twenty. the walls between us

twenty˚༺⋆♱⋆༻˚↳ the walls between us ↲

I LOOKED OUT OF THE CLOUDED RV WINDOWS, watching the 'North 23' sign grow closer in distance. The only sense of light outside we had was from the car in front of us, red taillights illuminating the dark space.

Turning my head back down to the card game laid out on the table, my hands held five cards - all of which didn't help with the current number asked of me.

"Go fish."

Noah grinned, looking to Carl who now picked up an extra card from the deck. All of us had a horrible skill for playing card games. This single match had been going on for longer than most intense games, and that said a lot, since this was a simple match of one of the easiest card games imaginable.

After endless attempted rounds, Noah put his hands up, slapping his stack of cards to the table. "I think I'm retiring from this match. Someone come get me when the action rolls in."

Sitting across from us, Eugene stared. "I do believe that is the uttermost incorrect way to play 'Go Fish'."

"Dude, it's just a game. Plus, your not even playing." Tara nudged him.

I shuffled the cards in my hands, smiling at the new card I'd drawn, while Eugene informed Tara on the mathematical side of the game. Up in the front, Abraham drove. Rosita accompanied him, the two whispering happily. He was the only one willing to get us where we needed in the dark, trailing after the car ahead, its red taillights illuminating our path. Being that not everyone could fit in the RV, it was agreed to place Aaron in a separate car with Rick, Michonne, and Glenn.

"Holy motherload of shit!" Abraham cursed, suddenly pressing the brakes harshly. The force sent the cards to scatter on the ground.

Rosita stood up, placing her fingers on the dash while looking ahead. "Why aren't they falling back? We need to turn around."

I looked up. The small car was going full speed, plowing through a couple of walkers. The sides of the road were filled with dead, walkers now moving in the close the space. Rick, Michonne, and Glenn must not have seen them until it was too late.

Though, we wouldn't be able to get through with the amount of corpses now stripping themselves from the grass line, filling the path ahead. They walked at our headlights, the beams dancing as their bodies shuffled at us, causing Abraham to shift into reverse.

"What are you doing? We cant let them fight through all this alone." Maggie panicked.

"They're strong. Stronger than the amount of force this RV can push through. Right now, we need to worry about our own asses."

He clicked the stick in place, moving his foot to the gas pedal. I placed my hands out as the engine began humming, rolling backwards. I could sense the exact moment he completely accelerated, as it pressed me tight against the wall. The playing cards on the floor now slid out of sight, before he spun the wheel back. The rubber tires shrieked as they twisted, putting us in the opposite direction.

Though, when he tried to continue on, the engine hummed without movement. I could faintly hear the sound of muck keeping us from moving out.

"Son of a dick." Abraham got up from his seat, grabbing a rifle. "Somethin' is caught. I'll take as much help as I can get. AKA, get out here."

It didn't take long for Rosita to get up, following him quickly out the folding doors. Then Sasha and Daryl, preparing to guard. Finally, when Maggie came to the doors, Carl and I jumped up, to join her.

She looked back and forth at us, shaking her head. "You two shouldn't go."

Carl shook his head. "Yes, we should. We can help."

"No." Tara said from behind, slinging a gun over her shoulder. "She's right, that's a stupid idea. Do you know how upset Rick would be?"

"Rick isn't here." I reminded them. "We can do this together, but only together."

Maggie and Tara didn't have time left to protest. They could only spare cautioning glances, and small nods before the door was pushed open, and we were outside.

Without the glass separating us, I was able to see further into the dark. Not only did the dead approach from behind, but they had also found a way towards the front. I slid my knife into my hands, sparing a look to the boy beside me, before we both went forward. Walkers had already neared the wheel Abraham kneeled beside. We took it upon ourselves to act as a barrier, knocking them back before sending a blade into their skulls.

It was working quite well, until one of the skulls my knife plunged into, wouldn't release the weapon. I jerked it outwards, though the head only followed through, snarling at me. The knife hadn't gone through far enough, but I was reluctant to let Beth's belonging be left. It was stupid, really, to pull the knife down, making the dead's teeth snap near my arm. The handle had become slippery with blood and sweat as I pushed it back up, forcing me to move my hands, grasping the bit of dry blade protruding outwards of the skull. It's sharp edges turned my fingers hot, though, it finally budged, and I was able to throw the corpse back. This time when it came towards me, I let the knife through its eye socket, allowing it to slip back out like butter.

