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C A R L

"Can you open the window?" Megan's voice cuts through our ongoing silence.

I've been aimlessly staring at the comic in my hand as I dwell on our new reality.

My tongue itches with a snide remark on how the girl should just do it herself, although I'm a lot closer to the window.

I don't blame her for wanting it open. This heat wave hit us hard.

Over the top of my comic, I look at the girl on the other side of the room. She's clearly been trying to ignore the growing tension between us.

Before saying anything to her, I choose to acknowledge her efforts and just let it go. I fold the top corner of the page and stand up, taking a few steps toward the window.

A few days ago, we realized that the living room window is rusty and when it shuts all the way, it's extremely hard to get back open.

Luckily, Megan left a crack in it the last time she closed it. I stick my right hand under the window pane and push it up, letting it click into place. "Better?"

"Much." She says, slightly raising her eyebrows and forcefully raising the corners of her lips.

I huff, sitting back down and opening my comic, carefully adjusting myself so that I don't accidentally bump into the wall. The noise could and would attract walkers. Quite a few of them have been wandering throughout the neighborhood.

The increasing amount of stray walkers has raised our guard immensely. My mind is bombarded with intrusive thoughts of everyone back at the prison. These walkers have to be a pain for them. Being only twenty minutes away from here, some of these walkers have surely come across the others.

I can't help but wonder why there are so many.

I'm positive that these walkers would herd against the prison fence. Some might linger around the overcrowded fence for a little longer than others, but they'd all end up dead one way or another.

My heart nearly races as I'm almost certain that the walkers at the prison aren't even being maintained anymore.

Keeping my stare glued to the floor, I try not to think about why they aren't taking care of the walkers anymore. Maybe the dead were too much for them to handle. Something bad probably happened there that drew more toward this area. Maybe they just stopped killing them all together.

Movement from across the room pulls my eyes from the floor.

Megan places her magazine down and begins to lift her top over her head. The white tank-top she has underneath also lifts a little as she wiggles her grey long-sleeve off, exposing her tight lower abdomen. She then drapes the shirt over her shoulders and relaxes a bit into her cushion before lifting her magazine once again.

Her eyes suddenly lift from the magazine, meeting my wandering ones. My thoughts race as I try to come up with something to say. I can now feel the sunlight from the open window burning into my back as my senses heighten and I begin to overthink.

I'm worried about our group back at the prison.

No.

"I think we should go back to the armory," I start with a sigh. Although I was really thinking about the prison, my statement rings true as I thought about it last night before bed. "There were hardly any of them last time we went. If we follow the road—"

"There were hardly any of them anywhere, Carl." She interrupts me, placing her magazine down. I don't take into account my facial expression as I think further about the sudden increase of walkers affecting the prison. I briefly close my eyes. "No matter where we go, it'll be dangerous. We might as well go before it gets even worse." She sighs.

That's the thing about the walkers. They haven't accumulated over time. It was like overnight they just started crowding the streets.

She is somewhat right though, it will probably only get worse from here.

I sigh, and bring my hands to my greasy face, rubbing my eyes. My knuckles accidentally hit the rim of my hat, pushing it off of my head. I take a second to weigh our options.

We could stay here and wait for the walkers to pass. Maybe they'll pass just as fast as they came.

I'd rather not risk running out of supplies in this secluded neighborhood, though. Our best bet would be to find more supplies as soon as possible, and then maybe settle down and wait for the walkers to disperse. It's what the group would do. Or would've done.

"Let's wait until tonight." I say, searching for the words. "It'll make us harder to be seen." I say, unsure of whether or not we'd actually be at an advantage against the walkers.

"Okay." Megan reluctantly gives in. I can tell she wants to disagree with me. I wish she would just do it already.

"We can take that road until we find something." I sigh, my sorrowful voice echoing through the walls of the empty house.

"Sounds like a plan."

☆

"Okay, time to turn them off." I tell Megan as we leave both the protection and danger of the trees.

The click of my flashlight turning off sounds out, making me even more paranoid. I soon hear the clicking of Megan's flashlight before the world around us grows immensely darker.

We walk out of the woods and toward the street. This time around we came from the forest directly behind the armory, instead of across from it.

That's partially due to myself getting us lost in the dark. I decide that Megan doesn't need to know that.

