five. southern fatality

five˚༺⋆♱⋆༻˚↳ southern fatality ↲

"DONT GO OUTSIDE, stay safe."

Those were the exact words Rick had wheezed out last night as Carl was pointing his pistol to his head. He was nearly pulling the trigger when his Dad's eyes had rolled backward, and his finger left in an instant when watching him fall back into complete unconsciousness.

Carl's brief hesitation beforehand, saved Rick. I had spent many seconds trying to convince the boy that it was what had to be done. If he'd listened to me any sooner, Rick would be nothing but another rotting body. Both Carl and I were left in a state of shock for the remainder of the night. We'd opted to sit many feet apart against the couch we'd worked together to lift Rick back onto, staring into oblivion as actuality set in.

Rick was alive.

On the rooftop, I attempted at assuring both Carl and I that he was going to be fine after resting, but when it came down to it, I couldn't bring myself to believe he was waking up. It shouldn't have been possible for someone's body to be so resilient. Fathers weren't supposed to have so much perpetual love. It wasn't normal for them to keep their hearts beating with the mere idea of leaving their children alone for the world to take.

He refused to do that to his beloved son, and it was the most admirable thing imaginable. Watching someone protect another they love, with everything left in them. Even their dying light.

Many hours passed since discovering Rick was alive. I found myself drifting in and out of my senses on a couch opposite to the one Carl and his weak—but awake—father sat. I tiredly tried to hold onto the words that Carl spoke to his father, but it came to me muffled and low. I could only vaguely listen as he narrated, in detail, the day we'd left the house.

He claimed to have found the jar pudding himself, but I accepted this small lie for reason that he skipped past the part where I locked him on the roof. It was most likely because it was embarrassing to tell, but I was still thankful for the small cover-up, even in my hazed state. I hadn't slept well for multiple days in a row now, and I could feel as it slowly grew against my need to stay awake, relaxing my muscles like a poison spreading through my veins. My surroundings were misted by exhaustion, causing a sense of uncertainty within.

Utter grogginess, and complete lethargy.

"Is she trustworthy, son?" Rick's voice came through my veil of sleep quieted.

Even with my eyes shut, I could almost sense their gaze on me now. My body was curled up on the cushions, head laying on my bent arm. My other hand relaxed at the curve of my waist, fingers spread out so that I could pull out my knife at any time, if need be.

"No." Carl responded. "Not at all. But she had my back yesterday."

Carl was right—I wasn't trustworthy. I'd lied about being armed, then foolishly pulled my knife out while trying to get the dead off of him. They shouldn't have believed me so easily, but I wasn't going to hand in my only other weapon without knowing anything about them. I shouldn't have to depend on anyone but myself for my own safekeeping. Still, I knew how it looked to the boy and his father. For all they knew, I could've been planning to use the blade to slit their throat, in allegiance to 'the governor'.

A pounding sounded at the door. The hand against my waist shifted, my eyes coming open at the disturbance. I sat myself up, getting off the couch as Rick and Carl came to a stand. Carl's pistol clicked as he raised it to the door, Rick sturdying his footing to step closer.

After to squinting and looking through the peephole, he did something Carl and I were not prepared for. Putting his head against the door, he smiled, and laughed. A genuine display of emotion, before falling back on the sofa to catch his struggled breath.

His son's brows came together in confusion as he lowered the weapon. "What?"

Rick glanced up. "It's for you."

Carl walked to the window, pulling back the curtains to reveal what lay behind. He stared outward at the sudden brightness for a few moments, before quickly following his father's smiling expression. He then pushed the sofa off the door, and undid the knot.

When the wood creaked open, a woman came at Carl. They pulled one another into a desperate hug, and I understood her as a group member whilst Rick grinned again at this reunion.

"I found you both." She choked out, my head tilting so that I could try and get a better look at her.

Once their greeting broke apart, Carl turned to me. I watched his enlightened face closely, taking note of the way it looked. I hadn't ever seen him so content. . . it was bizarre. The world had ended, the dead was walking, and yet—he smiled. He appeared to have never experienced hardship in his life, but I knew that couldn't be the case.

"This is Cyn." Rick turned from the woman, thus fully unblocking her from my field of vision.

My insides felt as if they melted when I connected eyes with her. Throat running completely dry, I did everything in my power not to grab onto my knife and become bloodthirsty toward her.

