Hello there, Internet. This is my first attempt at a Walking Dead fic... So bear with me here. I've wanted to do a story like this for a while now. It is a romance(between Carl and my OC), but I warn you it will probably be sort of slow-burning. There are going to be homosexual relations in here, so if that's not your thing you should probably not read. Also, I did something that's kind of taboo when it comes to The Walking Dead. This story takes place after the second attack on the prison, and I may have sort of... killed Rick.
So, with that happy thought in mind, on to the story! Reviews, favorites, and follows are all much appreciated so that I know someone out there is actually reading this.
(Carl's POV)
Alone.
That's what I had been for hours now. I only knew that by occasionally glancing up and noticing the sun's position in the sky. Hell, it certainly hadn't felt like hours. More like days, spent in suffocating silence. Well, not real silence, since there was always some form of sound, like my shoes scuffing the ground or leaves being blown across the street, even the odd groan of a walker here and there. Yet the weight of the quiet was still crushing me, or maybe it was more so the lack of another person to share my space.
I had buried my father in the backyard of the house we were at. The house where he died. I marked his grave by arranging a small "R" out of stones. I thought about leaving something of his behind, but it's not like I had much to work with. Either his gun's holster, or the revolver itself, and someone was liable to steal either of those things if they came across one of them. Part of me doesn't even know why I bothered with the stones. It's not like I would ever get to go back and visit him. That very thought caused a pang of sorrow to clutch my heart tightly, but I swallowed my despair, continuing to walk along the road that I was on.
I had moved on as soon as I had finished paying my respects, not wanting to stay in that place for a second longer than I had to. That brought me to where I was now, aimlessly stumbling along the road that had led out of the neighborhood. The white bag that Dad and I had found at Joe and Joe Jr's bar, and had been using to carry supplies, was hanging off of my back by the strap. It was actually fairly full, with provisions and my gun and its holster. I made a resolution to find an actual backpack of some sort when I got the chance. My pistol was out of ammo, so until I found more I was using the .44 magnum. And I was wearing Dad's holster because... Well, it just wouldn't feel right putting his gun in mine. Stupid and sentimental, I know, but I couldn't help it. Somehow it made it feel like if I was using his equipment, especially his handgun, he would help me, protect me, from wherever he was. If he was even anywhere in the first place. Jumping onto that train of thought reminded me of when I told Carol she was an idiot for believing in heaven that long time ago back at Hershel's farm. Dad had taken me aside and not only scolded me, but explained why what I said was wrong too. I didn't fully understand it back then, but I sure got it now. It was easier to believe that he was just somewhere else, somewhere peaceful, instead of rotting in the ground where I had put him. Not just him either, the rest of my family too.
Oh God, I thought to myself, the realization just dawning on me. I was the last Grimes left. I mean it's not that I didn't already know, but it was actually hitting me now. Mom, Judy, and now Dad... My whole family is dead. My left hand suddenly flew up to my face, rubbing at my eyes furiously. Just something in my eyes, just some dust or dirt, I lied to myself, trying to shake my head free of all of these damned thoughts. I couldn't think about them now. I just had to keep going. Move on, kill walkers, survive. That's how I would honor my family.
The killing walkers part I wasn't exactly up to at the moment though. I just felt so drained of motivation to do anything, avoiding the few walkers that I came across. Most of them saw me, but I just kept walking, sometimes having to sidestep a hungry reanimated corpse. I didn't know what I was doing. I guess in the back of my head I had a plan to just keep walking, putting distance between myself and the place where my father had perished, until I got tired. Then I would find somewhere to hole up for the night. Alone. I wasn't really thinking about it though, not like I should have been. I mean after all, what else did I have to be concerned with now other than my survival? I should have hammered out a solid plan for the day, but I simply didn't care enough to do so.
