Buckle up folks! Its about that time. Lets get this show going.
I wanted to take some time to thank all the readers who have been following this story and leaving comments, it means a lot. Thanks for giving this indulgent story some love.
Carl hugged his knees and scratched uselessly at the wall, pitch black surrounding him. He wasn't sure how long he'd been down there, his relentless need to be heard had dwindled over time and all he was left with was bruised arms and hands and chipped nails. They brought him food but it was hardly anything sustainable and he'd long grown accustomed to the hunger pains. He'd tried to run but that only got him dragged to "the room", he wasn't sure what it looked like because they always bonded him and tied a blindfold I've his eyes and dragged him somewhere. He would sit in a chair for hours with nothing but his breathing echoing off the walls and it drove him mad.
He could hear the others like him but his mind could no longer muster up the sympathy he used to, all he felt was this delirious need to get out. All he had were his thoughts by even they betrayed him by dredging up what used to be—his dad singing horribly on drives to their occasional camping trips, his mother cursing up a storm in the kitchen when she tried to cook, the warmth he felt when he was younger and would demand to bunk with them during thunderstorms. He bawled a great deal when his mind made him remember what used to be. Then there were the times his mind would whisper things he didn't like—his dad was dead, his dad didn't want him, his mom was glad she no longer had to deal with him, his dad was never coming to get him and his mom. He would get so mad he would bang his fists into the wall or scream and exhaust his energy ramming his body into the cement door when he was fed up with it all.
It was rare that he couldn't be bothered to move. That his mind didn't antagonize him with pleasantry or negativity or both at once. It was quiet and that in of itself was odd, because it wasn't just him, the usual ruckus of wails and shouts and words were not surrounding him. He looked in the direction of the door just as it scraped open, revealing the balding man he knew as Simon. His bushy moustache tipped upward as a mocking smirk graced his thin features.
"Looks like you got lucky kid" his shadow crawled up the wall. "They found a different use for you" his smokey tone was a disturbance to the silence.
Carl only stared. He wouldn't give away that his mind was off kilter, that this place was affecting him—he wouldn't give them the satisfaction. His dad would've done the same, he was sure of it. Simon frowned at his lack of response, clearly accustomed to him lashing out and his harried attempts to escape.
Simon scoffed and reached to grab a hold of his thinning arm. He hauled Carl to his feet and ushered him out of his cell. There was still that odd silence and he looked at the cells that lined the hall only to see opened doors and empty space. Simon followed his sight and the smirk came back as he pushed the boy down the corridor.
"Collection day" he said as though that was all the explanation needed. It was.
The fog in his mind was settling just a bit, like it was slowly peeling away from the muck it was stuck in. Each empty cell he passed was like a marker for his limited time and Carl looked around, his mind warring with him; what was the use? You're all alone, your mother isn't even your mother anymore; to, this isn't who you are, your dad would be disappointed, don't succumb to their whims. His head hurt from all the noise but his eyes never ceased their scanning. A vent here, a door there, Simon's gun and the knife he was hiding in his waistband where they flashed when he moved a certain way.
Carl wasn't well versed in fighting, something he'd never taken an interest in despite his father's insistence that he learn even the basics and now he regretted it. But he didn't have time to dwell on it as they came to a set of double doors.
"Sit at the table and keep your mouth shut unless spoken to" Simon said before shoving him into the room.
Carl stood opposite a stainless steel table in a room that reminded him of the investigation quarters he'd seen on visits to his dad's precinct. He eyed the only person in the room with narrowed eyes; he was tall even as he sat there, a long trench coat over a button up. The only stand out thing about him was the black eyepatch over his right eye.
"Carl, correct?" He smiled though it seemed to be something that took effort to look harmless.
"Yes" his voice was hoarse and scratchy from being unused.
"Sit" he gestured to the other chair in front of him.
Carl hesitated and the man only smirked harder. "Something wrong?" He questioned.
Carl didn't answer, he went over to sit on the uncomfortable metal. He felt the coldness through his thin sweatsuit.
"Good" the man said before he leaned to the right and produced a blank, cream coloured folder, he took the contents out and splayed them across the table's surface.