The beautiful dark skinned woman with a very serious expression only blinked at me. "I know who she is."

With those words, I was taken back to the day of the prison attack. Before we'd left camp, I was requested to make an appearance at an RV parked on the outskirts. I remembered how once I'd arrived at the vehicles doors, the curtain on the small window was pulled back, and Brian was there, looking out at me. Shortly after, he'd come out and closed the door behind him.

He told me everything, then. That there were hostages inside, and we were going to use them to take the prison for ourselves. He'd said that although not everyone in their community was terrible, most of them were thieves, murderers — and had even been the cause of his mutilated face.

The reason his daughter was dead.

He'd brushed his fingers on my face while I was processing everything. It seemed so fatherly, something that I'd never been given. All of my doubts had washed away because of this small action, and I'd agreed to help keep an eye on them while he attended more pressing matters.

Once I was inside the RV, the woman and older man did exactly what Brian warned me they would: Talk to me, and pull at my heart strings so that I would release them.

With a heavy gun strung across my body, I chose to stay silent, perched against the locked door as they plead their case. They made claims that seemed impossible at the time. Things such as, their group was completely innocent, and Brian was a demented man who only knew how to lie. I chose not to listen to a word.

That man in the RV, was the man that Brian had beheaded in the fields. He had told me name was Hershel. And the woman — she was now standing in front of me, examining every inch of me. Her expression was completely unreadable.

"Shes with us." Rick explained, looking between us.

The woman glanced at him shortly. "Is she?"

At first, even Carl looked taken aback by her tone, which was fairly odd considering how much he disliked me. It wasn't a quiet hatred, he had very much made it known. Within a few breaths, he was completely unfazed by this. He understood her apprehension, and seemed to share this question with her.

"She won't be a problem." Rick assured her, also looking to Carl. "We know how good the governor was at hiding the truth. He did the same to her."

She stepped fully into the house, nearing me. I carefully eyed the katana strung on her back. "I'm Michonne. I never told you my name in that RV."

I crossed my arms across my chest out of subconscious defense, folding into myself ever so slightly. The jacket I wore suddenly felt much too hot, and I wanted to peel the thick layer from my body. My lips parted to speak, but Carl was the first to get the chance.

"What RV?" He asked between us.

Michonne's cold demeanor faltered, then dropped. "It doesn't matter anymore. We can't change what happened. All that's left to do is move forward."

I looked up at the taller woman, my hands dropping into the bomber pockets as I gave her a thankful nod. Although it had taken a moment for her to get to this point, she didn't look at me like I was a real threat.

Again, my age was a saving grace. If I'd been born earlier, I doubted this man and woman would accept what I'd taken part in. Then again, maybe I wouldn't have been so vulnerable if I'd had a couple years more emotional experience under my belt.

Brian spoonfed me his lies, and I'd eaten it like it was the sweetest honey under the sun.

Rick began asking questions about her journey, allowing me to finally turn away. Without so much as a glance back, I brought myself into the kitchen to grab a bowl of the expired cereal. It was the third time I had eaten this. But I was too hungry to mind the repetition, so I continued to fill a bowl up and sit at the table.

When I dipped my spoon into the bowl, Carl came rounding the corner into the kitchen, judgmentally speaking as he picked up the box, "You actually like this?"

I shrugged, unwilling to give into his efforts to brawl with me again. Being nice didn't exactly work with us, but sarcasm and digs only ended in someone's ego being lowered. This left silence as the only fathomable option.

With my quieted response, he sat across from me and grabbed a bowl for himself. His face scrunched in distaste as he shook the flakes into his dish. I wished I'd kept the pudding for myself and saved the rest for today. That would have made a magnificent breakfast— but of course Carl had to devor most all of it.

As he swirled his spoon around and made the dried cereal crunch and crackle under its weight, another person entered the kitchen. I sat up straighter in my chair once noticing it was Michonne, who carried three waters. Once seating herself beside Carl, she put them on the table. It didn't go unnoticed that she slid one over to me.

Carl began to snicker at the woman, and I lifted my head to watch as she smiled back at him.

"Do you have something to say about my extremely comfortable, and attractive shirt?" She asked, looking down to the clean fabric she wore.