It's not that I didn't care about my survival. I didn't want to die, and I knew as much. But with what just happened, it was hard for me to want to live. It was hard for me to think about it, or put much energy into it at all. My dad dying was different than my less recent loss of my baby sister. That had made me angry, and cold. This had just defeated me. It had left me alone. Completely and utterly alone. Now that I thought about it, I had never been alone before now. I had always had a group, had always had at least one of my parents around. Time to grow up, Carl, I thought bitterly to myself, deciding that I liked being mad more than I liked being depressed as I wiped away tears that I didn't even realize had been trailing down my face. I rubbed away whatever pitiful, tired expression I had been wearing on my face before and replaced it with a hard glare.
Now that I had forced myself out of my thoughts once again(hopefully for good this time), I noticed that I was approaching another neighborhood. It wasn't all that different from the one I was at before, mostly white houses lining each side of the street, the majority of the structures themselves not sporting many differences. The only car that I could see was a light blue station wagon with wood paneling on its sides, parked up against the left side of the curb a few houses in. It looked surprisingly intact, none of the windows broken and all of the tires that I could see from where I stood were still inflated. Too bad I don't know how to drive, I thought with a light sigh as I approached the vehicle. Then my eyes widened. Oh shit... I don't know how to drive. Yup, definitely gonna die, I thought sardonically, actually allowing myself a chuckle. My own somewhat morbid joking was suddenly stifled, as I heard a sound that I was unfortunately quite familiar with, coming from the area directly behind the station wagon.
My hand immediately reached back and snatched my dad's revolver out of its holster. I held it out in front of me with both hands, not exactly aiming it in front of me, but not keeping it pointed downwards either. My right thumb rested on the hammer, though it didn't cock it back yet. I took slow, measured steps forward, careful to be as silent as I could manage until I could finally see around the vehicle next to me. I almost wish I couldn't, as it was not exactly the most pleasant thing I had ever seen. Five walkers were knelt down, huddled around a fleshy mass that I think was once a dog. They were making obscene tearing noises as they ripped pieces off of their meal, and even more grotesque sounds as they actually devoured the raw meat. I raised the gun, about to cock the hammer back, when I stopped. I had enough bullets to take down these walkers, but what about after that? I didn't know my exact count, but I sure as hell knew that it wasn't very high. Plus the noise from the shots would just draw more of them, and that could mean I would have to leave this neighborhood before I even got a chance to search it. The walkers started to notice me, hissing and snarling as they slowly and ungracefully stood up.
Shit! I thought in annoyance, but I was decided on what to do. I holstered the revolver, reaching for my knife. I needed to get better at this anyways. Admittedly, most of the walkers that I killed were ended with firepower. So I would kill as many as I could with my knife, and then only use the gun if I had to.
Just as I had drawn my knife, a simple weapon with a six inch stainless steel blade and a black handle, I froze. The hissing coming from the undead in front of me wasn't the only hissing in the area. There were more of them behind me. I backed up, away from the threat in front of me, quickly turning to the side so that I could see how bad exactly this situation was. Three walkers were coming at me from the direction that I had came from, no doubt remains of all of the corpses that I had avoided on my walk to this neighborhood. I thought that all of them had fallen behind and lost interest, but clearly I was wrong. "Fuck," I muttered under my breath, testing out the expletive on my tongue. I'd never said it before now. Glad I got to say it once before I die, I thought, resolving to stick with my plan to use the knife, despite this new development. Then I headed towards the three walkers, figuring that I could take care of the smaller group faster, and that would make it easier on me when I had to face the other five walkers.
My free hand came up and grabbed a female walker's shoulder. I held it at bay, finding it harder than I expected since we were practically the same size, as I gripped the knife in my other hand and attempted to stab it in the head. This was also more difficult than I thought it would be as the reanimated corpse continued to flail, snarling and snapping as its fingers found purchase on the front of my shirt, trying to pull me forward just as furiously as I was trying to push it back. Finally I was able to drive my knife into its right eye, and as always, it was like hitting a damn shut down button. Unfortunately, this wasn't as good as one might think. I underestimated how hard it would be to retract the blade from the walker's head, so when it turned into a literal dead weight, I, still holding onto both the knife as I tried to free my weapon and the walker's shoulder, was taken down to the ground with it. "Oh, shit," I breathed, my voice panicky. Thankfully it wasn't on top of me, instead laying directly in front of me, both of us on our sides. Regardless, it was still causing me problems, as I had to get my knife and get up before the other walkers closed in on me.
