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M E G A N

After a series of interrogations—from both sides—the people allowed us to grab our things from our cells.

And because the new people clearly have other urgencies to deal with, I allow myself somewhat of a lingering presence in the dusty corner my old bunk. Bunk four.

The small room grants me my first few moments of privacy, without Gianna and Rosa witnessing my every move.

The other two girls are currently three cells down from me, in their old room as well. They were each other's bunk-mates long before I'd arrived at the detention center, resulting in a closer bond between the two.

"Let's go." The redneck, Daryl, stands tall, waiting in the doorway to my cell. An unfamiliar look about him as his crossbow stays strapped to his back, as opposed to its usual aim right between my eyes.

I sit up, slowly walking toward him with my arms folded in front of me. "Where to?"

"We're taking you and your little pals to see what this world is really like." He moves out of my doorway for me to get through.

Gianna and Rosa already wait for me by the door to the courtyard. The leader, Rick, then opens the door and I'm slightly overwhelmed with sunlight.

I lift my hand to shade my eyes from the beaming sun that I've been deprived of for nearly ten months. Before I can even see my surroundings, the putrid smell hits my nose. I can only figure that this is the scent of pure decay.

Once my eyes adjust to the light, the pre-set image I had in my mind of the once-familiar courtyard completely vanishes.

All over the courtyard are dead bodies. The concrete remains covered in splatters of blood from the dead. I walk around, even recognizing a few of the people until one in particular catches my eye.

"Good lord," Rosa mutters. "They're all dead." She says, taking in the gruesome surroundings.

"Never thought I'd be so happy to see these fences." Gianna says, trying to make the best of our new-found freedom.

I scan the ground with my eyes, looking for anything that can help me fully grasp the situation.

My glance lands on a bludgeoned body wearing a familiar-looking wooden bracelet. Her decayed wrist was now nothing but brittle bone.

I recognize the thin piece of jewelry from a woodshop class we used to take. The girl who owned it was in here for simple pickpocketing. She was a truly harmless person. The girl rode on the bus alongside me on the way to juvenile detention. We entered this prison together.

Now, it all seems like such a distant memory.

"You knew her?" Daryl asked me, motioning his crossbow towards her, not sounding genuinely curious at all.

"How the hell did you guys get in here in the first place?" I spit at him.

Rick points at the foremost east guard tower. "We cut a hole in the fence over by that guard tower."

They—the men and the other girls—make hesitant conversation about the circumstances of the virus. I pretend to listen with intent, but can't find the focus within myself.

I hear the words as distant chatter as I walk around to look at more of the bodies, noticing exactly what put them all down. They all have wounds of some sort in the head.

It makes sense that the reanimated corpses would be able to withstand blows to the body, as the body is already dead. No further damage could really be done to something that can't be killed. What does come back—the men told us—is some part of the brain.

"The only way to end it—" The man starts, just as I begin to tune into the conversation.

"The brain?"

Rick nods, looking down at first. Then his eyes scan over the put-down bodies seemingly left to rot throughout the field.

Whatever this man is thinking of is heavy on his mind. It's evident that he thinks back to when he'd first discovered that the brain was the way to go. Maybe a much more hands-on discovery than the one I'd just casually made.

"Hey, where'd you come from?" Rosa speaks to Rick, voiding any more conversation about the dead.

"Atlanta." Rick says, answering her question.

"And where are you headed?" She asks, readying herself to push his buttons.

We all witnessed the group making themselves at home. The answer is obvious. Upon the absence of the initial fright about all of this, the girl just wants to test her luck.

The man slightly steps forward, looking down at the girl. "For now, nowhere."

"I guess you guys could take the area down by the water," She points.

"We're using that field for crops." He cuts her off.

She lets out a cocky grin, getting closer to his face. "This is our prison. We were here first."

The man tilts his head. "Locked in a broom closet?"

☆

After a heated debate and a trade that costed us half of our food stash, Rick's people have their much-needed supplies, and the three of us now have one pistol each. As we made the exchange, Rick told us to avoid using our guns as much as possible, for the sake of the noise attracting more of the walkers.

Our defense against the world around us, being something we've never known.

He then returned my knife that was given to me at the start of all of this. It now lies deep inside the pocket of my sweaty jumpsuit.

