three. good little soldier

three˚༺⋆♱⋆༻˚↳ good little soldier ↲

"WAKE UP!" A voice shouted, pulling me from my light slumber.

I had been dreaming. Dreaming about something that had been causing my body to sweat and tremor. It was already fading so fast, I couldn't grasp onto what it had been about. The voices and images were slipping from my mind like sand through fingers.

Gaining a sense of awareness, I instantly felt for my knife, a sigh of relief washing over me as my fingertips brushed against the weapon. This action had become a familiar repetition each day. In the face of danger, I couldn't seem to let myself relax until I ran my hands along the maple burl handle, feeling the smoothed wood. Only then would I let myself exhale.

"Dad, Wake up!"

I rapidly pushed off the bed I had chosen last night, cursing myself for falling entirely asleep. I'd decided I would try and stay aware, like most nights. And though the mattress creaky and old, it soothed the dullest parts of me. Coaxed me into oblivion.

The room itself was painted a bizarre yellow color— one that I couldn't imagine someone willingly picking out. It was decorated in beach themed paintings, and small trinkets like conch shells, sand dollars, and dried starfish skeletons.

Before lying down last night, I had stood in front of the paintings and looked long and hard at them. As if I were in an art gallery, I had intently focused on each brush stroke and every chosen color. Even though the art was simple and minimalistic, I took myself to the very image—wondering what it would be like if the scene were reality.

Once pushing the sheets away and getting to my feet, I mumbled a few vulgar words at the temperature in the room. Although the Georgia heat was intense, the mornings showed no sign of the oncoming sunlight.

This persuaded me to grab the brown bomber jacket which had been sprawled across the bedside armchair. I thought for a moment, wondering if whoever put it there, thought that they would return for it. It was uncanny to think of all the items I owned which were not really mine, but belonged to the deceased.

I quickly made my way downstairs, leaping down the steps. As I came to a stop at the last plank, I studied the boy screaming at his unconscious father.

"Is he dead?" I quietly asked, making him jump at my sudden approach.

He hadn't spoken a word to me. I wasn't truly expecting him to start now, but I decided making myself known was easier than trying to stay out of his way. A truce was better than deep-rooted hatred. I wasn't sure how long I would stick with them, but for the time being, it would be nice to not have to lock my bedroom door out of fear the boy wanted vengeance.

I carefully examined his facial expression for any sign that his father was dead, but eyes his remained far too calm. If he was scared, he showed no sign of it. He simply eyed me like I was the bane of his existence—so violently that I came to the conclusion a truce would not be possible between us.

"Why are you down here? Do I need to put you on a leash, or something?"

I placed my hands on the rail, hopping off to the flat ground. "I mean, that wouldn't be ideal, but do what you have to do."

Using sarcasm was apparently the only way I felt comfortable speaking to him. Anything else, and I feared he would analyze until he had cracked me open completely.

Carl sneered at my insolent remark. It wasn't even close to laughter, but he also wasn't pointing his gun at my head, so it was a win. He opened his mouth to shoot back an uncivil response, from the looks of it, but was interrupted by a sudden banging against the front door. It frightened the both of us, causing me to step back, and Carl to sidestep the entrance.

The cord wrapped around the knob began to loosen with the repeated movement of undead bodies against the wood, cracking the door open. Between the gap, I could see the harsh carven faces.

"Shit." He breathed out, his hands setting atop his head briefly.

I looked to him, blinking dully. "Yesterday, weren't you lecturing your dad about knowing how to tie knots?"

His breath hitched. It was most certainly the wrong thing to say. If he hated me before, the loathing was now increasing considerably. Still, I found his expression comical. He just stared—and blinked—like he wasn't sure if I was really speaking like this to him.

His fists clenched tightly. "Can you just tighten it back up, while I make sure the other doors are locked?"

Deciding it was best for us both if I didn't speak, I only nodded as I approached the door. Pushing all my weight against it, I forced it shut before I took the cord, pulling it together again. I grabbed each end, tightening the middle knot.