Carl stared at the pictures. He recognized The Kingdom; the centre of the nation. It was a progressive and vast city that was highly protected by a trained military and surrounded by a large body of water that one had to cross a two lane bridge to get to. Many who had the means travelled there with the illusion of a better life. He remembered his parents talking about it at some points, sometimes leading to one of their many arguments—his mother seeing the benefit and his father, ever practical and resolute, not keen on packing them up just to go somewhere they couldn't afford.
"I believe you've heard of The Kingdom?" The man queried.
"Who hasn't?" Carl spoke but forgot himself and looked up at the same crooked smile that seemed to cause him great effort.
"Who hasn't, indeed" he nodded. "It seems they plan on expanding their lands"
Carl's brows furrowed. He was confused, not about what he'd just been told, but of how he fit in all this. As if reading his mind the man waved a hand nonchalantly. "Humor me, how do you think they would do that?"
Carl held the same confused frown as he scanned the multiple pictures, wondering what this was about. He remembered Simon's words and balled his fists in his lap. "Their backs are against mountains and their front is up against water, so from the sides; outwards?"
The man's grin was even worse, a warbled grimace. "Precisely. Carl, how would you feel about being part of something monumental?"
Carl felt a shiver run down his spine and he knew it wasn't because of the draft in the room. He looked over the pictures in front of him again; some were grainy captures of the military, others portraying aspects of the impressive city. It was all just a pile of unassuming captures; like a tourist. But Carl could tell there was something to them.
"You see, the kingdom isn't as righteous a city as they make themselves out to be. They are hellbent on being the reigning land, hence their expansion. I know you're young but once a power is aware of its influence there is a high chance they'll use it to oppress and that's what's happening here" the man explained. He then pulled out a folded paper from his breast pocket and unfolded it. He laid it out and Carl looked at the map seeing all the cities names. He pointed to the city to the left of The Kingdom that sat in the middle.
"The first city to go would be Hilltop. Governor Ezekiel is ambitious, he's looking to turn back time to when we all bowed to one leader" the man explained steely. "Word is getting around and we are trying to stop him from acting in this"
"Who is we?" Carl looked into his visible green eye.
The man smirked. He said nothing. Carl looked at the map feeling uneasy. He didn't trust this man and his warped smiles and it didn't seem believable that that big of a city would try to wipe out others. But it wasn't unheard of, he'd been to school and he'd been mildly interested in history and learned enough to know that the past was way too easy to emulate. Could The Kingdom really be a cynical power hungry parasite growing before everyone's eyes? His dad would've thought this all through but Carl also knew he would jump at the chance to protect those he cared for and the small town of Kings County where he grew up in the face of a threat like this. His head was spinning again and the battle of his will and self trust was giving him a headache.
"What does this have to do with me?" Carl asked cautiously.
The man grinned again. "I heard you're skilled in reconnaissance" he tapped the table. "You're seen as a traitor here and your worth has dwindled to those scum being sent away for backhanded labor but I've heard a great deal about you from a trusted ear"
Carl just stared. "I saved you from becoming some freak's specimen, you owe me and what I'm here to cash in on is your affinity for field work" the man kept tapping the table.
Carl swallowed down the tension building in him. This all sounded wrong, he was skeptical. Why do they need him for such a thing? How trustworthy could these people be if they've seemingly allied with The Sanctuary? What would they make him do and what was the bigger picture? The end game? So many questions sliced through his mind at rapid pace and yet despite his hesitance, as he looked into the green eye of the man across from him swirling with something much darker than he was portraying—Carl felt he had no say.
-()-
"Shit" Rick grumbled as he went through each room. "Damn it!"
His boots echoed through the halls as he pried open all the doors he could. He'd staked out the place and saw no activity, he'd chanced getting closer, the barred windows his telescope inside but it was too dark and too quiet. The last time he'd been there it was a buzz of activity. Men outside, cars coming and going and lights on. He'd retraced his steps to this branch, where he'd slipped up and got caught and shot at. Now he freely roamed and it sent a dreaded feeling in his gut—they'd moved on.
"Fuck!" He exclaimed in frustration and crouched to the ground at the end of another hall.
