He stood down the street, looking at the large white house, and nearly hissed. Someone was in there and they, no doubt, were the reason Rick was gone.

Come hell or high water, he was going to find his father, and he was certain that person knew where he was.

Surveillance.

Carl stalked the house for what seemed like forever. No one came in, out, or even around the house. The only motion in the vicinity was overgrown tree limbs and grass swaying from a suddenly cold breeze.

The teen shivered, realizing that he had no other choice but to check the house.

Stealth.

The sky was growing darker and Carl felt a pressure in the air. His instincts, always itching for movement, were yelling at him. Rain.

With each soft step, he made sure to shy away from the windows, but would carefully try to peek in if he felt like he could. He eventually made it to the front door and sighed when he found it open a crack.

No one in their right mind would leave the door open during a zombie apocalypse.

This new information made him want to turn around and go back to the house he was temporarily staying in. Whoever had once been there must have been raiding the cupboards like him and was long gone by now. He frowned and grit his teeth while in thought.

A soft sound hit his ears.

It was quiet, yet squeaky, like springs. Bed springs? The same sound hit his ears again and he peered through the door once more. Yep. Definitely bed springs.

Then it stopped.

He bit his lip softly and pushed the door open without a sound. The teen inwardly winced when he saw the wood flooring since he knew it was prone to creaking. Something that could possibly give away his position if he wasn't careful.

With one flip of his wrist, he had a sharpened kitchen knife in his fingers. Courtesy of another house, down the block, he'd raided. It was his only protection since he had no ammo left in his gun.

In less than twenty minutes, the teen had cleared the entire first floor. Much to his surprise, he found quite a bit of important things like food and first aid. That definitely meant no one had raided the place. Anyone with half a brain would have grabbed the stuff on sight.

Unless they were busy doing something else.

The sound of bed springs hit his ears once more and he realized it was coming from upstairs. He wanted to believe it was a human, but it could've easily been a walker too.

The sound stopped and he was able to pinpoint which bedroom it was coming from.

After a quick sweep of the upstairs (avoiding that one room) he stood in front of the closed door. He didn't find anything of importance, so he figured that the someone must have cleaned out the area.

Listen.

The door, despite being wood, was not very thick. He pressed his ear up against it and listened intently.

Absolutely nothing.

With a frown, he dared to open the door. It was locked.

Carl sighed softly and pulled something from his hair. It was a black/dark brown bobby pin which he used easily on the door. It was quite an impressive skill the teen had learned in the wasteland of a world.

Click. He was in.

Quiet. Careful. Stealthily. He made his way into the room while holding the kitchen knife firmly in his grasp. One false movement and he would alert the potentially dangerous raider to his presence.

The place was much smaller than the others, but was large enough to hold a bed plus other assorted furniture. On the far right was a fireplace that had small, dying embers inside. A few, used supplies were scattered on the large throw rug and lamp adorned bedside tables. One lonely bookshelf stood tall against the left wall. The living space was quite plain, only sporting a dull blue color scheme, but one thing wasn't supposed to be there.

On the bed, under a white comforter, was a small lump.

Carl felt his heart nearly stop. It certainly couldn't be his father and it certainly couldn't be a man. It was too small.

Quiet.

Step after languid step, he moved towards bed and peered over the body. Whoever it was happened to be facing away from him. On further inspection, he could see soft breathing and a little bit of blood seeping through the cream colored blanket.

They were hurt.

The boxes of used supplies suddenly made so much sense. This person, albeit obviously not male, was injured and resting up in this house. Probably figuring a teen like him wouldn't stumble over their makeshift camp.

"Mmm." The lump groaned, seeming to curl up tighter. The sound made Carl grip his knife before realizing the person was female.

Michonne?!

He grew bolder and peeled the comforter away from woman so he could see her hair.

Not Michonne. Repeat. Not Michonne!

The teen backed up on reflex, accidentally bumping the bedside table. This caused all the used first aid supplies to drop onto the floor. The next thing Carl knew, a gun was pressed firmly to his chest.

"Put the knife down."

The voice was thick and slurred from sleep, but undoubtedly feminine. It caught his attention and made his eye flicker upwards to the girl holding a firearm.

"Do you speak English, Motherfucker? I said to put the knife down."

Carl instantly dropped the weapon and put his hands up. Holy fuck.

"Good."

The girl winced and lowered the gun enough for him to notice her eyes. They were the normal brown, but had a dangerous light to them.

Distrust, anger, embarrassment, and pain were just a few emotions he was able to read.

"How did you get in here?"

She had to be about his age, maybe even a year or so older, but Carl wasn't interested in that. She was sitting cross-legged on the edge of the bed which gave him a good look at what he was dealing with.

Her thin muscle shirt outlined soft, noticeable curves and ample breasts. Her hips were somewhat wide, but her legs were slender and strong. It didn't help that she was wearing nothing but an almost see-through shirt and boy shorts. The more he thought about it, the more he realized he hadn't seen a girl his age in forever.

"Answer me or I will shoot."

Her voice pulled him out of his thoughts and he barely stammered out a reply. "I snuck in because I saw someone come in here earlier. I g-guess it was you."

The girl glowered, but adjusted her sitting position. Leaning forward, she pressed her pistol against his lower belly so that she could retrieve his knife from the floor.

The girl's head was painfully close to Carl's crotch. It was awkward. At least for him.

A second later, she sat back up and trained her gun sights onto the teen's blue eyes. This time he got a good look at her medium length, chestnut colored hair. It hung in her face and she was constantly pulling it away from her dangerous eyes.

Carl wanted to know this girl. He wanted to know her name.

"Who are you?" He asked.

"What gives you the right to know?!" She replied bitterly. "You're the one who broke into my room."

"I'm sorry. I was just curious." He muttered. The cold metal barrel pressed against his neck and he winced.

"Fuck you and your curiosity. This is a zombie apocalypse. Anyone and everyone is a threat. Don't you know that?!" She growled in a low voice.

Carl felt his lower belly stir at her words. Maybe it was the tone that set him off, but he could feel new emotions filling his head. Damn his hormones!

"Relax." He frowned. "I was just leaving."

"You're not going anywhere until I ask you a few questions."

Carl bit the corner of his lip again before giving the girl a deep sigh. "Alright, but I'd like to know your name first."

"My name is Arlet Holbrook."

A/N:

I don't know if I'm gonna continue this. Maybe if it gets good feedback or something. Go ahead and comment or like if you want more.

-Gberryb