Unbreakable threads

Chapter Twenty-three: carl gets shot

As the group pressed through the thick woods, exhaustion etched on their faces, a sudden sight made them stop in their tracks. Just a few yards ahead, a deer stood among the trees, its graceful form dappled in sunlight. The animal seemed almost ethereal, watching them with calm, unblinking eyes.

"Dad, look!" Carl whispered, awe in his voice as he took a hesitant step forward, captivated by the deer's stillness. Alyssa, Rick, and even Shane held their breath, entranced by the unexpected beauty in this fractured world.

Carl took another step closer, his hand reaching out, his face lit with wonder. And then—

CRACK.

A deafening gunshot rang out, splitting the serene moment in two. Carl stumbled backward, a look of shock frozen on his face as he clutched his side, his small frame folding as he hit the ground. The horror of the moment seemed to stretch into eternity as Rick's scream tore through the air.

"Carl!" Rick shouted, racing to his son's side, his face pale, his hands trembling as he crouched over him.

Shane and Alyssa stood frozen, their faces etched with horror. Alyssa's heart pounded as she watched Carl lying on the ground, blood beginning to spread through his shirt. Panic clawed at her as she realized the gravity of the situation.

Just then, a man emerged from the trees, his face stricken, his hands up in a gesture of remorse. "I'm so sorry—I didn't mean—oh, my god, I was aiming for the deer!" he stammered, his voice cracking as he took in the scene before him. His eyes landed on Carl, and his face turned pale. "Quick, we don't have time. I'm staying on a farm not far from here—my people can help. Follow me!"

Without a second thought, Rick scooped Carl into his arms, his face etched with desperation. Carl's breathing was shallow, his face pale as his father held him close, whispering reassurances as they all ran after the man, weaving through the trees.

Shane kept a protective hand on Alyssa's shoulder as they moved, his face set with tension as he glared at the stranger leading them. But right now, there was no time for blame, no time for questions. All that mattered was keeping Carl alive.

The woods opened up to reveal a clearing, and in the distance stood a farmhouse, a sturdy structure surrounded by open fields and fenced pastures. A few other buildings dotted the landscape, and the sight of a windmill turning gently in the breeze gave a strange sense of hope amidst the fear.

The man sprinted ahead, his voice carrying as he shouted for help. "Hershel! We've got a kid here, he's hurt! Get the supplies, quick!"

They reached the farmhouse, and another man emerged from the door—a tall, thin figure with a weathered face and kind but serious eyes. He took in the scene with calm urgency, gesturing them inside. "Bring him in, now," he ordered. "Lay him down on the table."

Rick laid Carl gently on the farmhouse table, brushing the hair from his son's pale face as he fought back tears. Alyssa stayed close to the wall, her hands clutched together, her heart aching as she watched Carl lying still, barely conscious. Shane stood by the door, his face set with fury and worry, his gaze flicking suspiciously between the stranger and the man who seemed to be in charge.

"I'm Hershel Greene," the older man said, his voice calm yet commanding. "We have some medical supplies here, enough to help him, but we'll need to work fast." He turned to Rick, giving him a reassuring nod. "We'll do everything we can."

Rick's voice trembled as he nodded, his hand resting on Carl's shoulder. "Please... save my boy."

Hershel nodded and got to work, calling for others to assist.