-Carl's POV-
I look down at the guard rifle clutched in my hands, frozen in fear at the thought of Dad finding out. Pulled back to reality by another gunshot, I look up from my shame.
I see a boy with messy waves of dark brown hair stuck to his face, held there with layers of dirt, blood, and sweat. We briefly make eye contact, blue eyes meeting green before he crumbles to the floor with a small thud, a gun slipping from his hand.
A bullet hole sits in one of the wooden spikes behind Michonne's head. Smoke spilling from the splintered spike.
Maggie bursts through the tower door beside me, pushing past me as she violently slides open the front gate. I have to dodge Flame as he gallops past me, tail dancing in fear.
The walker that had Michonne pinned into the dirt is now upside down, impaled on the spikes behind her after she put all her strength into kicking it over her head. It growls and grabs at her hair but stops when Maggie fires a round into its head with her pistol.
"C'mere!" Maggie says as she hauls Michonne to her feet. I drop the rifle and run to them, putting myself under Michonne's arm.
"Got her?" Maggie asks.
I nod, so she rushes back to the boy, now on his knees with his palms dug in the gravel, breathing heavily.
"What are you doing?!" I shout at her.
"Just get Michonne inside!" she yells back.
I do. Letting Michonne lean against the guard tower door as I shut the gate behind Maggie and the stranger.
There's an awkward exchange as we stare at the boy, and he stares back, the fear in his eyes hidden behind matted hair.
The moment is ripped away when more shots erupt from cell block D.
With Michonne leaning against me again, we make our way to the prison, Maggie and the stranger at our heels.
"He with you?" I grunt, struggling slightly.
"No," Michonne says bluntly, glancing over her shoulder.
A few moments pass and the four of us make it to the courtyard, total silence surrounding us.
As we reach the entry cage of C block, Michonne grabs it, taking her weight off me.
Seconds later, Dad rounds the corner of D block.
"Hey, you might want to stay back!" he warns.
Ignoring him, I push into his arms, and he holds me in return, whispering that he's okay into the top of my hair. I begin apologizing incoherently, telling him about using the rifle. Dad lets go of me and takes a few steps back, looking to Michonne to contextualize my rambling.
"I fell. They helped me," Michonne says, validating my story with a look of shame that I don't think is meant for me.
Then, Dad sees the boy who Maggie has sat down on a nearby bench as she talks to him quietly.
"Another stray?" he asks, looking to Michonne.
"Found him at the gate," she pauses to look at him before continuing, "he tried to help me."
"What happened in there?" Maggie asks. All of us, including the stranger, look to my Dad, curious.
Before he can answer, Jane from D block walks past us in silence, not taking her eyes away from the pile of red-stained blankets in her arms. Her newborn son, Alex, dead within them.
I feel sick.
"Patrick got sick last night," Dad says over my head, avoiding my eyes. "Some kind of flu. Moves fast." he continues to Magie and Michonne. Then, he turns to me, changing his rough southern drawl to a low whisper. "Look, I know he was your friend and-"
I stop listening, not hearing the rest of what my Dad says.
I hate myself.
Not because I didn't help him.
Not because I wasn't there.
But because I'm not sad, I don't know why but I'm just not.
By the time I'm back to reality, Dad is with Maggie and the strange boy, who tries to stand and meet my Father halfway but struggles, so he stays seated.
"Do you have a name?" Dad asks, sounding impatient.
Before the boy can answer, Maggie does for him.
"It's Noah, Right?"
"How do you-" Dad starts.
Maggie holds up a handmade spear, the one the boy had at the gate.
'Noah R.W.' is carved into its shaft.
"Noah?" my dad says.
The boy looks up.
"I'm Rick. Can you give me just a second?"
The boy- Noah -nods, not seeming to have a choice anyway.
Dad tells Maggie that Glenn and Hershal are okay before asking Michonne and me to head into C block. Finally, turning back to Noah.
Maggie gently leads me away by the shoulders, and we help Michonne into C block, catching my Dad start to ask Noah the questions. "If you don't mind, son. I've got three questions for you."
-Noah's POV-
A few hours pass by.
I get introduced to anyone not busy with their chores since those apparently still exist here.
Rick confiscates my weapons.
I argue at first but understand, so I give up my spear and the empty handgun, feeling foolishly relieved to be without them.
