Darker Skies *The Walking Dead*

Chapter 9

Skylar was rocking. Not like a rocking chair, smooth and comfortable. It was more like a broken rocking chair, sort of bouncy and wrapped beneath her knees and behind her back. That's not how a rocking chair is supposed to look either. She had been woken up by the light that was bright even behind her eyelids. And there was a crunching noise, someone was carrying her. With the walking came a shuffling behind her and whoever was holding her. The shuffling was almost constant and made her think it was a zombie.

A zombie.

Skylar's brain kicked into overdrive at the terrifying image of Patrick and her mom. She then tried to fling herself out of the person's arm. But she didn't get very far. Her body felt like it had been stuck between a hard place and a rock. Her back was sore, the bones in her ankle were very much broken, she realized her rib cage was cramping, and her throat was drier than a desert. And when she flailed the person holding her held on tighter, very much aware of her wild movements.

"Calm down," Carl told her in a monotone voice. She froze and looked up to see her friend staring straight ahead with his jaw set and a dirty glare in his dark blue eyes. At least she knew Carl was the one carrying her and she wasn't with some stranger. Her mind was just coming to wondering where Rick was when a very weak voice called out.

"Carl!" The shuffling was moving faster but not getting closer to Carl. "Carl, slow down! We have to stick together!" Carl stopped walking abruptly. Skylar's head lay against his chest, close to his heart. It was beating quickly. Carl stayed still until Rick was next to him. Skylar got a glance at the man; bruised, bloodied, barely alive. Skylar would have gasped if her mouth wasn't so dry.

Carl went on leading them down a road. Skylar had no idea where they were, where everyone else was, or what happened to the prison. She was stuck in Carl's arms until he was done walking. As much as she didn't want to be, she was comfortable. Laying her head on his chest was nice, even if he did smell like blood and dirt. But what she really needed was water. So she tapped his chest, but because he's being a jerk, it took her a few tries to get his attention.

"What?" He asked without looking down.

"W-water." It only came out as a whisper so Carl had to look down to read her lips a second time. His brows were furrowed at her and his freckles looked more prominent and Skylar wanted to stare at them so she would never forget his face even though he seemed to want to forget about her face. Once he understood what she was saying, he walked to the side of the road where a diner was. He sat her down on the ground in front of it and Rick came to sit by her. She got a chance to really look at him and saw he was obviously in a fight, a fight to the death. His face had some bandages over it and his hand was wrapped up tight, but it wasn't doing much. His breathing was ragged and he looked like his eyes were constantly closed.

Carl handed Skylar the water and she quickly opened it. The water was warm, but she didn't care; it was refreshing in her mouth and throat. She drank more than half the water in one sip and then tipped the rest over her face. Rick managed to do the same with his own bottle but much slower. The three sat and relaxed when they heard a zombie inside the diner banging against something.

"We need to kill it," Rick mumbled. Skylar stared at him and Carl stood to go in without them. Rick watched and had to push himself up, grunting as he did so, but didn't make it inside; he had to lean on the building. Skylar put a small amount of pressure on her ankle and knew she was stuck down there.

Bang.

It wasn't as loud as the bangs were at the prison, but it made her ears ache and her heart race. Not the same reaction she had when she'd shoot a gun herself. It was scary and she didn't want to hear a gun again anytime soon. Carl was in there for another minute before coming out with his bag full. As he swung the pack over his shoulder, she realized her gun was around his older shoulder. That's the only gun she wanted, that was the only thing she needed right now.

"My gun," Skylar pointed at it. Carl looked at her like she was silly.

"Why? We have to get moving." He turned his back to her. "Can you walk?"

"No." Her anger was suddenly rising. "I want my gun."

"You can't hold it while I carry you."

"How do you know?" Skylar was starting to raise her voice. She just wanted her gun, it isn't up to Carl if she gets it or not. And if his hands are full from carrying her, how would he be able to hold a gun much less a knife? She would be able to carry it and shoot.

"Carl, just give her the gun," Rick ordered. Carl stood there in disbelief but gave Skylar her gun. "Now let's go."

~~

It wasn't hard to find a neighborhood and house for the night. All they had to do was keep following the road, which by the signs said they were going North. The small group went into the first large, empty house they spotted. Rick went in first, though Carl just wanted to get in and get the zombie killing over with. Carl put Skylar down on the leather recliner and walked around with his dad, checking every room. Rick was whispering when Carl started to bang on a wall and yell curses.

"Hey shitface!" He screamed. Skylar sat up, surprised by Carl's outburst. Rick tried to calm his son down and tried to be calm about it himself, but he was losing his breath and he needed to lay down on the couch that they had pushed against the front door. Carl eventually stopped and stomped upstairs to have a room to himself. Rick had fallen asleep and Skylar was close to following.

~~

Jerked awake by a nightmare, curled up in a ball, still on the chair she took in her surroundings. Her eyes were wide trying to remember what house she was in. They had left the prison because of the break-in. Rick was on the couch across from her taking in shallow breathes. Her eyes felt bruised when she rubbed them. Her bones were cramped up and it took time for her to stretch out. When she could move somewhat, she crawled off of the chair and to the dusty rug. Skylar slowly crawled to the kitchen, keeping her injured ankle off of the ground. The cold wood floor hurt her skinned palms and wrists, but she wanted the food that resided in the bag on the kitchen table.

She grabbed the bag that had some cans of food Carl grabbed and heard them tumble together. The first can she pulled out was tomato soup. Perfect for her. There were four more bottles of water and Skylar decided she would put just enough water in her soup to make it thinner. She knew nothing would work to heat up her soup, so she looked for a can opener, spoon, and dug in while sitting on the floor.

Skylar had just finished her soup when she heard someone stomp their way down the stairs. She figured it had to be Carl, and she was right when he turned into the kitchen. He was wearing his hat with a gun strapped to his thigh. He had made it a few paces in before he found Skylar glaring up at him. He stopped with a huff.

"What?"

"Where do you think you're going?" Skylar folded her arms.

"It doesn't matter."

"Yes, it does!" Skylar was tired of him acting like this. "We need to stick together-"

"I'm fine by myself!" Carl yelled at her and then left out the back door, making sure to slam it as hard as possible. Skylar flinched from his aggressiveness. What was going on with him? He was never this bad when he would be in bad moods before. The more she thought on it, the more her head hurt. Her eyelids were heavy again and she was ready for more sleep, even if it was on the kitchen floor.