I now noticed the white button-down shirt she wore. It was incredibly large on her, and I assumed she'd taken the thing from an obese man's closet. The fabric gathered into a bunch at her wrists, a knot tied in the back so that it wouldn't fall down her hips like a dress.

My mouth began curling upward before I stopped myself. The action felt so foreign, it slightly dumbfounded me. I couldn't remember the last thing that had made me smile. I never, in a million years, assumed it would be because of the woman Brian claimed was vile.

"No, no. It looks great." He reassured her, still laughing to himself.

Michonne gave him a non-approving look as she poured herself the rest of the breakfast food. "I wish we had some soy milk."

The boy looked thoroughly disgusted. "Seriously?"

"Yes, seriously." She replied, making me look back and forth as they bantered. "Have you ever tried it?"

Carl then breathed a laugh, telling a story about a time he almost threw up trying soy milk. I only listened to this, familiarizing myself with the complete different way he acted around her. He wasn't the same person I knew.

"I mean, I would literally rather have powered milk then drink that stuff." He continued.

Michonne laughed, shaking her head at his passionate dissing of soy milk. He had been going on and on about how terrible the drink was.

"I would rather have Judith's formula." He exclaimed, before realizing what he had just said.

His face went blank, staring down at his unfinished food. This was the Carl I knew. He didn't laugh, or smile. He wasn't funny, and he most certainly didn't have so much to say. He only knew sorrow and anger. Seeing him back to this was almost comforting. It was what I had grown accustomed to over the past few days.

Michonne glanced at me as Carl pushed his chair back, and stood up.

"I'm gonna' go finish my book." He mumbled. "I have a couple chapters left."

With that, he promptly made his way upstairs, leaving the woman and I alone in his absence.

"His sister, is she gone?" She asked in a hushed voice.

"I think." I replied, reflecting back to the scene I had witnessed; a father and son crying over a small baby carrier.

Only the noise of our spoons clinking against the ceramic bowls could be heard, until overwhelming regret hindered my ability to eat. Instead, I reached for my water.

"When did you run into Rick and Carl?" She blurted as I uncapped the bottle.

I took a small sip, lowering it so that I could respond. "After I left my people. I was going for an exit, and they stopped me."

She nodded, scooping another bite into her mouth.

"Carl tried to kill me." I continued, "Rick was more forgiving."

After swallowing, she spoke, "Carl doesn't like loose ends. Rick tries to tie them together."

"I know," I started, "His dad asked me to come. But, you won't have to worry — I'm leaving soon."

I expected her to look relived. She did not.

Instead, she shook her head. "You're just a kid."

I shrugged. "A trigger-happy kid. I took part in a terrible thing. My age shouldn't erase that."

I could only allow so many excuses for myself. I hadn't quite understood the gravity of the situation—that much was true. I'd let Brain take advantage of my trust, and taken his word when he said it was what needed to be done. Did that mean I fully believed him? No. But I was willing to do something awful for the promise of safety. I just hadn't realized how awful it would be.

"I think any child could fall into your circumstances." She told me. "You're too young to survive out there, alone."

"It would be my own fault." I protested back.

"No, it would be your own choice. Nobody is going to ask you to leave." The woman took the last word, a small smile present on her face.

I gave up trying to challenge her, taking in her words as I eventually made my way to the staircase. Instead of going into my room, which I knew would result in falling asleep to be greeted by another nightmare, I explored each room.

The first one I came upon had a large bed near the center. It had soft covers, and two pillows that looked as if they had deflated. People that loved each other slept here every night. . . and now their bedroom was collecting dust.

I rummaged around the centered dresser, picking up a picture frame coated in a small speckles of age. My thumb ran over the glass, clearing a family photo. In the moment captured, a family sat in a beautiful home garden. I recognized the scenery to be at this very house, only now, the plants were wilted to a brown death. A baby boy in a pair of overalls, his young sister holding him in her lap. A mom and a dad sat behind them, their hands intertwined.

Oh, the things I would do to have photo evidence of my Mom and sister. To hold it in my hands, turn the image over, and see the little timestamp of when it was taken. There was nothing I had anymore to prove that they were real. I envied this frame for holding such precious memories.

I left the bedroom after placing the picture face-down. It felt more respectful to put the family to rest, and to never let them see the horrors that might enter this house.