It wasn't perfect, but it was secure for the time being. The banging had subsided, leaving silence in its wake. It was damn silent— which was typically a good thing—but I knew better than to look past it.

My gaze flicked to the windows, past the glass pane. There he was. Outside, of course. Having lied to me, of course. Walking backwards in his whole fake-cowboy get-up, leading the corpses further out from the house as if he were playing a game with them.

Stupid bastard. Seriously? Did he think he was being mysterious by going on this secret mission of his, or was he simply a dumb fuck? I had to hand it to him, he was brave, but that ignorant mindset of his would get him killed.

Again, I wasn't one to interfere with things that didn't involve me, but I felt pathetic standing around waiting. Especially since this excursion could end with him being gutted across some residential lawn. I may not have liked the boy, but I'd rather get my hands dirty than be disturbed with his screams for minutes on end.

I grumbled, quickly taking action as I ran into the kitchen, then the side door. Just as suspected, it was left unlocked.

I walked out, then shut the door quietly, making my way around the house. The front door was already completely vacant, not any of the dead, or Carl in sight. I pulled on my knifes handle, sliding the blade from my waist belt, and grasping it. The rush took over my body, leaving me with a stimulating tremor in my arms.

His father would certainly kill me if his boy wasn't returned when he woke. I thought of this while walking along the edge of the road, pulling myself further from the home in search of the idiot boy. This didn't take long, as I almost instantly spotted him near a grassy street corner, squirming under two limp bodies. Many gunshots came from his weapon, but none of them planted into the dead's skulls.

The closer one had nearly gained on him enough to reach a limb, when I went towards it, grasping its shirt and pulling backwards. My boot swung at its inner-knee, causing the heavy body to loose its balance, and topple in the grass. It attempted at extending an arm to my face, but I was quick in knifing the dead's skull.

Once I gained my breath back and stood again, I watched Carl pant for air. He looked pale, and nauseous. This is why it didn't surprise me much when he pushed the bodies on top of him to the side, the hunching over to throw up any previous meals he had indulged in.

"What are you doing out here?" He scrunched his face, twisting to face me.

I wiped the knife on my jeans, then placed it back into my belt. "You really are stupid, aren't you? You attempt taking down a group of dead without telling anyone, then you don't thank the person who saves your life?"

"You could have gotten killed." He replied plainly, finally standing himself up.

I walked back through the grass, meeting at the edge of gravel which led back to the road. "When did you start caring about my life?"

"I don't." He shot back, turning his head sideways. "The point is, you could have gotten me killed."

He now caught up, walking along at my side. His eyes scanned my face for a reaction, but I gave nothing other than a blank stare. I didn't care to give him the satisfaction of seeing me pissed off at him. I'm sure it would offer amusement.

"I saved you, asshole." I scorned him.

"Yeah? Well, you didn't have to." He said.

I scoffed. "When someone comes to your rescue, you're supposed to say, 'thank you'. I prevented you from an eternity of walking around as a corpse, and I don't even get that?"

"Be grateful I didn't kill you when I had the chance. Where's my thank you for that?"

"Don't threaten me." I said, turning to him.

"Threaten you? I'm just stating the obvious." He responded.

He followed me as I continued down the unexplored street, turning into another branch of the neighborhood. I guessed that I should start gathering supplies and food for myself. One day with the father and son had been quite enough for me. Rick was completely unconscious, and Carl had a god awful savior complex that would get me into trouble if I wasn't careful.

My teeth clenched together at his presence. "Will you leave me alone already?"

His heavy footsteps taunted me—but not a word was spoken from his lips. It was like he was doing this on purpose; trying to find any way he could to remind me that he didn't trust me, didn't like me, and absolutely despised me for my involvement in his groups downfall. Following me silently was doing a great job of all three.

I took a short breath and turned to him, "Jesus, I was kidding about the leash thing."

