HEART FOR BRAINS • the walking dead

036: all in knots

Rio regained his breath, running as far away from the prison as he could. He tread carefully, hurrying away from the horde of walkers that made their way towards the wreck.

He made his way through the woods, watching his step for anything that could make too much noise. Rio came across a stray Walker, luring it further into the woods and away from the raging fire. He let out unsteady breaths and pulled the crossbow off of his shoulder, hitting the Walker straight through the head.

The body fell to the floor with a thump and Rio unsheathed his knife. He looked down at it, remembering what Michonne had done before. Rio took a nervous look around, trying to see any more walkers. He could.

The boy sucked in a sharp breath and dug his knife into the walker's stomach. Blood splattered onto his face and he grimaced, wiping it off and undoubtedly leaving red smudges. Rio buttoned up his flannel shirt, ready to do what was next.

He held back a gag as he stuck a hand in its insides, smearing it across his front. The smell was terrible. He also took notice of how little he heard. He didn't have his hearing aids, he wouldn't be able to have them ever again.

That made him vulnerable.

No, vulnerable meant he would get killed.

Rio stood up, his shirt now covered in the remnants of the Walker. He rubbed it in as much as he could hoping it'd stay as long as he needed. He wasn't sure how long that'd be. The boy walked through the forest for what he assumed had to be at least an hour, going unnoticed as he passed by the surrounding walkers heading to where he was fleeing.

Where was he even going? He wasn't sure. Anywhere that wasn't the prison.

The woods eventually came to a clearing, a rocky path at the edge of it. He peered behind a tree, trying to make out how far the path went on for. The boy bit down on his lip nervously before breaking away from the woods.

He stumbled along the road, giving up his act as he realized no walkers were around. There were no people either. Daryl's voice was haunting him. It was Daryl shouting for him earlier. He was almost certain of it.

But then where was he? Why hadn't he seen him? Why hadn't he seen anyone? Rio knew he wasn't the only one who'd made it out.

He started to think about it anyway, what he'd have to do until he found new people. Even if he did find a new group of people, what if they weren't good? He couldn't be alone. The few days he'd gone without his brother proved that.

Rio thought about what Hershel had told him, how he'd grown more mature, maybe he could make it alone. Hershel... the boy didn't want to think about him. He was dead, a public execution and all for nothing.

Rio walked up the path alone, pulling at his fraying and bloodied flannel sleeves. A small thread unraveled in his hand and he let go, rolling it up to his elbow.

He looked back at the prison, or what he could see of it, a giant smoky mess overcasting the trees. He stumbled over his feet as he walked backwards, trying to catch a glimpse.

Before Rio could fully turn back around, a pair of arms engulfed him, tackling him to the floor. He let out a yell and tried to roll over, flipping the person on their back. He unsheathed his knife and held it high in his hand. His other hand was in a fist on the person's chest, grabbing the front of their shirt. They couldn't be that much of a threat if he'd flipped them over he thought to himself.

Rio threw the weapon away, letting it clatter to the floor once he saw who it was, leaning down to rest his forehead against theirs with a laugh.

"You're so stupid." He broke out into a laugh, looking down at Carl. "I could've stabbed you."