All That Remains | Carl Grimes

Chapter 1 | The Lucky Ones

I slowly opened the door to the abandoned house, mechete always in hand. The dust had settled on the furniture, graying everything. Particles floated all around the house and danced in the sun rays coming in through the window above the sink in the kitchen. It seemed all too peaceful. I looked briefly around the ground floor, checking for walkers. Clear. Putting my machete back in its holster wrapped around my leg, I walked into the kitchen. Opening all the cupboards and pouring out all their contents, I only managed to find a giant can of pudding stored over them. Starving and desperate, I dragged a chair from the kitchen table and put it against the counter. As I was about to step on it, I heard a noise from upstairs. Something fell over and footsteps followed.

I froze and looked up at the ceiling. With slow movements, I quietly walked up the stairs, making sure that the floorboards didn't creak, giving away my presence. At the top of the stairs, I came across four doors. More noise snapped my head towards the door labelled "Sam". I, once again, took out my machete and wrapped my hand around the handle.

I quickly turned it, pushing the door open just as fast and took a step back. In front of me was a walker. Recent turn, barely decayed and still holding onto its human weight. Ugly as hell, though. It was stuck behind some furniture. The walker growled and reached out for me, stretching its arms so much, you'd think they would snap off. I looked around me for anything useful to help me kill it. The way it was stuck, it would be difficult to just kill it. I turned around and looked downstairs over the railing. Before I could even begin to move, something pulled me from my hair.

I resisted as much as I could, knowing it would be the walker. I held onto the railing, trying to pull away. The walker seemed to still be stuck, though it was just in reach of me. Having run out of options and patience, with my right hand, I reached from my machete. I pulled it from its holster and swung it behind me. I felt the metal drive into its skull and heard the ripping of flesh and bone. I fell on my back, and saw the walker right above me, my machete in its forehead. I let out a sigh and pushed myself up. With my left hand on the walker's shoulder, I pulled out my weapon and sheathed it.

With my shoe, I pushed back the walker out of the way and pushed the barricade of furniture back. As I looked around the room for any supplies, I heard the door open downstairs.

I breathed in a short gasp, being out in the open. With a glance over my shoulder, I quickly moved behind the door and pulled it open so I was hidden, but could still see. I crouched and pulled my trusty machete out again. I closed my eyes, focusing on the sound of the floorboards creak underneath someone's feet. Definitely human. The footsteps got louder as the person came up the stairs. The grip on my weapon tightened. The footsteps stopped right at the door frame and then continued to walk in. 

I finally saw the figure. A boy, not much older than me. He wore a sheriff's hat and a white and blue shirt, and had a white, dirtied duffle around his chest. I could only tell so much seeing him from behind. I observed him for a while. He had a small frame, skinny, not much muscle on him, though he emitted a feeling of toughness. He had somewhat long hair with small curls escaping the too big for him sheriff's hat. He quietly looked around, like I would be doing.

As quietly as I could, I stood up and walked right behind him. With my left hand, I grabbed his hair and pulled his head on my shoulder, as with my right, I brought the sharp end of the machete on his neck, the tiny spikes grazing his neck as he inhaled. "Don't move." I said, a form of authority in my voice. "Don't try anything stupid." His breathing seemed panicked. "Put your pistol down." The boy slowly reached to the holster on his right leg and took out a black pistol, which he then put on the floor. 

I pushed his head forward, making him stumble to the floor and his hat fall off his head. While he was down I picked up his gun in my left hand as I put my machete away with my right. As he was getting up, he glared a furious look at me and rose to his feet. The first thing that I noticed about his face were his eyes. To say that they were blue was like saying that the sun was yellow. Sufficient but not accurate to capture the burning. That blue color I had never seen before. They were so mesmerizing that it is as if they looked deep into my soul. I could not take my eyes off of them.Obviously annoyed, he raised his hands in front of him. "What do you want, lady?" He asked, glaring at me. "You might wanna show some fucking respect to the person with a gun to your head." I advised. "Give me everything you have." He didn't budge. "Think I'm fucking around?" I yelled and brought the pistol closer to his forehead. "I don't have anything!" He yelled back in my face. 

I chuckled, genuinely amused. "People with 'nothing' don't make it this long." I stated. "Maybe I'm one of the lucky ones." He remarked. "Give me what you got, or I kill you and take it anyway." I insisted. He begrudgingly took out a knife and a candy bar from the duffle, which I happily took. "That's more like it," I said and he gave a sarcastic smile in return. The sass in this one is unbelievable. "Now turn around, close your eyes and count to ten, then you can move. I'm leaving your knife at the front door, would be a shame for you to die now." I shrugged with an equally sarcastic smile. 

I turned around and bolted for the front door, only stopping when I was outside. I looked at him through a window, picking his hat off the floor and putting it back on his head. I sighed and kept running along the train tracks.

Clothes: http://www.polyvore.com/atr/set?id=213699745

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Hope you enjoyed the first part! Keep in mind I'm transferring this from Quotev as I'm rewriting it, so if you want more (horribly written) fanfic, it's under the same title there.

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-dns