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M E G A N
"Can you open the window?" I ask Carl, breaking the steady silence between the two of us.
The boy and I sit on cushions on the living room floor. For the past few hours, he's been flipping through several comics that he found in one of the bedrooms. While he's been busy with that, I skim through a few old magazines that I found in the downstairs bathroom.
Carl shifts his eyes as they now look at me over the top of his comic. He sighs before dog-earing the page he's on and pushing himself to his feet. He then walks over to the window—comic in-hand—slips his fingers in the small gap we previously left, and pushes the window all the way up.
It makes a clicking sound as the boy uses a little more force to lock it in place. The sunlight now begins to seep in the room.
"Better?" He asks me, tilting his head in a passive aggressive manner.
"Much." I reply with a smile, not letting him get to me. Carl then returns to his cushion and sits down, flipping open his comic.
For the past few weeks, he and I have both been on edge. Every attempt we've made at leaving the protection of this house has made us realize that our area is rapidly growing more and more dangerous.
First, we went to a nearby gas station.
While we were scavenging through the gas station, a sizable herd passed through the town. The boy and I were locked in the bathroom of the small rest stop for hours. That wouldn't have been so bad had it not been for the smoldering summer heat.
We only found a few stale, melted candy bars on that run. Those of which, we ate while waiting for the herd to pass.
Then, we tried to head in the direction opposite of the prison in search of some place farther away we could stay.
We didn't get very far, though. While killing walkers along the way, the slight noise attracted more and more of the dead until they eventually became too much for us to handle. We bailed after about half an hour of traveling.
For the past few days, we've resorted to staying as quiet as possible while remaining inside the house.
We've noticed more and more walkers stumbling through the neighborhood. The smell makes it hard to miss. Of course we tried to think of ways we could inch further north, none of which sounded plausible enough to try.
I can't help but get a similar feeling to the one I had when I was locked in the storage room back at the prison. The way the boy and I are slowly starting to resent each other reminds me of Gianna and Rosa, people I haven't thought of in a long while.
Except—this time around—our supplies are dwindling much quicker and the heat is ten times worse.
I put down my magazine since I've been staring at the same crinkled page. My fingers creep under my long-sleeved shirt before pulling it over my head, leaving myself in just a white tank top. Throwing the shirt over my shoulder, I lean back.
Readjusting my position, I settle back down into the cushion and pick up the magazine. I feel a stare on me from across the room and look up to meet Carl's gaze.
His damp skin glistens with a layer of sweat. The lower curls of his overgrown hair swoop out from behind his neck. His bangs swing to the side under the base of his hat. Seeing the boy still wear his flannel and sheriff's hat during this heat makes me feel bad for him.
"I think we should go back to the armory," Carl sighs. I can tell he's speaking in terms of this being close to our last resort. "There were hardly any of them last time we went. If we follow the road—"
"There were hardly any of them anywhere, Carl." My voice cuts through his. The boy's face softens and he sighs, closing his eyes. "No matter where we go, it'll be dangerous. We might as well go before it gets even worse." I say, ultimately agreeing with him.
He rubs his face with his hands, accidentally knocking his hat off of his head in the process. Our current situation leaves the boy in his most defeated state. As the leader of our little operation, I can tell that he has no idea what our next move should be.
"Let's wait until tonight." The boy finally says, trying to regain control as it continues to slip through his fingers. "It'll make us harder to be seen."
"Okay."
"We can take that road until we find something." Carl says as he sighs. The fragile look of forced certainty on his face doesn't make me any less uneasy about traveling into the unknown, especially in the dark.
"Sounds like a plan."
☆
"Okay, time to turn them off." The boy whispers over to me before clicking off his flashlight. I do the same.
We step out of the trees after a silent, tense journey through the woods. Once we're away from the shade of the trees, the moonlight hits us, dimly illuminating the armory as well as the road alongside it.
As Carl and I approach the armory, the area remains suspiciously clear. We still have to be careful, though; any amount of walkers could be lurking just through the trees.
I struggle to keep up with the boy's footsteps as he makes his way across the street. His eyes remain locked on the familiar yet different scene before us.
The tow truck that I previously searched is still there, parked across the street from the armory.
This time, however, a streak of blood runs along the side of the passenger door. I step through the dead walkers to get closer to it.
Although the blood is dry, it makes it known that someone else has been here since the last time we came. I look at Carl as he continues looking around. We both stop in our tracks once we see where the blood came from.