This was the one lead he'd had. He'd planned on circling back after losing the men on his heels that day so that he could spy some more, get further intel that might give way to where his son and wife were. He ran a hand over his face and gripped his mouth as he stared at the far wall. Him and his Lori had become strangers the last two years of their marriage, gradually fighting more, sleeping as far away from each other as they could get. He hadn't touched her in so long he'd forgotten what she even felt like or sounded like in an intimate setting. He wasn't as stupid as she wanted him to be, he saw the way she perked up when Shane would come over, the way she talked more, laughed more and took effort in her appearance. He wasn't a pushover, he was just observant. So when his family went missing, he knew who exactly had done it. Because he knew Shane, well before they paraded themselves around like officers, well before they were even adults. Before that they were runners and before that they were orphans. Then came the hierarchy, the need for power and purpose they fell into. That uncertainty of where you belonged and finding a twisted comradery in the brotherhood of adrenaline and money.
Rick had been on the highest seat, been thrown off and went into hiding into a den of solitude and discipline. Shane, well, Shane wanted more; never the gifted sort he couldn't get further than right hand or an overseer and so it made sense for him to do the unthinkable in a world where that is rewarded. Rick had been blindsided by a rotten dependence. He wanted his son back and the mother of his most proudest moment, to be alright. And so he would do all he could to make sure that happened, he knew how this world operated. You got buried more than you lived and he would be damned if something happened to either of them.
As he got to his feet, feeling despondent and displaced and as the sounds of the empty base ricocheted all around him he suddenly thought of soft laughter, and bright smiles. He pictured big brown eyes pleading with him to stay but a beautiful mouth telling him to go. He couldn't pinpoint when he started wanting to be around her but those few days spent in that rundown home had unknowingly been a peace he hadn't felt in a while. His mind went to sweet Judith, who always engaged him with words despite his lack of them and who he left fighting in a hospital bed. His chest squeezed and he grunted as if someone had hit him physically.
He heard Michonne's soft cries when she thought she had a moment to herself and the sadness marking her whole body. The worry, the fear. And he'd left her feeling all of those things, he'd left her alone just to be lost and alone himself now that he'd been dealt shit. He wanted to go back and that was scary in itself because his son was out there and he knew Jack shit if he was okay and yet his mind was split in two. Rick closed his eyes and that's when he felt the cold metal at the back of his head and the menacing click.
"Who are ya and why ya 'ere?" The voice was gruff and dry. Rick's heart hammered and he thought of Carl and he thought of Michonne and Judith. He'd been careless.
"I was just leaving" he exhaled, fists balled.
"Well yer still 'ere so I'm askin'" the hard metal was pressed more firmly against his skull.
"I'm looking for somebody" Rick reluctantly gave up.
"Ain't nothin' 'ere"
"I see that"
"Who ya lookin' fer?" The person demanded in their thick southern drawl.
Rick was done being interrogated so he turned swiftly, knocking the person's arm before wrenching the gun away and turning it on them just as he was looking at the sleek tip of an arrow. The two stared hard at each other, neither backing down from their standoff. Rick took in the man's rugged appearance; long hair that obscured his eyes, a thin mustache and goatee combo. He wore a black leather vest over a thin long sleeved shirt and loose cotton pants and thick boots. Rick wondered how he hadn't heard him.
"This place ain't easy to find, no one's here so why are you?" Rick turned the tables.
The man was quiet for a beat. "I'm lookin' fer someone, too"
Rick stared for a long while before he began lowering his gun, letting out a huff. The man lowered his weapon but kept his gaze on Rick who was running a hand down through his hair. "They packed up good and skipped" he relayed the obvious.
The man nodded. "Only reason fer that is 'cause someone must 'ave spooked 'em" he glanced back down the hall.
Rick eyed him but said nothing. There was no point divulging that it was him that most likely put them on caution. He felt like he was going crazy, there were so many variables now that it was hard to line them all up. He glared up at the exposed pipes in the ceiling and thought about his next move. Something had to be here, something that could give him a clue or point him in a specific direction. Preferably to his son.
"They couldn't have been so thorough if they were in a hurry" Rick muttered.