My eyes land on the familiar tow truck. This time, something is different about the scene. I stare straight ahead before making my way toward it.

A splatter of red blood is smudged across both of the doors on the passenger side. I remember the truck being nearly spotless the last time we were here.

Approaching the scene, I look at the walker I got the keys from. That's when I realize another body a few feet from it. I could've sworn there were less bodies last time. The second body looks to be much younger. Its body still has muscle on its bones, while the others are sunken in and decomposed.

My eyes make their way to the walker's head, or what's left of it. A slanted, flat surface lies where the rest of its skull should be. Instead, its brains lay exposed as the other side of its head rests on the pavement, completely sliced off.

I only know of one kind of weapon that can make this kind of slice.

A katana.

Not many people have those these days.

My eyes study the scene around us, noticing that each of these walkers have the same wide slashes through their skulls. One of the walkers even remains completely headless.

My stomach drops when I realize that Michonne has no reason to travel in this direction. When she began her search for the governor, this road is one of the first that she searched. What would she be doing back here?

"There's no use sticking around here." I mutter, completely interjecting my own thoughts. I don't even look at the girl for a response as I begin walking toward the middle of the street.

I fix my eyes straight ahead of me, not bothering to look back at the scene, or even the girl. I hear her quiet footsteps patter against the street behind me.

It could be worse. We could've stumbled upon Michonne's body. I don't expect to ever find it, though. The woman is a fighter. It would take an army to defeat her. At least I know she has her prized weapon and she's keeping herself safe.

My thoughts travel a mile a minute with assumptions. She must be by herself since she was the one who took out every one of those walkers. Maybe it was someone else who killed her and took her katana. Maybe she got bit and fled the scene. She's probably out there somewhere right now, dying.

Once the thoughts become too realistic, my naive side wants to bargain with what I just saw. Maybe the group is just running low on supplies and she went for a run. She might've been with Daryl on his motorcycle and gotten off to put down walkers that were in their way.

My hopes rise as I think of the possibility that someone from our group might've known of someplace useful nearby, and that's why they were here.

On a whim, I avert my eyes from staring straight ahead. I look to my left and see nothing but trees. Looking to the right, a white building farther down the road with a bright red logo catches my attention.

Mini-Mart Grocery and Pharmacy

The corners of my mouth threaten to rise as I immediately walk off of the road, in pursuit of the building. The quick pacing of my boots causes leaves to crunch under my feet. Once I'm on the outskirts of the parking lot, I hear the approaching sound of rustling leaves behind me.

I turn around to the girl, making sure it's her behind me and not a walker. I grab my gun, not yet raising it as I gently place my feet over the curb of the parking lot. Quite a few cars are parked alongside the front of the store. I quickly make my way behind one of the cars, giving us some cover from the store's entrance.

I pick up my speed as I move to the next car. A smell from this beat-up minivan catches my attention. I stand up a little, looking into the car from its back window.

Splotches of blood are scattered around the windows of the car. A dead bird lies on the dashboard with bloodied and ruffled feathers. It must've gotten stuck.

I shake the disturbing image out of my head as I quickly swing in front of the entrance. Megan follows in my footsteps. I creep to the window and cup my hands around my eyes, pushing them against the glass. Nothing.

Huffing, I blindly slither my fingers in between the closed automatic doors. It takes a bit of struggle before one door finally starts to roll to the side, creating a sizable gap between the two.

Stepping back from the glass, I turn to Megan, realizing that I have to go with plan B. Raising my fist, I ready my feet to step backward. I pound on the door twice, causing the bangs to echo throughout the shop.

We both quickly press our backs against the wall next to the door, waiting.

Surely enough, a walker gnarls and we can hear its footsteps drag as its arm slowly makes it way between the doors. Once its head starts to stick out, I begin to tell Megan that she has this one.

Before my eyes find her, she's already making her way toward the walker. Her dull knife plunges into its head before she quickly returns back to the wall, leaving her knife.

A few tense moments pass between the two of us as we wait for more walkers. When none make themselves known, I grow impatient and put my gun in my holster. I walk up to the door and pull it farther, widening the gap I previously made.

