Don't Let Me Go ~ A Carl Grimes Fanfiction

Chapter One

"Are you okay?" Carl asks walking over to me in the dim light of the train car. I use the necklace that he gave me to saw the chunk of wood I'm kneeling at.

"Nope. But hey, no-one is," I shrug. I look up at his sad face and give him a weak smile. He leans down and kisses me. I don't feel comfortable with it since we're in a train car with family, and friends and, well, strangers. I break the kiss and see that there's a few people looking at us. Daryl, for on has a disappointed look on his face. When he sees me looking, his eyes quickly dart away. Then, I see that one of the strangers, the guy with the mullet is looking too. This time I look away. There's something weird about that guy, but he says he has a cure for this thing, the walkers.

Carl smiles and stands up. Just as he does, Daryl walks over to us. "Carl, can I talk t'ya?" he says. It's more of a command than a question. I raise an eyebrow at them. I vaguely hear Daryl mutter, "...you're both really young..." Oh no, I think to myself. Why does Daryl have to interfere? I storm over to them. 

"Daryl! Look, I... appreciate your concern, but it's really none of your business, so I'd really like it if you'd butt out." I say. Daryl looks taken aback, even embarrassed, but I shoot him a quick smile and grab Carl's hand. I practically drag him back over to where I was.

"Um... thanks." Carl says.

"You're welcome," I say. "I just don't see how it's any of his concern. He's not my dad or anything. Well, my dad probably would've beaten you up by now, but still." 

"He just cares about you, and I can see it. He sees you like a little sister or a niece or maybe even a daughter. As far as I know, he's never had anyone like that, except from Merle, and I don't mean to speak ill of the dead, but Merle was an asshole," Carl replies, whispering the last part. I nod. 

"Okay, let's get to work. They ain't just going to let us out." I say, starting to saw again. I still have two knives, but I gave the small one to a woman named Tara. She seems pretty cool, but she looks familiar, even though I can't place her face, and I gave the larger one to my mum and she stuck it to her stump. Luckily, they didn't take my bag so we've had 5 bottles and a small canteen of water between sixteen of us for the past eight days, sips at a time. I also managed to keep the pain medication that we found in the house. 

I feel the responsibilities building up, but I feel like a higher member of the group, since I was the one who managed to keep a hold of most of my belongings with the exceptions of some knives and a machete. I'm the one who brought the supplies. We've been sharing stale cereal, uncooked spaghetti and each of us have been nursing a stale granola bar for eight days. 

The people at Terminus have been feeding us, but barely. Just enough to keep us alive. My thoughts are interrupted by Daryl's words. "There's 'nother two of them pricks comin' our way," he says and we all get ready. I pull my necklace off of the half cut piece of wood. I pick up two pieces from the pile of previously made, make-shift knives, and ready myself.

"Remember, eyes and throats first." Rick orders.

"Back away to each side of the train car!" yells a voice from above us. No one budges. A hatch opens up over our heads, and a small canister drops down. 

"Move!" the large man with the red hair yells, just as the canister explodes.