In addition to the walkers that were already here last time, there are few more bodies scattered on either side of the tow truck. These new walkers are less decayed and bony.
My mind races as I realize that it was probably someone from the prison wandering dangerously close to where Carl and I reside.
Another possibility is that there's a different group nearby. While my first instinct is to think that new people means we could have greater numbers, the boy has continuously told me that all new people can be dangerous.
"There's no use sticking around here." Carl states. I pull my eyes toward him as I step over one of the bodies. The boy then nods his head, beginning to walk toward the road.
I reluctantly follow, trying not to think about the possibility of running into anyone, alive or dead.
The boy walks with determination as his boots repeatedly click against the road. I follow behind him, letting his hot-head go into the danger first.
My eyes stare down the backside of the boy as he walks alone in the middle of the street. With every step I take, my feet feel heavier. Although it's night, the heat still smothers me as I walk.
I quickly stop walking and take my long-sleeve shirt off once again, tying it around my waist. As expected, the boy didn't notice I'd stopped. His distance from me grew significantly just a few seconds.
The resentment I have for the boy is what discourages me from walking faster, although it also fuels what little energy I have left. My stare lies on the boy's steady footsteps, subconsciously watching every step his feet take.
Deep down, I know Carl is doing the best he can in our situation. The situation we wouldn't even be in if it weren't for him? His selfishness is the reason we're exposed and alone in the middle of an over-run town.
The reasons he wanted to leave the prison weren't null in void, though. It has been nice taking matters into our own hands. You mean fighting for your life? Not knowing how long you'll both last out here?
At least Carl has some sort of responsibility over what his actions have gotten us into. He's gotten us this far. We wouldn't be this far had it not been for my compliance. Filtering through the boy's irrational decisions is what I do best. What's a few more weeks if I'm spending every day thinking about how we made a mistake leaving the prison?
Sure, it was nice while it lasted.
Before the dead seemed to multiply, I actually might've said I was enjoying myself—maybe even including Carl's company.
My continuous, despair-filled footsteps sound out along the street, alone.
Once I notice the absence of the boy's repetitive steps, I regain my focus. I'm now staring ahead at an empty road as the boy's moving feet are now out of my vision. Quickly looking up, I see the boy wandering to the right of the road, headed toward a small building.
Mini-Mart Grocery and Pharmacy
If this place hasn't been previously ransacked, it could have everything we'd need.
As if on a cue, Carl and I look to each other in unspoken agreement. The boy pulls out his gun, keeping it at his side. I do the same with my knife as I've gotten pretty quick with it. I follow in the boy's creeping footsteps as we enter the parking lot filled with rusty cars.
He sneaks, bending his knees as he places silent steps. I copy him, making sure I'm staying low.
The boy stands slightly taller as he peeks inside the rear window of a worn-down red minivan. His face winces and he shakes his head before continuing toward the entrance. Once I pass the same car, I decide not to look in the window.
Carl sneaks toward the store's glass doors. The boy subtly nods toward me before putting his face closer to the window. He cups his hands against the glass, trying to see better. In this darkness, there's no telling what we can't see inside this store.
He steps back from the glass, slightly defeated. The boy then sticks his fingers in between what used to be the automatic doors. He slowly but surely makes about a foot-wide gap between the two glass doors.
Carl takes a step back, looking at me. My eyes flick up to meet his.
He raises his hand, making a fist before quickly pounding twice on the glass door. We both quickly move against the wall as we wait.
Quiet, strained groans make their way to the door. It takes a few moments before the walker's arm and head stick out of the thin space between the doors. Before it can squeeze itself through, I quickly stab it in the head. After, I make sure to press myself back up against the wall.
A few minutes pass as we wait for more walkers. When none appear, Carl quickly holsters his gun. He then runs up to the door and pries it open even more.
The walker I that put down slumps through the door as it opens. As Carl finishes with the door, I pick up the walker's arms and drag it out into the parking lot, the pavement scraping against its stomach.
Carl uses the tip of his finger to push the rim of his hat upwards as he looks into the building. I release the walker's arms and its top half thuds against the concrete. With sudden force, I remove my knife from its skull. I jog to meet Carl as I switch my grip on the bloody knife.
