Chapter 117- Say Yes: Stay Alive.
Rosita isn't hard to track when someone's pissed her off. I catch up to her about a mile west of Alexandria, outside what looks like it could have been a nice trailer home once. She's circling a walker around a tree and sticking her knife through the back of its head. She pats the corpse down.
"Think it'll have a gun?"
She stares up at me. "You tracked me?"
I shrug.
She sighs. "It doesn't. But we've gotta keep looking."
"Yeah, we do."
Rosita walks over to a dented car that's settled its rusty bones under a tall oak. Brushing leaves off the windscreen, she peeks inside.
I wait patiently until she's searched it, trying my best to act surprised when she finds nothing.
"Where's your gun?" she asks.
"Gave it to Michonne," I say.
Rosita huffs, peaking in one of the trailer's windows.
"Anything this close to home, we've probably already searched it," I tell her what she already knows.
"How'd you get good at tracking?" she asks.
"I didn't," I say. "I mean... you're easy to follow when you're angry. Plus, I know the direction that you picked. When I was at the Kingdom, we tracked pigs."
Rosita and I watch the trailer from a few steps away. The rusty-red-coloured door is open, barely hanging to its hinges. We can see straight through to the other side via another open door on the far side of the trailer. I think we both spot it at the same time. A lone handgun lying in the doorway at the top of the steps.
Rosita rushes towards it, sticks and broken glass from a blown-out window crunching under her feet.
"Hold on," I call out.
She reaches the bottom of the steps.
A silhouette moves past one of the trailer windows. A walker at least three feet taller than Rosita blunders into the doorway. A woman with grey skin peeling from her bones. A torn nightgown fused into its brittle flesh.
Rosita swings her machete up at the walker as it staggers down the steps towards her. Her blade slashes its sagging neck, a burst of yellow pus and blood spraying across Rosita's face.
I draw and loose an arrow that flies over Rosita's shoulder and into the walker's cheek where it gets stuck. Rosita raises to her tiptoes and swings her machete into the walker's forehead, splitting into its brain and shoving its body to the side when it goes limp.
She runs past the corpse and up the trailer steps, snatching up the gun.
I lean my bow against the car she already searched, rushing to her side.
I see the orange cap on the end of the gun.
"Damn it," I breathe, my hope sizzling out.
"Fucking trailer trash!" Rosita yells, tossing the BB gun at the walker's corpse.
"Why do you need a gun so bad?" I ask her when she catches her breath.
"To do what I was supposed to do!" she barks. "I listened to Gabriel before. I hesitated. If I hadn't? If I killed Negan? Olivia would be alive, and Eugene would still be here! They're gone, and I'm here because I was stupid enough to listen!"
"You don't know they'd be here still," I say slowly. "Maybe you would have stopped everything... or maybe Simon would have taken over and killed all of us."
"Everyone thinks we've got time to prepare!" she yells at me, even though I know she's not really mad at me. "Richard was right. Every time we give them something, they get stronger. Harder to beat. I'm sick of sitting around."
"Then come with me tomorrow," I suggest. "I'm going to Hilltop."
She smirks, shaking her head. "So I can just sit on my ass over there?"
"Sasha and Maggie feel the same way you do," I tell her. "I know you hate Sasha, but at least she gets it."
Rosita goes quiet like she's thinking about it.
"Just don't tell me you wished you died. Because I can't lose anyone else right now."
All the yelling must have brought attention to us because a walker stumbles out of the tree line by where I left my bow.
"Can I borrow your knife?" I ask.
Rosita passes it to me.
Thweet!
The walker tumbles to the dirt with the knife in its eye.
"Yes!" I jump off my feet and punch the air.
Rosita gives me a look.
"Sorry," I rub the back of my neck. "First time getting that right."
When we get home, Rosita storms off in the direction of the church. I assume because Gabriel is easier to yell at than I am.
I walk back to 101 and find Carl making food in the kitchen that smells like burnt toast.
"What're you making?" I ask.
"Toast," he says, frowning at the smoking toaster.
"Thought so..." I pause. "Sorry about running off earlier... I told the guard on the gate to tell you where I went."
"He did," Carl says smiling briefly as he tosses the toast in the bin. "How'd it go?"
I groan.
He laughs. "That bad?"
"Can we not talk about it?" I ask, blinking at him.
"Sure."
"Can I cut your hair?" he asks then.
I laugh nervously at him. "What?"
"Your hair," he reaches out and touches it. "I wanna cut it."
"Like all of it?"
I look in the mirror hanging on the wall behind the kitchen island. My hair's at my shoulders now. All cowlicks and messy dark colours.
"Like the length you had it when we got here," Carl explains. "When Jessie cut it."
"You like it short?"
Carl grins fiendishly. "I do."
"Only if I can cut yours," I say.
"What?!"
"Fair's fair."
"How is that fair?"
"Because it is, asshole."
I take his chin between my fingers, thumbing at a hair. "You need to shave, too. But I didn't bring that up."
