The trek through the sprawling woodlands was a dangerous one.

Dusk had given way to the darkness of night, but 'dark' was an understatement; I could barely see my hands in front of my face. This meant it would be almost impossible to see the walkers before they were no more than a few feet away from us. Not to mention the fact that Carl and I were completely unarmed.

But... We were alive, and when I looked back at the chaos we had endured throughout the past few days - the herd in Rochester, our death-defying leap from the viaduct, Carl's imprisonment at the hands of Simon - that was quite the accomplishment.

We hadn't seen any more of Simon's two henchmen. They had most likely chosen to stay at the remnants of the cabin. The last we had heard from them were enraged curses as they returned to the sight of Simon's corpse, crushed by the Toyota that I had driven into him.

I still feel uneasy about that.

I know it had to be done. It had saved Carl's life, and I'd probably do it again. But killing another human being...

It was nothing like killing the walkers.

"Riley, you okay?" Carl's ever-warming voice dragged me from the troubled thoughts that plagued my mind, but all I could reply with was an unconvincing nod in his direction. I doubted that he even saw it in the darkness.

We had been walking for several hours now. Away from Rochester. As far away as possible. There was nothing but death in that city, and we didn't want to be a part of it.

But where else was there to go?

"Hold up," Carl caught my attention, staring intently into the darkness just south of us.

I, too, scrutinized the object in the darkness. Its shape was unmistakable, since we had escaped from a similar such place only a matter of hours ago.

Another cabin.

That seems too good to be true.

"How do we know that's not the same one?" I voiced my concern, "I mean, we haven't exactly been walking in a straight line. We could've just gone around in one massive circle."

"Only one way to find out," Carl replied abruptly. He was shivering, and I couldn't blame him. It was several degrees below freezing. With these conditions, combined with the torturous 24 hours Carl had endured yesterday, Carl wanted nothing more than a place to rest.

We both did.

"Let's get going then," I concluded.

The two of us traipsed cautiously toward the wooden structure, examining the facade for any signs of the destruction I had caused when I saved Carl. There were no such signs, which led the two of us to the relieving conclusion that this cabin was a different one, and hopefully much safer too.

The door was unlocked, and opened with a loud, echoing creak to reveal a dark, neglected interior.

It was a kitchen. But it hadn't been used for a long time, or at least, so it appears. A stack of dirty plates had been left standing, and the sink was full of stagnant water.

All of the signs so far pointed to a cabin that had long since been abandoned, perhaps even in the first few days of the apocalypse, if the state of the kitchen was any indication. We weren't going to let that fool us, however; after suffering for the past two days as a result of Simon and his men, we weren't about to take any chances.

"I'll search downstairs, you search upstairs," I instructed cautiously, flicking the light switch fruitlessly.

"Yes, sir," Carl retorted sarcastically.

"Sorry, I didn't mean -"

"I was joking, Riley."

"Oh, right. Yeah. Obviously."

Carl smirked at my meekness before examining the drawers in search of weapon. To his success, he held up two large kitchen knives. They were sharp and lightweight - ideal weapons for quietly combating walkers in close quarters.

But both of us noticed that one of them was encrusted in blood.

Maybe this place isn't as abandoned as we thought. I should have known this discovery was too good to be true.

"Be careful," I pleaded with him as I took the bloodied kitchen knife from him, "I can't loose you now."

"I'm not going anywhere, Riley," he responded with an earnest smile, before turning to find the staircase.

Clutching the knife firmly in two hands, I then set about cautiously inspecting the first floor of the cabin. It was almost identical, in terms of layout and design, to the cabin that Carl had been held captive in, and I concluded that there must have been several of these structures scattered around the woods.

The living room, too, showed signs of abandonment. It was almost completely empty, save for objects like the sofa, which would have been too large to carry out. All of this pointed to the former occupants leaving in the first few days, but then why the bloodied knife?

I found out why when I entered the laundry room.

The sight was a disturbing one, and it would change my perception on humanity forever.

As I entered the seemingly derelict laundry room, the first thing I noticed was the washing machine. It's door was stained an unmistakable shade of blood red. Reluctantly walking closer, my eyes widened in shock as I discovered that the washing machine was filled with crimson water.

It was blood. It had to be.

Someone was killed here once. This knife was the weapon. But all household water supplies were cut off during the first day or so.

This evidence led me to a horrific conclusion: whatever brutal murder or attack occurred here, it had took place before the apocalypse began. Even when things were considered normal, people were killing each other, murdering one another. For some people, the outbreak was a 'get-out-of-jail-free card'.

I grimaced and looked away, refusing to dwell on this revelation any longer. Forcing the image out of my mind, I briskly walked out of the ill-fated room.

"All clear down here," I called up to Carl, before returning to the staircase and walking up to meet him.

He doesn't need to see what's happened in the laundry room. He's been through enough in the past two days. The last thing he needs now is a reminder of just how screwed-up our world is.

Carl was finalizing his inspection of the cabin's master bedroom as I walked in to greet him.

"Nobody here," he confirmed, as the two of us sighed in relief at the sight of a danger-free zone where we finally had a chance to rest and recuperate following the events with Simon.

"Just you and me," I replied, taking his hand.

He smiled at me, before his smile was betrayed be a slight frown. I noticed this, cocking an eyebrow and giving him a look of confusion, prompting him to look down at the ground, as though something was troubling him.

"What's wrong?" I asked him.

