My back is sore when I wake up the next morning. I get dressed in the little office, noticing how much weight I've lost, and how much older I feel, and how all I feel when I wake up now is this feeling like I'm drowning.
Carl is awake, watching me pick out a denim jacket from his duffel bag.
"Can I wear this?"
He shrugs, which works for me so I pull it on.
"See you for patrol?" Carl asks, and I nod, stuffing my inhaler into my pocket and taking my beanie with me as I leave the office.
I told Mika we'd do our laundry together this morning. I know, the world has ended and there is a flu killing the rest of us, but we still have to do our laundry. As we scrub suddy underwear in buckets of murky water, there's some chunky jam in a jar with two teaspoons for us to share.
Mika is usually the kind of girl who is cheerful and talkative. But now she cries without her sister, and is very quiet after losing her dad, or maybe it's the other way around, I don't know. I think that losing people, in any way, makes people act strange. When Mom and Dad died, Patrick cried for weeks, and got mad a lot, and I just read and read and read.
Eventually Carl comes to find me. He helps me with laundry for a while since I'm doing his, too. When we're done, Mika goes to find Luke and Molly and I empty our buckets out the window before beginning patrol. Carl leads the way along the corridor, just the two of us, and as we round the corner we check nobody can see us and we lace our fingers together again.
By noon, news spreads that the veterinary college run still hasn't returned. It turns everyone's mood darker and sourer. The oldies are getting crotchety at us for loitering. The kids are bickering and getting into stupid fights that I have to break up. Carl, who is testing the depths of my own patience, has been going nuts worrying, especially since his dad left with Carol to search some houses close by for any medicine. Now Maggie is the only adult left, hacking away at the hoards through the fence, all on her own. We can't help. We can't risk contaminating the office blocks. Occasionally, we can hear Judith crying from her and Beth's secluded room.
Finally, when Carl's pacing drives me crazy enough, I leave him to his track making and go to the door overlooking the neglected parking lot. I can't have the door open fully, or it'll rile up the walkers past the fences, but I can open it enough to peek out without drawing any attention. I watch them and the trees and the sky, and read Tom Sawyer in peace.
I can hear footsteps. Carl enters the room. I see it from the corner of my eye but don't look up from my book, hoping he will keep walking, but he doesn't so I look up from Sawyer and see this obeying look on his face. Clearly, he knows why I left.
"Did you hear my dad?" he asks. "I think I can hear him."
"Think about something hard enough you start hearing from it," I tell him.
"I don't talk to myself."
"Want a cookie?"
He tuts and walks up to me and shuts the door. I assume he's done it to annoy me and nearly kick him for it but quickly I realise he's blocking out the walker and wind noises from outside to listen to the corridors. Eventually, he gives up and reaches for the door again, but before he reaches it he suddenly whips his head around.
This time I hear it, too.
"Carl..."
And again.
"Carl?"
And again.
"Carl!"
We're running full pelt towards Rick's voice, skidding around corners until Carl's father is standing at the end of one. On his shoulder is a large supply bag, and at his feet, two full trash bags. He sighs, looking relieved and exhausted.
"You okay?" Carl asks him.
Rick smiles. "Was gonna ask you that."
We walk towards him but Rick steps back at the same pace, so we stop. I see he's wearing Carol's thin silver watch for some reason, instead of his big, old, tattered Rolex.
"Where's Carol?" I ask him, but he doesn't answer me, doesn't even look at me, and after a long time of waiting for his answer I say, "She's dead... isn't she?"
Rick just pinches the bridge of his nose.
I look at the floor, fighting back tears, clutching Tom Sawyer in my hands so hard the cover bends.
"We're okay," Carl says, his voice cracking.
Rick nods, looking up at us again and shifting his eyes between us.
"No one's sick?" we are asked. Rick's eyes linger on Carl. "You didn't have to do anything?"
Carl shakes his head and tells him flatly, "Haven't had to use my gun, Dad."
Rick nods. "And Judith?"
"With Beth."
"Good." Rick pushes one of the trash bags towards us and steps back as Carl slings it over his shoulder. "Found some food on the run for everyone. There's a bunch of fruit that are in there so have people brush their teeth after."