As soon as the walker falls the rest of the way to the ground, Megan jogs over and begins dragging it out of the way. As she does so, I watch her back, scanning my eyes over the cars as well as quickly glancing behind myself into the store. I move my hat back a little bit as it has been causing my hair to fall in front of my eyes.

Grabbing my gun, I glance over to Megan as she takes her knife out of the walker's skull. She approaches the store, readying the knife in her hand as she looks to me with certainty.

I subtly nod before quickly swinging around the door and into the building. Soon after, I hear the girl do the same as she swings around to the other side of the store.

I take a few steps and lean over to peek at the furthermost left aisle. "Nothing on this side." I mutter to her.

"Mine either." She replies, still keeping her eyes active as they bounce around the room.

"Okay, let's take a look around." I sigh, looking at Megan. She offers a quick nod.

I take out my flashlight, shining it into the dark corners of the mini-mart. As I start slowly walking down the aisle, I position the flashlight underneath my gun so I can have a clear line of vision in case I need to shoot.

The barren aisle has close to nothing. A few kitchen utensils and bottles of relish are scattered around the bottom shelf. Rolling my eyes, I shine my light before turning the corner into the next aisle. This time, the aisles being completely empty. I decide to go down the aisle anyway.

Shining my light high and low, I see a clear, plastic bottle on the floor under one of the shelves. I quickly look around before sticking my hand under the dusty shelf and grabbing it. I stand up and shine the light on its label.

3% Hydrogen Peroxide

Realizing that I finally found something useful, I quickly shove it in my pack. The heavy bottle weighs down the bag hanging from my shoulder, but I don't care. Exiting the aisle, I make my way toward the back of the store.

My flashlight first shines on a table with a bright red wagon, untouched from the world around it. Although dusty, the light from the flashlight bounces off of its metallic red paint.

A large ribbon is delicately wrapped around the handle of the wagon. I approach the table, picking up a paper that was taped to its surface.

Mini-Mart Autumn Raffle

Rolling my eyes, I toss the paper to the side. It swings through the air before it floats to the ground. I watch as the paper lands in front of a dark brown wooden door.

Taking a few steps, I walk up to the door and jiggle the knob. Locked.

Local shops like these always have a spare set of keys that never travel too far from the store. I step back from the door and take a look around.

My sights set on the pharmacy counter. I make my way over to the dark pharmacy. I pull myself over the counter, my feet landing on the other side with a thud. Shining my light around each of the tall shelves, I make sure that I'm safe to turn my back.

I feel around inside the drawers behind the counter. Nothing but clutter stops me from finding a way into that room. My eyes scan the countertop before they land on the register.

It's then that I remember something my dad once told me.

Small business owners often have a gun hidden under the register. He knew this because he was the one who signed the permits for them.

I sigh and silently hope that I could find a key or even a loaded handgun. I squeeze my eyes shut before I open the drawer under the register.

Oddly enough, there's a small crowbar laying on top of a few rolls of receipt paper. I quickly take the crowbar from the drawer and hop back over the counter. Works for me.

Not minding my volume, my boots thud against the tile floor as I jog to the wooden door. I jam the crowbar in between the door and the frame before pulling at it.

With a few creaks, the rotting wood gives almost instantly and flies open. I stop it with my foot before it can hit the wall.

Before entering, I shine my flashlight into the small room. My hands lower both my gun and my flashlight as I realize what's in front of me.

A neatly organized pile of dusty supplies sits in the middle of the floor.

Boxes of grits and oat meal stand neatly stacked in front of a five-gallon jug of water. A white first aid kit with a red cross on the front of it stands up alongside the rest of the supplies. Nothing but relief flushes through my system.

"Megan!" I call to the girl, not being able to wait to tell her the good news. "Come see what I found."

I see the girl turn the corner from the left side of the store. She makes her way over to the door. I step aside and let her enter the room, keeping my flashlight aimed on the supplies.

Her eyebrows raise and her face softens as she sees what's in front of us. Megan's eyes meet mine and we both exchange a look of gratitude. The moment doesn't last very long before her face drops.

"What if these belong to someone else?" She asks. I almost wince at the thought of Megan making me leave the supplies here.

"Look at all the dust, Megan." I sigh, motioning to the pile. "No one has seen these supplies in a long time. They were locked in here." I walk over to the supplies, bending down toward the first aid kit. I swipe my finger along the layer of dust that coats it. "Whoever put this here isn't coming back."

