Chapter Text
Carl saw the walker that made Sam stop. It was just a child, shuffling past them in bloodstained blue pajamas. Sam gasped when he saw it, and immediately let go of Rick's hand.
Jessie was by his side in an instant.
"Sam?" Her voice was gentle, motherly. "Come on."
The group crawled to a halt behind them, watching the walker's growing interest in Sam. Blood and guts dripped from their clothes, pooling onto the pavement now that they were stationary.
"Sweetheart," Jessie pulled at his hand, "Sam?"
Sam stayed put, the panic on his face growing.
Rick joined in. "Come on Sam," he pleaded. He leaned in so that he would be on Sam's level, but his eyes were darting to the crowd around them, watching for threats.
Sam's face twisted. He began to cry.
"You can do this," Ron whispered from behind Carl, "Just look at mom."
Jessie pulled on his arm again, but Sam refused to move. The group began to fidget, restless as the walkers moved around them.
"You can do it" Jessie insisted, convincing herself as much as her son. "Baby, I need you to come with me. I need you to be strong."
Sam's expression didn't change, but he shook his head. There were so many people whispering at him now it was hard to tell who he was responding to.
"I want to." He whimpered through tears, voice breaking. "I want to."
Then the walkers were on him. One grabbed his jaw, another sinking what teeth it had into his shoulder.
"Mommy!" his shriek rose above the moaning walkers, echoing off the houses around them. Then there was a third one on him and blood running down his face and he went down in a mess of hands and teeth and rotting flesh.
Jessie didn't let go of his hand.
Her scream of anguish was what really got the walker's attention. It was louder and longer than Sam's had been, and her continued sobbing drew in everything on the city block.
Ron stayed silent, blinking tears away from his eyes.
Rick put a hand on her shoulder, but Jessie didn't seem to notice. "SAM" she wailed, oblivious to their blown cover.
"SAM!"
"Come with us" Carl begged, eyes trained on the walkers closing in. They were immobile and exposed. "We have to go."
Before he could say anything else the walkers had pulled her down too. Carl watched, mouth hanging open in shock as the first one bit into Jessie. Her screaming resumed.
"No," Rick shook his head, tears already sliding down his nose. "No." He turned away.
Carl tried to move backwards, towards Michonne, towards safety. But he found he couldn't. Jessie's fingers dug into his skin. He couldn't tell if she was dead just yet, it was impossible to tell her cries from the walker's now. But he couldn't break the hold she had on his arm. He pulled against it, trying to keep from getting yanked into the walker's waiting teeth. Even with all his weight against it, he couldn't break away from her grasp.
Carl didn't know Rick had unsheathed his axe until it came down on Jessie's wrist. The impact shot up his arm like it was his bone the blade had cut into. He could see Jessie's skin split, first red the white, then the tension released and he fell backwards.
With the chain of hand-holding disrupted the situation was quickly swept into chaos. Rick kept his axe at the ready, watching for any walkers to make their move. Carl was on his feet as fast as he could be, rubbing his wrist, surprised to find that he was alive.
He looked to his father first. Rick was squinting at something over Carl's shoulder, his expression hard. Then, behind him, Carl heard the familiar click of a hammer being pulled back, and he realized why his belt felt lighter. Carl turned to see Ron raise the stolen gun.
"You" Ron whispered.
Ron held the gun with a near perfect stance. He had been taught by one of the bets, after all. His hands were steady, leveling the barrel at eye height just like Rick had taught him. His grip was sure as he pointed the gun at Rick. His finger didn't shake as it rested against the trigger.
Rick didn't panic. Didn't move. He barely reacted. Carl moved just his eyes to look at him, waiting for his father to talk his way out of the gun pointed at his face. But Rick was silent, staring Ron down as the axe hanging at his side dripped blood onto his shoes.
"You" Ron repeated, this time with more force. Streaks of clean skin shone through the grime on his face where his tears had washed away the blood and dirt. Carl was no stranger to what a killer looked like, and he recognized the same kind of brokenness in Ron's eyes.
Michonne was the first to react and the first to move. She brought her sword up and out in one unbroken motion. Even reacting on instinct, the move carried enough power to bring the end of the sword all the way through Ron's shoulder. The parts of the blade untouched by Ron's blood caught the light from the moon, glinting an unnatural silver in the darkness.
Carl couldn't see her face as it happened, just the precision in the way she moved. Just a flash of reflected moonlight as she pulled the blade back, Ron's face twisting as he struggled to understand what had happened.
Ron's entire body stiffened, his instincts trying to defend against an attack so fast it was already over. His arm swung uselessly to his side, losing its original target. Ron's eyes widened with shock as he went down. Didn't even try to catch himself as he fell.
Ron was almost to the ground when the gun went off.
The confusion and the sound and the pain all registered so close together they were almost simultaneous. The pain registered slowest, but Carl's brain gave it priority.
The walkers were drawn to the noise. Carl could only hear the residual ringing, but he understood the herd's renewed interest as they closed in around him.
He tried to fight, but found he couldn't. He tried to move, and couldn't. He tried to scream, but couldn't.
Through a haze of black and silver static he watched Michonne sheathe her sword, watching the walkers swarm the fallen boy at her feet. She looked first to Rick. They shared a moment of wordless communication, then Michonne nodded, her face relaxing.
Then she turned to Carl, and he watched fear consume her expression. The look on her face was enough to add fear to the list of things fighting for his attention. He'd seen Michonne stare down walkers with nothing sharper than a fork, but he'd never seen panic like this in her eyes.
Carl turned, his moments slow and stumbling.
Through his rapidly narrowing tunnel vision he looked instinctively for his father. Rick looked uninjured, but his twisted horrified expression mirrored Michonne's. Carl stared, struggling against the blackness eating away at the edges of his visions.
Then he understood.
"Dad?" he managed, before he felt his legs give out and he was gone.