Another Chance ~Carl Grimes Love Story~

Chapter 21 - Grieving

We’ve been walking. I don’t know for how long, we’ve just been trying to find someplace to stop. Well, at least I am. Carl on the other hand seems like he could keep walking for hours. I’m so tired, and my foot and leg have completely gone numb. About a half an hour ago I threw up, knowing very well that I probably have a concussion. We just keep moving through, me helping Rick walk and Carl about fifteen feet in front of us. 

He seems hurt. No, not seems. He really just is hurt.

It kills me to see him like this. We tried so hard. We fought for this prison, more than once. All because of this stupid, idiotic, crazed man. He was too far gone. I believe what Rick said was true, but not for him. Not for the Governor. He’s lost. There was no way that he could have gotten out of this alive.

I’m glad that I was the one to give the final blow.

All three of us are sweating like a faucet, Carl's hair completely soaked and mine about half way there. It’s painful just standing out here at this point.

“Carl,” says Rick from my right, his voice slurred and morphed. “Slow down.” I cringe at his voice. It’s painful just hearing it. “Carl, stop!”

He stops dead in his tracks, not bothering to turn around. I stop, too, letting Rick walk in front of me to Carl’s side. “We need to stick together,” he says, his voice swollen. “We gotta find a place, food, supplies.” He’s just standing at Carl’s side looking at him.

“Hey, we’re gonna be-” he cuts himself off. Carl finally looked at him, but it was so angry. His hate for his dad must run pretty strong now. He’s grieving. He just needs to get through it. And it better be soon, because he’s being a total asshole.

He starts walking again, and Rick soon after. I reach into my boot and pull out the gun I took from the random man earlier, holding it close to me, about six rounds left. I take the tail of the three of us, which means I have to walk almost unrealistically slow. I’d prefer not to be anywhere close to either of them now. I’m just a third wheel, and perfectly okay with it.

Eventually we come across a solid concrete ground and not far after, what looks like a bar. All three of us pile up at the door, all holding our guns to the door. I stand to the right of Carl, about arms distance so he doesn’t take his anger out on me.

“You wait outside, okay? You two keep watch,” says Rick. Yeah, like that’s gonna happen.

Carl looks at him like he’s crazy. “You keep watch,” he says. Rick returns the favor of a crazy look. “You can barely stand. I’m not gonna let you go in there alone.”

“Excuse me?” asks Rick, obviously offended, though for no reason.

“We’ve done this before. I’m gonna cle-”

“Hey,” I say sternly, making it very obvious that I don’t want to hear their shit. They both turn their heads to face me, neutral looks instead of crazed ones. Carl hangs his head.  “Let’s go,” slurs Rick.

I kick in the door myself, and all of us disperse inside in different directions, Rick closing the door slightly behind us. I go into a side closet that’s been completely cleared out of food, as that’s what it looks like it used to hold. “Kitchen’s clear,” I hear Rick say. I turn around, shutting the pantry’s door from behind me and follow Carl into a separate room, Rick soon to follow, guns raised.

I see a walker from behind a counter and chairs piled on top of one another, not able to escape. “I can get it from here,” says Carl, aiming at the walker with his gun. “No,” says Rick. This would be a good time to still have my pocket knife, but I’m glad I used it for what I did.

“No, it’s weak. I can draw it out.” I look at Carl, who’s putting down his gun dramatically and rolling his eyes. I wish I could go over to him and just… I don’t know. Yell at him, do something that would comfort him. However, I’d much rather stay towards the back and wonder what if he would respond, then do it and get rejected like he’s doing to Rick.

He hasn’t looked at me since we left the prison fence. He let go of me less than halfway to wherever we are now. He’s pissing me off. But part of me just understands.

I know he’s being unfair to Rick. But he just needs to be. I’m sure he’ll get over it soon enough.

Rick throws a chair to the side and then another, leaving the walker to try and attack. It moved forward quickly, and Rick hit it in the head with an ax, but it didn’t go all the way through. Rick starts struggling again the pressure the walker is putting against him, and just as I’m lifting my gun to shoot it, Carl gets there first. The sound makes me flinch, and I look over at him with his gun raised. He doesn’t look back.

Not like I really expected him to.

“I said not to!” yells Rick.

“You couldn’t do it with the ax!” Carl retorts. I’m so sick of their fighting.

“I had it. Every bullet counts. We could’ve needed that one later. Go see what you can find… then let’s move on.” says Rick. Carl walks past me and goes to take his fill of chips, while I take a peek outside to make sure the gunshot didn’t attract any unwanted attention.

“The kitchen wasn’t empty after all,” says Rick, and I shut the door and go back to bar room with Carl and Rick. He’s filling a cloth bag with food, and I can just about hear the hunger in my stomach. “My haul,” he says, putting his food and water into the bag. “You?”

Carl puts down his bunch of chips and pickles. “I win.”

I want to giggle a little, but it hurts just standing at this point.

***

We kept walking again, farther and longer than before. Carl is still in the front, and I’m still helping a sweaty and very pathetic Rick to keep walking.