"I thought it was a good idea." He said plainly.

I made my way past a group of homes, stopping at one whose white paint reflected the heightening sun. As I stared at the bright exterior, I noted its large porch. This particular one was left quite desolate without even a welcome mat. Only a worn rocking chair was placed in the corner, teetering back and forth through the breeze, creaking on the floorboards as it moved.

Carl suddenly walked forward, aggressively yanking a small pathway light from the grass. Stomping up onto the porch, I followed behind as he body slammed the door, instantly falling backwards and groaning.

"Damn it." He said as he grabbed his hat from his spot on the ground, placing it harshly onto his head.

I walked past his dramatic scene, pulling my knife out again. I toggled with it for a moment, sliding it into the crack of the frame. Pushing the knife through the lock mechanism, it finally clicked to an open.

Before I could go in myself, Carl pushed past me angrily. "I could've done that."

I bit the inside of my cheek, masking the annoyance on my face. Men just had to go for the immediate violent approach. Even if the door had been unlocked, he still would have slammed head first into it with the intention of breaking the thing down.

"Besides, let's talk about that knife."

I finally found my way into the house—behind him, but not terribly close. I let him lead with my own self-preservation in mind, staying silent while scanning the level. The place looked as if the owners had left in a very rushed manner, and there were no bodies roaming around, courtesy to the locked door.

"You lied to my dad." He stated.

I kept my knife in my hands, holding it in a ready manner. "I know."

"You shouldn't have." He spoke matter-of-fact. "My dad was kind enough to spare you. If I were him, I would have left you to rot."

I sighed. "You talk a lot, Carl. And, you still have yet to prove anything you say."

He took a step at me, eyes locking with mine. "I've killed before. I'm not afraid to do it again."

I only stared at him. "Okay?"

I couldn't deny it—Carl was somewhat intimidating with his anger, but he was still one of the least threatening people I had come across in this world. Even without the dead roaming the earth, I had heard and experienced worse things from my own father; the man who taught me just how different actions and words were.

"The worst part is," Carl continued, "I don't know who you killed. You said it was a woman, but that doesn't narrow things down for me. It could be someone who's important. Someone I cared about."

I exhaled. "I didn't want to hurt anyone. It just happened. Sorry that you don't have clarity, but I had to kill her."

"So, that's it?" He gestured his arms out angrily. "You're sorry for killing her?"

"What else should I be? Devastated? Because, I'm not. I would kill her again in a heartbeat to keep myself alive." I admitted to Carl as we stood in the hallway illuminated by large windows.

"You didn't come to our gates for survival! You came to kill us off, so that we wouldn't be a problem for the governor anymore!" He shouted with a gravelly tone.

I glanced out the glass, eyeing the world beyond. A few dead crossed the street, but not towards us. "I didn't know what he would do."

"Bullshit!" He retorted. "You didn't like what he was planning to do. But you still showed up like a good little soldier, didn't you?"

The dead outside shuffled around mindlessly. They stared into nothing, their eyes pointed at something far in the distance, never fully locking onto one focal point. The shouting must have been muted greatly by the walls, because they didn't sway even a step our way.

Even with his false promises. . . had I shown up, knowing deep down what he would resort to?

"That's not true." I seethed. "I wouldn't walk into a slaughter like that!"

"Well, you clearly don't have an issue with slaughtering, because you killed someone, remember?" He squinted at me.

"You asshole." I let out a choked laugh, my shoulders slumping ever-so-slightly. I wanted to cave in on myself. "You don't know anything about me."

He shrugged, knowing he was winning the argument by my faltering composure."I know enough."

With that, he took off up the stairs with the last word. I stood in the hall for a while, watching the wind blow through the trees, and the grass sway in its rouse. I contemplated if maybe the boy was right about me—if he understood me more than I did myself. . . but within a minute or two, I came to the conclusion that he had no room to assume. He didn't know who I was, what I had been through, and what I would do.