I momentarily shut the groans of the surrounding undead out, solely focusing on the task at hand. Then with one great pull I almost smiled to myself as I heard the signature shnk sound of a blade ripping out of flesh. No time for a victory dance though, I still had seven more walkers to go. Just as I got to my knees, another walker from the smaller group lunged at me. This one was larger than the first, and that combined with its momentum as it hurtled itself at me knocked me to the ground, on my back this time. I could feel its fingernails digging into my shoulders through both of my long-sleeved shirts as it kept a grip like a vice on me. Its teeth clacked as its jaws opened and closed inches from my cheek, ferocious snarls escaping from its mouth in intervals. The only reason it wasn't tearing into my face right now was because I had managed to get my free arm up in time, pushing it against the thing's collarbone just barely hard enough to save my life. I tried to push harder, to shift it to the side and throw it off of me, but to no avail. Hot, rotten breath rolled over my face, and I winced, forcing myself not to turn away. My arm that was wielding the knife was trapped at an awkward angle, pinned against my stomach with the walker's body on top of it. I frantically struggled to yank the limb free, my heartbeat resounding in my ears. It wouldn't be long now before the other walkers reached me. They would kneel down like they had around the dog, and then-
No, stop it! You're going to live! You're going to break free, right... NOW!
Right as I finished giving myself the silent pep talk, I forcefully jolted my arm, and with it my knife, free. Screaming in fury, I stabbed the walker on top of me directly in the forehead. Of course this flattened me to the ground, and I knew now that using my gun was unavoidable. There was no way that I was going to be able to push this corpse off of me or get out from under it in time to dispatch the other walkers with my knife. So I simply left the blade buried in the dead(for good this time) walker's head and reached for my dad's revolver, having managed to already maneuver my arms around the body. A moment later it was aiming at the final walker on my right, and I cocked the hammer back with my thumb.
BLAM!
Sometimes I forgot just how loud this was. I was almost surprised as I watched the walker's head I had been aiming at explode in a gory display of dark, black blood, and fragments of decomposing bone. I mean, I was a good shot and all, but it was a powerful gun and I had only been holding it with one hand. Any relief I had been feeling from hitting the walker soon transformed into annoyance as I watched the body fall forward and land horizontally across the other one that was already on top of me. Then that annoyance promptly turned to fear as I looked to my left and saw the first walker of the group of five looming over me. It began to crouch down, hissing as it looked at me hungrily. "Oh hell no," I growled, turning the revolver onto that one.
BLAM!
With my luck, of course that body had to fall forward and join the other cadavers, furthering the weight that was trapping me. I wasn't going to stay pinned this time though, wriggling around as I attempted to free myself. Little by little, I was able to scoot backwards, out from underneath the bodies. I quickly stood up, the hasty movement causing my sheriff's hat to fall to the pavement since it was already so precariously balanced on my head, continuing to back up as the four remaining walkers were right in front of me now. Four bullets left in my dad's gun for four walkers. Perfect as long as I could get a head shot with each round. I raised the revolver, holding it with both hands this time. Then I started shooting.
I exhaled in relief, lowering the gun in one of my hands after having shot the last walker. My free left hand came up to touch my cheek, and, as I kind of expected, there was dark blood when I pulled it away to look at the palm. Probably from when I had stabbed the walker that was right on top of me, but it didn't really matter. Blood, even walker blood, didn't really bother me anymore. My hand fell back to my side, only for my eyes to widen in horror. Looked like my ordeal wasn't quite over yet.
