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H I M
Deanna decided to let us stay in the community. But only after Dad killed Pete Anderson for murdering her husband.
After time had passed, Ron Anderson was asking my father for shooting lessons. I didn't question it. Our community had been attacked by a group of outsiders with the letter 'W' carved into their foreheads. Many died. The Alexandrians had been so defenseless. So coddled. So inexperienced with what our world actually was. And when Ron wanted help learning how to develop necessary survival skills? I wasn't surprised. Although I did think it was odd he came to my father, considering mine had killed his own.
But it seemed the only person Ron was on the outs with was me. During the attack on Alexandria, Enid did her funny little thing of disappearing into thin air. No one had seen or heard from her since. She hadn't died, only went over the wall and into the woods. I had nothing to do with it, but that hadn't stopped Ron from accusing me of who even knows. The guy was a loose cannon.
I had made the mistake of referring to Enid as his 'friend.'
"My girlfriend." He had seethed, towering over me. "Or at least, she was."
I wanted to defend myself. Tell him that I had absolutely no interest in his girlfriend, in fact I had been holding a serious grudge against her ever since she had called me sport like I was some snotty child. Mainly, I was merely worried about her whereabouts, as she had vanished along with several other Alexandrians. While Enid had spent her time outside the walls, understood what life was like unprotected, that did not mean she was safe out there. Did he not get that? I decided the conversation was more trouble than its worth, despite knowing I could give him some sort of explanation.
But instead, I attempted to walk away. Which probably made it worse, because next thing I knew we were shoving each other around. I had never physically fought another person before but I managed to get Ron on the ground.
I wasn't much for male ego, but I did feel a sense of pride, of strength, at gaining the upper hand. But it was short lived.
"Carl," My father's hand was on the back of my neck, a gesture that had never left our relationship. "I want you to help Ron with training."
I looked up from my bowl of dried cereal to meet Eleanor's eyes as she sat on the other side of the table, Judith on her lap. She raised an eyebrow at me before tucking a stray hair that had fallen loose from her brain behind her ear with her pinkie, one of the few fingers she had left to do so with.