The boy nods in my direction before raising his gun and quickly stepping in the store. I quickly step in behind him, my knife at the ready. My eyes immediately tear through the small building, scanning for threats. Besides the dark spaces behind a few aisles, the store seems clear. I step forward, peaking behind the furthermost right aisle. After realizing that my side of the store is clear, I look toward Carl.
He returns from his side as well and shrugs at me. "Nothing on this side." He says, keeping his voice at a low volume.
"Mine either." I breathe out, slightly lowering my weapon.
"Okay, let's take a look around." Carl sighs with a determined yet desperate look in his eyes. I nod in agreement and the boy clicks on his flashlight. The boy aims both the flashlight and the gun as he starts walking behind the aisle to the left.
I shake my head slightly before returning to my side of the store.
My body fills with false excitement as I see how heavily stocked the first aisle is. It isn't until I see that it's filled with sunscreen and beach balls that my hopes diminish. The tubes of sunscreen remain seemingly untouched, lined standing upright in straight rows.
My feet slowly continue farther down the aisle. As I get farther away from the front window, the moonlight doesn't hit the aisle anymore. I click on my flashlight, holding it beside my left cheek. A few children's toys lay scattered around the unhelpful aisle as I approach the back of the store.
I make my way down the next aisle. Quite a few bags of—whatever's left of—some moldy bread create a rancid smell that hits my nose almost immediately after I turn the corner. I put my fist—that contains the flashlight—in front of my nose and mouth, trying to block whatever I can of the scent.
Quickly leaning over to see nearly nothing down this aisle, I back out of it. The putrid smell lingers in my nose for a few seconds even after I'm out of its vicinity. Soon, I realize that I'm approaching Carl's side of the store. Standing on my toes, I look over the aisles. The boy is nowhere to be found.
"Megan!" I hear Carl's voice shout out. I whip my head around to the back of the store. "Come see what I found." His enthused voice echoes through the store, stopping myself from worrying too much.
I see an open door toward the corner of the store, next to the pharmacy. I make my way toward it quickly to see what the boy is going on about. He moves out of the doorway as he sees me approaching.
When I enter the doorway, I look to see what his flashlight is illuminating. A large pile of untouched supplies lays on the floor. I know it's untouched because of the thick, filmy layer of dust over the top of it.
A large five-gallon refill jug sits in the middle, filled to the brim with clean water. Around it lies several boxes of instant oats as well as a large first-aid kit.
I feel nothing but hope as my eyes study the abandoned supplies. Looking over to Carl, he wears a familiar softened look across his face. He no longer looks as defeated.
It's now that I realize we're too happy in this moment. "What if these belong to someone else?"
"Look at all the dust, Megan." He starts, sighing. "No one has seen these supplies in a long time. They were locked in here." Carl says, stepping further into the room. He bends down and sweeps a bit of dust off of the first aid kit with his pointer finger. "Whoever put this here isn't coming back."
"You're right." I sigh, although the boy only managed to sooth part of my guilty feelings. A few moments of silence pass as the boy and I stare at the food and water, not knowing what to do next.
"How are we going to carry that back to the house?" I ask him, pointing to the large canister of water.
"I don't kn—" Carl starts.
When he abruptly stops talking, I look at him to see a sly smirk slowly creep its way onto his face.
☆
As we exit the small room, Carl appoints me the job of pulling the wagon containing all of our new supplies. Although it slows me down, I don't mind pulling extra weight if it means we get food and water.
I pull the squeaky wagon toward the middle of the store, before I slow down a little and begin leaning forward to pull it.
"Too heavy?" Carl snickers. I turn around, aiming to fire back at him. My eyes land on the amused look on his face.
My nearly infallible good mood stops me from saying something. I choose to laugh along with Carl as my eyes drift to the pharmacy behind him.
"Did you search the pharmacy?" I ask him. He shakes his head.
"There's not much back there," He says. "I wasn't really looking for medicine, though."
"Well, that should be a priority now that we have food and water." I remark at the boy, cutting our victory short. I drop the handle of the wagon gently against the tile floor before shimmying around it and making my way toward the back of the store.
I hoist myself on top of the counter before pulling myself over. My feet land with a harsh thud on the other side of the counter. The boy lurks from the front side of the pharmacy, watching my back.
Behind the counter are tall, white shelves. I scan my eyes up and down as I make my way in between the nearest two. Clicking my flashlight on, nearly the entire small pharmacy fills my vision.
