Safe haven | Rick Grimes

035. WE'LL NEVER GET THINGS BACK TO THE WAY THEY USED TO BE

Chapter thirty six

"We'll never get things back to the way they used to be."

Walking through the woods, Rick and Carl found a narrow pathway. Carl walked much faster than Rick, clearly wanting nothing to do with his father.

"Carl, slow down," Rick called out.

Carl ignored him, pushing ahead through the brush.

"Carl, stop!" Rick commanded.

This time, Carl halted. Rick caught up to him, his breathing heavy, and placed a hand on his son's shoulder.

"We... we need to stay together," Rick said softly. "We've gotta find a place with food and supplies."

Carl didn't answer. Rick squeezed his shoulder gently. "Hey."

Carl turned, his brows furrowed in deep resentment.

"We're gonna be..." Rick started to say, wanting to reassure him.

But as he looked into Carl's cold eyes, the words caught in his throat. Rick suddenly remembered telling Scarlett that they were going to be okay—and he knew, deep down, it wasn't true. He couldn't hollowly promise it again.

Seeing his father falter, Carl pulled away and began walking off down the path. With a heavy sigh, Rick followed after him.

They soon left the woods and found themselves walking along an empty road. Before long, they came across a run-down bar. They walked up to the entrance, and as Rick pulled open the rusted screen door, Carl immediately raised his gun.

"Wait outside, okay? Keep watch," Rick told him, reaching for the main door handle.

Carl didn't move. "You keep watch. You can barely stand. I'm not letting you go in there alone."

Rick stopped, incredulous. "Excuse me?"

"We've done this before," Carl said, aiming his gun back toward the door. "I'm gonna help you clear it. Honestly, you should just let me do it myself."

The two stared each other down, a tense silence hanging between them. Finally, Rick broke the gaze.

"Let's go," Rick said.

He opened the door and stepped inside, bringing his gun up to sweep the room. Carl followed close behind. Rick veered to the left, peering into a dark doorway. "Kitchen's clear," he muttered.

Turning back around, he saw Carl already heading into the next room. Rick followed him into a dining area where a jumble of chairs had been piled high. A low, raspy groan echoed from the darkness as a walker stumbled out of the shadows and into the dim light.

To their right stood a dusty sign advertising Joe Jr.'s Hot Sauce, with rows of glass bottles still lining the shelves.

"That might be all that's left," Rick murmured.

Carl raised his pistol, locking his sights on the walker. They both took a cautious step forward.

"I can get it from here," Carl said, his finger tightening on the trigger.

"No. No, it's weak," Rick insisted. He holstered his gun to save ammunition. "I'll draw it out."

Rick reached down and grabbed a hatchet resting on a nearby table. Beneath where the blade had been, Carl noticed a scrap of paper. He picked it up, reading the faded handwriting

Do what I couldn't, Joe Jr.

"Stay back," Rick ordered. He kicked down the pile of chairs to open up the space and stepped back.