"You're right." She says. A weights lifts off of my shoulders as the girl reluctantly agrees.

"How are we going to carry that back to the house?" She then asks. Upon my excitement over the supplies, I hadn't thought much about how we'd transport it.

"I don't kn—" My eyes wander along the floor and through the doorway. They land on the piece of paper I dropped earlier.

Mini-Mart Autumn Raffle

☆

Turning off my flashlight, I follow Megan as she pulls the heavy wagon out of the room and back into the mini-mart. The girl doesn't get very far before she resorts to using her bodyweight to pull it.

"Too heavy?" I tease, finally having the energy to continue my usual banter. The back-and-forth between the two of us has been stale back at the house.

Megan turns around and her eyes meet mine. We share a look, finally feeling a sense of normalcy. The girl sighs and her eyes wander behind me, looking toward the back of the store.

"Did you search the pharmacy?" The girl asks.

"There's not much back there," I say, trying to recall whether or not I saw anything on the shelves. "I wasn't really looking for medicine, though." I sigh out, not completely shutting down her idea.

"Well, that should be a priority now that we have food and water." Megan says before placing the handle of the wagon on the floor and heading straight for the pharmacy counter.

I watch as she pulls herself up and over the counter. I sarcastically roll my eyes, hoping her sweep of the pharmacy doesn't take too long because I'm craving one of those cinnamon and brown sugar oat meal packets.

Crossing my arms, I briefly check over my shoulder making sure that we're still safe.

"Heads up," I hear. My first instinct is to think there's a walker behind me.

Before I can turn around to check for walkers, the girl chucks a small box toward me. I unfold my arms and catch it as it softly slams into my chest. "Go put that with the rest." She demands. I offer a small chuckle at the girl before doing what she says.

Turning the corner, I land my eyes on the loaded wagon. I walk up to it and squeeze the box in between the rest of the supplies, making sure everything is secure.

This causes a box of grits to fall out of the back of the wagon. I bend down and pick up the box, putting my hand to my knee. I stand back up and try to find a spot for the box of grits among the rest of the boxes. My eyes scan all of the supplies on the wagon.

From the back of the store, I hear a sudden crack followed by the loud sound of glass shattering. The loud noise making me jump back from the wagon.

"Megan," I start, turning my head in the direction of the pharmacy. I can faintly see the back of the girl's head in between one of the shelves. "You okay in there?"

"Yeah, I'm good." She says as she looks down at something. I see her head disappear in the shelves as she bends down, disappearing from my vision.

I return my eyes to the wagon, picking up the boxes of grits, stacking them differently so I can fit the box I dropped. I step back as it works and now all of our supplies are loaded securely in the wagon.

Hearing a sudden series of loud slams causes me to nearly jump out of my skin.

"Megan?" I call, turning around and running toward the pharmacy. I search for the girl, only to see that the white shelves are no longer in my field of vision.

As my feet carry me closer to the scene, all the shelves lay nearly horizontally and I hear struggling coming from the last two. A large, male walker lays on the last shelf, snapping its teeth at whatever's under it.

Megan.

"Shit!" I say, stopping in my tracks. The walker only gets more excited as she struggles underneath the shelf.

I hear her frail voice scream something at me, not being able to understand what it is over the sound of the growling walker. My eyes rapidly search for a way to get her out.

They land on a door in the back corner of the pharmacy. Megan's rogue flashlight makes the reflective exit sign above the door visible.

I turn on my feet before sprinting toward the entrance of the store, not minding the noise I'm making. I take out the crowbar and holster my pistol.

A lean, male walker lurks right outside the door. I quickly backhand it with the crowbar, causing its bottom jaw to dangle from the rest of its head.

Shuffling my feet across the parking lot, my eyes don't even attempt to search for more walkers as I make my way behind the building. I find the door in the back corner of the building. My hands fumble around the metal, pulling the handle. To my luck, the heavy door flies open.

Distracted from my presence, the walker is still determined to get at Megan. The shelf makes it nearly impossible to reach the walker's head using my crowbar.

I shake my head and quickly grab my gun of my holster, not thinking as I drop the crowbar. It loudly clinks as it hits the tile floor.