More walkers, no doubt drawn by sound of gunfire, were coming out of the woods on the other side of the neighborhood, sights already set on me. Rustling from behind me caused me to throw a quick glance over my shoulder, only to confirm what I pretty much already knew. They were coming out of both sides of the woods.
I holstered my dad's revolver quickly, knowing that I didn't have enough ammo to take on all of these walkers, nor did I have the time to reload it. So in other words it was useless to me right now. I snatched my hat off of the street, fitting it on my head as I moved over to the corpse that my knife was still stuck in. I pulled the other bodies off of it, rolling it over onto its back and then wrapping my right hand around the hilt of my knife, quickly tearing it from its place in the thing's skull. Then I started to run up the street that would lead me out of this neighborhood, abandoning my original plan to scavenge it for supplies. Only the universe had other plans.
I was just coming over a small hill in the road, only to nearly run into some walkers that had been going down it. I skidded to a stop right in front of the group of undead, the corpses almost seeming as surprised as I was for a moment. I stood there, staring in terror until they started to growl and snarl for my flesh. "Fuck me and my trigger happy self," I muttered simply before spinning around and running back the way that I had came. Except that wasn't the right answer either. Reanimated corpses were surrounding me, and exactly what I had been trying to avoid by using my knife was happening.
Need a plan, need a plan... I internally repeated to myself as I desperately looked around for something, anything that would help me out of this situation. Then my eyes locked onto the station wagon. It was a stretch, and assuming I could get there I might end up dying anyways. But it was something, and I needed something at the moment. Plus it could give me a chance to think about my next move once I got there.
So I ran. I didn't stop for anything. Not even when I had to kill a male walker that lurched out in front of me and reached out with cold, claw-like fingers to grab me. I leaped up, the blade of my knife protruding from the bottom of my right fist while my left hand wrapped around that, holding my weapon with both of my hands so that I would have better control. Then gravity played its role and brought my knife piercing down right through the top of the walker's cranium and my shoes met the pavement once again. The corpse fell to its knees, but before it could fall over onto its stomach I withdrew my knife from its brain, this time anticipating how difficult it would be to do so. Thankfully I hadn't let the body bring me down with it this time, because then I definitely would have met a gruesome end. Another walker assaulted me almost immediately after I dispatched its fellow reanimated corpse, but I didn't even try to take the time to kill this one, simply slamming my hands into its abdomen and pushing it as far backwards as I could manage.
Almost there! I thought, my gaze locking onto the vehicle. It was a good thing too. Now that I was looking at it so intensely, I could see that the doors were all locked by looking in the windows. Fuck!
There were way too many walkers around for me to have the time to break a window and let myself inside, so when I neared the vehicle I improvised a plan from the one that I had already formed in my mind. I threw myself onto the roof of the vehicle, the momentum of the hasty action rolling me onto my back, or rather, my bag of supplies since it was luckily still with me despite all of the strenuous movement.
If I had been about to feel relief, it hadn't happened, because almost right after getting to "safety" a large, ugly walker grabbed my free arm with both of its decomposing appendages from its place next to the station wagon, attempting to draw my arm to its gaping, bloody maw. Something between a yelp and a scream emitted from my vocal cords out of my sheer surprise and fear, and for a minute I just struggled in my shock, trying to pull my limb away from the undead ranks that were groaning hungrily as they gathered around the vehicle I was on top of. Then I came to my senses, my hand with the knife coming forward and stabbing the offending walker right where its forehead met its thin, scraggly hair. It released me, but at a price.
I was unable to pull my knife out before the body fell into the crowd, and I was forced to pull my arm back or risk being grabbed by another walker. Great. Now I had an empty gun, and no knife. I had some ammo, but it wouldn't make a difference anyways with them all crowded around me like this, and I couldn't risk reloading, it would take too long. Oh, and I couldn't forget the fact that I was trapped. So basically was I not only irrevocably fucked two different ways, no, you could go ahead and make it three.
