That night, when I finally drifted off, my sleep was restless, and nightmares plagued me...
but... no... these weren't just nightmares... these were memories:
Bang... bang... bang...
I cleaned my mother's blood off a kitchen knife and put it numbly back into its wooden stand. Her eyes had been so cold and lifeless even before I plunged it into her skull. I stood there for a moment, looking at the bodies of my family - their organs were half devoured and strewn across the dark slate tiles of my uncle's kitchen. Their blood was spattered across the rich oak of the counter doors. I don't recall blinking once.
Bang... bang... bang...
I walked emptily to the downstairs bathroom and hurled the contents of my stomach into the toilet basin. I wretched even when I'd nothing left to throw up... my stomach would hurt for about a week after. I washed my mouth out and ran back to bed. I remember laying there for hours, maybe even days... I was waiting, you see; I was waiting for my cousins to run in and wake me up demanding I play on the Xbox with them. I was waiting for my auntie to knock on the door with the promise of breakfast or my mum to chastise me for oversleeping... I was waiting for something, anything, that would make the images in my head just a dream – just a terrible, bloody dream. But no one came...
Bang... bang... bang...
I remember the sound of the flies; their tiny wings panicking to get away as I eventually walked into the kitchen after days of listening to my stomach grumble. I remember the smell – my cousins' bodies were the worst. I think my grandparents had found and eaten them first – none of their insides remained were they should have been, and the decay had set in pretty badly by the time I emerged from my bedroom. I was starving, I think that's the only reason I came out. I remember searching for the cleaning products under the sink and scrubbing the blood off the cupboards, the surfaces, the floor... please don't laugh... it was all I could think to do at the time. I couldn't move the bodies, I tried but I couldn't. They were too heavy for me. I attempted to move my cousins, but they fell apart in my arms, like trying to move mushy peas without a container. I grabbed some food from the fridge and ran back upstairs.
Bang... bang... bang...
Days passed, perhaps weeks. The flies bred in the corpses of my family and the kitchen became almost unbearable to walk through. The food in the fridge and the freezer had begun to turn when the electricity companies stopped supplying. I don't remember the last TV broadcast... just the white lines across the screen. My phone quickly became useless – there was no network anymore, nowhere to charge it, my iPod the same; everything that had once been important slowly grew unimportant... but I just couldn't figure out what instead was important. I remember the first time I saw a zombie. My uncle had owned a lot of land – acres in fact – it was a luxury home and sat bang in the middle of farmlands and forests with very few neighbours. I'd been staring emptily out my bedroom window when a single figure limped across the overgrown lawn. I recognised him – he'd lived on a farm at the back of my uncles with his wife and child. I almost did it again, as I had done with my mother... I almost ran out to him thinking he was still alive. Perhaps I could be forgiven for my mistake considering he was still walking... upon spotting his guts trailing behind him, my skin turned cold. I ran to the none-existence safety of my bed covers and hid there for a little longer.
Bang...bang... bang...
I remember the sound of the dead outside at night as their numbers grew. But the most terrifying sound was the sound of the living raiding the downstairs of the house. The loud bang of their guns as they shot at the skulls of the zombies, their brash voices unkindly barking orders at each other. I wish I'd hidden myself better... I remember the bright light of their torches discovering me in my bed, the coldness of the night air as the duvet was ripped from my skin.
'She's just a kid' one of them had yelled to the man with the gun pointed at my head.
'We can still use her for something' he'd replied.
I remembered his unyielding grip on my arm as he dragged me from my bed. I clutched at my covers, only achieving to bring a cotton sheet with me as he carried me down the stairs. All the while I was quiet, I hadn't spoken a word in weeks. Perhaps in my naive mind it felt like I was being rescued... the gang of men marched me through the kitchen.
'Little brat's eaten all the food' another remarked at the empty cupboards.
'Fuck it, let's break – aint nothin here anyway'.
'We takin the girl?'.
'Yeah, my bed's felt a little cold lately'.
'Dude, she's a kid'
'She'll grow'.
Deep down, I think I knew what they meant... I think that's why I began to scream. I tried to run. I don't know where to, but it didn't matter anyway. The man's hand on my arm yanked me back into his body.