The walker pauses its attempts at Megan before its head turns in my direction. I cock the gun and send a round flying into its head.

The only sound after the ringing gunshot is Megan's heavy breathing from under the shelf.

"Are you okay?" I ask the girl, shuffling toward the shelf as quickly as I can, bending down to the floor. She lays on the floor on her back, her knee and wrists pinned against the heavy shelf.

She pants, sending me a rushed nod. Her eyes still gleam wide with shock as her chest rises and falls.

"Hold on," I huff, saying it more to myself than the girl. I step back and try to think of a way to get her out.

I lean over, trying to grab the walker. I hear Megan scream out in pain when I accidentally put some of my weight on the shelf. I'm finally able to grab the walker's shirt. Starting to pull it off, Megan's hoarse screams echo throughout the pharmacy.

I'm finally able to pull the walker, letting it roll off the shelf and onto the floor.

"I'm going to need your help with the shelf." I say, lowering myself to the ground, looking at her.

"Okay," She breathes out and nods.

I grip the side of the shelf with my fingers. My knuckles shake as I lean back, using all of my weight to pull the shelf up. My feet nearly slide out from under me due to the dripping blood from the walker's head. Megan then starts to push the shelf, helping me out.

I grunt as I lean back even more, tightening my grip on the tall shelf. We're finally able to swing the shelf upright. The shelf rocks back into the wall, unable to balance itself.

I rush over to Megan, reaching my hand out to her. Glass crunches under my feet before I realize that glass is everywhere, even under her. She reaches up and we interlock thumbs.

I slowly help pull the sore girl to her feet, a puddle of a clear liquid along with a few streaks of her blood appear from under her. I put my hand behind her shoulder, helping her stand tall. The girl winces under my grasp as she groans.

I pull hand my off her back and feel a stinging feeling. A shard of glass from her back sticks out of my palm. I flick my hand and it flies out.

"Can you walk back?" I ask Megan. She pinches her eyes shut before sending me a panicked nod.

"Okay, we need to get out of here, now."

☆

Megan could not—in fact—walk back. We couldn't even travel out of the parking lot before the girl yelled out in pain, drawing in nearby walkers.

This resulted in a nearly mile-long piggy back ride. The weak girl rode on my back as she held onto the wagon, wheeling it behind us. The weight of an entire person as well as five gallons of water fell on my shoulders.

Luckily, I managed to take the main road all the way back to the neighborhood so that we didn't have to drag the wagon through the forest.

After safely returning to the house, I walk the girl down the hall and into the small bathroom.

"Sit down," I quickly mutter as I help the girl place herself on top of the closed toilet seat. I release her from my grip before heading straight to the cabinet below the sink.

I open the two small doors and immediately see what I need.

A few unopened boxes of soap and a stack of washcloths remain neatly organized inside, as if untouched by the outside world. I grab one of each, placing them on the rim of the bathtub.

"Hold on," I mutter.

My feet move quickly into the living room, my eyes landing on the red wagon. My pack lies lazily tossed on top of the water canister. I vaguely remember putting it there when I first decided to carry Megan back from the mini-mart.

I grab the long straps of the bag before swinging it over my shoulder. My hand finds the outstretched handle of the wagon. I shimmy backwards on my feet, pulling the heavy wagon towards the small bathroom. Once the wagon is close to the bathroom doorway, I return back into the living room and head for the kitchen.

Opening all of the ransacked cabinets, I try to remember where I saw the cups when I searched the kitchen the first time. I make a few failed attempts at locating the cups, before my eyes finally land on a white mug sitting on the countertop. Close enough.

I grab the handle of the mug and quickly return to the bathroom. The girl bends her neck to try and see the damage done to her back, but her efforts are of no avail as she causes herself more pain.

I drop my pack off of my shoulder and onto the floor, placing the mug next to it. I kick my bag to the side and wheel the wagon into the room, next to the bathtub.

Leaning over, my hand finds the drain on the bottom of the tub and they screw it closed. Then, I hurriedly unscrew the water canister and push it over, using what little energy I have left. The jug now lies horizontally in the wagon, bubbling as it spills water in the bathtub.

Once about a third of the water is in the tub, I lift the canister back up, screwing it closed.