I sit in my quiet cell, it being seemingly untouched from the day of the breakout. My sheets remain in the same crinkled manner, as I'd not gotten the chance to make my bed the day of the outbreak.

Sitting on the floor of my bunk isn't my first choice of places to be, after being trapped for so long. My weariness of the new people outweighs my desire to go grab some more fresh air.

A wispy shadow quickly casts itself over the sunlight pouring into my cell. After it passes, I peak my head out of the door to my cell.

Although hard to spot, I see the back of a person as they move quickly throughout the busy cell block, marching right passed the cell with all of the people who tend to the man.

The person is definitely the size of no adult. But a small boy. Headed straight for the tombs. The place I've been warned to stay away from, as it's not yet been cleared.

Curiously, I watch around to see if anyone prohibits the boy's disappearance. After waiting for a few moments, no one seems to even notice.

Stepping out of my cell, I swiftly look to either side, in hopes that maybe no one will notice me either. I quietly enter the tombs behind him and see the kid looking around, his gun at the ready.

I guess the sight of a child wielding his own weapon is something I'll have to learn to get used to.

"Hey!"

The boy whips around, pointing both his gun and flashlight at me. Due to the bright light shining in my eyes, nearly all of his features go undetected.

"What the hell are you doing in here?" I say, holding my hands up.

He lowers his flashlight, noticing that I'm not one of the dead, although he may still think of me as a different kind of threat.

After he fully lowers it, I soak in his features and realize that he looks older than I thought. Maybe even around my age.

The boy and I are nearly the same height. His skin glistens as his own sweat is probably the only thing he's had to bathe in recently. His hair falls down toward his neck, bound in greasy knots.

The boy's eyes narrow at me, a scowl on his face as he contemplates what to do. He looks around, his oversized sheriff's hat blocking his shadowy face, and then looks back up at me.

"Where's the infirmary?" He spits.

I noticeably hesitate.

"You know this place. Where's the infirmary?" He asks, careful not to raise his voice loud enough to match the intensity of his words.

"I don't think we should g—" I begin. He then cuts me off by intensely walking towards me, closing the gap between us.

"Where is it?" He spits once again, nearly forgetting to mind his volume. "My people need the supplies. Don't you see what those things do to people?"

I remain silent under the boy's menacing demeanor.

His eyes gleam more threatening than desperate. "I heard my family talking about an infirmary in the tombs. Where is it?" He aggressively asks.

"Fine, it's down the hall to the right. You need to be careful." I spit back the last part.

I remove my knife from my belt, instead of my gun, more-so because I know we'll get in trouble with each of our people if they hear us firing off rounds in the tombs.

We make our way down the hallway with carefully placed steps. The boy shines his flashlight and aims his gun left and right with nearly every step.

I notice the not-so familiar infirmary door already cracked open, with nothing to mark the specificity of the room.

Jogging to catch up to the boy, I nudge his back with my elbow, causing him to look over his shoulder at me with his sassy glare. I motion towards the door to our right and he nods.

"Ready up." He tells me, aiming a foot for the door. I grip my knife in my fist, waiting for a potential attack.

The back of my mind shouts at me while my heartbeat pounds nearly outside of my chest. Deep down, I know I shouldn't be doing this when I have never encountered one of the dead.

He kicks the door open gently enough to where it doesn't slam against the wall. Before I give it a second thought, we both fly in the room, weapons at the ready.

Both of us look around for any sign of danger, my heartbeat probably being loud enough for both of us to hear.

Amidst all of the amplified thoughts in my head, I try to focus on one thing: going for the brain.

Luckily, there are no dead ones, and the infirmary shelves are still stocked with the remnants of basic medical supplies. My heart beat remains pounding in my chest as I try to think about what I would've done had a dead one been in here.

After taking a much-needed breath, the empty, dark room seems almost foreign to me, although it was where spent most of my work hours, before it all went down.

The room used to be filled with a bright, white light, the industrial kind that made a buzzing noise when turned on. And now, the familiar infirmary is without power, only illuminated by the shaky yellow glow coming from the boy's flashlight.

Although abstract, the sight is a sad one to see. For me, at least.