Perhaps being able to kill another was not so much of a terrible thing anymore. It was wrong, but everything else in this world was fallacious, too. Two wrongs didn't make a right, but they evened each-other out; that was enough for me.

I then began searching the kitchen. A dining table was set for what looked to be a meal never eaten. Flies danced on the molded food, a strong stench emitting from the plates. There were still cans in the cupboards, which I shoved into the pockets of the jacket I wore. The fridge wasn't worth looking in, so I stepped to the cupboard instead.

A few heavy footsteps from the floor above brought me looking up to the ceiling, then below, gaze locked on a high shelf I would have missed. There was something silver gleaming back at me, the reflection pulling me closer to view what it could be.

I pulled a chair from the dining table, pressing the seat against the counter. I carefully stepped onto it, standing up fully before moving onto the counter and hoisting myself high enough to wrap my hands around the jar.

112 Ounces of "ready to serve chocolate pudding."

Abruptly, gunshots rang through the house. This sent me jumping down from the counter, stuffing the pudding between my upper arm and elbow.

I trampled up the steps, my shoulder ramming into the wall from my unsteady footing as I neared the top. Carl was brought down onto the floor of an opened room, struggling against something. Someone. A dead one clung to his leg, inches away from sinking its teeth into him. He shouted out as it gripped him tighter, now pulling itself closer and attempting to sink its decayed teeth through his boot.

Though I would never admit it, I briefly thought about letting it take him. I saw how close the thing was, how easy it would be to shut the door on them and never look back. Carl was nothing but trouble, and him being alive would never benefit me. However, I thought of our conversation downstairs, and the idea of showing him just how wrong he was about me seemed fairly appealing.

I wasn't just a girl who knew how to slaughter. This wasn't all I was, and he would be forced to realize it. Proving him wrong would mean he would have to suffer and sit with his misjudgment for as long as he lived.

I finally stumbled forward, dropping the pudding to the ground. Grabbing hold of his arm that had began reaching out for me, I pulled him against the force, using the doorframe to keep myself steady. I wasn't terribly strong, but he was able to wiggle his foot loose, and get out of his compromised boot. After doing so, he launched forward, and I helped him frantically shut the door.

There was a long moment of silence; the only sound coming from behind the door.

"Thanks." He then forcefully mumbled, grabbing a piece of chalk to write on the door as I took back the pudding that had been rolling away.

"How many times are you going to force me to save you today?" I asked harshly.

"I said thank you, alright?" He put the chalk down, now noticing the pudding in my arms. "What's that?"

I held it up. "Pudding."

"What?" He exclaimed, eyes open wide. "Give me it!"

I stepped backwards, leaning myself against the railing. "Finders keepers, get lost."

He looked genuinely offended. His hardened gaze from earlier was nearly gone. "I almost died."

"So, now you admit it?" I asked, crossing my arms across my chest in defense.

Carl then rolled his eyes. "Listen, I hate you, you hate me; but pudding is pudding."

"I never said I hated you, I just- strongly dislike you." I stated, twisting the pudding jar in my hands, admiring its packaging paper.

"Share." His eyes were ravaged with hunger as he spoke.

He hadn't eaten much of the stale cereal back at the house we were occupying. I hadn't, either. Something like this jar was an absolute gold-mine, and I was not planning to share with a boy who thought so little of me. I had saved him twice today, and now he was expecting me to feed him on top of that?

"No," I stated. "There's not enough."

He motioned towards the can, crossing his arms. "That's a one-hundred and twelve ounce jar of pudding."

I watched him whilst in thought. Theoretically, I would one-hundred-percent puke my guts up if I ate the entire jar. Though, I didn't want to share with him, it was just that simple.

He walked past me into a vacant room beside us. My eyes followed him before I decided to pick up my feet and do the same, watching as he neared a window that had already been cracked open.

"What are you doing?" I asked.