I brought myself to enter the closest one next. Twisting the metal knob, I instantly regretted this choice the second I saw Carl, who instantly put his comic down at my arrival.

"I didn't realize this was yours." I said, bowing my head to turn and leave.

"It's fine." He told me, annoyance heavy on his tongue.

We shared a long glance as I thought of something else to say, but when nothing came to mind, I turned again.

"You read comics?" His voice interjected, leaving me standing at the doorway.

I shook my head, shoulder brushing against the doorframe. "I don't think I ever have."

"Then sit."

God. This was his way of torturing me. He'd ran out of rude remarks for the day, so he was resorting to condemning me to be in tight corridors with him.

Or, perhaps, he hated me a little less now that he knew I hadn't killed Michonne at the prison. I never described who the woman had been, because I'd shot her down too quickly to take note of anything. I understood how that could be difficult to come to terms with, when there were women from his group with the importance he viewed Michonne with.

I looked to the pile of comics stacked on the floor, then back at him. "No, I'm fine. I don't understand them anyway."

He tore his eyes from the panels he read, locking down on my own. His glare was intense, making sure I knew it was less of a request and more of an order.

"I said, sit."

I narrowed my sight on the boy, deciding to take a step into the room. Carl was sitting against the wall, shifting over to make room on the bed. As I went to take a cautious seat beside him, he tossed me the comic on his lap and grabbed a different one from his pile.

I'd never been so close to him. I was already hating every passing second of it. If I were to reach out my arm, my fingertips would press against him. This was why once I sat, I kept my body stiff, unwilling to let myself move an inch. My back pressed into the wall, arms wound in tight to my sides.

I took the flimsy item, flipping to the first page. It was filled with pictures, and small emphasized text bubbles with thick lined words. I found it extremely hard to focus on this as I went onto the next page, exhaling.

"Im sorry about your sister." I said, handing the thin book back. "But I'm not a good 'comic buddy', or whatever you call it."

He closed the pages, wedging his finger between them so that he wouldn't lose his place as he looked to me. "Don't be sorry about things you can't understand. Dammit—could you just be quiet and read?"

My head turned from him, surveying the posters around the room. Some repped bands. Foo fighters, Metallica, Greenday. This kid had good taste. Others displayed movie releases. I put my attention on anything and everything in the room, apart from the thick silence. I felt the mattress shift as Carl came to a realization beside me.

"You had a sibling?"

I couldn't help but notice that familiar numbness crawling up my chest, weaving itself around the intercostals of my ribs. 'Had'.

"Oh." He said, realizing it was a touchy matter, just like Judith had been for him. He then tossed the comic back to me. "Well, you didn't even finish reading the first section, it gets better."

I took the comic back once more, flipping through to the page I had been on. As I read further and further, I realized, Carl was right. These words and pictures drew me in, until I was completely hooked on the made up story called "Punisher". It was about a single man, driven by the death of his wife and children to act upon rage. He was cold, and was strong. I liked his character, and the way he was driven by revenge. It was unlike any other hero I had seen.

As I continued to read on, I felt my fingers slowly losing grip on the pages. The words seemed to blur together before the comic slowly dropped to my lap, the warmth from the glowing window coaxing me closer to sleep. My head went sideways, resting itself against a foreign warmth. A shoulder that dig not belong to me.

Oh, how I tried to open my eyes, but I was too far gone.

▬ ▬ ▬

The heavy creaking of floorboards brought me from a completely dazed state, a headache buzzing my brain.

My body shifted as my eyes fluttered open to scan the room. The comics were moved into a neat pile. The boy who previously accompanied this room was nowhere to be seen, and his hat had also been taken from the small bedside table. All that was left was an indent in the mattress where he'd been sitting.

A sudden pained grunt sounded from downstairs.

"You're nothing but a lying coward." A voice projected, sending me fully standing up and reaching for my knife.

I didn't hesitate to pull it from my between waistband completely, letting my fist wrap around the handle.

More muffled voices echoed, including the sound of someone begging for their live. A sob, and laughter. Whatever was going on down there, I could tell there was a certain desperate person, and many others taunting them. The sound of loud coordinated footsteps began ascending the staircase.

"Ya'll stay down there if you want." A man's voice remarked, presumably talking to the others.