I look over to the boy for another word on what to do or what to grab. He looks at all of the remnants of medical supplies as his arms drop to his side. He bites the end of his flashlight and grabs an empty duffel bag that's on the floor.

The boy looks over at me, rolling his eyes before he removes the flashlight that is dangling from his mouth.

"Grab anything that cleans wounds and stops bleeding." He says, in a serious tone rather than his usual spiteful one.

I grab a second duffel bag off of the floor and begin taking peroxide, antibiotic cream, antibiotic pills and just about any form of bandages or gauze I can find.

Through a few months of observation of the real nurses, I'd learned enough to know which supplies could be used for something as straight-forward as stopping bleeding.

My eyes and hands search the shelves in the darkness until they find a plastic box.

"What about this?" I ask, turning to show him the suturing kit I found. He turns, shining the flashlight that's still hanging from his mouth. He lets out a nod.

I guess his people have needed sutures before and will probably need them again.

We take a step back from the shelves on opposite ends of the room. It's hard for me to see any more of the medical supplies in the dark, but I soon realize it's because there are none left.

After a moment, the boy turns to me.

"Lead the way back."

☆

With the creaking of the door that separates the tombs and the cell block, the boy and I return to the light of day in the crowded corridor. We both walk up to the cell occupied by the unconscious, one-legged man, each of us having one duffel bag of medical supplies.

"I thought you were organizing the food." The Asian man says, leaning against the outside of the man's cell.

The boy with the sheriff's hat walks with determination towards the cell. I shrink a bit, noticing that nearly half of his group is alongside the unconscious man.

I wait in the corridor outside of the cell. The man notices me staying behind and shoots me a curious look.

"Even better." The kid says, walking into the cell and placing the bag on the floor next to the people. "Check it out."

The women on the floor of the cell gasp as they see the contents of the bag.

"Where did you get this?" The very pregnant one with the long brown hair asks him, stifling through the supplies in the bag.

"I found the infirmary." He says without a hint of attitude leaving his mouth. Unusual.

"Wasn't much left, but I cleared it out." He says, giving the women further information about the supplies.

"You went by yourself?" The woman with the long brown hair quickly turns all of her attention towards the boy.

"No." He says, hesitantly looking back at me. I slowly walk in, dropping the other duffel bag next to his. "She showed me." The boy sounds just like his threatening self, when he rests his gaze upon me.

This causes the women in the cell to look toward me, eyeing me up and down. The three of them not saying what they're really thinking.

"Are you crazy?" She says.

Everyone averts their focus towards the boy instead of the supplies or the unconscious man. He now has their full, undivided attention. Something that—I get the sneaking suspicion—the boy's wanted all along.

"No big deal," He starts, a defensive tone lingering in his voice. "We didn't have to kill any walkers." He says, looking back at me.

"It's true." I mutter, feeling obligated to come to his defense. "I know this wing of the prison like the back of my hand." I say walking closer. "It was a quick in and out of the infirmary, just down the hall."

Out of pity for the abrasive boy, I completely undermine the danger that he could've gotten us into.

"You—" The woman starts, "Do you see this?" She says motioning to the unconscious man on the bed. "This happened with the whole group." The intensity in her voice building as she scolds the boy.

"We needed supplies, so I got them." The boys spits back at her. She is right, but the kid is also just trying to help.

"I appreciate that, b—"

"Then get off my back!" The boy spits back, giving the lady and the rest of the group a cocky look.

Silence lingers for a few seconds after the boy's aggressive voice echoes within the small space of the cell.

"Carl!" The blonde girl kneeling on the floor, holding the man's hand exclaims. "She's your mother. You can't talk to her like that."  She demands, causing the boy to sigh.

Carl.

"Listen it's great that you want to help, b—" The woman—Carl's mother—starts.

The boy turns on his heel and quickly walks toward the door of the cell. His shoulder rams into mine as he makes his way out, not daring to look back as he aims to go outside of the prison walls.

The blonde girl and the pregnant woman both look to me, as I'd been somewhat of a helping hand in the scene that the boy just caused. The women look me up and down, shocked at the prisoner standing before them.

"He had it under control."

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2804 words

A/N

Carl's a punk.

She's better than me bc I would've let him blindly walk into the tombs by himself.

i hope you guys are liking EE so far!!

☆PLZ don't forget to vote ☆