls, but Carl keeps running with me. "Carl, stop! Carl!"
"Liz!" Mom hisses behind me, but I ignore her. "Alyssa, get back!"
Do they not know that someone's in trouble? We can help!
Carl and I run through the trees and make our way to a clearing. From the sounds of the pounding footsteps behind us, Rick and mom have followed us.
The sounds of the mans cries for help became increasingly louder, and the moans of hungry walkers came into the mix. Their sounds are as clear as day as we make our way to help the man in trouble.
"Help me! HELP!" The man continues his desperate cries for help as Carl and I finally find the man. "Somebody help! Help me!"
He stands in a group of walkers, about a dozen or so crowding him. His hair, which is a dirty blonde, is frayed and askew. On one skinny shoulder is a backpack, not heavily filled as far as I can tell. The mans glasses, which are resting on his nose, are crooked and hanging slightly off one ear. In one hand is a crowbar, only slightly bloodied.
Carl and I raise our guns, evenly. I cock my Glock in my hands, ready to pull the trigger. Then I am pulled from the small clearing, into the side of a tree. Mom's arms are wrapped around me, holding me protectively so I couldn't move. Rick did the same to Carl at my left. I try to wrench myself away from moms grasp, but her hold is strong and she doesn't release me.
"NO!" The man screams.
"Let me go!" I hiss, continuing my futile attempt to pull myself from mom.
"No." She sternly whispers.
"We can't help him." Ricky's rough voice says, more to Carl than me. But it still pains me to hear him say such a thing. We've always helped people. That's how we got so many people back at the prison. We helped people who were on the brink of death before. Now, they aren't in our small group, and we can't help them.
I watch, my heart heavy, as the man I so desperately tried to help get torn to shreds. The first bite is at his eye, and the walker doesn't hold back. They never do. The mans' face, and his body soon after, is nothing more than a few red pieces of flesh and bone. The whimpers and cries are what pain me the most. They continue to remind me that we could have done something. But we didn't. We let a man die.
"We got to go." Mom says, her voice thick but evenly controlled. She releases me and begins to run back through the familiar trees. I follow after, albeit angrily. Rick and Carl follow suit.
Our feet pound the dirt and dead leaves loudly. I curse under my breath at the sound. My mind wanders from the dead man that is now dinner to a dozen walkers. I find it doesn't do well to dwell on such things. I turn my mind back to being emotionless. It helps me cope.
We make our way hastily to the long, continuous train tracks. We don't slow down until we see about four or five walkers feasting on a dead body that lies on the side of the metal beams. That's when we finally take out our weapons and use them. I quickly trade my Glock for my knife. No need for more noise. Mom uses her katana against the undead and Rick uses his Python to beat in the faces of some walkers nearby. The herd of walkers that feasted on the lone man only moments ago has now begun to catch up with us, so we don't take long to get rid of the immediate threat that is in front.
The second the ones in front of us are dead, Rick says, "Let's go."
And we continue to jog away from the herd. As we always do.
"Thought maybe there'd be some houses down this way." Mom speaks as we trail up a paved road. "Maybe even a store."
Our group of four walks on a road, the herd of walkers long forgotten. We lost them after we moved on from the train tracks. Instead, our main focus is now on finding food and a place to stay for the night. Just the night, though. We plan to go further, to Terminus, tomorrow.
"There's got to be food around here somewhere." Mom says. She keeps trying to break the silence. Each time it only works for a few minutes before the group stops talking again.
"Hey, look." Carl points forward, to an abandoned truck that lies on the sidewalk of the road. Its head beams are broken and shattered, and there is a thick covering of dust on it, but it'll do for the night.
Mom, spotting a decaying walker on the other side of the street, goes over to it and stabs it in the head. Meanwhile, Carl, Rick, and I go to the truck and inspect the inside of it.
Each part of the vehicle is covered in a thick layer of dust. It is not the best camp setup, but it'll do for the night.
The four of us sit by a small campfire, which has barely any heat. I'm surprised it has lived this long, considering how little we put into it.
We all just had a small piece of the rabbit that we caught earlier. It wasn't enough food for all of us. I'm still hungry. My stomach is still empty.
I shoo off the thought. It was the best we could do. The best that Rick caught. At least he caught something with that snare.
The darkness looks above our heads, and the moon and shinning stars overtake what was a bright sky. Instead of a bright, vibrant blue, it is a dark, midnight shade of blue and black. I find it a pretty shade. One of my favorites.