With a nod, Rick picks up the remaining trash bag, resitting the supply bag on his back, and begins to walk away.
"Can we come out soon?"
"Not jus' yet."
"Dad," Carl insist, stopping him before he reaches the end of the corridor. "We were around you when you were in the middle of it. Oliver fought. We were around Patrick when he felt sick. We didn't get it. We can help you."
"Thanks," Rick says, "but I need you to stay here."
He's walking away again. Carl glances at me desperately. I know he wants to go after his dad and I want to get out of here as much as he does, so I tilt my head to egg him on.
"Dad," Carl calls out.
Rick stops just before turning the corner, turns, and looks at us.
"Look," Carl says, "I will stay, we both will, but..."
Carl loses his nerve, I can see it draining from him.
"But what?" Rick asks.
Carl sighs.
Carl says, "You can't keep me from it."
"From what?"
"From what always happens..."
Rick looks at us both, the look on his face like he's being challenged. "Yeah," he says. "Maybe. But I think it's my job to try."
Finally, his dad leaves and Carl stares after him, looking small. I go and pull the trash bag off his shoulder, replacing it on mine, feeling the round peaches rolling around inside. When Carl doesn't turn and follow me I whisper his name, hook my two fingers with his two fingers, and we go back to the offices in silence.
We eat our peaches as the sun sets. I know it will only upset the kids to hear about Carol so I choose not to tell them yet. After, we all go and brush our teeth in the upstairs bathroom together, drooling and pulling faces at each other in the million mirrors, even while Carl and all the oldies shake their heads at us. Two more people fell ill today, so, I guess they understand enough to respect that pulling faces is how we all don't think about it.
While patrolling the halls with our flash lights, Carl begins to shiver so I give him back his jacket. I have a sweater under it anyway. As we head back towards out office for the night, we hear gunshots. We jump and rush into an empty office to get a look out the window. It's too dark to see, but there are vague moonlit shapes shuffling like ghosts behind the blackness.
"Carl!"
Carl stumbles down from a dusty desk.
"Boys!"
We run.
"Carl!"
In the next corridor, Rick is holding a flash-light. We don't see it until he points it at his own face. The harsh light draws stress lines across his sharp expression. "Hurry. I need your help."
The three of us head down to the fences, away from the gunshots.
"We gotta keep the fences from cavin' in," Rick explains. "The walkers are getting too heavy."
"Where's Maggie?"
"She's in A block, some are starting to turn."
"Shes on her own?"
"Come on!"
We go through the watch tower, then out into the inner fence strip. That terrible smell sticks to my throat and nose like tar. When we see the state of the fence, Carl and I stop in our tracks. I think back to those few nights ago in the pig pen when we were so afraid of the loud walkers and the swaying fences, only now, the stacks of walkers are deafening, and the fence is hanging so low that some of them are almost close enough to climb over into the inner strip.
Rick takes us to the worst part. Already there are some wooden beams propped up along the mesh but it needs more before it starts making a difference. We don't wait. Rick shows us how, like that day on the roof, and we get to work wedging the beams against the fence. We set up at least ten more before I hear the beam behind us make a great crack like thunder.
"Err… Mr. Grimes?"
Rick doesn't hear me. He and Carl are arguing over a beam. "I got it." "Let me help." And again, the beam behind me makes a noise like a loud series of clapping.
"Rick!"
As he turns his head to me the whole beam snaps in two. I jump back, yelling as more beams go, snapping and crunching and the walkers — the walkers are falling on top of me. Rick snatches the back of my sweater and pulls me back before the whole fence crushes me, taking Carl with him and we run, and they pour after us like an avalanche.
"Dad!"
"Come on!"
Rick shoves us a path through, launching through the tower door and slamming it closed behind us. I'm wheezing. Carl is heaving. Rick spins on the spot, his mouth wide. The door clangs and shudders beside us.
"Boys," Rick gasps, "stay close."
We stumble into the parking lot. The walkers see us come out and change course to the fence closest to us. There are so many. Trampling one another. The fence starts creaking inward immediately.