"That'll do!" Abraham shouted, getting up, and leading us back to the doors.

The others followed, looking behind to the mass of dead. When the doors opened, we loaded ourselves back inside and took off. The redhead was careful to swerve past the few front roamers, then, gunned it until all of them were far behind in the review mirror.

I caught my breath in my seat, steading my quivering hand. The searing hot carvings on my fingers bled warm liquid. It dribbled down my hands, onto my wrists, only to be quickly wiped onto my jeans. It didn't matter to me. Not as much as the knife did. I felt relief, knowing that it was still in my hands. Gripping it a bit harder, Carl moved back to the seat across me.

I found it hard to try and understand why he chose to be close to me so often. Sometimes, I wondered how he was able to consider me a friend at all. He deemed me worthy enough to be his opponent in his card games, and the receiver of his jokes, when only months before I was a part in the destruction of his home.

Now we sat beside one another, like the beholders of destruction and creation.

Why?

"That a walker?" Rosita spoke up, pointing her knife at the window.

Abraham slowed the speed down. "Have you ever seen one of em' act like that?"

I lifted my head, looking past the windows. Through the dark, it was easy to mistake the figure trapped under a car, as a walker. What gave him away, was the frantic calling out to us. His arms waved, rippling through the air.

When the RV stopped in fear that it was one of our own people under the car, I pushed myself up. A few walkers had began stumbling from the tree-line towards the stranger. Maggie clicked her gun off safety, and ordered Abraham to release the lock on the doors. Despite his hesitance, Maggie took no time in moving out the doors, aiming down the two dead before focusing on the man.

We all naturally followed.

"Oh, thank god." He spoke. "Please. Help me."

Maggie looked to Daryl for help, although he wasn't sure about raising the car off the man. He was thin, and hurt. Pale, but not deathly looking. This person wasn't one of ours, that was for certain.

"Aaron—did he bring you here? That's our RV." He inhaled deeply to try and ignore the weight on his foot.

We all looked to one another, before Maggie kneeled. "You know Aaron?"

"Yes. Yes," His tone tried its best to convince us. "We both recruit."

"Someone help him."

Daryl then propped his knee below the car, pulling up with force. It made enough room for Maggie and Sasha to pull him out, before it was dropped back down. This resulted in him to shout with the pain that followed his movement, worrying me that the dead would catch up, if we weren't quick in helping him.

It was too dark for this. Nothing good came, in the absence of sunlight.

Maggie seemed to have this same thought as she propped him on her shoulder, quickly walking back to the RV, despite other member's uncertainty. She helped him up the steps, allowing him to take a seat on the booths tacky leather cushion.

The doors closed again, snapping shut.

"Who are you?"

He grunted in pain while Maggie took a look at his left ankle. "Eric. Aaron and I are scouts for Alexandria. You're Maggie, aren't you?"

She was thrown off by his knowledge, as she eyed him.

"I know it sounds bad, but a lot of us at Alexandria have been there since the beginning. That's why we scout. We don't watch you for the purpose of being creepy. We watch you to see if you'd be a good asset for helping protect our community."

"Aaron told us." Maggie nodded. "Looks like you've got a broken ankle. I'll wrap it when you tell us where we need to go. We got spilt up from the others, including your partner."

Eric motioned to his pack. "There's a flare in the right-side pocket. Drive straight and you'll see a water tower. We can set off the gun there."

Abraham followed his directions, and eventually, we saw the tower he spoke of. The streets were completely empty—likely due to the copious amounts of dead gathered miles back. Something other than us had drawn them out into the forest, and had been left for us to deal with. I hoped that wherever the others were, they were safe. The flare was our only chance at getting them back tonight.

When the time came to park the camper in a slim alleyway, Maggie immediately shot up the flare. We watched the orangey-red crackling light shoot into the empty sky and dim as it curved over, disintegrating to dust before it hit the grass. It reminded me of the Fourth of July, when almost everyone living in America hurried to buy firecrackers, lighting up the night with colorful bursts, and loud popping noises. It was another one of those things that we wouldn't get back, ever. We didn't get to be sad about it, either.