Rick tells me he needs to get back to his farm work, leaving me at an outdoor cafeteria, clearly another addition made after the world ended. The floor is made from wooden pallets, high reaching beams holding up a tin roof. A bunch of tables and chairs sit strewn around, with a serving area made of dry clay. Pots and pans, hanging untidily overhead.
Rick told me to get some food in me. He didn't have to say it twice.
I stack my plate as high as I can before a particularly grizzled looking dinner lady with a nasty looking scar across her left eye and a bright red nose silently swats my hand away with a spatula.
It's not hard to find an empty seat since none are taken. So I sit far from the cranky cook, with my plate of canned corn, string beans, rice, and anything else I can imagine finding inside a can, sitting before me.
As I start to dig into the mouth-watering mountain of vegetables, a clean, dark-haired woman wearing a grey tank top sat in front of me, extending her hand.
"Hey there!" she says through a kind smile, "I'm Karen."
I give her the widest grin I can with a mouthful of colour, shaking her hand.
I try to say hello, barely understandable as sweetcorn falls from my full mouth.
"Rick told me your name's Noah," Karen says when I feel rude and rush to swallow, almost choking on a string bean.
She waits for me to finish my mouthful, beaming the whole time. "You just got here, right?"
I nod, "a few hours ago, yeah," taking another fork-full.
"What do you think so far?" she hums, tilting her head slightly.
"You're kidding, right?" I laugh, "I didn't think places like this existed."
"Prisons?" she jokes, pushing a loose strand of curly hair behind her ear.
I snort, "more like a palace."
"Well, you can thank Rick for that."
"The farmer?" I ask, confused.
"yep," she continues, "he led the group that took this place from the walkers."
"Walker?" I ask with a smirk, "never heard that one."
"Well, what do you call them?" she questions.
My cheeks suddenly burn. I've never thought about mine and Sean's name for the dead being unique.
I hesitate.
"Deadheads," I mutter, Preparing for her to laugh.
She doesn't. Just nods firmly in an understanding way. "I like it," she says, repeating it as if testing how her accent likes it.
I smile back, finishing the last few stray bits of rice stuck to my plate. I get up, and she walks with me, showing me where to wash it up.
"While we're on the subject of cleaning," she says, cocking her eyebrow at me, holding her nose jokingly.
"That bad huh?" I sniff my once blue- now green and brown T-shirt.
"Come on," she grabs my shoulder, "showers are just over here in C block."
"Sh-Showers?" My eyes widen. She grins, pulling me towards a building with a big white C printed on the side.
We arrive at the showers, and my mind is blown as soon as she starts the pump. Water sprays from the showerhead, splashing off the ceramic floor and onto my bloody shoes.
"Okay," she feels the water with her hand. "Rick's son, Carl, should have some clothes you can have," she says, looking at my mud-encrusted T-shirt and jeans, "you guys look about the same size."
I thank her as she leaves. Wasting no time getting undressed and under the clean water. It feels phenomenal as I scrub at the mud on my skin with dirty nails, watching a swirl of brownish-red get sucked into the drain between my feet.
A blissful ten minutes or so later, I stop the water pump and reach for the towel Karen left me. Wrapping it around my waist and stepping from the shower stall. I look down at my clean skin, running my fingers over cuts and bruises which litter my pale body. Someone clears their throat behind me.
-Carl's POV-
Noah spins around, slipping in the process. Just about managing to catch himself on the tiled wall and secure his towel before everything is on display.
This feels like my first time seeing him. He's the same height as me. His once messy and frizzy hair was now tamed by the water, revealing his green eyes, and a small scar leaving a slit through his right eyebrow.
"Hi."
I stand there awkwardly, holding a pile of clean clothes, which I set down on a bench before turning to leave.
"Carl," he blurts out abruptly.
I turn back, eyes wide.
"It's Carl, right?" He scratches the end of his short nose.
Not sure why he stopped me, I nod slowly.
I think he realizes how exposed he is when he starts hugging himself. Just the towel and bruises covering him. "Thanks for the clothes," he gestures to the bench. "And for earlier, at the gate, I mean-" We both realise he's making a mess of this.
There is a painfully long pause.
"I'm-"
"It's Noah," I say aloud, more a statement than a question, like I'm telling him his own name. He nods the same way I did.
"I'll see you around," I tell him, again, not a question.
