The Walking Dead Imagines (Requests OPEN)

[Carl Grimes] Immumity

PROMPT:
Much like Ellie from The Last of Us, you were bitten in front of Carl after the prison was attacked by the governor. Somehow you don't die- and reunite with him at Alexandria.

When the walkers teeth enveloped over your shoulders- everything ended.
You looked into Carl's eyes as he reached out to you and you reached back, your fingertips barely touching before the walkers tore you away. That was the last you saw of Carl, his father pulling him by the waist and telling him not to look back. Not to look back at the assumed to be dead, best friend of his son.

You didn't die though. That day had all been a blur. You were bitten and in the shock of it all, you'd managed to push your way through the walkers and run. You ran for miles and miles east of the prison. You ran until blood filled your throat and you were heaving for breaths. You ran until you well and truly couldn't run.

You were bitten once, which surprised you. There were a few cuts and gashes caused by walkers on other parts of your body but you disregarded them. It was no point worrying about whether they'd get infected- it only took one bite and you had one bite. The huge gaping hole in your shoulder.

A lot of blood was lost but not as much as it could have. If the walker had bitten your neck this would have been another story. Easier. Quicker. You'd bleed out before you could really do much. But no- as fate would have it, you received a huge bite mark on your right shoulder.

No point wrapping it up, at the time you figured you had a day at the most? Maybe two. The gun in your holster had one bullet left and you were saving it until you were ready. To be truly honest, you weren't sure exactly that you'd be ready. The thought of putting that thing to your head and getting the strength to pull the trigger scared you. It scared the hell out of you.

When the first day passed you showed no sign of fever. You found a nice little house in an emptied suburb. It was neat and tidy which aggravated you. At the very top of the attic was a neat little room with a great big window which allowed sunlight to shine through. The bed was made and the sheets were white. You lied down on them and stared at that ceiling for what felt like hours- wondering when the headache would come. When the striking pains in your shoulder would come. Nothing came as time ticked by.

The second day hit you before you could even register it. You left the tidy little bedroom and went down to the perfect little bathroom of the perfect little house. Inside, you finally got a full look at the bite on your shoulder. Just about every tooth had its own little indent on your back. Its own little tattoo. It was complete agony having such a deep gash in your skin. You worried about what to do. Clean it? No point, you'll be dead soon. Wrap it up? No point, you'll be dead soon. Pray? No point. Just none.

Except those unopened, bright white bandages from the cupboard behind the mirror were just staring at you. Calling to you. Wouldn't it be nice...you told yourself. To die without pain. To die with a neatly wrapped bite instead of a scarlet drenched grey hoodie. So on the second day you took a couple painkillers and cleaned the wound. You poured that god awful antiseptic over the gash and almost fainted from the pain. Then you wrapped it up with a white bandage, sighing as the blood only managed to seep through. Somehow you also found the energy to clean the little scratches on your body. Then, with the painkillers kicking in, you found yourself staring at the ceiling on the bed in the attic, with the moonlight shining through the big window.

In the darkness, you only felt more pain.

Why weren't you dead? You asked yourself. Why hadn't the fever even kicked in yet?