Carl Grimes Imagines

Imagine: Axe and Bone

***HERSHEL DID NOT GET HIS LEG AMPUTATED IN THIS IMAGINE

The prison was off to a brilliant start, children were already there, farms already started, and a society was beginning to build.

It was you and Carl who volunteered to help out with the protection of the camp. Outside of the camp, only a short distance beyond the last fence, both of you were putting up wooden stakes in the ground. They were supposed to intersect, so when a walker arrived, it would get stuck. Gruesome, but helpful.

Not many of the walkers were around, and none of them noticed you two, which was fairly surprising, but others at the camp were keeping them at the fences and away from the entrance.

The large stakes were almost finished, and you were concentrating hard on doing it right there first time, you weren't one of the slackers either.

And when something grabbed your right forearm, you thought it was Carl pulling you back, but it was only after a white blast of pain erupted inside your lower arm that you noticed the snarling.

"Oh my God!" you practically shouted, capturing Carl's attentions, you tried incredibly hard to pull away, and succeeding, but your right arm was badly injured with multiple layers of skin ripped off with teeth.

Your only defense was your feet, so, gathering up strength, you plunged your right foot towards the walker in front of you, your very own blood covering its mouth.

It hadn't worked as you planned, the fragile skin of the stomach split open when contact was made, your very own foot was inside the walker.

"Carl!" but he had already loaded his own gun, and fired, a splatter of blood erupted from the now dead walker's wound. When it fell, you were able to take your blood-soaked foot out of the stomach, and almost fell before regaining your balance.

"(Y/N), come on!" Carl almost shouted as he ran up to you, clutching your arm gushing with blood. He took you by the shoulders, and he almost had to force you to run through the gates, considering you were only focused on the fact that you were going to die. Not of old age, a gun shot, but a bite from the undead.

It came to you that you'd lose Carl by this mishap, from how focused you were on your own work to notice the dangers around you.

"I'm so sorry, Carl," you said, tears brimming your eyes and he kept moving you along the fields leading up the prison. You grunted in pain, having waves of aching and a feeling of bullet shots being shot through your skin.

"No, not now. You can say that after you survive," when Carl spoke, it was almost forcefully. As if he wanted to believe that you'd pull through this horrid situation. You almost said something else, but Carl was first when you two reached the gates and entered the outer-prison.

"DAD!" Carl shouted at the top of his lungs, calling for his dad who couldn't possibly be any help to a dying girl like you. Rick was stationed in front of the prison, talking to Daryl, but could easily hear the signal from his son.

Many people turned their heads towards you and Carl, quieting down to hushed voice that replaced the laughs that were once there.

"What happened?" Rick's voice was urgent as he looked at you trying to miraculously stop the bleeding with your red-stained hand.

"She got bit, Dad!" Carl shouted to his own dad, his voice ice cold and stern. "What do we do?"

"There is nothing," you said through gritted teeth, tying not to blink and release any tears brought by the pain in your arm.

"Carl, bring her inside below the cells--where the chambers are," Rick ordered. Carl wasted no time in dragging you to the entrance to the prison.