"Not my fault you can't grow facial hair!" he laughs, pushing my hand away.
"Hey! Leave my baby face alone."
Carl reaches into the kitchen drawer and pulls out some scissors that are definitely not meant for cutting hair.
"Sit," he hums, smirking.
"You'll have to catch me first!" I yip, ducking under his arm and putting the island between us.
"You can't fight this!" Carl laughs, chasing me around the surface.
"Watch me!"
I make a break for the living room, bolting up the stairs, screaming and cackling when I hear Carl on my heels.
He corners me in his room.
"Sit!" he points the scissors at me.
"Fine!" I toss my arms up and sit on his sleeping bag since all the beds are still gone.
Carl disappears into the bathroom across the hall, coming back with two towels in his arms. One he wraps around my shoulders. The other he makes me sit on.
Carl kneels on the towel behind me, knees pinching my hips to keep me from running. I cringe as I hear him start snipping.
"What's your favourite colour?" I ask him when he tells me he's over halfway done.
Carl, standing in front of me now, stares at me with a wide eye. "All this time, and now you ask?"
"Yeah," I smirk at him.
"Green."
I blink at him, looking away embarrassed again, covering my eyes with a hand. "Sap."
He laughs and tells me to stay still.
"What's yours?" he asks.
"Orange."
Carl's bright eye looks disappointed.
"What?" I snicker, simpering at him. "Thought I would say blue?"
He stops cutting. "I mean, kinda. I said green..."
"So you lied?" I laugh, shoving his arm. He doesn't answer, just smiles at me in his gentle kind of way.
"Blue's fine," I shrug. "Maybe like, my third favourite..."
"Third?!" Carl cries.
"What?" I lie back on the sleeping bag. "I really like red, too."
"You're infuriating," he tells me.
"You're beautiful."
I sit up then, pointing at my head for him to continue.
"I'm done."
Carl hands me a mirror from his desk when I ask.
"Wow." My eyes go wide. I'm pretty sure they get greener when my hair's short.
"Good wow?"
"Yeah," I nod. "How did you—?"
"Enid," Carl says. "She got me to cut hers while you were away."
"So, you like my hair like this?" I grin, reaching up and grabbing his shirt, falling back on the sleeping bag and pulling him on top of me.
"Yeah," he huffs, our chests pressed together.
"Then kiss me."
"Okay."
I laugh after.
"Again," I whisper.
He does.
"I love you," I tell him.
He kisses me a third time, mumbling the same against my mouth.
"Would you marry me?" I ask after he pulls away an inch.
"What?" he lifts his head up.
"Marry me."
"Are you proposing?"
I smile. "I guess."
He grins and chuckles at the offer. "No."
"Are you turning me down?" I laugh, wrapping my arms around him and pulling our bodies together.
"No!" he chuckles. "When we're older, you can ask me again."
"I will," I say.
"You always said marriage is stupid," Carl says then, saying it with his face pushed against my neck.
"It is," I say, holding him tight and squeezing. "But I wanna be stupid with you."
"Gabriel could officiate us," Carl say.
I howl with laughter.
"What?" Carl pulls back a little, chuckling at how much that made me laugh.
"No, nothing... just imagining it is kinda funny. I mean... yeah, Mikey could be the best man, and Enid could be the maid of honour."
Carl's laughing too now, his body shaking against mine.
"Rosita, Sasha, Tara, Michonne... they'd be the bridesmaids. Jenny from Kingdom, too."
He's vibrating with giggles. "Stop. I'm d— dying."
"Judith would be the flower girl... and—"
"S— stop!" Carl barks a laugh, barely able to get the word out, pushing off me with tears in his eye. "I get it! I get it!"
He relaxes back into me when we stop laughing at the ridiculous idea.
"Who would wear the dress?" he asks me then, frowning and sounding genuinely stumped.
"What do you mean?"
"My mom wore a dress and my dad wore a suit at their wedding... how do you decide when it's two guys?"
"Well, before the fall, both guys would wear a tux... I mean, my uncle did that with his husband. I guess it doesn't mean a guy can't wear a dress, though."
"What do you think you would wear?" he asks me, biting my chin for some reason. Probably thinking of ways to make fun of my inability to grow facial hair again.
I shrug. "Jeans and a t-shirt."
"Seriously?"
"I told you, I think weddings are dumb."
"I think it's nice," Carl says. "Dressing up, bein' all fancy. Not sure I could picture you in a dress, though."
"I've worn a dress before," I tell him.
"Really?"
I nod into his fringe that's fallen over my face. "My parent's wedding. One of the bridesmaids was sick. She was my age and the dress fitted."
Carl laughs. "Man, I wish I could see those pictures."
"I was eight," I laugh.
"That sounds even cuter."
I nod. "Yeah, I was pretty cute."
"Still are."
I decide I love him. I love him all over again. I take back all the love and return it with interest because I really love him, and I need him to feel that.
