Alone

Chapter: 3 // lead me •

"The girl stays behind, Carl I trust you to look after her." Rick gives his son a hard stare, one that clearly translates into faith and utmost trust.

"What about Ron? What happens if he-"

"He doesn't have any weapons on him, and I've already warned Olivia about making sure he doesn't sneak in the armory. We've got bigger issues to worry about, Carl." And with that, he climbs up in the RV and they speed off.

Alexandria was better than any sanctum I'd ever encountered as I had believed from the first time hearing about it from Ron. I was expecting mass destruction and terrible community service, but was met with a tip top shape community with unbelievable pretty houses on each side of the street.

The people were initially very polite- with the exception Carl's group who were on the fence about me.

It took a little time, but they sang a different tune, telling me that I could stay with them for as long as I'd like. I couldn't say no, not after seeing this place.

Carl walks me back to his place, he shows me around, but refuses to let me in the nursery where a sleeping baby is curled up in a crib, then lastly he throws a blanket over the sofa in the living area and a pillow and gestures for me to sit.

"This is your bed," he said lamely. I plunk down on the cushions and they sink in. I shift uncomfortably before kicking my feet up and resting my head on the plump pillow.

"I'm just going to lie here, so you don't have to watch me like a hawk." I stare blankly ahead at the fire place, two charred logs sit in the fire place, burning into ashes.

After a minute, he takes a seat next to the couch at the foot and sits there, watching me watching the logs burn.

"How many people have you killed?" He sounds like his dad. Like a domineering jerk. I blow air out of my nose and roll my eyes at the ceiling.

"I haven't had to, yet. You?" I honestly answer. My eyes land on him, he picks at a fiber on the shag carpet smack dab on the middle of the floor.

"A few. And you will, eventually. It's not going to be easy, or fun. You'll just do it." Carl grimaces like he just remembered something painful. I was curios, but not that curious about what goes on in his mind. I always am about everyone.

"How many walkers?" He asked. I laugh lightly because I don't know if he's joking or not, but his unchanging cold stare let's me know he's serious.

"How many have you killed?" I return. He thinks about it for a minute and shrugs. "Thousands, probably."

"Mm." I close my eyes and fold my arms over my chest as if they will provide me warmth, the logs in the fireplace are charred and burnt out.

"Your group, what were they like?" I smile sadly to myself and chuckle, finally the boy asks a relevant question.

"It was me, my mom and dad, and then this guy with pretty brown long hair and a majestic beard and icy blue eyes-uh," I jolt up and press my lips in a thin line, trying to recall his name. I haven't mentioned him earlier to Ron, I lost him a long time ago before my parents.

"J-Jesus, yes, his name was Jesus." I bit the inside of my cheek. Carl looks at me sideways, and I go on to explain Jesus.

"Paul Rovia was his real name, but his friends called him Jesus because he resembled the religious figure, physically and personality wise, so we would call him that too. I met him a few months ago, I think. He was doing parkour, then he was like martial arts style taking out these roamers and if it weren't for my big mouth, it would have been awesome." I laughed. "I um...it's embarrassing actually, I let him know that he was a hell of a fighter and he attacked me, mistaking me for a roamer I guess. After I gained consciousness, I discovered he took me and my parents to his sanctum which was kind of like this one. It was kind of perfect, peaceful, ran by a drunk who loved his drinks as much as he did being a douche, Gregory. The place used to be a living history museum which was nuts, and the people were friendly and civil. They raise crops and livestock, and Jesus' job was to search for other settlements to trade with. He was kind of a thief- a friendly thief. He wouldn't steal nothing of yours unless he knew what it was to you and he wouldn't take it. Moral of the story, Jesus and I became friends- really good friends. He was friendly and generous and had a puckish sense of humor that endeared him to everyone he met. He didn't know what to think of me at first, but our connection just grew so strong, we were inseparable."