I stood up, trying to stand in the middle of the roof to avoid both sides of undead limbs hungrily reaching out for me. It didn't help much, and I still ended up constantly kicking at rotting fingers and hands to stop them from grabbing onto me. I couldn't keep this up forever. I needed a new plan, but whenever I looked up for more than a second to try and survey the area I had to quickly look back down again as I felt a hand snatching at my pant leg or shoe.
Come on, Carl... You made it this far, now you just need... Fuck, this was bad. So bad that I couldn't even pep talk myself because I had no clue what to do. Dad would know what to do... I thought somberly. Then I felt myself get frustrated.
You said you'd be fine if he died. Time to live up to that, I thought bitterly to myself, remembering when I said that to my then unconscious dad. I was going to prove myself right. I was not going to be torn apart by some undead assholes just hours after burying my father. Hadn't I just established that the best way to honor my deceased family was to keep on going?!
Ironically enough, between my thoughts and my halfhearted attempts at searching for a way out of this, I was too distracted and a walker finally managed to get a good grip around one of my legs, pulling it out from under me and causing me to fall face first onto the roof of the station wagon. My mouth connected with metal, and even through the adrenaline that was rushing around inside of my body, the hit smarted and I could taste blood welling up around my tongue. No time to let pain distract me though, and I didn't hesitate in lashing out, kicking with my free leg as I tried to retract the other one. "No, no, no!" I cried, panicking. It wasn't working, nothing was. My palms flattened against the windshield of the vehicle, and I applied pressure as I tried to push myself forward, away from the walkers that had a hold of me. Of course that was only a temporary solution, as the farther away I got from one side of walkers, the closer I got to another since the tumble I had taken laid me out diagonally across the roof. I ended up raising one arm to fend off the hands that tried to grab my face and hair, trying not to think about how hopeless this situation was.
Then suddenly I heard the sound of metal slicing through skin, flesh and bone, almost inaudible because of all of the snarling and moaning of the dead surrounding me, but unmistakable nonetheless. The walkers that were gathered around the station wagon, around me, began to disperse. Not all of them, but slowly more and more of them began to walk towards something, or rather someone, I realized. Who would take on a pack of walkers with a melee weapon? From what I could hear, it appeared to be only one person. I didn't try to fool myself into thinking that it was Michonne, because the sound of the kills somehow lacked the elegance of the noises that her sword had made when it was slicing through a walker's skull or piercing its brain, but whoever it was sure as hell shared her confidence. That or they were insane. I was grateful either way, but I couldn't be bothered to think about that anymore because I still needed to free myself from the oppressing hands of the walker that just would not release me.
With one final, great heave, I wrenched my leg away from the walkers, wasting no time in jumping back up to my feet. Now that the concentration of the dead had greatly lessened around the station wagon, I could afford to reload my dad's revolver. So I did just that, one of my hands pulling it from its holster while my other hand dug into the front pocket of my jeans, scrounging around for what little ammunition I had left. I looked at my findings, disappointed to see that I only had six bullets rolling around in the palm of my hand. Enough to fill the revolver, but after I used it I was stuck using my knife until I could get more. After this little excursion I wasn't exactly tempted to try my luck at stabbing any more walkers in the head, but I couldn't just stand here and leave someone who may have very well just saved my life to face the walkers alone. I opened the cylinder of the revolver, the six shell casings of the bullets I had fired earlier clinking against the roof of the station wagon as they fell out, and then I went about slotting each bullet into its place before snapping the gun closed again. My left hand rolled over the hammer, cocking it back, and I didn't wait to aim and take fire.
My bullet hit a walker that was standing up against the station wagon, arms outstretched and fists repeatedly opening and closing as it reached for me, right in the forehead, spraying shards of skull and bloody, rotted brain matter out of the back of its head. I picked that one because I judged that it wasn't too far away from where my knife was buried in a walker's head, so I needed it out of the way. By the time I heard the telltale thud of its corpse hitting the ground with all of the gracefulness of a sack of potatoes, I was already moving, leaping down off of the roof of the vehicle.