-Noah's POV-
"Good job, you twat," I congratulate myself with a facepalm. "Now he thinks you're a bad shot and a weirdo." I turn to the pile of clothes and get dressed. Pulling on a clean pair of underwear and jeans, followed by a grey t-shirt with a paw print on the front, a bit tight on me, but I'm not complaining. I finish off my new look with a red flannel shirt Carl left me.
I walk out of the shower room after throwing all my old clothes away, except for my blood-stained trainers, which I slip back on. Karen stands just outside chatting to a man with short black hair, who coughs into his sleeve as I approached.
"Hey, Noah!" Karen looks me up and down. Her smile a mile wide, and her voice full of cheer. I smile back at her.
"This is David," she pats him on the shoulder, "We work the fence together."
Not knowing what that means, I just nod to him, which he returns before wandering off into a cell.
"He's not much of a talker," Karen explains. "I knew they'd be a good fit!" she tells me, fixing my collar for me as she speaks, "and it's nice to see you without a layer of dirt." She messes up my already out of control hair. I'm starting to realise that Karen is a 'touchy' person. I think I like it.
"I didn't realise how good it would feel to wear clean socks again," I say, wiggling my toes inside my trainers.
"We do need to get you some new shoes, though." She laughs at me.
"As long as you don't pick them for me."
She looks down at her bright red cowgirl boots and frowns. "What... they're cool."
I can't help but laugh, even though I do think they're pretty cool.
"At least we can agree on the socks. When I first got to Woodbury, I hoarded all the sock I could get my hands on," Karen chuckles.
I give her a questioning look, and once she remembers I'm new, her smile fades slightly as she begins to explain Woodbury to me.
We make our way back outside before she speaks up again, "So, I'm curious," I glance at her, awaiting and dreading a personal question. "Your accent," she says in a whimsical tone, "Guessing you're not from the States."
I laugh out my relief.
"I'm from England," I answer, forcing an over the top accent. "Y'know, you're tea tasting cousins from across the pond." This causes Karen to break out with laughter, giving me a warm feeling inside.
"I thought that was just a stereotype." she looks suspicious.
"Hell no," I reply with an offended tone. "God, I would give an ear for a single drop of tea right now," I look up to the sky, hoping that my prayer might be answered. But sadly, it doesn't begin to shower herbal rain.
Someone calls out Karen's name from behind us, and she smiles a knowing smile, turning to greet him.
I turn with her, seeing a behemoth of a man sauntering towards us, a dirty beanie on his head, and a great smile on his face.
They kiss, so I look away and down towards the pigpen awkwardly, seeing two figures within it.
"This is Tyreese," Karen nudges me, bringing me back to the conversation. I smile and shake his hand.
"Tyreese, this is Noah," She introduces me.
"It's a pleasure to meet you, Noah," he says, pulling me into a bear hug that I'm not remotely ready for, and when he releases me, I have to wipe my eyes, which begin to well up slightly.
They either don't notice or are kind enough to pretend that they hadn't.
We talk for a while before Karen mentions she isn't feeling great, so Tyreese offers to take her back to his cell since her whole block is apparently filled with bodies. I shudder at the thought.
She accepts his offer, and he looks excited yet thoughtful.
We say our goodbyes, Tyreese choosing not to hug me this time, just in case I explode with tears. I wish Karen better, and she squeezed my shoulder before they walk towards C block, disappearing into the darkened doorway.
I stroll back over to the kitchen, asking if they need any help, but get chased away by the spatula wielding dinner lady, who sees right through my plan.
A few moments go by where I just stare out past the fences. Until, a man pulling a cart of corpses comes out of D block, a crossbow over his back, covering what looks like two wings stitched onto a leather waistcoat.
"Can I help?" I ask as he passes me.
"Noah, right?" he asks.
I'm just beginning to accept that everyone says my name for me.
"Yup," I respond, kicking a stone across the courtyard and watching it bounce off a rusted barrel and disappear behind some steps.
"You feeling alright?" he asks, either forgetting to tell me his name or choosing not to.
I nod to his question, so he hands me a pair of gloves from the cart before throwing a bandanna from his back pocket at me.
"Good," the man says plainly.
We head down to the prison's makeshift graveyard, which already has a few occupants. I put on the gloves and substitute mask, reading some of the crosses as I do. The name 'Theodore Douglas' catching my eye.