'Shut the fuck up, brat, you're gunna get us all killed!' he'd yelled. But I couldn't stop myself. The cries burst out of me like a demon being exorcised. All the trauma I'd been silently living with the last few weeks was pouring out of my mouth. I hurt so much I felt like my heart was going to give out. I didn't stop even when the man clamped a hand over my mouth. I think it had finally hit me - this wasn't a dream... I wasn't going to wake up from it. I kicked and screamed and lashed out. My throat burnt. My chest threatening to explode with grief and pain.
Bang...bang...bang
I awoke in a fit of blankets and frantic breaths. In fact, I awoke several times that night whimpering and clutching at the sheets, unsure as to whether they were sticking to my skin with sweat or with tears.
I'd thought I could forget and perhaps when I was making a conscious effort to, I could ... but whilst I was asleep that was clearly not possible...
Come morning, I dragged myself downstairs, the sunlight pored through the windows stinging my tired eyes. I contemplated my dream last night, knowing full well it had been one of my very first memories of the new world... I'd never been able to shed a tear for my family but last night I made up for that. I silently cursed myself for forgetting that day...
Breakfast consisted of milk formula and outdated cereal. I used to be a rather chubby kid... it turns out the end of the world is a fantastic weight loss scheme. I washed my bowl, tidied up and was about to put my new pencils to the test when there was a knock on the front door. I wish I could say that I was curious as to who it was, that I had so many friends it could be any number of people... but there was only really one person, as of late, who'd shown interest... or rather, whom I'd allowed to show interest.
So, I wasn't surprised, upon opening the door, to see Carl's bright blue eyes smiling at me from the porch. He wore a grey flannel, the same pair of skinnies and brown leather boots as yesterday, and of course his sheriffs' hat. He looked as if he'd just showered, his hair was a little damp and darkened the collar of his shirt.
"Hello, Cowboy" I smiled. It was daylight now and there was no mistaking the redness on his cheeks. For some unknown reason, I got a kick out of embarrassing the boy. Perhaps that was the reason for my sudden lifted spirits...
"You free?" he asked, pulling his flannel aside revealing a gun buried in the belt of his jeans. It was a slight shock seeing one inside the walls, especially one I knew hadn't been permitted or even counted. I did a quick sweep outside to check no one was around. There were a few people but none of them looking our way. I quickly smuggled Carl inside and shut the door behind us. Carl looked around, peering into the living room then through to the kitchen.
"Who else do you live with?" he asked, as his eyes scanned the contents of the sparse, half-finished rooms, his deep voice echoing through them. I could see the survivor in him even now. He was so used to being out there that, in his subconscious mind, my home was just another building with possible threats and lootable objects inside. I could even see his fingers itching for the gun at his hip, as if he needed to be ready for whatever was round the next corner.
"No one" I replied, leaning against the frame of the kitchen arch "Just me".
He stopped then and looked round. "Really? How'd you manage that, aren't you, like, my age?"
I shrugged; I wasn't sure exactly how old Carl was. He looked around sixteen maybe seventeen and if that were the case then I was perhaps a little older than him... but not old enough in an adult's eyes to live on my own. "I managed to convince Deanna I'm older..." Carls brows raised slightly.
"And you'd rather live on your own?"
I nodded, a little mechanically. People used to ask me this question a lot and I wondered why the answer I'd given now didn't feel quite as truthful as it had back then...
"Uhm... so, I was thinking no shooting today... just taking it apart, showing you how to reload and stuff" his tone was serious, and his eyes searched mine, wondering if I were ok with that. Truthfully, I was relieved. I could remember how to shoot now; I'd even started to recall the relapse on the inside of my palm and the smell of the powder afterwards. To be honest, I didn't care for guns much – they were sometimes necessary, but I avoided them where ever I could. I'd only really taken Carl up on his offer to make him feel better. But I don't think I've ever actually learnt how to maintain a gun before, so perhaps his lessons might be beneficial after all.
"Whatever you think, sheriff" I replied, saluting him as I walked over to the stairs. Carl rolled his eyes at me and began untucking the gun from his shirt.
"Woah, not here," I hissed. In a brief moment of panic, I closed the gap between us and pressed the gun back into his belt. His eyes widened at our sudden closeness, our hands, now both on the handle and folded over one another. My eyes darted to every window we were visible from on the outside. "If anyone sees us with this, we're in a lot of trouble" I explained, quickly.