"You two, go sleep." Rick says to Carl and I, and he points to the truck. I furrow my brows.
"I can take first watch." I reply. "I'm awake. I'm fine."
"You need rest. It's been a long few days." Rick shakes his head, and presses more. "Go. Sleep."
"I'll wake you up later." Mom adds, taking a small bite out her piece of our small Peter Cottontail. "You can get second watch and I'll take a nap."
I grumble under my breath, but stand and hop into the passengers' seat of the truck. Carl, on the other side of the truck, gets into the driver seat. I slam my door shut, but it really is a pointless gesture. The door will be open come morning and we'll be running through the woods.
I take my Glock out of my holster and lay it on the dashboard in front of me. If I need it, easy access. The knife stays in my sheath, just in case. The sheriffs' hat that is on my head gets taken off and lays in the backseat. I'll grab it in the morning.
I rest my head against the car seat, finding the cushioning uncomfortable. I wriggle around in it until I give up the task and slump back down.
Carl takes his thumb and runs it over the steering wheel, his fingers lightly gripping the edge of it and he glides on it lightly. "I wonder what it's like to drive."
I shrug my shoulders. "Ask Rick. Or mom."
"No." He says. "I mean, what is it like to drive? Having control of the car, moving the steering wheel and pushing all the buttons. Having the windows open and feeling the wind in your hair. It must be fun."
Again, I shrug in my seat. "I never wanted to drive."
He turns and looks at me, incredulous. "Never?"
"Never." I repeat the word again and shift my gaze to the window behind him. "I don't know. I never liked the idea of it. Having people in the car with you. Having to learn the billion rules of the road. Learning what the buttons do before pushing them. It just seems like a lot of work, when you can just walk."
"Well, sure." Carl puts his other hand on the wheel and grips it tightly, and he puts his foot to a pedal underneath. "It's a lot of knowledge, but it'd be worth it. I mean, look at how it's helped us so far! Who knows where'd we be without being able to drive."
"True, I guess." I nod at his words. "Do you remember how old someone would have to be to get into drivers ed?"
He shakes his head. "I don't remember. 15? 16?"
"We'll, we're both 15. We could nag mom and Rick to teach us."
"Plus, I'm almost 16. I could totally use that against them." I nod at his words, smiling faintly.
"I know I'd totally flunk in drivers ed."
He laughs. A normal, true, happy laugh. It makes me smile.
"C'mon, if anyone were to flunk, it'd be me." He smiles.
"Nah, that'd be my title and I'd wear it proudly." I smirk.
"'Course you would. But I'd totally compete for it." He continues, his voice light and breathy.
"I don't doubt it." I say, and move my head to rest on his shoulder. His arm automatically wraps itself around my shoulders and tightens around me protectively. I smile at the gesture, and snuggle into his side. He is so warm, and the heat washes over me. I enjoy the feeling of it around me. His head rests on top of mine and we fall asleep like that, lost in each other. So comfortable and sweet.
I am rudely awakened in the middle of the night. My eyes are blinking slightly, but they are still not accustomed yet to my surroundings. When they do, I notice that the arm that pounded on the door is not moms', nor Ricks'. Nor Carls'.
What the fuck?!
The shock wakes me up and my eyes fully adjust to the dark. My arms scramble to the dashboard and searches for my Glock. When my hands wrap around the familiar metal and they raise up the Glock and point towards the window.
"Carl-" I whisper his name, a tremor in my voice. I realize my hands are shaking the man at the door smiles deviously. His long, greasy hair rests at his shoulders, where the strap of a gun hangs loosely. I look at his face, where a smile has broadened. That smile on his face is nothing but sinister and evil. It makes me want to puke.
"Don't panic." Carl says instantly, but the quake in his voice isn't lost to me. I hear it and feel his back press against mine. There's a person at his door, too. We're trapped. Sitting ducks.
I take a quick head count of the goons surrounding us. There's about eight. There is at least one person on each of us. Two are pointing guns at mom and Ricks' head. There are two at our doors. And three others around, holding guns protectively up. The last person is Daryl, his crossbow in his arms and his leather jacket on his back. Normally, I would be really happy to see the hunter, to see a familiar face. But not on these terms. We are completely surrounded and I'm not sure how we can get out without being killed.