"Do you have any other clothes?" I ask the girl, turning the wagon around and then pulling it back out into the hallway.

"I—I don't know," She sighs. "I haven't looked for any." Her already stressed demeanor worsens.

"These clothes are going to have to get wet." I say to the girl.

"Hell no." She spits.

"Then what do you want to do about it?" I retort.

"Not get my clothes wet." She says matter-of-factly. "I'm already sweaty enough."

"I could go out and find you some clean clothes if there's none in the house, okay?" I try to plea with the girl. "You'll need a new shirt anyways, yours has a bunch of holes."

The girl sighs and briefly squeezes her eyes shut. "I'll find my own new shirt." She fires back at me, clearly not in a good mood. "Just take the rest of my clothes off. I'm not splashing around in my own blood." She rolls her eyes.

"Fine." I sigh.

The girl reluctantly raises her arms, realizing what she just brought upon herself. Before thinking about it too much, I slip my fingers under the hem of her white tank top. She winces a little as I pull the sticky, wet tank top off of her back.

When we finally get the top over her head, I investigate it. A few stray shards of brown tinted glass are still stuck in the fabric. The clear liquid coats the back of it as well as smeared droplets of her blood. Along with her top, her hair tie came out of what was once her ponytail, her pale hair now draping over her shoulders.

She remains seated, slumped over on the lid of the toilet. Her collarbone protrudes from underneath her thin bra straps. She sighs, avoiding eye contact with me, now lifting her arms from her sides. My feet shuffle to her side so I can take a look at her back. I swipe my hand across her back to move her dangling hair.

A large shard of glass is implanted through the girl's bra and into her skin, the bloody fabric surrounding it.

"This is going to hurt." I quietly say to her, dropping her shirt on the floor.

"Great." She huffs. I'd laugh at her bad mood if she wasn't half-naked.

I reach my shaky, exhausted fingers toward the clasp of her bra, grabbing each side and pulling it open. The girl jumps as I remove the bra along with the piece of glass from the middle of her back. She holds her arms forward and shimmies her shoulders, making the bra fall down her arms and onto the floor.

"Do you—um," I start, her tired eyes look from the floor to mine. "Need help with the rest?" An uncomfortable silence consumes us as I wait for her response.

"I can take my pants off." She sighs, her eyes flicking down to the floor. "Just help me up." She says, looking up at the ceiling.

I approach the girl from her front, careful to avert my eyes. I grab her upper arms, pulling her up from her stiff position on the toilet seat. She stands, leaning on me for support as I face my eyes in the direction of the doorway.

I hear her zipper come undone before feeling the girl kick off her shoes and begin to shimmy her way out of her pants.

"Can you—um, take them off of my ankles?" The girl forces herself to awkwardly ask, not having the balance to step out of the pants by herself.

"Okay, here." I say, placing her hand on the sink. "You got it?" I say, quickly looking to her face.

"Yeah." Her scratchy voice says.

I kneel down, grabbing one of her ankles and slowly lifting if off the floor. Using my other hand, I pull her pant leg from where it's bunched up around her foot. I place her foot back down on the floor and grab her other ankle, wiggling the other pant leg off of it.

The girl now remains in nothing but her underwear. I stand up from the floor and wait in painful silence to see if the girl will ask for help about that too.

The both of us stand in the middle of the dimly lit bathroom like deer in headlights.

"Let's get you in the tub." I say before nervously gulping.

The girl reluctantly places a shaky step forward. Making our way next to the bathtub, I turn her around to where her back faces the moonlight from the window. She puts her arm around my shoulder as well as most of her weight as she lifts her right leg over the rim of the bathtub.

I lean into her, allowing her to place her weight on her right foot, before she swings her left foot into the tub as well. The girl folds in her bottom leg and she slowly sits down in the few inches of water.

Once the girl is off her feet, she removes her arm from around my neck. She then brings her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms around them.

"Alright," I huff. "Are you okay?"

"Never better." She groans.

I lowly laugh at the pitiful girl. A shy smile slowly plays on her lips as she realizes the humor in the situation.

I clear my throat, realizing it's time to tend to her wounds. Putting all of my weight on one knee, I reach across the bathroom floor and grab the mug. I use the handle of the mug and scoop it into the bathwater. My other hand swipes against the top of her back once again, moving her long hair over her shoulder.