We spend the rest of the day together. Tara invites us to hers to play monopoly, and we're surprised when Aaron and Eric are there too. Carl cheats too much just like he does when we play cards and I'm glad when Eric picks up on it.
"It's not cheating!" Carl barks.
"Stealing from the bank is not in the rules!" Eric scolds him.
"Yeah," Tara nods. "You should go to jail forever."
Aaron moves Carl's racecar to the jail spot on the board.
"NO!" Carl argues. "Rhys, tell them!"
"I think jail's a little harsh," I try backing up Carl, suspicious he might dump me if I don't right now.
"See!" Carl points. "Rhys agrees with me, and Judith defaults to our side, so that's three against three."
"Nope," Eric holds a hand up to each of our faces. "No more."
I laugh as Carl keeps arguing. It's not even that funny. I think it's because Tara lost Denise and I lost Glenn and we're all worried about everyone that we can't see, but somehow we're still smiling.
We manage to keep this 'normal' for a few days. It's nice. Carl and I are pushing Judith down the street in her pram when we hear the gate opening. A truck pulls in.
Carl looks ready to bolt in that direction, but the truck comes to us. Stopping outside the armoury across the street from us.
Carl crashes into his dad's open arms the moment he steps out of the truck. Taking Judith in my arms to say hi to Michonne, who hugs me and asks how the horse is doing.
"He tried to eat Carl's hair yesterday."
She smiles. "Yeah, Flame used to do that, too."
Michonne and Carl hug, and I hand Judith over to Rick after he squeezes the back of my neck and kisses the top of my head.
"So?" I ask.
Rick smiles, gesturing an open hand to the back of the truck. "Take a look."
We do, and It's full to the roof with boxes labelled 'meals ready to eat,' and crates of water, and enough guns to almost restock the whole armoury.
Everyone else is showing up now.
"How many?" Rosita gawks at all the weapons.
"Haven't checked that they're all operational yet, but sixty-three," Michonne tells her.
"So, are you gonna go make a deal with the trash people?" Tara asks.
"The Scavengers," Rick nods. "You and Rosita, Tara. Take Gabriel and Aaron— clean half of them, make an inventory, then we'll head to the junkyard."
Carl and I stay here while they go deal with the junkyard folk. When they get back, they've got twenty guns and disappointed faces. Rick tells us that the Scavengers want more. That it's not enough. It's disappointing, and it makes me realise that we've still got a long way to go until I can live with my family again.
I retreat to 99 as people start unloading guns from the truck. I know I need to face my room — that I need to pack some stuff since now that Rick and Michonne are back, I'll need to leave soon. I find one of my music books under my desk. Half the pages are ripped out, and I think someone might have spat on it because one of the pages is marked.
There's a knock at the door, and I leave the music book on my desk to go answer.
"Hey, Tara," I say when I open it and she's standing on the other side, wringing her hands together nervously. "Need something?"
"Erm, can I talk to you?"
"Sure."
I step aside and let her walk in. She doesn't go far, hovering in the hallway and waiting until I close the door to start talking.
She cringes. "I know where to find more guns."
"What?" I grin. "That's great!"
"No," she hisses. "It sucks."
I pause. "Wait, why?"
"Because... I made a promise."
"Is this about the seaside guns?"
She double-takes at me.
"You know Judith can kinda talk now, right?" I say. "I asked her where she got her swanky new shell bracelet. She said auntie Tara and something about seaside guns?"
Tara stares at the wall by the stairs with her mouth agape. "Can't believe she snitched."
Tara tells me about it then. A community of women that escaped the Saviors after they murdered all their men. They have guns. More than even Rick and Michonne brought back. It would be enough to convince the Scavengers to fight with us.
"But you made a promise," I sigh.
"Yeah," Tara sighs, too. One big sigh filling this hallway.
"I think you should tell Rick," I say. "You made a promise, but maybe they'll understand."
"They won't."
"Maybe you need to make them."
Before long, it's time for me to leave. Michonne has saddled up Downy-Beardy and is waiting at the gate with everyone else. I can't tell if it's a sad goodbye or not. Only Carl cries a little bit, but I think it's just because he knows I might not be coming back this time. I don't cry, though. Not when Tobin, Aaron, or Eric are hugging me. Not when Rick and Michonne squeeze all the breath out of me between them. Not when Tara pulls my head tightly against her shoulder and ruffles the top of my head. Not even when Carl's kissing me goodbye and telling me that it's okay that I'm leaving.
"You're not going alone," Rosita says then, a big black rucksack over her shoulder that looks too heavy.
"You sure?" Rick asks her.
"Maggie's gonna need more than just Sasha if she wants to get the Hilltop ready to fight."
Michonne gives me my beretta back and hands over Downy's dark leather reins.
"Stay alive," she orders.
"Yes, Ma'am."
A/N
Hello! Feels like forever since I've done one of these author note thingys. Sorry about no chapter last week (super busy at the moment!) But I'm back on top of it all now (hopefully) and I'll be posting an extra chapter or two this week to make up for it :)
Thanks for reading!