of monsters and men - carl grimes

I

-

i.

let the sun in
"some would be okay just washing you away"

-

His name is Adam

He steps out onto the back porch of the infirmary, hands wrapped in fresh bandages, a cigarette hanging from his lips. From Enid's window, I can see the flick of his lighter, the flame briefly illuminating his face before it settles back into the shadow from the awning. He leans against the railing like he's been here forever, not just a week. Like Alexandria hasn't swallowed him up yet—still hanging on to something else, something outside these walls.

I can't help standing here, watching through the gap in the curtains.

He's been living in the infirmary since he got here, no one really knowing where to put him. We don't get many strangers these days, especially ones who show up the way he did—nearly dead, bloody, with nothing but the clothes on his back and a story that's only been half told.

"You watching Adam again?" Enid's voice breaks the quiet. I glance over my shoulder at her, trying to keep my expression blank but she hasn't even bothered to look up. She's on her bed behind me, legs crossed, a comic book propped on her knees.

"My dad took a group out to check out where he came from." I offer this in an attempt to casually avoid her question. "Came back yesterday."

"I heard. Glenn told me that it was some kind of huge ranch. Cows and shit. I guess Negan or the Saviors—whatever they call themselves—took all the livestock and killed everyone else. He said they were all lined up, fifty or so people, massacred like that... Adam must've been the only one who made it out... Or at least the only one Aaron found, he saw the smoke and the crows circling and that Adam was just walking along the side of the road all fucked up." Enid flips a page in her comic, eyebrows furrow slightly, and she lets out a soft sigh. "And I talked to Denise. She told me Adam's parents were killed right in front of him."

My jaw tightens, but I try not to let on how much I want to know more. Enid has a way of getting information about anything from anyone. The way she says it, like it's just another fact about Adam, like we're piecing him together bit by bit, makes it feel like gossip. But it's more than that. It's information, and I need it. I'm desperate for it.

"Did she say anything else?" I ask, trying to sound unconcerned, like I'm not dying for more details. Like I'm not staring out there waiting for something to make sense about him.

"Not really. Just that it was bad." She goes quiet, like she's deciding whether or not to say more, then sighs and closes the comic on her lap. "Denise said he didn't talk much about it. Apparently he's friendly, though. She thinks he's in shock."

I chew on that for a moment, watching Adam as he takes another slow drag. The glow of the cigarette flares, the smoke curling up into the heavy summer air, disappearing before it even has a chance to linger. Shock. That would make sense. But there's something more to him—something colder, like he's already decided not to let anyone in, like he's carrying the weight of whatever happened to him all by himself.

I feel that itch again, that need to know what he's hiding under all that silence. I can't explain why, but there's something about him—something that pulls at me, even when I try to ignore it.

"Oh, he's younger than me. I stole a glance at his chart, Denise had it written down next to his name." Enid adds. "Same year, same month. Except I'm February third and he's February twenty-seventh."

Enid's over half a year older than me, almost seven months to the day. September second. Meaning I'm still hailed as the youngest.

"He's too young to be smoking, then." I comment. He steps out onto the back porch of the infirmary several times a day for a cigarette. I think he chooses the back porch because he doesn't think anyone can see him. "Wonder where he's been getting the Marlboro packs from."