↳ it's who we are now...
oc x carl grimes
season 4-7
TW: Mentions of death, gory depictions, suicide, alcohol and drug abuse, language, smoking, violence, depression, and other mature topics.
DISCLAIMER: I do not own or claim to own any of The Walk...
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We only stop briefly for lunch. I enjoy half a can of fruit, which isn't much, but is at least something to fill my empty stomach. Carl and I split a sleeve of stale crackers before the trip consumes us again, causing us to gather our things and rise from the fallen logs we had been sitting on so that we can head back to the tracks. At this point, I am somehow even more tired than I was earlier. I still won't bring myself to complain, even though there is plenty to complain about, but I really could use some rest. I think Rick sees that on everyone's faces along with the steady smears of dirt and dust.
"We can stop around here for the night," Rick declares as he taps a finger against the paper map, causing a crinkling noise. "That should only give us about an hour's walk to Terminus tomorrow." That sounds good to me, knowing we had been a decent distance away before. The gap is finally closing.
I pick my bag back up off the ground and dust off the bottom, where pine needles and dried grass had collected, with my hand before putting it over my shoulder. We all continue down the tracks, wasting no time to get to our destination. I can't wait to do so. I think the others could agree.
As we walk, I think about the man in the woods again. I try telling myself to stop. I didn't even know him, but I felt like his death was a result of my lack of care. It was too late to help, so I shouldn't even be paying any mind to it anymore. All is said and done, so I should let it go. The problem is, no matter how hard I try, I can't. Every so often, I swear I'm hearing his screams again, ringing through my ears as we walk in, otherwise, silence.
I take a quick glance at Carl, who's staring at his boots as we move along. He seems sad, his hands tucked in the pockets of his navy zip-up jacket. He has every reason to be. After speaking to him again earlier, I feel even worse about his predicament.
Nobody should be able to understand how I feel because I hate feeling the way I do.
After two hours of walking with very little conversation, Rick has us veer off the tracks and onto a back road that's dusted with skids of tire tracks and leaves. It's so much easier to walk on pavement compared to the rocky railroad tracks, causing me to feel like I'm practically at a sprinting pace once we do. It does wonders for my limp. My foot doesn't seem to catch on anything as I drag it along.
After a few hundred yards of following the quiet road, we meet up with an abandoned car that's tucked off to the side. "We stay off the tracks for now. We don't know what we're going against," Rick says, motioning for us to move towards the old vehicle. He has a point. "I'll start the fire and you guys get settled in the car. We'll get something to eat soon."