Carl nodded and bit his bottom lip slightly; I was so close to his face I couldn't help but notice how his top lip curved like a hunting bow from some fairy tale... ugh, I was getting distracted again.
"So, where do you want to do this, then?" he asked, after clearing his throat.
I stepped back and put a foot on the first stair. "My studio, it's in the loft with skylight windows, no one will see in there" I explained and began to climb.
"Your studio?". I stopped midway up the stairs and turned back round to face Carl. He was still on the bottom step, staring at me with one eyebrow raised.
"Well... yeah, I don't know, it's were I draw; I didn't know what else to call it..." I explained, suddenly feeling stupid for owning an art studio during the apocalypse. Carl only smirked and said nothing more on the subject.
As we climbed the stairs, I couldn't help but realise how absurd this all was. I rarely had guests, if I spoke to anyone else it would be outside by the pond or on my porch. Carl was one of the very few people who'd seen the inside of my house since I moved in and though it was nothing special, it was my own sanctuary away from outside. Just the fact that he was in here was so abnormal it almost knocked me dizzy. And yet, I was comfortable with this boy, with Carl. But it made no sense – I'd known him for such a small amount of time, how had he gotten this close to me, closer than anyone in Alexandria has ever managed to... I wanted to know how and why, because when I put the same question to myself, I drew blanks...
I decided to start a conversation and then find some way to ask what I really wanted to know.
"So... do you read books?" I asked, turning to take the second flight of stairs into the loft.
"I prefer comics..." he replied.
"Hm...". Comics, I could work with that... "I'm pretty sure Ron has a decent collection at his house..." I replied, innocently.
"Are you trying to blow guns 101 off and go hang out at Ron's?" Carl asked, his tone playful and I could imagine that little smirk of his prying its way onto his lips as he spoke.
"No... I just thought you'd be more interested in doing that" I said, turning to look at him over my shoulder.
I was right, he was smirking.
"So, you're just trying to get rid of me then?" he raised an eyebrow and something inside my chest stammered a little.
"No. I just..." I paused and took a moment to think; I needed to be ever so slightly more specific if I wanted to know why this boy was hanging out with me. "... I'm not sure why you'd rather be here, pissing about with a delusional girl and a gun when Ron's got a whole bedroom of much cooler stuff".
He was quiet for a moment, his smirk disappearing. I think he'd clocked on to what I was asking. I wanted to know why he was here, why he'd followed me over the wall yesterday... why he'd decided to take an interest in me when the odds of us enjoying each other's company were so low.
"So..." he smiled again suddenly, that playful look in his eyes now more intense than before "...you've been in Ron's bedroom?".
"Wha-No!" I'll admit I was caught off guard and felt my cheeks turn pink.
"How do you know he's got cool stuff in his room, then?" Carl asked, his lips stretching broadly over his annoyingly perfect teeth. I was supposed to be the one getting information from him, not the other way around...
I rolled my eyes. "Ron's way of impressing someone consists mostly of bragging about what he's got" I said as I cast my mind back to the first few interactions I'd had with the boy across the street and to the day he'd insisted I check out his room, his collection of comics, his cd player...
"And were you?" Carl asked, his eyes still gleaming playfully.
"Was I what?".
"Impressed". Carl was being pretty cheeky for someone I'd just met yesterday... I couldn't deny I was amused though. Maybe the odds of us enjoying each other's company weren't as low as I'd first thought...
I gave up with trying to figure out why he'd taken such an apparent interest in me and decided to play him at his own game. We'd reached the top of the stairs and stood in the tiny hallway of the loft. I turned to face Carl, who'd not quite finished climbing the last step.
"I mean... he did show it to me..." I said, smiling down at the boy.
Carl frowned in confusion, the playfulness in his eyes slowly dying.
"It was pretty big..." I went on.
He blinked and broke my stare.
I let the words sit between us before I put him out of his misery. "Definitely a comic collection to be proud of..." I concluded, innocently.
A look of embarrassment passed fleetingly over Carl's face and I could have sworn I heard him let out a sigh of relief.
I smiled triumphantly to myself. "Ron himself, on the other hand... hmm, I dunno... he's..."
"A delusional idiot?" said Carl, who'd seemed to have quickly regained his confidence. There was something else on his face too – he looked riled and a little hostile.
"Waw..." I got the feeling he and Ron had already met and had gotten off to a bad start. "I was just going to say, he's not like us...". The fire that had been in Carl's eyes suddenly extinguished itself and he nodded, backing down a little as he did.
