We're The Ones Who Live {Carl Grimes x Reader}

Chapter Eight - I Told You Not To Raise The Dead

Foster's arm shot up, blocking her eyes from the blinding light the building emitted. She hissed quietly as she squinted, taking a small step back only to bump into Glenn. Glenn let out a shuddering breath he had been holding as he stared forward, his hand coming up to rest on Foster's shoulder with a firm grip. The entire group stood still, chests heaving, eyes wide as everyone stared into the light. The bright lights suddenly dimmed, an electrical clicking sound echoing through the now open building.

"Daryl, you cover the back," Shane ordered as he tossed Daryl the shotgun he had been holding before moving forward, raising a rifle that had been slung across his back. Daryl nodded, raising the gun as he moved away from Foster's side. The group all moved forward, Glenn pulling his hand away from Foster's shoulder to grip his gun in both hands as he moved alongside her. Foster swallowed nervously, her right hand returning to her bowstring as she followed after Lori and Carl.

"Hello?" Rick called out, his voice echoing, "Hello?" Lori turned sharply, extending an arm towards Foster, pulling the girl close to her side. Foster's hold on her bowstring faltered slightly, appreciating the comfort Lori offered her as the group flooded into the building.

"Close those doors. Watch for walkers," Dale said in a shaky tone as Daryl and T-Dog walked through the doors last. Lori's grip on Foster and Carl tightened as the group came to a halt, everyone taking in the room. Foster's mouth fell slightly open as she looked around the now dimly lit building. The CDC's lobby had high ceilings, glass walls lined the outside of the building, a giant blue logo sat on top of a world map carved into a brick wall before them. Foster's eyes wandered over the dark lobby, the giant room completely empty. The building's cool air sent a shiver up Foster's back.

"Hello?" Rick called out once again. The sound of a gun cocking echoed through the lobby. Foster's head swiveled, her eyes landing on a disheveled man, the rifle in his hands pointed directly at the group. Everyone who had a gun immediately pointed them at the man.

"Anybody infected?" the man asked loudly, his voice hard and unwavering.

"One of our group was. He didn't make it," Rick answered as he licked his lips nervously. Foster's grip on her bow tightened, her right hand traveled up to the waistband of her pants, feeling the handgun that was concealed under the shirt and flannel she wore. Colt 1911, she remembered Merle saying it was his favorite gun. The gun's name echoed through her mind as she stared at the man, her lips pursed into a thin line as her fingers danced under her flannel to wrap around the gun's smooth stock.

"Why are you here? What do you want?" the man questioned as he took a few small steps forward.

"A chance," Rick said softly, slightly lowering his gun.

"That's asking an awful lot these days," the man retorted, moving closer to the group. Rick shook his head slightly.

"I know," Rick murmured, returning his gaze back to the man. The man looked around the group, his eyes lingering on where Lori held Foster and Carl in front of her, both children pressed tightly shoulder to shoulder. His gaze shifted to Carol who held Sophia tight to her side, the mousy woman's chest heaving.

"You all submit to a blood test. That's the price of admission," the man said bluntly.

"We can do that," Rick quickly agreed, a breath of relief escaping him as he spoke. The man lowered his rifle to his side, once again looking around the group. Foster's hand fell away from her gun, the tension in the air slowly dissipating as the two men nodded to each other.

"You got stuff to bring in, you do it now. Once this door closes it stays closed," the man said sternly, moving past Rick as he pointed at the doors. Rick curtly nodded.