"Riley, I-- Nevermind."

"Don't stop now. Go on, Carl."

"Well, you don't have to say anything if you don't want to."

"About what?"

"Can you... Tell me about what happened to you? Before you met me in that woods."

Even though I had expected a difficult question just by gauging Carl's expression, I was taken aback by this request. I had never spoke of my past to anyone before, beyond where I lived and how the first day went, and I tried not to think about it very often -whenever I did, I found myself encompassed in a whirlwind of emotion; anger, remorse, regret.

But maybe with Carl, it would be different.

I inhale deeply, struggling to think of where to start.

"Well," I began, peering down to where our left hands were still entwined, before reaching out and taking his right hand in mine, "I... I lived in New York, to start with."

---

My mother's name was Susan. Susan Holmes. She married my father, Thomas Palmer, and I was born the following year.

My childhood was not a good one. My father was an alcoholic, and he allowed his addiction to take control of his life, and ruin ours.

He would beat my mother, and me too, when it pleased him.

When the apocalypse began, in some ways I was... pleased. My father's aggression came to abrupt halt, as he found himself living in fear of the world around him, and his strong, abusive facade was quickly shattered.

For several months, my tale of survival was one of unexpected optimism. My parents and I met a group that had set up camp just outside of New York, where daily life was reasonably peaceful - there were far less walkers in the countryside back then - but we were still within scavenging distance of the city.

But good things never last in this 'new world', and I learned that lesson in the hardest possible way.

One day, we discovered a nearby village. Among the houses and community shops was an old, abandoned inn. Naturally, we decided to celebrate the discovery, and a group of men, my father included, traveled over there to collect as much alcohol as possible to bring back.

However, one of them decided he couldn't wait to bring the liquor back to camp, and the idiot got himself drunk.

Drunk people do stupid things; I knew that personally from experience with my father, and sadly this man was no exception to that ill-fated rule.

He found a large stereo set-up in the bar, most likely reserved for parties and discos, and switched it on, thinking that playing deafeningly loud music would be an appropriate way to "celebrate their discovery".

Instead, he drew all the walkers from miles around. The music was their dinner bell, and we suffered the consequences.

Hundreds of fellow survivors were killed that day as a huge herd of walkers washed over the camp site, like a tsunami of nothing but death. Men, women and children all perished in the most brutal and horrific manner.

My mother picked up to carry me away. We could have escaped - we could have survived.

But instead, just as we neared safety, I insisted we went back, to look for my father. I told her that he might still have been alive, and that in spite of what he had done to me - to the both of us - we should try to save him.

I risked the life of my mother, the most dear woman in my life, to try and save that piece of scum that called himself my father.

And that decision got my mother killed. Bitten. Right in front of me.

The last thing I heard of Susan Holmes was a scream of terror as walkers surrounded her, and as I ran, blinded by tears and sadness and cries of distress and horror, I knew that her death was my fault.

I got her killed...

---

"And that... That's what happened..." I breathed deeply, barely comprehending the sensation of tears flowing down my face.

Carl just stood, almost unresponsive, mesmerized and motionless. I knew what was troubling him. He was in the situation I had found myself in on more than one occasion. The situation where the emotions you want to express are too complex or significant for mere words.

So he, like me, resorted to actions.

In an instant his lips were resting firmly against mine, and I was so taken aback by it I was unsure of what to do. Instead,  I simply stood there as Carl wrapped his arm around me, gently pulling me closer to him as he smiled softly, wiping a tear from my face with his free hand and placing his soft, warm palm against my cheek, ensuring my eyes were locked onto his all the while.

Then, I reached up and gently seize a fistful of Carl's hair as I stared into his ever-captivating eyes, glistening like pools of azure, before gradually shuffling forward.

My intention was to back him against the wall,  but I was too focused on Carl to notice the protruding corner of an old floorboard until the two of us had tripped against it, stumbling back and hitting the ground with a dull thud.

Then, for the first time in what felt like forever, the two of us laughed.

It was only a chuckle at first, but when we reflected on the moment, it intensified until the two of us could not control ourselves. We writhed over the floor, laughing so hard that my chest physically hurt from it.

But Carl's laughter subsided as he noticed a glistening metal object on the ground, just a few feet away from where we had fallen.

I, too, was confused by the sight, as the two of us stood up and walked over the to discarded item.

Reaching down and picking it up, the two of us identified it in an instant.

"The ring from the R.V?" Carl wondered aloud, confused about how it got here.

I know how it got here. It must've fell out my pocket when I tripped just then. I'd completely forgot I even still had it. I assumed I'd lost it when we jumped from the bridge.

"I thought you said you'd left it?" he quizzed me.

"Yeah, well... I guess not."

"Why'd you take it and not tell me?"

"Because you didn't know back then."

"Know what?"

"That... That I loved you."

This revelation silenced Carl instantly. He stood with an almost confused expression on his face, processing this information for a few seconds, and I took this opportunity to reach over and take the ring from his hands.

"What are you --?" he began, but I cut him off by reaching out, gently taking Carl's hand and slowly sliding the glistening ring onto his finger. Carl simply stared down at it, almost transfixed, before gazing back up at me.

"Riley Grimes, huh?" I chucked to myself.

At that moment, however, the two of us were cut off by a sudden noise from downstairs. The two of us instantly stopped what we were doing and turned in shock in the direction of the abrupt sound.

Someone had just opened the front door...