I turned around and was about to open the door to my studio but hesitated, my hand hovering inches above the handle. When I said the inside of my house wasn't anything special... this one particular room was the exception. It was everything to me, in fact. It was like stepping into a different world – my world. Somewhere where the apocalypse couldn't touch me. And, as I stood on the threshold with carl in toe behind me, I realised he would be the first person to set foot inside. It was a piece of myself, you see, one that I'd kept secret from others. I almost felt as if I were about to strip down to my underwear in front of Carl... would he laugh? Would he be disgusted? Unimpressed? A wave of self-consciousness crashed over my chest and was suddenly stopping me from opening the door. And yet there were three other rooms downstairs that, may not have been as ideal and secluded as this one, but at least I wouldn't feel so exposed when Carl walked into them. I wondered if, deep down inside myself, I wanted someone to see this room. I had to ask myself if, really, I just wanted someone to know me again.
"What's up?" Carl asked, staring quizzically at my hand still hovering over the doorknob.
"Nothing. Uhm... just don't be an ass, ok?" he'd no idea what I meant... he'd no clue that I was asking him to be kind to me and no comprehension of how big a deal this was to me. I opened the door and stood aside, my eyes not leaving Carl's. I watched him intently as he peered into the room. His jaw dropped; his eyes darted from one wall to the next. My heart hammered into my rib cage as he crossed the threshold. His open lips slowly curved into a smile and I released a breath I hadn't realised I'd been holding. I followed him in. He didn't say a word, just stared unblinking at the four walls, his hand steadying his hat on his head when he looked up at the ceiling.
"Waw" he breathed after several moments of silence. I allowed myself to look, then, to enjoy my world as I usually did when it was just me in here. The walls were alive, you see. I'd painted murals of fantasy worlds – Amazonian queens rode lions with giant butterfly wings on the left. On the right, I'd drawn a Vampire coven in Smokey tones of midnight blues and deep reds, their ethereal faces staring hauntingly back at me. On another wall I'd painted a castle surrounded by sea, mare folk adorned the rocks luring ships to their demise. On the ceiling I'd painted a battle scene in the clouds. Angels and demons fought each other with bloodied swords and broken shields, neither side promised victory.
I wish I had more walls, I thought to myself now. An old tattered shelving united housed my many used sketchbooks. Several cushions and a self-made easel were the only other pieces of furniture in the room.
"I get it" Carl said suddenly, looking over at me as he stood in the centre of the room "I get why you needed the pencils now".
Hmm, I thought, maybe he could understand...
We sat down on a pile of cushions in the corner, our legs crossed as if we were back in primary school. Carl took the gun out of his belt and lay it on the floor. He told me it was a Beretta 92FS which, of course, meant absolutely nothing to me but Carl seemed to be proud of himself for knowing the model. He was in the process of taking it apart, after which he planned to show me how to clean then reassemble it. As he sat there, methodically laying out the pieces between us, he still wore his sheriffs' hat; it was as if it were an extension of himself, I thought. I'd had a hard time plucking up the courage to ask him about it... or any personal questions for that matter. I know, what with half the things I've said to him already, like when we talked about Ron in the hallway or how I tease him and call him cowboy or dad, you'd think I'd have no problem with asking... but there was a difference between playful banter and personal questions. Come to think of it, I'd always been terrified of humourless conversations... I bit my lip...
"What's with the hat, by the way?" I asked, finally. Carl's eyes glanced up at me from underneath its brim.
"My dad gave it to me" was all he replied. Still didn't really explain why he ate, drank, slept and probably bathed in it but it was something. I was curious to know more.
"Is he the one with crossbow?" I asked, trying to recall the other people he'd arrived with.
Carl let out a very amused bout of laughter. "No, that's Daryl. My dad's the one with the beard... well, he's shaved it off now but, you know the one I mean, you were there when we first arrived, right?".
I nodded – I hadn't expected him to remember that. I did know the man he spoke of though. He'd been the last one to set foot inside and yet I could tell he was in charge of the whole group. He had that authority figure look about him, the kind of guy you'd have nightmares about getting on the wrong side of.
"Wait, so... you're the leader's son?" I asked, a little taken aback. It was odd how this new hierarchy thing worked. I almost instantly felt more aware of Carl – like I should watch what I say to him and mind how I treat him as if he were some prince-to-be-king-one-day.