I brought the revolver up again, in only my right hand this time with my body shifted to the side, just how dad always used to hold it, and fired two more shots, both of the walkers' heads that I had been aiming for erupting into geysers of gore. Then I quickly spun around, popping off another two rounds, though this time at the undead that had been behind me. Two more corpses hit the pavement. Now that I had some time, I reached down and grasped the handle of my knife, extracting it from where it was in a cadaver's brain, holding it in my left hand this time instead of my dominant right one. I would switch that after I had fired the last bullet in the revolver.
BLAM!
Done. I slipped the revolver into its holster, tossing my knife to my right hand with a single, fluid motion. Taking the time to assess the battleground, I realized that the majority of the pack of walkers were after the stranger, and he(at least I think it was a he from the glimpses I was catching of him; I didn't have the time to really look him over after all) was certainly holding his own. Bodies that bared the telltale signs of having died two deaths littered the street, most of them missing a piece of their heads, but a few only had deep gashes cleaved through their craniums. If that didn't make it clear that he didn't need my immediate assistance, then I don't know what would.
So I turned my attention onto the few walkers that were behind me, split up from the main group and more spread out, they would be more fitting targets for my lack of melee experience and I. Time to figure out how much my recent series of mishaps had taught me about stabbing a reanimated corpse in the head. The first one was a good bit taller than me, so after I had moved to be in front of it and it was charging at me, I let it come to me. I even assisted it, grabbing a fistful of its shirt in my free hand and pulling it forward, jabbing my knife up at the same time into the area underneath its chin. I shifted it to the side, letting it fall at an angle and holding on tightly to my knife so that the corpse simply slipped off of the blade. I might have smiled had the circumstances been different, but they weren't, so I didn't, my expression remaining in its hardened state as I turned a glare onto the other walkers.
A few short moments later, I was putting my knife through the last walker's skull. I let gravity do the work of pulling it off my knife, and all I had to do was push the body back and keep a good grip on my weapon, yanking it back in one fast motion. I had quickly found that since I wasn't exactly the strongest, that was the easiest way of freeing my blade without incident.
Somewhere not far behind me, I heard something of a sickening crunch that sounded like kindle snapping, except a lot louder and a lot more grotesque. I turned just in time to see the stranger who had saved my life executing the only remaining walker of that fucking pack that had been after first me, then him. And that's what it was. An execution. He had broken the walker's leg, a short thing that was probably once a pretty girl considering that it was garbed in a short dress that may have once been white, but was now long since yellowed and filthy with bloody stains. It was down on one knee, reaching out for him as it gurgled kind of pitifully, the surprisingly white bone(guess I thought that would somehow be stained too) of its leg poking out of its decaying flesh where it was snapped in two only adding to that image of weakness.
But that look on his face. Ending the "life" of the undead was always something that I had seen as a necessity, and on top of that I saw it as merciful. Neither of those reasons was why he was killing that walker. His eyes were boiling with rage, pits so dark brown that it almost looked like his pupils were blown. He hated that walker. He hated it intensely, with an anger that I'd seen somewhere else before, but I couldn't quite place it. And I was enthralled. Fascinated, disturbed, and feeling some weird hybrid emotion I'm not sure I have ever felt before, all at the same time. In each of his hands was a hatchet, and he crossed his arms in front of the walker's face before bringing both of the blades forward, moving in opposite directions of each other. Sprays of the signature black looking blood of the undead spattered the grass on both sides of the female walker, and its head was simultaneously severed from its place on her neck and into two different chunks. The corpse fell over onto its side with a thud.
I have to admit, he did well to hide the anger. He moved with cold indifference, but that fury in his eyes told me the real story. It didn't really disappear, but it did appear to go dormant after the last walker was dispatched. He sheathed his hatchets in brown leather sheathes that were hanging off his back, the straps both across his chest diagonally with one on top of the other.