Eric led us to a small shop in the alleyway, helping guide us through the midnight fog that had veiled down. We didn't waste time on entering and securing the door behind us, before settling in.

Most everyone broke off towards a separate room to attend to Eric; or question him, while Carl and I had our guns raised, scoping the shop out. Once we decided that it was clear, we tossed our things to a back wall, slumping down at once.

We could both be found exhausted, from today's events and travels.

"Your hands." He realized, pointing the cuts out.

I shrugged him off. "It's not as bad as it looks. I barley even noticed it until you said so."

"You're lying." He remarked.

I felt my eyes roll. "Am not."

"You so are. Your nose kinda twitches when you lie."

My eyes widened ever-so-slightly. I had been told that same statement before by my very own mother. She'd caught me numerous times in fibs from this detail alone. Said I'd done it since I was just a toddler.

"Does not."

He was the one who's eyes now flicked back, in annoyance. "Quit being stubborn."

His hands dug through the bag infront of him, pulling out wrapped crinkled bandaids. "Give me your hand."

I extended my arm to avoid another petty argument between us. There was no need in being stubborn, when he was only trying to do something nice. And, it was nothing but a kind act—something he most definitely felt obligated to do.

When our hands made contact, the initial touch made my breath hitch. His hands held the perfect amount of dryness, and warmth. It was odd of me to say, but something about it made me wish we'd stay like this a while.

I let out a hiss of air, not close to being loud enough for him to pick up on. It was only in response to the strange way I'd been feeling around him. I didn't like it, not one bit. I felt as if I were losing control of myself. Like I couldn't play all the cards. It created unease under my skin.

As he began to unwrap the first bandaid, peeling the paper backings, I wondered about a question I needed the response to, desperately. Being around the boy and not knowing the answer had become too difficult. It was driving me from sanity, but something inside held onto the possibility that he would be upset at me, or that he wouldn't even care to explain.

Except, I didn't feel scared anymore.

Not of him. At least, not in the way I used to fear him.

"This is probably stupid, but I want to know. . ." I broke the silence.

His grip on my hand tightened, though he didn't look up. I knew this was my go-ahead. He continued to stick the bandage together, then started unraveling the next one.

"I think about it a lot. You know, the walls between us, at the prison. I saw the farming fields. The people, the livestock pens. I cant stop thinking about it. You all had something, and I destroyed it." I took a breath. "How can you forgive me? Why did you forgive me, Carl?"

Our eyes clashed, again, only for him to look right back down. It took many seconds of silence to form a reply, which, in the time had felt like hours of waiting.

His voice was gentle. "What kind of question is that?"

He was calm, or at least, controlled. It made me confused, but then, almost angry. It was like all the fights between us, all the unrest, had only been in my own mind. That it had been fake, which I knew wasn't the actual case.

"Everyone would be alive. It's partially my fault. You know it." My fingers curled around his, to get him to finally look at me. "So, why can't you just be angry with me?"

Unfortunately, I was so used to making people angry. I was used to the physical feeling of my fathers frustration, along with the mental components. Fists told me exactly what I needed to hear, because they spoke so truthfully. A fist could never lie. I was rid of him, and yet, for the first time, I wanted to feel it all over again. Not from him, but by the hand of Carl. I wanted to know what was bottled up inside of him - to feel his anger. How would I understand any other way?

His hands now overstayed their welcome, as they still held onto mine. Obviously, he hadn't meant to do so, but, I noticed.

"None of that is your fault. None of it."

"But Carl, It is. You'd be behind walls. We would have never met. Everything bad that happened to us wouldn't have. Like, that night on the road, when those men pulled us out of the car. Just—be mad at me again, or something. Make it easier."

Make it easier to hate you, I wanted to say. Whatever lay between us now, was not hate. It was something that wasn't so simple. It was confusing, and distressing. I wanted to be rid of it.

He now let go. "Cyn. . ."

I stopped my rant, realizing I'd gone too far. My head went down in embarrassment.

"Cynthia." The name grabbed my attention, sending what felt like electrical volts down my chest. I absolutely loathed the name, since I was a child. I wanted something that people didn't say so roughly, or completely wrong. Yet, Carl said it just like how I'd said it to him and his father, the day we met. His voice made it sound delicate, but dangerous, like he was afraid of what it would do.