Carl smirked. "He's just dad to me". It was ridiculous of course... I tried to ignore my newfound and illogical view of the boy in front of me, though it did make me wonder why he was bothering with me even more so.
"What about your mum?" I queried, wanting to find out more about this boy I'd allowed into my home. Carl's smirk withered.
"She died... it's just my dad and Judith, now".
I nodded, knowing that 'sorry for your loss' was a stupid thing to say these days. "Judith?" I asked, instead.
"She's my baby sister". I could tell he loved her – the sadness that the mention of his mother had brought to his eyes vanished when he spoke of her. "What about you?" He asked.
"Hmm?" he caught me off guard – I'd planned on asking how they'd managed to keep a baby alive out there. It was something I'd have thought impossible...
"Your family?".
"Oh...Uhm..." I frowned a little. When I thought of my family, it felt like less of a memory and more like a fairy tale or a dream I'd had once. It was as if then and now were two different lives. But Carl wasn't asking about then... he was asking about now, he was asking what had happened to them. If he'd have asked yesterday, I wouldn't have been able to tell him much but... after last night...
"You don't have to-— " he began.
"No, it's ok, I just uhm... I've haven't spoken about any of this before but it's certainly no secret. As you've probably figured out by my accent, I'm no American... technically I've been living here illegally for years now so please don't tell that to the guy you gave you the hat".
A small laugh escaped Carls lips and it made me smile for a moment. Just a moment.
I took a deep breath. "I was staying at my uncle's house when it all happened; he moved out here a few years before hand. My granddad was getting ill so he, my mum, my nan and I decided to fly over here to visit my uncle. We figured it would be the last time before my granddad... you know" I swallowed.
Carl put the gun down and listened more intently.
"My granddad got worse and he couldn't fly home, so we had to stay longer than we'd planned. Then the outbreak happened..." I remembered watching it all on the news, everyone huddled round the tv not quite sure whether to believe the anchor-man or not. "My granddad died in the night. My nan was at his bedside... when he reanimated, I think he ate her. I woke up to my two little cousins screaming... I wish I could say I ran downstairs and helped but I didn't... I stayed in my room until it all went quiet..." I paused for a moment, fighting off the grizzly images my memories threw at me. When I'd eventually left my room, I found my cousins' bodies mangled together in a corner, my Aunt and uncle were strewn across the living room floor, my nan and granddads brains were shot out. I took a deep and numbing breath "The only one left was my mum... I still thought it was her... I almost ran to hug her". I laughed bitterly and noticed Carl wince. "I stabbed her with a kitchen knife... I tried phoning for help after that but didn't do much good, of course, and I guess that's where most people's stories start to become quite similar".
Carl was quiet for a minute, probably processing the information. "So, did you find people after that?".
I shook my head "I was millions of miles away from home, didn't know anyone in Atlanta; I had nowhere to go... I had nothing..." memories began to surface, and I fought to hold them back. "So, what did you do when it all happened?" I asked, desperate to change the subject, eager to avoid the horrors of my past surfacing.
"I um... I'm not sure... it's all kinda fuzzy, you know?" I got the feeling Carl rarely talked about this sort of thing, but he stuck at it. "I was only a kid..." he swallowed, the tendons in his neck tensing. "I can remember my mom, running around the house packing all the photographs instead of what we'd actually need" he smiled, bitterly. "My dad was a sheriff and he got shot some weeks before the outbreak. He was still in a coma when it all happened" his brow furrowed "We just had to leave him in the hospital" he swallowed again, the lump in his throat struggling to move freely. "We tried to make it to the refugee camps but all the roads were blocked... ended up in the mountains with a bunch o' people..."
"Are they the ones in your group now?".
"Some of them yeah, no all of them made it...".
"How'd your dad find you?".
Carl shrugged. "He's just tough I guess, took him a few weeks but he caught up with us... everyone thought he was dead, but I knew he wasn't".
I smiled, lopsidedly and Carl looked at me then. There was desperation in his eyes, and I could tell he wanted to say something but was unsure of how I'd react.
"I'm sorry about your family" he said, eventually. I felt a warmth bloom within my chest, it was a feeling that I hadn't experienced in a long time.
Perhaps those words weren't as stupid as I'd thought...
