𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐖𝐚𝐥𝐬𝐡 | 𝐂. 𝐆𝐫𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐬

𝟪

It was hard to think over Carol's wailing at the loss of her daughter, the thought of her daughter being forced to run away, into a forest of the unknown, being chased by two dead monsters, racing to their next meal. Carl stood there behind the guardrail, staring into the forest he saw his best friend and friend run into. His dad pushed him away from the guard rail, fearing his own son was contemplating doing the same thing of running away. He remembered his father looking him in the eyes, saying something he vividly remembers but could just barely put together. All he understood was him reassuring everything was going to be okay. The pain must've been evident on his face for his dad to notice and rub the back of his head reassuringly. Before he could say something, to beg his father if he could go with him–even if he knew that the answer was a definite no–his father had dashed off into the woods, his best friend Shane following after him.

Carl wanted to be strong. He didn't want to cry. He wanted to have hope that his dad and Shane would find the two. That everything would be alright. Yet, his heart still raced with panic, and eyes threatening to cry out for his best friend. He turned back around, seeing his mother holding Carol close to her as the miserable woman reached out towards the forest, calling out for her daughter whilst his mother whispered reassuring words into her ear and combed her fingers in her hair reassuringly. "Sophia..." he heard her whimper, his heart-shattering at the woman's wailing. His mother looked over at him, he could tell she too was trying not to cry, but the glossy look in her eyes shined brightly under the hot sun. He could sense that the only thing keeping her composed was the reassurance that her son didn't rush into the forest as well.

Nevertheless, that isn't to say it still wasn't a struggle for her to keep her composure; he knew she viewed Blake like a son as well, and seeing him dash into the woods after Sophia understandably did not sit well with her. Yet, her priority was to calm Carol down because she knew if she broke down, her efforts to keep the grieving woman positive would go down the drain. Lori had hope in the two sheriffs to find the kids. The situation was familiar to cases she recalled Rick and Shane being involved in, having to track down lost, kidnapped, or even runaway children. The only difference? There was no threat of cannibalistic dead people walking, hunting for anything remotely alive to sink their undead, infectious teeth into.

Carl turned to look back at the woods, the leaves gently swaying against their branches as a nice, cool windy breeze blew past. He remembered the words the older boy told him back at camp. How he promised to never leave his side no matter what. How he'd be there for him every step of the way. Where was he now? The boy wasn't so sure if he should grieve at the loss of his best friend or get angry at the lies. Why did he run into the woods? Was it to save Sophia? Carl wanted to believe that was the case, for him not to have a reason to hate his best friend without knowing his true intentions. Blake always looked out for the group, despite the adults holding the overall responsibility of protecting everyone—particularly his dad and Shane. He tried to see the good, how Blake was always there for him, especially during the times of learning how he and his mother believed at the time his father had been dead.