"I don't care if you were there, alright? You cant blame yourself just because you think things could've gone differently. They wouldn't have. The governor would have shown up with or without you. And, you didn't want to be there once you saw his true colors. I'm sorry it took me so long to realize that."

After pausing, the silence was a sign for him to continue, so, he did. "I had people at the prison. Friends. But they never understood. Not like you."

I ran my opposing fingers along my covered lacerations, the smooth surface of the bandage sending tingles up my neck. Honestly, it may just have been the words he spoke. I swore there were goosebumps lacing my skin.

"I thought we were a lot different when we first met." My voice became softer. "I was wrong. You understand, too."

He offered me a gentle smile. His slender fingers danced along his thigh, anxiously tapping against the tattered jeans he wore. I wondered, if the clothing item felt warm, too, with his touch.

At least, placed on my hand, they had. Carl was always warm, I'd noticed.

"Do they hurt?" He suddenly blurted.

"Huh?" I asked, breaking out of my daze.

"Your fingers. Are they sore at all?"

"Oh." I held my hand up to show him the bandages as if he weren't the one who secured them there. "They feel better."

This was stretched. The small diagonal cuts ached with a heartbeat of their own, pounding against my flesh. I decided telling him wasn't worth it, knowing his nature of being uneasy around such matters. Like, when my side was badly cut, or when I saw him after the hospital, with fading bruises on my neck. He seemed fine with everything else—blood, guts, death—but not so much with personal injuries.

"Good."

▬ ▬ ▬

When the others finally located us and came into the shop, the night was tense, to say the least. Rick wasn't keen on Eric being a new addition to our travels, though there was nothing he could do about this. Aaron insisted on staying beside him. It was the one thing he refused to sway on. And, there wasn't anything more we could do besides sleep, or wait it out. I choose the first option, because I knew time would feel as if it were passing quicker when I dreamt.

Hours and minutes blurred together until it was time to get a move on, again.

It felt like only a matter of seconds until we were back in the RV. I sat along the side seat, soaking in the view from our position on the road.

Blue skies, going for centuries. Below it, was our past destination, Washington D.C. I'd never seen such a popular landmark so close before. It was glorious among the streets, being that it remained undamaged, apart from the ordinary now. The white stone seemed to smile back at me from the twisting road we oversaw it with.

I wished I could take a picture of the landmark, but I could only stare, enlightened by the view. It was impossible to see anything dead below, on the streets. From here it looked almost normal, making me nearly question if down there, real people walked the streets. The Washington Monument I once learned about still stood tall in the sky, reflecting in the windows.

We made it. Not really, but still, it was right in front of us, finally. At least, until the vehicle took a turn, concealing the city with towering trees. From that point on, everything behind drifted, like a rapid current had dragged it out of reach.

But that current was carrying us, too. It lead us further, the trees spreading out, the tires treading on smooth, manmade concrete. A towering bronze gate was built in place, walls high enough so that nothing inside could be seen.

When we got out, I wound up beside Carl, like always. Our steps were almost synchronized as we approached the metal structure ahead. My head turned towards him, discovering he was already facing me. His eyes flicked back and forth like he wanted to read my mind.

I was glad he couldn't. All I was thinking, was that I was peacefully outside the gates of a community for the first time. I wasn't armed with an assault rifle. And. . .I knew I was on the right side. I didn't feel any regret, or doubt. Just hope.

I gave him the smallest of smiles.

Even with our worries, the immediate sound of children laughing overtook our senses. Birds chirped as they scattered on branches above. The gentle breeze softly caressed my face, and the gates murmured, quietly calling out as they rolled open for us. At Terminus, it had been eerily quiet. This was something else entirely.

We were dead along those roads. Yet, despite it all, here we were. The world was burning, and everything was catching fire. Despite how close I'd been to being consumed by flames, I had made it.

I made it, to somewhere where the grass was far too green to burn.

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • · 3,732 words • 8:35pm

well...we made it to alexandria. be prepared. don't say I never warned you ;)

UNTIL NEXT TIME.

sincerely yours,𝓜 ᥫ᭡.