I nodded. "I'm sorry about your mum".
He smiled – it was slight but sincere and I felt my shoulders relax. I looked down. The gap between us had somehow grown smaller and our hands were so close to touching I could feel the warmth of his skin over mine. Every bone in my body urged me to reach out to the boy. But my brain screamed at me to stop. I recoiled and Carl mirrored my actions.
I cleared my throat, which had grown tight for some reason. "So, I'm gunna be completely honest with you..." I began "I really don't like guns".
Carl laughed; the intensity of the moment extinguished in only a few seconds.
"Mhm... well, you'll like them when they're the only thing left between you and a walker".
I rolled my eyes and Carl began to instruct me on how to polish the guns innards. We didn't talk about much else. I thought I'd be bored but Carl's voice kept my attention. I'd like to be able to say it was because I enjoyed learning new things and was always looking to broaden my horizons but, truth was, I'm pretty sure I just enjoyed listening to him speak. It sounds stupid, I know. And it wasn't just because his tone - like honey over tree bark – resonated within my chest cavity every now and then sending shivers through me. It was more to do with the fact that someone was talking to me and I'd only now realised just how much I missed that...
Eventually, I clicked the last part into place and the gun was whole again. I was a little disheartened... maybe if I was smarter, I'd have made a mistake here and there and dragged the process out a little longer. Oh well, Carl seemed impressed.
"Nice" he said, examining the gun.
"Thank you," I said smiling triumphantly "I still don't like guns, though".
Carl let out a semi-false frustrated sigh and I laughed.
"You know, you never answered my last question..." he began, glancing at me over the body of the gun.
Oh no. Please don't, Carl.
"Why have you never killed anyone?" he asked, placing the gun on the floor between us.
My words failed me again. How was I supposed to answer a question that didn't apply to me? How could I tell Carl I'd lied? how could I tell him the truth?
Just then, the sound of glass shattering rang through the both of us. Our eyes widened and Carl sprang to his feet.
"What the hell was that?" he hissed, holding the gun south and listening intently.
I joined him on my feet and hurried over to the skylight. I unhooked the latch and popped my head out. Carl came up behind me just in time to witness several people running down to the end of the street.
"Shit" he cursed, striding over to the door. "Do you have a weapon?" he asked, snapping his head round to me, his hand clenched on the door handle.
I thought for a moment, my hands itching for a blade at my hip – my tool belt. "In my bedroom" I said, pushing past Carl and clambering downstairs, I grabbed the belt off the post of my bed and strapped it on, the feel of it comforting around my hips. Carl stood in the doorway, his gun still in hand.
I gave a nod to him.
The tiniest smile flashed across his face before he was all business again. "Don't leave my side, ok?".
I nodded again and followed him down the stairs, out the front door and in the direction everyone else was running.
As we rounded the corner, Carl shoved the gun back into his belt and covered it with his shirt again. The scene we were met with was, thankfully, underwhelming compared to what myself and probably Carl too had been imagining. There was a sparse circle of people – some from Alexandria whom I'd seen around often and some from Carls group – encompassing two men. The men appeared to be wrestling each other on the ground.
"Dad! Stop!" Carl shouted as he came to a halt in front of the men, his voice breaking slightly as he did so.
Oh god... beneath the bruises and blood I recognised both men. The leader of the newcomers - Carl's dad - sat precariously atop Ron's dad – Pete I think his name was and Alexandria's only surgeon.
This wasn't good at all. This was not the sort of light Carl's group needed to be cast in.
The two men seemed to be beyond punching and instead were grappling savagely at each other's throats. Pete overpowered Carl's dad and was suddenly above him, hands reaching to crush his jugular.
Ron's mum, Jessie, tried to intervene. She grasped at Pete's shoulders, pleading him to get off. There was a slap as Pete's hand met her cheek and she fell to the ground. This seemed to piss Carl's dad off. He kneed Pete in the ribs and was on top again.
Carl left my side, then, and attempted to pull his dad off. There was a thud and the boy stumbled backwards, almost knocking into me. His dad seemed completely unaware he'd just hurt his son. Carl quickly regained his footing and was about to try again.
Seeing Deanna approaching, I grasped Carl's arm. He snapped his neck round, his eyes wild and asking me what the hell I was doing. I gestured to Deanna who was screaming at the men to stop.
"Let her deal with it..." I pleaded with Carl.
