Red (sequel to TYG)

Chapter 11

Carl's pov:

"Wait, let me get this straight. She's at a soldier camp surrounded by fences and guard dogs and you expect us to attack them?" Abraham asks me, an obvious look of disdain on his face.

"I have a plan." I growl.

I don't care if Anna didn't want me to avenge her. I'm hell bent on it.

"Let's hear it." Dad says.

"We each make our own herd of Walkers and lead them towards the building. After they tear the fences down they will be so focused on the Walkers that we can slip in and find her without them noticing." I explain. Daryl looks at me with accusation in his eyes and I look away.

"You're forgetting that the Walkers are a threat to us too." Tyresse says.

"That's why we use Walker guts to disguise us. We've done it before." I say. "They'll never see us coming."

Dad furrows his eyebrows and rubs his chin for a moment.

"I think it's a pretty good shot." He says after a minute. "If anyone objects say it now."

"I'm in." Tara says and is followed by murmurs of agreement.

"Let's not be hasty with this plan." Daryl speaks up. "Let's survey it for a few days. There's no need for someone else to get killed." He eyes me while he says the last sentence and I swallow nervously.

"Alright, well we head out tomorrow. It doesn't sound like Anna is in any immediate danger." Dad says.

Daryl nods his head towards the front door signaling he wants to talk so I follow him outside.

"What are you doing? She's not there anymore." Daryl says.

"I need to do this." I say through gritted teeth.

"Is revenge really worth risking the life of every single person in there?" Daryl asks, pointing to the house. "Cause let me tell you something, those are good people in there and they have your back. It's not worth getting them killed."

A wave of guilt washes over me but I push the feeling away.

"She's worth it." I snap and walk back into the house. He doesn't understand.

I lay down on the couch with my hands behind my head.

No one could possibly understand how I feel. At the moment I've pushed aside any sad feelings and replaced them with anger.

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Anna's pov:

A smooth jazz song comes through the dusty record player as I search through the book shelfs.

A small book with a leather binding catches my eye and I pull it out.

'Jacob William Charleston, age fourteen.'

It's a diary, with pages and pages of thoughts and stories. I wonder who this belonged to.

The door opens and I don't look up until I'm slammed back into the bookcase.

"Where did you get this from?" Charlie snaps at me and grabs the book from my hands.

I point to the book case where I found it and he sneers at me. He flips through it for a moment and then slams it shut. He protectively places it back on the shelf and shuts off the music. He leans against the shelf with his hands on the top, breathing heavily.

"Go downstairs and help Wanda in the kitchen." Charlie orders me.

I start to go but then I notice that he is having a panic attack. I can't just leave him here. Keeping me prisoner or not, he's still a human being.

I place my hand on his arm softly and lead him over to the couch and he surprisingly lets me sit him down.

I go to the bathroom and wet a towel with cold water. When I come back he's still breathing heavily with his head in his hands.

I sit down on the couch and pull him down so his head is on my lap. I place the towel over his forehead and he relaxes a little bit.

With cold fingers I tentatively touch the hem of his shirt to make sure he's not gonna kill me. Charlie doesn't say anything, just looks at me, so I lift his shirt up a few inches.

His scars are the same as I remember them, 'J.W.C.'. I don't think that Charlie is actually Charlie. His name is Jacob.

The Charlie must have come from his last name, Charleston.

"Why?" I ask suddenly, surprising myself. I'm itching to know.

"Because it doesn't remind me of my father like the name Jacob does." Charlie explains.

"Can I see your back?" I ask.

He gives me a questioning look but after a second he sits up and peels off his shirt. He lays down on his stomach with his head on my knee as I look closely at the scars.

I softly trace one of the scars with my fingertips. Charlie's tenses underneath my fingers but after a second he relaxes.

I've never seen them up close before. They're all different, but you get the feeling that they were caused from the same type of weapon. They're all jagged and imperfect. My heart aches for the young boy that suffered from this.

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(Slay, Carl. Super excited because Sleeping Beauty the ballet that I'm in is in eight days. Xoxo, Isabella.)