Chapter Eight: On a Run.

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Carl's P.O.V - I woke up to the sound of my parents talking. I slowly opened my eyes, Adria's that they'd stop their conversation the instant I had awaken. "Rick, honey, think about Carl. No one is here for him. I mean, there's us, but, he needs someone. Something." my mother paused, choosing her words carefully. "He needs love." my heart skipped a beat when I heard that word. Love. Really? "Lori. This girl, I know, she's perfect for him. But... I don't know if we can trust her." I looked at Spencer who I had my arm around. I pulled her tighter towards me and kissed her on the cheek. She woke up, and smiled. I smiled back as she hugged me tight. "Send her and Carl on a run." my mom said turning on her heels and walking towards her and dad's cell. "But Lori-" "Enough." my mom responded sternly. She looked at me and got up, throwing tights and combat boots on along with a jacket. She took her gun, loaded it, and put it in its holster. She looked at me, since I was there, shirtless, staring. "Let's go." she said, walking out of the cell. - Spencer's P.O.V - I woke up to Carl planting a kiss on my cheek. Shock burned my cheeks as I woke up, grinning like a moron. I looked down as he smiled back at me and bit my lip so I didn't smile so damn wide. He was shirtless. Damn... He had... Abs. "Send 'em on a run." I heard Lori say. So, I threw my clothes on and loaded my gun. Carl sat there staring at me as I got dressed. He bit his lip. I knew he was attracted. I glared at him, saying "Let's go." as I walked out of the cell. 

~~~~~~~

"Walker!" Carl screamed as it barreled towards me, wanting to rip out my flesh with its teeth. I turned and stabbed it in the skull. It fell lifelessly to the ground. I wedged my knife out of it, wiping the goo off of the blade on my pant leg. "You got everything?" I asked as Carl checked the cart we had filled. "Um... One second. I think I forgot something... Oh yeah, Cereal... For uh- me and my da- mom. Me and my mom. I shrugged and pushed the cart over to the exit. I stopped, resting my hand on my gun. There, scratching through the glass windows of the supermarket, were walkers.

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