"Dammit, Rick, I said stop!" Deanna yelled. To my surprise Carls dad – Rick - stopped. Pete lay on the floor, looking a little breathless after being in a choke hold. Her words lingered in the air for a moment, the circle of people surrounding him had gone quiet. Three men slowly advanced on Rick probably to attempt to pull him off Pete.
"Or what?" Rick said, so casually pulling a gun at the three men. Several gasps and shrieks emerged from the growing circle of people before they fell quiet again. Carl, I noticed suddenly, had spread his arm out and positioned himself in front of me. "You gonna kick me out?" Rick asked Deanna.
"Put that gun down, Rick" Deanna spoke as steadily as she could manage but there was a clear tone of fear in her voice. The people here – suburban housewives and close-knit families – rarely saw this sort of violence behind these walls, never mind witness a man waving a gun around. Although I was no stranger to this sort of behaviour and scenario, because of where it was happening, it even struck me as unnerving.
"You still don't get it... none of you do!" Rick spoke now, addressing the rest of Alexandria, his voice echoed around the street, resonating within my own chest and unsettling my bones. "We know what needs to be done and we do it. We're the ones who live. You?! You just sit and plan and hesitate – you pretend like you know, when you don't! We wish things weren't what they are...but you wanna live? You want this place to stay standing? Your way of doing things is done!".
Deanna looked enraged... I'd never seen her like this.
"Things don't get better because y-you want them to" Rick went on "Starting right now, we have to live in the real world, we have to control who lives here".
Although, to an extent I agreed with Carl's dad, this was not the way to go about it... and yet I felt for him – he'd been out there for so long... perhaps too long.
Deanna glared at Rick. "That's never been more clear to me that it is right now" her tone had turned cold and her eyes burned as she regarded him.
"Me? Me? Y-you mean me?" Rick asked incredulously "Your way's gunna destroy this place, it's gonna get people killed, it's already gotten people killed and am not just gunna stand by and let it happen. If you don't fight, you die and am not gunna stand by and—" Rick never got to finish what he'd so passionately intended to say. The woman with the dreadlocks came striding silently over and delivered a sickening blow to the back of Ricks head.
He went down like a rock.
For a moment everyone was still, processing what had just happened, recovering from the shock of it all. And then Carl was at his dad's side helping the woman who'd knocked him out to carry him. Deanna's son plucked Rick's gun from the ground and the three men helped Pete to his feet.
"Take them to the infirmary, Denise will see to them" Deanna ordered to the people holding Rick and Pete. "Everyone else, please go back to your homes – we'll deal with this tomorrow now" Deanna concluded and just like that the residents departed, muttering and mumbling to one another.
Deanna put an arm around Pete's wife and ushered her into her house. I watched as Carl carried his father to the infirmary and I was torn – to follow and help or to go home and leave Carl with his family. So much of me wanted to go with him but that voice in the back of my head said otherwise.
"That guys a frikkin lunatic" said a familiar tone to my right "We shouldn't have ever let him in". It was Ron. He was clearly upset and who wouldn't be after witnessing their dad be nearly beaten to death? I wasn't really sure what to reply. I hadn't spoken to Ron in weeks – the last interaction we'd had was awkward.
I shrugged. "Two sides to every story, right?". It probably wasn't at all what Ron had wanted to hear. But there was no way I was siding with anyone without knowing what happened. And even if I did know the full story... I had to wonder whether I'd ever choose the side that could get Carl and his group kicked out...
"You can't be serious..." Ron's eyes pleaded with me, but I couldn't figure out what for.
"What does my opinion matter?" I asked and the coldness in my voice gave even me chills. A veil of silent anger fell over Ron's eyes like a curtain being drawn. Wordlessly, he skulked away towards the infirmary shaking his head as he went.
That decided it for me – I wasn't following Ron and perhaps Carl should just be with his family right now. I walked slowly home, my hands idly playing with the metal buckle of my belt just as they had done years ago. There was a nagging feeling in my gut. An omen I didn't want to face. I shut the front door of my house, it's rooms where dimly lit by the last of the daylight. I didn't turn on the light, I didn't stop to eat or to think. I ran upstairs, locked the door of my studio behind me and drew.
I drew into the night. I pushed all thoughts of impending change out of my head and ignored the feeling in my gut.
By the time I finished, my pencil was trailing off the paper...