The man, old and silvery haired, with his gun against Ricks' head, is most definitely the leader of the group. They all look towards him expectantly, hand on to each word he speaks, and they don't charge until he says so.
I can't hear anything. The doors are still closed. But I can see Daryl attempting to cooperate with the gray-haired man. I can tell that he is speaking calmly and he even puts his crossbow to the ground, and holds his hands open. My heart pounds against my ribcage in my chest, and my adrenaline levels spike. I'm so worried for anything to happen. We're outnumbered. By a lot.
I nearly scream as three of the goons attack Daryl. They push him to the front of the truck and kick him and beat him. I can hear the impacts as their fists and boots connect with him.
Then the doors to the truck burst open.
The man at my side wrenches the gun from my shaking hands in less than a second. He grabs my shoulders roughly, with his disgusting, calloused hands. "Get out, sweetheart." The venom drips from his words, and I scream as he pulls me down from the chair.
"Don't touch her!" Carl screeches from his side, his arms moving to my side of the truck, but it's too late. My body is thrown to the ground, and I spit out some of the gravel. The man attacking me grabs locks of my hair, and he pulls me up against him.
Carl is next to get forcefully pulled out of the truck. The man on his side grabs him and yanks him out. I can't see it. But I hear Carl getting pounded. The sounds of the man striking Carl over and over make me scream.
"Stop! Stop!" I scream. "No! Let him go!"
"I wouldn't be worried about him, girl." The goon attacking me says in my ear. The smell of his breath makes me want to vomit. His hand searches my thigh, and it takes out my knife from my sheath. The blade of it gets held against my throat, and the tip is dangerously close to pushing into my skin.
"LET THEM GO!" Rick yells from his spot on the ground. The leader of the group still has the barrel of his gun against Ricks' forehead.
I whimper from my spot as the mans hand moves up my thigh. My heart thunders in my chest, and a loose tear falls from my eye.
"Shhh." He whispers in my ear, and his hand continues upward, moving to my exposed skin of my side.
"Stop." I whimper. His hand moves underneath the shirt, holding my waist tightly.
"Not a chance, sweetheart." He growls back. I can still hear the blows that Carl and Daryl are receiving from the other side of the truck.
We're absolutely fucked.
"Get your hands off her!" Mom screeches from the ground. I look at her through the dark. Her eyes find mine from my spot. Her dark brown irises are part angry and part terrified. My guess is that mine are full of fear.
She shifts her body on the ground, but the man holding the gun to her head just says, "You'll get yours. Wait your turn."
These people sicken me.
"Listen." Rick growls. "It was me. It was just me!"
"See," The silver haired man bends down just a bit, to speak in Rick's ear. "Now that's right. That's not some damn lie. Look, we can settle this. We're reasonable men."
The man that holds me against him pushes my body to the ground. I take this as an opportunity to try and move, anywhere. My arms thrash about, and I try in vain to scoot back. He laughs maniacally and grabs my wrists, dropping the knife the side in the process.
"First, we're gonna beat Daryl to death." The leader of this fucked group informs, a broad smile on his face. "Then we'll have the boy. Then the girl. Then that bitch. Then I'm gonna shoot you and we'll be square." He laughs.
The man on top of me easily holds my wrists in one large, bear-like hand. The other continues up my side, and onto my shoulder. He pushes my shirt collar to the side, exposing the tan skin and ugly scar of my shoulder. I scream in protest, writhing and kicking desperately beneath him.
"Stop. Your. Squirming." He growls, but laughs as he feels me try to pull my wrists from his tight grip. The hand that pulled my shirt to my shoulder reaches downward, copping a feel of me. I scream again.
"Shut the fuck up." He says, before moving his hand to his belt. Unbuckling it.
Just then, there is a gunshot. I wriggle underneath the man, turning to look at what happened. The silver haired man is bleeding from the nose, and Rick stands up, turning swiftly and punching the other leader in the face. The other is quick to retaliate, punching Rick back to the ground.
"I got him." The man says gruffly, kicking Rick multiple times in the stomach. "Oh, it's gonna be so much worse now."
My eyes move back to the man, who is grinning down at me, laughing deviously. He grabs the knife from the ground with his free hand, holding the blade against my collarbone. He pushes the tip into my skin, and I cry out in pain. He laughs again as he pulls the blade to my left, leaving a large trail of scarlet on my chest. The men attacking Carl and Daryl, from what I can hear, are still throwing punches left and right. I cannot see what is happening, but I can hear Carl's cries and Daryl's grunts.