"This might sting." I warn her, slowly pouring the water down her back, starting it at her shoulders.

"It actually feels kind of nice." She chuckles, her eyes meeting mine for a brief moment. Our eye contact lingers for a few seconds before I remember that the girl is nearly naked.

I quickly pull my eyes from her face, focusing solely on her injured back. Luckily, a good bit of the glass came out when I poured the water over her cuts. I scoop the mug in the shallow water once again and dribble it down the surface of her exposed back.

A few more small shards of glass fall out of her skin. I place the mug down on the floor before I reach my hand toward a piece that won't budge. I grip it with the tips of my fingers and slowly pull it out.

I chuckle to myself. "At least this isn't rainwater."

A pitiful smile plays on her face before I return my eyes to the slashes in her back.

I then move the tips of my fingers along the surface of her back as I feel for more pieces of glass.

Realizing what I'm doing, I quickly remove my hand from her skin. I then decide to strictly use my eyes to look for the glass.

"This doesn't have to be weird, you know?" Megan remarks, sensing my discomfort.

"Yeah?" I ask her. Leaning to the side, I look her in the eyes. "You try plucking glass out of my naked body and then tell me how you feel." I chuckle out before I can even finish my statement.

She lets out a breathy, weak laugh.

"It's not like we're doing it for fun." She retorts, her glistening body slightly moves as she chuckles. "It's the end of the world—survival. So what if I'm naked? Humans are animals after all." She slightly shakes her head as she explains.

"I think you'd have a different perspective if you were on this side of the bathtub." I raise my hands in defense.

"Whatever." She says as we both chuckle. "Hurry up, I'm getting cold."

My hands find the washcloth I previously placed along the side of the tub, as well as the box of soap. I pry open the small box with my finger and tilt it upside down, letting the bar of soap fall into my palm.

I dip the washcloth in the water, drenching it before placing the soap in it. Rubbing the bar of soap in the damp washcloth creates gently foaming suds. I open one side of the cloth and then let the soap roll out of it.

I gently hover the cloth over her back and the soapy water makes its way into each of the girl's jagged cuts. Grabbing the handle of the mug from the floor next to me, I sink it into the water, letting the sudsy water fill it.

I pour the water over her back once again, the suds rolling off and into the tub. Once I don't see anymore dried blood or shards of glass, I place the mug back down on the ground.

Shifting my weight on my hand, I reach across the bathroom floor with my other hand, grabbing my bag. I stick my hand inside, immediately grabbing the full bottle of peroxide. I sit back on my knees as I remove the bottle from the bag.

"This is the shitty part." I lean to the side, putting myself in Megan's view. Her eyes land on the bottle in my hand, before she squeezes them shut.

I move a few wet strands of her hair that hang down the back of her neck. Twisting open the bottle of the antiseptic, I use my teeth to tear the safety seal off, spitting it to the side. I screw the cap back on and open the nozzle.

Perching myself on my knees and angling the bottle towards her exposed back, a few drops accidentally make their way out. The girl winces in pain as the rogue drops of peroxide roll down her back. I wince for the girl as I begin to fully squeeze the bottle.

Making sure to spray the solution on every cut, the girl's back muscles flex and I see goosebumps raise down her spinal cord as the pain worsens. Once I cover all of the cuts, a white foam oozes from each one of them as the peroxide does its job.

"Are you done now?" Her quiet voice croaks out.

"Yeah, I think so." I reply, sitting back from the tub.

"I found bandaids at the pharmacy." She starts. "You could use those so I don't bleed all over those new clothes you get me." She jokes, knowing that she won't ever actually take me up on that deal. The girl is too stubborn.

I slightly remember putting the box into the wagon. Grabbing the side of the bathtub, I pull myself to my feet. My boots clunk against the tile floor as I make my way into the hallway.

My fingers stifle through the supplies before they find the small, dented cardboard box. I then reach under the sink again and grab a new cloth.

Kneeling down at the girl's side once again, I open the small box and pour the bandaids onto the floor in front of my knees. I haphazardly throw the empty box over my shoulder.

I use the dry cloth to gently pat her skin dry. Picking up a bandaid, my eyes scan Megan's back looking for any cuts that need bandaging.