"Ya think? 'Cause I think they a bunch of sons of bitches that ain't stupid" the man with the crossbow looked at him.
"Maybe, but there are always loose cannons" Rick met his gaze.
"Ya take right an' I get left?" The man jabbed his thumb down the hall past Rick and then over his shoulder.
Rick reached back and lifted his jacket, tucking the stolen gun in his waistband and nodded. "Meet back here in 20"
The man grunted and turned back the way they came and Rick went forward. He wasn't sure if he trusted the man but if he wanted to he'd had ample opportunity to end him and for now, their interests aligned. It was odd, the ease in which they'd come to a truce but if Rick was honest he'd felt no hostility from the man, only mild curiosity and a spike of anxiousness. He had questions but they wouldn't be answered and he wouldn't be doing so either.
The building was like a small maze; it had the main floor and the basement seemed endless. Just doors and more doors; there had to be something. He burst into barren rooms, ones with twin cots and others with electrical machines one after the other. Rick was growing frustrated. They couldn't be this thorough but yet they had many days to get this place emptied and that made him kick himself even more. He should've been more urgent, he should've left that brothel as soon as he woke up, he was sure he could've snuck his way out or use Michonne as a distraction—
Rick perished the thought immediately. He saw, he witnessed the upsetting display that the lunatic house mother made. He stepped out of that closet for a reason, seeing her put her hands on both Michonne and Judith sparked a rage in him he hadn't let himself feel since he came home to an empty house months earlier. Anger like that blinded him, rushed him into danger and muddled his mind to where he couldn't think about anything other than ending the threat. He had aimed for her head, the house mother, it was the thought of the others that made him change trajectory last minute. Those girls and women depended on her despite her wrongs and he didn't want to leave them with no one.
Thinking of Michonne and Judith only furthered his unease and frustration at this predicament. He had this constant need to get back to them but he knew when Judith woke up they'd be long gone. He pushed open the last door at the end of the hall and stopped short. It was an office and it seemed they'd skipped it since it was tucked away in a short corridor and out of view. They didn't account for a desperate Rick. He slipped inside and his nose twitched at the dusty air but he proceeded, nearing the wooden desk where papers were strewn about. He flipped through them and registered the logs of their input and output to what looked like other organizations and obscure customers.
His hands paused on a different stack of papers. These ones didn't have the standard drug codes, instead it was numbers and a name scrawled beneath it. Rick's stomach twisted as he realized what this was—as a cop he's seen a multitude of atrocities and nothing has ever fueled his ire like the time he had taken down a child trafficking ring and it all came back to him as he stared at the papers. Some names had dashes or checkmarks and others were marked with an 'X'; he could guess what it meant and it made him growl in the dim office. His eyes raked over the many names until his heart threatened to explode when he came to the most recent and he balled up the piece of paper. He felt like screaming, like the world around him had grown considerably darker. This couldn't be right. He needed answers. Now.
#346724
Carl Grimes : —
Despite the dread lodging itself in his stomach Rick searched with more fervor. There had to be something, something that could lead him to Carl, he had to get to him. He threw open the desk drawers but it was all just miscellaneous things until he got to the last one. It was locked. Rick didn't have to wherewithal to search for a key so he braced himself and started kicking at the wood wildly until it began to splinter. The noise echoed but he kept at it until his heel hurt and the pesky drawer wobbled loose.
He crouched, brushing away broken wood and pulled out a blank folder with an emblem stamped in the corner. A winged tree. Recognition dawned on Rick as he looked at it; Woodberry. His heart continued to race and thoughts jumped back to Michonne and the letter from her mother she stole off of the house mother. What did they have to do with The Sanctuary? Questions bounced all around his head and anxiety settled on his shoulders at the thought of Michonne and Judith somehow getting mixed up with all of this.
Rick eyed the folder and tucked it in his coat, zipping it up. Something was going on here. A knock near the door made him free his holstered gun and whip, barrel pointed between the eyes of the intruder. The rugged man from before was standing in the doorway, hands up and holding a folded paper.
He held it out, seemingly unphased at being drawn on. "I found a map. It's marked"