He looked to me without a word, then back at the window. He used a large amount of force to open it, bringing himself through it and onto the roof. When he was on the other side, he leaned his head down and looked back to me, motioning harshly for me to come.

This was a ploy to have my pudding.

I observed him before following in response. With my hands steadying me, I brought myself forward and onto the ledge where he occupied. I kept my distance from him, a few feet separating us.

I didn't care it was for the food. . . he was finally being civil, although silent, and it was odd to witness. He had owed me this much from all of the life-saving today, but I expected him to be the type of person who never paid their debts. Maybe he was also now regretting the yelling, but I knew he would never bring himself to apologize for it.

The soft swish of air cooled my face, the trees I'd been watching earlier, protecting our skin from the harsh rays. From up here, I didn't feel like I was in any real danger, apart from the nagging truth that Carl still detested me. He was the last thing on my list that I would let intimidate me, but I knew how he would continue to view me. He wasn't as bad as the corpse reaching through the half opened window of the room we'd shut it in, at least.

"You gonna' open it now?" He asked, pulling me back from my calmed state.

I shrugged, wiping my knife against my jeans for the second time today. I carefully cut around the jar, eventually popping the lid off. We both took the spoons I had looted, and began to dig them into the pudding. Once raising the metal spoon into my mouth, I was surprised by its taste. It was good, despite the slight watered down texture, and the few flakes of hardened sugar around the top.

We stayed like this - simply quietly eating the jar of pudding for minutes on end. Not a single word was exchanged until Carl dropped his spoon to the can, being satisfied with the fullness the chocolate dessert had created in his stomach.

"What's it like to be on your own?" He broke the prolonged silence this time around, startling me.

With the spoon still in my mouth, I eyed him. Looking away just as quickly, I pulled it into my hands and swallowed the remaining sweetness down.

After seconds, I shook my head softly, showing that I didn't want to speak to him. Not about this, or anything else. Things were so much better if we just didn't converse.

Carl only stared back. "Just answer the question."

It felt wrong to speak with this boy about something he'd never had the chance of understanding. It was another reason why it was difficult to be mannerly towards him. He had someone to depend upon. That kind of fortune was absolutely priceless. No amount of money in the world could bring me such a blessing. There was nobody left to look out for me.

It was obvious that this prompt was fueled by his father's failure to wake, but if Rick could win a fight with Brian, he could survive the aftermath. I believed in his recovery. Whatever strength he had left, would surely pull him through. He would heal in time. Carl would have him again.

"Your dad will be fine, if that's what your implying. You won't be alone." I assured him, the words heavy to speak.

He shook his head. "I don't need you to be condescending. I know how this works. People die."

I couldn't force my kindness anymore. It was fizzling out.

I turned away from the boy. "I thought your brain was too small to process it, after how careless you've been. If you're not smarter, you'll end up dead before Rick even wakes."

In response, I expected another insult, but there was none. The silence following was deafening enough for those few seconds, making me pick myself up from the edge. I reached the window, lowering myself to crawl through.

Carl. I was done with his bullshit, before it had even began. I'd quite enough of him for the day, and he'd been the reason I'd have to stay with them for another. I hadn't had the time to gather anything of my own besides those few cans still in my pockets.

Out of spite, I shut the window completely, sliding the lock into place. Not one bone in my body cared how long it took him to get down, or regretted this choice. I gave him a small nod as he threw his hands up, shouting something most likely vulgar at me.

Though, I couldn't hear. I didn't want to.

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u should probably like...go to bed or do some self care babes because you look like hell. i can sense it through the screen. . . jk. ILYSM.

here's a graphic that I made which is supposed to depict cyn and carl on the rooftop, talking about rick (mid pudding mukbang vibes) :

anddd here's another ai rendered graphic of carl literally devouring cyn and calling her a slaughterer LMAFAO—THE WOMAN WAS TOO STUNNED TO SPEAK 😮

sincerely yours,𝓜 ᥫ᭡.