"Dad... what do we do?"
Rick wipes his mouth, looks at his son, then me, thinking and thinking and thinking, and then he says, "We gotta take them down."
"We can't see anything," Carl says. "It's too dark."
"I'll get the bus," he replies. "Stay here."
We do. Rick parks one of the prison buses adjacent to the dipping fence, its lights beaming at the sagging fence and the thousand rotten faces glaring through, he then climbs out and ushers us to the armoury bins lined up against the fence behind us. He grabs a rifle and hands it to Carl.
"Got it?"
"Yep," he says.
Rick passes me another rifle. "Know how to use it?"
Err… "In theory."
"In theory?!" he exclaims.
"Storytime," I answer.
"You never fired one?"
He doesn't wait for me to answer. I guess he already knows it. Still, he grabs his own rifle and then puts a firm hand on my shoulder.
"Today's the day you'll learn then..."
We make our way closer to the fence.
"Magazine goes in here," Rick tutors, twisting his rifle. "Release is here. Make sure to latch it. Pull back the operating rod. The rounds speed up. Keep squeezing the trigger for rapid fire, okay?"
Carl and I nod. I focus very hard as I get everything ready to fire. Rick watches me, nods, then tells us where to fire from in a line opposite the dying fence.
"You shoot or you run," he tells us. "Don't let them get close."
He is a man made of rocks and steel and we are two boys made of nothing but adrenaline and the ability to nod. Minutes pass, we are terrified, and then the whole fence panel slams hard and loud into the gravel. Walkers flood into the parking lot, stumbling over each other. The parking lot cackles with bullet-fire. Walker after walker drop to the asphalt, black oozing puddles pooling around their heads. I have yet to make my first shot, however, still figuring out which head to aim for, but soon I find one steady enough and I pull the trigger and the force of the bullet leaving me knocks me off my feet. I hit the gravel, scraping elbows, realising this is why we couldn't fire a gun in a library. I get up quickly. Shoot again. Miss. Another. Throat. Another. Miss. Panicking. Headshot… but the elation doesn't last long. As we shoot on, we move back to keep a distance between us and them. By the time I have to reload, I realise the cluster is beginning to thin. Rick's run out of ammo, too, and takes out an advancing walker with a hard blow to its temple with the butt of his rifle. Carl shoots it through the head, then throws his dad a magazine from his back pocket. Rick loads up while Carl and I keep shooting.
Finally, after what feels like hours, the last walker goes down with a grunt and a splat. We drop our arms, fingers sore and stiff, and overlook the parking lot. It looks more like a graveyard. As the silence sets in, my ears begin to ring. Carl and I get to crushing the last few stragglers' heads, me with my machete and him with a hunting knife, picking through the bodies until we don't hear anything besides the ringing and our breathing. I look back. Carl and his dad are just standing there, looking at each other. I guess this is how a father and son look at each other, but I never knew much about that. My dad used to look at me like I was a stranger, like I was some alien from another planet. It's different for Carl and his dad. Rick looks at Carl like Carl is his to take care of.
Maggie bursts around the corner, covered in blood.
"A block is clear," she says. "But I don't know how long for. Rick, everything's…"
She shakes her head, unable to word her thought but she doesn't have to. We already know. We know everything is going wrong. I see it as I look at the hole in our home, the fracture in our armour, and I realise that I was never safe here. Not once despite what I told myself. In this place, any place, none of us ever were. The prison was just a break, like some vacation and vacations are only temporary and now it's over and the time has come for everything to be real again.
I look at Rick and Carl again and I see how sad Rick looks. So sad that he is crying. I don't know if I've ever watched a grown man cry and I have to turn away, feeling like I caught something perverted. In the distance, there is a light in the darkness, coming towards the prison.
Zach's car.
"Guys," I gasp, "they're back."
"Dad..." I hear behind me, "everything's gonna be okay." And it's only then that I realise this whole time I've been wrong. Playing farmer? Giving up his gun? Telling other people's secrets? Carl did it all for his father, not the other way around.
Notes
As always,
Happy reading.