“Hey,” I hear him say. He repeats it. Carl keeps walking. He says it again as we come up to what looks like a little neighborhood, the houses pretty spread out. Carl turns, making it very obvious that he’s annoyed. “That one’s as good as any.”

We make our way up to the house and Rick breaks it open, and Rick goes his own way as I follow Carl, not very close behind. “Carl!” whisper/shouts Rick.

“I got it!” Carl yells back. I’m standing in an archway between the two of them. “All the doors down here are open,” he says, walking forward a couple more steps.

“Just stop!” says Rick.

Carl puts his gun down, frustrated and turns around to face his dad.

He punches the wall hard. “Hey asshole!” he yells. “Carl.” I say loudly, but he doesn’t seem to care. He hits the wall again. “Hey shit face!”

“You watch your mouth!” says Rick. I’m glaring at Carl, but it’s like I’m not even there.

“Are you kidding me? If there was one of them down there, they would’ve come out.”

They just stare at each other for a few moments before Carl walks off to some other portion of the house. I make my way, about to follow him, but I’m not going to feel bad about myself when he doesn’t talk to me, so I go up the stairs, but take a left turn to a different bedroom than where he’s going.

I slowly open the door, my gun raised, and move into it. I look around. There’s no walkers. I put my gun back into my boot and have a look around. It’s an old looking room, like it was designed in the 60’s. There’s a small bed in the corner, yellowish-white walls and nothing matches.

I look to a corner and see a record player. I hear myself gasp a little, and walk my way towards it. I look around at a messy pile of old records. I recognize a few names. Johnny Mathis, Liza Minnelli, Bobby Darin. I listened to a lot of forties and fifties music when I was a kid. My mom loved it, and my dad grew to love it, too.

I'm gonna keep this thing in mind for later. It'd be nicer to listen to some music without having my uncomfortable ear-buds shoved in my ears.

I reach down to my pocket. My MP3 is still there. When I changed back at the prison, I must’ve moved it from my jeans over to these ones. 

Back at the prison.

I take a hand to slide across the walls. I see a dresser and open it. I pick out a few things, but there’s only giant sweaters. I open the drawer underneath it. There’s just socks and what looks like old lady’s underwear. I close it and open another. Now, this is more my style.

It’s filled with dresses. I hold a few up in the air. Some of them are huge but other look just about perfect to fit me. I put the few on the bed and sit down, bounding up and down a little on the mattress. It squeaks like nothing I’ve heard before, but it will be the nicest bed I’ve slept on in about two years.

I breathe in the air around me. This place smells like my old house.

***

The entire day, I stayed in that room. I didn’t hear anything important going on outside, so I just figured that it was fine. I was really tempted to play around with the record player, but I was just exhausted so I took a nap, went looking through a toy box and looked at some paintings. There was a giant pile of canvas paintings just lying on the floor. God, what I wouldn’t give to be able to paint again.

I went downstairs once I heard something moving. I stood in another archway, watching as Rick tried to push a couch into the front door. “I tied the door shut,” says Carl.

“Can’t take any chances,” Rick retorts. I swear, if they fight I’m gonna end up shooting into the ceiling to get them to shut up.

“You don’t think it’ll hold?”

“Carl..”

“It’s a strong knot!” Rick stops pushing the couch, Carl standing in his way. “Clove-hitch. Shane taught me.”

“Carl,” I say. He doesn’t even move his gaze to glance at me.

“Remember him?” His dad looks at him.

“Yeah, I remember. I remember him every day. There somethin’ else you wanna say to me?” Carl just moves and helps Rick move the couch into the door, and I stand and watch, knowing I’m basically of no use anymore. “This’ll have to do for the night.”

Rick holds out some chips to Carl. “You gonna have some?” Carl asks.

“You should eat,” says Rick.

“We should save it.”

Rick moves his gave to me and holds out the bag. I might have turned him down if it weren’t for the fact that I felt like I was dying of starvation. I make my way over, sitting down with my back to the way in front of him. I take the chips and open them up, taking a few and handing them to Rick, who takes a few as well before standing and taking off.

I look at Carl, who’s nothing but a silhouette in the darkness. All I can hear is my chewing, and I feel like it’s really obnoxious.

I want to say something to him. All he’s doing is sorting through things that I can’t see and folding blankets or whatever. He doesn’t look at me. He hasn’t looked at me once since we left the prison. That’s gotta be more than twelve hours ago at this point.

He’s argued uncontrollably with his dad, and not even bothered to look my way.

By the time that Rick is back and lays down on the couch, Carl lying on something on the floor, I stand up to make my way to the bedroom. Carl sits up and finally looks at me. He opens his mouth like he’s about to say something, but I cut him off. “Don’t even talk to me,” I say, pissed.

I may be being over dramatic, but he’s not the only one grieving here, and he doesn't get to act like a total ass and get away with it.

I walk back upstairs and change into one of the dresses, laying on top of the covers and falling asleep in no time.