Together ~ A Carl Grimes Fanfiction

Chapter Eighteen

We find a house. The door knob is covered in blood. A corpse has tried to get in. We have to be extremely careful. The door opens without any trouble and the house sounds silent. I have my sword ready as does my mother, but notice that she is still carrying Sammy's doll. "Mum," I say quietly, gesturing at it. She puts it in my bag and gets back into position. Her face is stained with tears and loss and pain. I would do anything to take away the pain, to keep Sammy here, but I can't. I am totally useless.

Mum and I clear upstairs, but we are interrupted by shouting. It's Carl. We run downstairs. "Hey asshole! Hey shitface! Hey a-,"

"Hey! Watch your mouth!" Rick cuts him off.

"Are you kidding me?!" he yells. "If there was one of them down there, they would've come out." he says.

"Carl," I say, putting a hand on his shoulder. He walks upstairs. "Are you okay, Rick?" I ask.

"Yeah, I'm fine. You?" he asks.

"Uhm, it hasn't stopped bleeding yet, and the bullet's still in it, but I'll get it later. I'm gonna have a fire ready in the other room. Just a small one, so that I can cauterize my arm. I'll be back in two secs." I dart out to the tree in the front garden, and pull some branches from the tree. A corpse comes at me but I get it before it gets me. I run back indoors, closing the door quietly, trying not to attract unwanted attention from walkers or people alike. Carl comes back down stairs with a piece of wire cord. He begins to tie it around the door handle.

"Carl. Help." Rick requests, trying to move the sofa.

"Why? It's a strong knot. Shane taught me. You remember him? You remember-" Carl protests.

"Carl!" I say, and he stops, mid-sentence. "I'll help." I say. We push the sofa in front of the door. It's really hard to move, due to our injuries, but I ignore the burning pain in my upper arm. When the sofa is in the right place, Rick throws himself down on it. He falls asleep right away. I look in the kitchen for the things that I need and then I check in the bathroom. I find a small bottle of vodka, mini-bar sized, a needle and thread, a pile of gauze and some bandages. I get prepared. "Carl!" I yell upstairs. "I need your help!" He comes bounding down the stairs looking concerned.

"What? Are you okay?" he asks, looking around. He grabs my shoulders and I wince a little. I don't know if he notices.

"Well, sort of. I have to dig the bullet from my arm and I need you to help me." I say.

"Thank God. I thought something was really wrong," he says, showing the Carl that I know. "Okay what do you want me to do?" he asks.

"I need your belt. You're the one with a leather one and I need it to bite on. I'm gonna dig it out with my smaller knife but after I do, I need you to stitch it up for me. although first we have to build a fire, so that I can cauterize it." I say. We get the branches that I brought in and we strip them of bark. Carl then goes round making sure that no smoke detectors are connected, while I look for old magazines and newspapers. I pick two completely unused knives. We set the pile up on top of the stove, so that we don't set fire to anything else. Once we have everything ready, I take the box of matches that I got from the bar and set the pile on fire. I rest the tip of my knife there and leave it. "Let's do this." I say. "I don't think it hit the bone, so that's good."

I take one of my other knives and position myself. "Wait! The alcohol." I say and splash the vodka on the wound, it hurts but I don't notice. I swallow the rest from the bottle. "Ready," I say, wincing at the taste of the vodka. Carl puts the belt in my mouth and nods. I push the knife into the hole in my arm, and I twist and turn it until I feel the clink. The pain is excruciating. My teeth sink further into the belt. I begin to pull and after about thirty seconds, the bullet hit the floor with a small plink. I let out a small sigh of relief. Carl gets ready to stitch it. It only needs stitch at a small part and the rest can be cauterized. He does it quickly, causing me as little pain as he can. When he is done, he fetches me the now red-hot knife. I do the next part. I press the knife into my arm and my vision goes black at the edges again, but it's over now.

"Well done," Carl says, kissing my forehead. And that's the last thing I remember.