My eyes land on a slightly larger cut as I begin to peel the seal off of the adhesive. I place one side of the sticky bandage next to the cut before peeling the other seal and firmly pressing the bandage down over it.

Searching the girl's jagged back, I don't waste time as I pick up another bandage, peeling back the adhesive guard. I'm able to find one more moderately-deep cut along her skin's surface. I quickly press the bandage to the skin on either side of the cut.

My eyes trace along every incision carved in Megan's back before they land on one particular gash. Although it isn't very large, it is significantly deeper than the rest. It's from the piece of glass that was stuck in her bra.

"Um, Megan?" I call out to her.

"Hm?" She hums, her chin resting on top her knee.

"One of these cuts is really deep. It looks like it'll need stitches." I say causing the girl to immediately jolt.

"Absolutely not." She retorts. The girls looks me in the eyes, her desperate face pleading as she realizes that it's nearly inevitable.

"You don't trust me to do stitches?" I ask her, faking my offense. "I've seen Hershel do them a thousand t—"

"You are not touching me with a needle." She spits at me, her sternness taking me by surprise. Normally the girl would take part in my banter. "End of story."

I quickly pull myself to my feet and head toward the wagon once again. Gripping the handle of the first-aid kit, I swing it over the edge of the wagon, letting it hang by my side as I kneel back down next to the tub.

I unclasp the locks on the kit and open it, laying it on the floor. A small, clear plastic box catches my attention. I grab it, bringing it into the moonlight.

Megan's eyes widen at the small suturing kit in my hands. I use the tips of my fingers to open the small box. My fingers then struggle to grasp a piece of thread. Once I finally land my grip on the end of the string, I pick up one of the many needles and examine it.

Behind the needle, my eyes then focus on the girl's face. Her face looks white, her lips lacking their usual pink color.

"Are you scared of needles?" I ask, lowering the needle out of her view.

"No, Carl." Her stern voice increases in volume. "I'm scared of you having needles." She says as I can see the expression of fear spread across her face.

"It can't be that bad." I retort.

"Maybe you'd have a different perspective if you were on this side of the tub." Her head shakes sassily as she mocks what I said earlier.

I laugh at her statement before placing the needle back into the suturing kit.

"Well then what do you sugg—" I start before realizing that the girl isn't laughing along with me. Her eyes tell a different story.

"What is it?" My eyes search hers.

"Carl," Her voice breaks out.

"Yeah?" My eyebrows furrow as I try to read her expression.

"What are we even doing?" She asks me—her weak, defeated voice cracking, in the process.

"What do you mean?" I clench my jaw, realizing that this isn't just a sudden mood swing.

"I—" she shakes her head. "Why don't we just go back?" Her eyes wander around the room before the they hesitate to find mine. "We had a good run, dude." She laughs. "But I'm tired. I—I tried to stick it out, for you. I just can't anymore. We need the group, Carl."

"Megan I don't th—"

"Please, Carl." The girl pleads with me, using her tired eyes to guilt me.

"The prison—it might not—"

"Carl," Her voice cracks and she sends me a weak smile while the rest of her face tells a different story. "I don't think they'll be mad at you, they'll just be happy you're okay. Don't you get that?"

"Megan, I don't think you und—" I sigh, my voice cracking as I think I'll finally be able to say what I've been holding back.

"Please," Her desperate voice finds my ears. For a second, her lip begins to quiver before she quickly stiffens it.

One way or another I'll find out if something bad happened back at the prison. There's still a chance that everyone could still be there, safe. Thinking about seeing the group again, my breath quickens and not in a good way.

Considering the only other possibility, my heart begins to race. What if we return to the prison and find nothing but the remains of our people? As much as I think about that disturbing scene—if something bad did happen to the prison—it would've ended the same way even if Megan and I don't return to witness it. I guess it's better that we know.

Either way, I'm fucked.

"Okay."

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7570 words

A/N

"Wub wub in the tub." - chandler riggs, 2014

I'm literally laughing at how Carl almost eats the ground in the GIF at the top omg

I'm obsessed with this chapter and also I wouldn't trust Carl with a needle too ???

anyways LOVING Carl's perspective xoxo

☆vote if s4 Carl was just a little funny☆