Then there is another gunshot. And I panic.
The man is fully on top of me, and he flips my body around. He pushes my face into the hard gravel, and it cuts my cheek. One arm holds my body down. The other slides up the back of my thigh. I whimper again, and cry out as his hand moves from my thigh to my butt.
I pull my head up, groaning at the pressure the man's body is pushing onto me. I look up at what is happening between Rick and the other man. They are close together, fighting, until the other man pulls Rick close to his body. It constricts the battle, not allowing either to punch or kick.
"What're you gonna do now, sport?" The man asks Rick with a laugh.
And Rick, not even a second later, bites a chunk out his attacker's neck. The man's eyes widen, and he begins to gurgle and choke on his own blood. The red liquid squirts out of the side of his neck, which is now a river of red. Rick spits out a piece of the man's flesh from his mouth. I stop my writhing, and look up at the man. There is red covering his mouth and is splashed all over his beard. All eyes of the other group are on him. There is fear in each set of eyes as they watch Rick take a knife from the man's dead body and stabs it. He stabs the body over and over, his hands and arms becoming covered in the sticky red liquid. And I revel in the feeling that the attackers knew they were fucked.
Mom, taking the opportunity, takes the gun from the man that had it pointed at her. She shoots the gun at his chin, and the bullet penetrates his brain. His body falls limply to the floor. She then points the gun at one of the men that were beating Daryl, and shoots it. She kills the other that was beating Carl as well. Daryl, from what I can hear, kills the other by stomping on his head.
The man that has been assaulting me pulls me up. One arm goes around my stomach, pulling body close to him. The other, holding my knife, is pushing the blade against my neck again. Its tip is pushing against my skin so hard that it pierces me, and a small trail of red is being made by the other on my collarbone.
"I'll- I'll kill her." He stutters as mom points the gun at him, pure hatred in her eyes. "I'll- I'll kill her!"
"Let the girl go!" She growls, her voice tremulous.
Rick finally ends his assault on the dead body of the former attacker, dropping the bloody knife. He walks past mom, his deep voice saying, "He's mine."
I'm dropped to the ground once more, and for once the pedophilic man is not on top of me. My hands move to my chest, and the hot oozing blood stains my fingers. I adjust my shirt, moving my shoulder strap back to its rightful place, and I realize my fingers are shaking. In fact, my whole body is shaking. I run my fingers through my hair, attempting to mat down the mess of brown that the man had made it. My hand wipes across my cheek, feeling some remaining gravel that had scratched my skin and left it raw. There is blood smeared on my face because of it.
Mom runs towards me, holding me tightly against her chest and shielding me from the sheer brutality of Rick Grimes. But I still see it. And I enjoy watching it.
Rick punches the man in the face, forcefully. He punches the man and kicks the man, not holding back any force. He continues his onslaught on the man, until there is blood coming from his knuckles and the man is unconscious.
"Rick." I say, leaving moms arms. I take the knife that the man used against me, my knife, and hold it out for Rick. His eyes search mine, but he takes the knife from my hand. Then he stabs the man, over and over, never stopping. And I watch. Happy.
Rick doesn't stop until he is almost completely covered in the blood of his victim, and the man's intestines are finely chopped.
He drops the knife beside him, on the gravel. He stands up, shakily, and turns to us. More to me than the others.
He is quiet, for a moment. His eyes look up at us, searching each person's face of his group. They look at Daryl and Carl on the other side of the truck, then to mom. Then to me.
His hoarse voice asks me. "Are you okay?"
And I break down.
Tears erupt from my eyes like waterfalls. Sobs hiccup from my throat, and my chest heaves and my lungs burn from screaming.
I run into his arms, and his wrap around me not a moment after. We drop to the floor in a heap, and I sob into his jacket. The jacket, still covered in blood, now is getting covered in my tears. But he doesn't care. He just holds me close, and comforts me. Most would run from a man covered in blood. A man who just killed someone with only his teeth as a weapon. People would run, hide, get away from him. But not me. He just killed someone for me. He has killed to protect me. More than once.
"It's okay. It's okay." He says, his hand cradling my head, and he holds me close and tightly. "No ones ever touching you again. You hear that? Never again."
And if those words weren't a sign of his fatherly love, I don't know what is.
A/n: Okay, that was a lot! But I'm really proud of this chapter. So, feel free to review and stuff!