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TW: SA
(this chapter does not contain any explicit actions or words. only subtle mentions. it is written brief, while still being cannon + accurate to the show/comics. if you would like to skip through this chapter, i will include a summary in the authors note.)
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"HELP!" A voice pleaded, the sound carrying throughout the thick forest we ran amongst.
I was beginning to lose count of the days that had passed since seeing the Terminus sign, and starting along the tracks. We were getting closer to the unsure possibility of the shelter— yet still so far out. Every time we came upon another sign, our standing point was circled, a nice reminder of all the railway we had left to cover.
A few nights ago we made shelter not far from the rails, setting up a small but protected camp in the woods. We used this short amount of time to rest, and allow me healing. Today, Michonne said the black and blue bruises under my jaw were fading. The swelling inside of my throat was settling, and I could finally painlessly consume more than just liquid. I pathetically felt like an infant slowly weaning off milk.
I now ran after Carl, who had instantly bolted at the sound of screams when we were checking our snares. It was stupidly foolish of him, but I expected nothing less with his constant bothersome savior complex. No one other than Carl would fail to scope out the area before running to the rescue, like one of his comic characters. Those heroes could get out of any situation. They could save anyone, and nobody had to suffer.
That was most likely why he enjoyed reading them so much. . . because it was nothing like reality. Not this harsh reality, where we were arriving painstakingly late to a devastating scene.
I slowed my pace to catch a breath—still winded easier than usual—and Rick caught up to pull Carl back into concealment behind a tree. If his father hadn't done so, he would have no-doubt run straight into the hoard that had already began closing in on an unnamed man ahead.