On the ground, I see a dented box of medicated bandaids. I bend down and pick up the box, studying it in my hands. I open the top and see that there are still bandaids within the damaged cardboard.
"Heads up," I say to Carl as he waits on the other side of the counter with his arms crossed. I toss the box over the counter and he suddenly catches it. "Go put that with the rest." I say.
The boy rolls his eyes, a smile plays on his face as he reluctantly heads toward the middle of the store.
My eyes continue to scan the empty pharmacy. On top of the farthest white shelf, I see a brown glass bottle.
The only other time I've seen a bottle like that was when I saw Hershel give some antibiotics to a beaten Glenn. I quickly walk over to the shelf, studying it. The bottle stands at least two feet out of my reach.
Antibiotics are worth the climb.
I step on the bottom tier of the shelf, lifting myself up a few inches. My fingers brush against the bottle as I stand on the tips of my toes. I'm able to scoot the bottle closer to the edge, still not being able to fully grasp it.
I suck in a breath before grabbing onto a higher shelf and pulling one of my feet up to the second tier. I hoist myself father up, almost eye level with the bottle. Right before my fingers can wrap around it, the shelf I'm standing on cracks loudly, before fully breaking.
This sends me flying backward onto the floor. I quickly stand up, looking back at the bottle as it wobbles on the edge of the shelf.
It falls off the top shelf, coming toward me. I move to dodge it, causing my flashlight to fall out of my grasp. With a loud smash, the glass shatters and the liquid inside the bottle oozes all over the floor.
"Shit," I mutter.
"Megan," I hear Carl call. "You okay in there?"
"Yeah," I breathe. "I'm good."
The antibiotics spread in a puddle across the floor and my flashlight rolls toward the area under the shelf. I try to reach it but it's too late. I bend down and look through the shelf to the other side.
The light bounces around the room as my flashlight rolls out from the other side of the shelf. It rolls a little before the light in the room suddenly starts coming back in my direction.
Soon, I see the flashlight roll back under my side of the shelf.
I bend down lower to see what my flashlight bumped into and instead I see a pair of bony, decayed feet.
I quickly stand up, backing away as the walker slams itself into the shelf. My eyes widen as the whole thing begins to tilt over. My first instinct is to push the shelf back into the walker. The attempt almost immediately fails as the walker is about three times my size, as well as the shelf.
The shelf tumbles over me—despite my efforts—taking me down with it.
A crashing sound echoes throughout the whole store as the oncoming shelf slams into the one behind me. The rest of the tall shelves in the pharmacy fall like large dominoes.
"Megan?" I hear Carl scream. There's no telling where the boy is in the store, or if he even knows what's going on.
Pain spreading throughout my back stops me from breathing, let alone calling for help. The walker continues its attempts to get to me between the shelves. Its cold, dead hand makes its way to my shoulder as I struggle to push the shelf further from my body.
I feel the cold antibiotic wetting my back as I lay right in the puddle of it. The shards of glass from the bottle get shoved deeper and deeper into my back as the weight of the shelf and the walker intensifies.
Taking my right hand, I push the shoulder of the walker, its loose skin slipping off as I do so, resulting in its mouth getting closer and closer to my face. In a futile attempt to move, I'm able to bend my knee and jam it in between my torso and the heavy shelf.
Then, I'm able to pin my wrists against the tier of the shelf closest to my chest. This grants a few more inches between the walker and myself.
"Shit!" I hear Carl say.
I turn my head toward the counter and look toward the boy. He breathes heavily standing on the other side, his eyes widening at the scene before him.
"Help!" My breathless voice croaks out.
The hungry groans of the walker drown out my attempts at screaming. I look to the walker as it grows more and more excited to have me as its next meal.
I decided to try and slowly move my right hand to the knife in my holster. That plan doesn't even begin to work because both of my wrists are not going anywhere under all of this weight.
"Carl!" My voice breaks out when I come to the realization that he is my only hope.
I look back over to the boy. He is no longer standing in the same spot.
Instead, I see the back of his sheriff's hat disappear further into the store as he walks away from the scene, leaving me here to stare death in the face.
"Carl!"
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3923 words
A/N
Idk if I said this in the last A/N but I'm OBSESSED with chapters 12-17
i feel like writing these chapters was such a pivotal point in my writing style???
anyways Carl left her ass :/
☆please vote I am BEGGING u ☆