The man hands me an old shovel and starts to dig.
I hate silence. I grew accustomed to it over the last few days, but even then, I talked to myself, the Dead, when I wasn't in a talkative mood. I think about that crazy guy. Should I tell these people that he sent me? Why is he there and not here? What if he is-
"Name's Daryl," I jump as I'm dragged away from my thoughts. I would have guessed I imagined it if the guy wasn't staring at me through a squint. "Since you never asked," Daryl says. I jump again.
"S-sorry," I splutter out, "um... nice to meet you, Daryl." He smirks, nods, and returns to digging.
I feel like I've just made a breakthrough, but I'm not sure.
After about an hour of digging, I look up, wiping the sweat from my forehead with my new flannel sleeve. I see Rick, the 'founding farmer' approaching. I wave. He smiles back.
"Hey there, Noah," he greets me, picking up a spade, "appreciate the help, but why don't you go find Carl," the tiniest look of desperation in his tired eyes. "He just headed over to C block. Could probably use a hand."
I take the hint, bidding farewell to him, then to Daryl as I climb out of a half dug grave and wander towards the prison. I hear them start to talk about cell block D as I leave.
I find Rick's son in the atrium of C, hammering two planks of wood together into a wonky cross. I hover by the door for a minute before speaking.
"Hey," I try to say casually, hands buried in my pockets. Carl glances up and looks like he's considering his options.
"Hi," he sighs, sitting on the concrete floor, legs crossed. Another minute of awkward silence passes before he asks, "wanna give me a hand?"
I give him a wide smile as I walk over sheepishly and sit beside him but immediately stop when he doesn't reciprocate the grin.
"It's for Patrick," Carl says bluntly, a scowl covering his face as he continues to hammer.
I remember his Dad mentioning Patrick when I arrived. "I'm sorry, man," not sure what to say, "I just lost a friend too," I sigh, "It fucking sucks."
He stops hammering again, his expression softening with this. He gives me a nod and says, "It fucking does," checking over his shoulder to make sure no one heard him. I chuckle.
Carl goes back to the cross, and I hand him nails when he holds out his hand. "What was he like?" I ask, desperate to kill the silence.
"Talkative," he replies without looking up, "you guys definitely would have gotten along," he smirks.
"I'm going to take that as a compliment," my face heating up. "And in that case, I'm sure we would have," I grin at him.
Wanting to continue the conversation, I tell him, "I do believe that's the first time you've smiled since I got here."
"Well, I haven't had much of a reason to smile!" he snorts, "For example, just earlier today, someone stole my favourite t-shirt." he jabs my chest with his finger.
"Yeah, thanks again for that," I reply.
Carl just shrugs.
"Did he have any family?" I ask, slightly regretting the question.
"Nah," Carl replied, staring at the cross, "at least not here at the prison. I think he said he lost his parents when it all started, also said something about a brother, but I'm not sure."
"Was he Catholic?" I finish, raising an eyebrow when Carl looks irritated by my question.
"I don't know. Why?"
"Because you're building a cross- you don't need to do that if he wasn't."
"Oh." Carl thinks, then shrugs and keeps hammering.
At that moment, a woman with short grey hair and a brown jacket walks in with a seriously unnerving look on her face. Once she sees me, it quickly changes to a glowing smile.
"Hello there," she hums with an enthusiastically, warm voice, "I'm Carol!" I stand up in greeting. "You must be Noah!" she continues, "I've heard a lot about you!"
My cheeks warm up again.
"You know, Daryl just bagged a huge deer the other day, and it'll be on the menu tonight," she leans in closer and whispers, "come find me while I'm serving, and I'll make sure you get extras," giving me a wink.
Slightly overwhelmed by her kindness, I grin from ear to ear. "Thank you very much!" not sure what else to say.
"And British too?" her smile somehow gets wider. "I can tell we're gonna get along!" She then lowers her voice a notch, "Do you mind if I talk to Carl alone for a moment?" Not sure of my options, I agree and bid them farewell.
I look over my shoulder as I walk away, but Carol doesn't start talking to Carl until I'm long out of earshot.
Author Notes:
I enjoy that Carol was the only one not to let Noah eavesdrop on her conversation. Love that crafty lady.
RIP to the practicing atheist.
Thanks for reading!
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:)