By now I realized I was staring, but I didn't stop. I was still too... curious... about this other survivor. He had saved my life after all. I was getting my first good look at him, since before I had been too pumped up with adrenaline to worry about anything other than survival. Now my heartbeat had returned to its normal pace, and I could afford the distraction of another person.
I think he was probably within a few years of me in age. He was a good bit taller, and he had the muscular body of a man more than the scrawny frame of a teenager which was what I was currently stuck with, but he didn't look too old. Maybe eighteen, or something? The skin that I could see of his was lightly tanned(which wasn't much, he was wearing a thin looking olive green coat over his shirt so pretty much just his face, neck and hands were exposed), but that was probably normal unlike my forever pale complexion and his facial features seemed Caucasian. Walker blood was spattered at an angle across the lower half of his face right over his mouth and down his neck. Not only was it there, but it was soaking into his clothes in several places. It was probably in his hair too, but I couldn't tell since it was almost the same shade of color as his eyes, only darker since it was actually black. It wasn't as long as mine, not even going all the way down his neck, but his bangs would be hanging into his eyes if he didn't have them brushed to the side and it seemed thicker than mine was.
If he had cut his hair recently enough for it not to be all that long, did that mean that he had a camp? I remember people back at the prison who had come from the outside, and they usually had long unruly hair, only to tidy up when they arrived at our home. And more importantly, if he had a camp did I even want to go with? It turns out that I didn't have to really worry about those kinds of things. Because apparently even if he did have a place to call home, I wasn't invited.
I thought maybe he would have said something, anything. I thought he would have at least bothered to look at me, but he didn't even do that. No, he simply turned, without so much as even glancing in my direction, and started to walk away. I was unable to conceal my surprise, my mouth opening and closing as I struggled to find my words, just staring after the other teenager as he walked away from me. Should I even call out?
Of course you should! He saved your life, so he can't be all that bad. Maybe there are others, maybe now you won't have to be alone, a part of me desperately thought. I was naturally wary to take the risk, but then the thought of being alone really started to sink in again and threw any qualms I had about taking this chance out the window. I would still be cautious, but I had to try to at least talk to him and thank him, or else I knew I would regret it later. I at least owe the guy a thank you, I grudgingly admitted to myself, hating the fact that I needed help from a stranger in the first place.
"H-hey, wait up!" I hated how weak and unsure my voice sounded as I was calling out to him, and how not knowing exactly what I was going to say caused me to fumble around and stutter with my words. I started to jog to catch up with him, keeping my knife in my hand at the ready just in case I had to use it. I didn't see any firearms on him, but he had a backpack on that could easily contain a gun. I wish either one of mine had some ammo.
He either didn't hear me, or I was getting ignored, because the other boy just continued to walk, not even slowing down at the sound of my voice. "I said wait!" I tried again, a bit louder this time in naïve hope that maybe it was just the fact that he didn't hear me the first time. Okay, he would have to be fucking deaf not to have heard me that time, I thought in annoyance.
"Fuck, stop goddammit!" I yelled, my voice cracking due to my irritation, which only served to further piss me off. Despite how I was feeling, I still slowed down as I caught up to him, making sure to stay a few good feet back. I still had no clue what this guy would do, and anyone who could hack and slash their way through a pack of walkers wasn't someone I wanted to try and start a fight with.
"You can't just walk away! You saved my life!" I attempted to reason, trying not to show my desperation. No response.
"Where are you even going?!" Surprisingly enough, this was what got a reaction out of him. He stopped abruptly, and I followed suit, almost falling over as my feet ceased their movement but the rest of me tried to keep going. I watched him suspiciously, my knife raised into a combat position. He still hadn't turned around to face me. He never did either, the single word his deep voice produced in response to my question spoken to the empty space in front of him.
"Away."