Alice was not worried of the unknown. She was worried of what she already knew. She was worried of the promises that the new people were making to her-the ones bringing the people of a fallen Woodbury into their own settlement. The girl felt sorry t...
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C A R L
CARL GRIMES HAD ALICE right where he wanted her. Although the girl was inside the house preparing for a voyage she thought she would never come back from, Carl knew she would never get very far.
He was elbow deep in the engine of the car destined for her use, leaning underneath a heavy hood that he hoped wouldn't randomly collapse in on him. A pair of pliers was held in his grip as he frantically searched for the fuel line. Eventually, his fingers wrapped around the line, a foreign sight to his lone eye.
The boy crimped the line, his fingers wrapping so tightly around the handle of the pliers that his knuckles turned white. He figured he'd learned enough from eavesdropping on Dale and Glenn to use their advice in the name of stopping Alice from avenging him at her own expense.
The fuel line wasn't fully cut, preventing a leak and allowing the car to move for some time. An irreversible dent in the line, however, was bound to cost Alexandria a car, but to ensure Alice a short trip on the remaining gasoline before it were to stall indefinitely. That way she'd get far enough without being able to immediately turning around and take another one of the cars. When Carl would enact his half of the plan, the next day, he'd stumble across her, stranded, not having a clue in the world why the car was faulty.
There was no way he was going to let Alice anywhere near any of it. She'd already seen more than he could've ever witnessed in his worst nightmare. Enough was enough and Carl was willing to play his hand at any games needed to keep the girl away from Negan's base.
It was now his responsibility. He was the one who got her gun taken. A careless act cost him her weapon. He was not about to let another one cost her life.
The boy wiped his forehead with the back of his wrist, the corner of his bandage rubbing against his sleeve. He slammed the hood of the car down before grabbing the leafy branches from the ground and placing them in the same manner Alice did to conceal the car. Hopefully, within her sinister excitement, she wouldn't notice the difference.
He brushed his grimy hands off on his pants, grabbing his hat from the ground and placing it atop his head. Carl knew he smelled of oil, metallic rust. He dripped with the mischief stirring within his fingers, a gulp sent down his throat concealing every giveaway that he was up to something.
The front gate slammed closed behind him. Whatever happened didn't just happen. He forgot. At least he pretended like he forgot. His boots echoed with a different cadence as he crossed the threshold to the house, the steps leaving the wooden porch entering the tile of the kitchen floor.