I scanned the room I was in, frantically in search of a spot to stay concealed. The bed was directly placed on the floor, meaning there was nothing to hide under in this room. I turned, looking to the set of windows surrounding its small area. I used every ounce of strength in my arms to push it upwards, but I soon discovered that the windows had been plastered shut, for whatever reason.

As the footsteps got closer, I decided my best option was to stay beside the bed. The mattress was surrounded by three deeper walls, creating a small cove to stay hidden from the doorway. If I were to go behind the curtains, I could make it work. Nevertheless, I didn't have time to test this possibility as the door flew open, leaving me uncovered with my back flattened against the wall.

I hitched my breathing as a someone walked into the room, the hairs on the back of my neck rising with each step. I listened as they came close to the bed. I picked up it was a man, from the deep chuckle sounding in his throat. I heard him rustle through the stack of comics before choosing one, and flipping through it.

"Comics." He said, tossing it back to the floor.

My heart hammered in my chest picturing his eyes wandering. A shiver was sent down my spine, sweat loosening my grip on the weapon as I pictured the damage this large man could do on me. I needed him to get out; I couldn't hold my breath any longer.

As if my wish had been simultaneously granted, he trudged out of the room. I finally let my burning lungs take in the air I had been lacking as his steps echoed into the largest bedroom. They eventually stopped as the wood holding up the bed creaked, a tell-tale sign he laid down.

Before I could even shift my weight, the sound of many others coming upstairs filled the air. I could hear as they searched around the place and pulled open doors to scan for threats, and ransack the place.

"This will be our abode for the evening." One said, his voice traveling upstairs.

Southern hospitality had turned to southern fatality. Had we not thought to lock the doors? Was that a clear invite to make themselves at home? Or—had Carl, Rick, and Michonne already left?

I chewed on a piece of my chapped lips, peeling at the skin. I tried to convince myself that if the last case was true, I would be fine. But, I found the idea upsetting. As much as I told myself that I was better off alone, I was tired of it.

I was tired of the way the world continued to spin, faster then I could keep up with it.

I calmed myself in the few minutes it took for them to all travel back downstairs after scoping the home out. The only real sound left, was the resonation of a bouncy ball being thrown at the walls on the lower level.

"Tony, Lenn: Get your asses down here." The man shouted, proceeding to make his way up the steps. I could tell by the reverberation of his toy pounding against the ground.

Suddenly, hurried footsteps entered the room, sending me to place my knife in a ready position near my chest. I took in a breath, gritting my teeth as the figure neared. Soon came their body, stumbling towards the window I was hiding next to.

I instantly moved at them, swinging my knife to their neck. Their hands caught my arm mid swing, forcefully pushing me into the drywall, a pain shooting up my spine. I tried to scream out, but their hand cupped over my mouth too quickly. My eyes met his, causing us both to stop the attack.

A quiet whisper then formed at my lips. "Rick?"

He held his pointer finger to his mouth before uncovering mine. He gently let go of my arm, then tried the window. He found them to be just as stuck as I had.

An unidentified person approached the room just as Rick had pulled the curtains over us. A forceful pound sounded against the ground, and I realized who it was. The fucking bouncy ball guy was coming to play with his fucking child's toy up here.

The man approached the bed, bouncing the ball on the section of wall the bed was up against. He stood just barely outside of this deepened cove, not caring to check the sides as he whistled away, enjoying the toy a little too much. We remained completely silent, waiting for him to get bored.

Rick and I exchanged a glance as he did just that, turning on his heels to go talk with the rest of his group after no less than forty seconds. When all of the voices and steps came from downstairs again, Rick pulled us out of the corner.

"Go to the master room. Try that window." He ordered, looking into the hallway. "Be careful. One of em' put down a guy in there."

I nodded before making way to the bedroom. Looking inside, I immediately understood what Rick had been talking about. One of them laid on the floor, unmoving. His hands were to his sides, his eyes wide open. I entered regardless, stepping over the body as I went.

"Let me get a gun, first." Someone called.

I looked to the bed. A rifle was on the comforter. The same rifle that one of the men would most certainly be coming into the room for, in a moments time.

"Shit." I panicked, turning past the stairwell, to the bathroom.

I silently entered, closing the door just as someone reached the top step. Resting my forehead on the door, I let myself breathe again. My heart-rate came to a dramatic slow with knowing a locked door separated us.

I finally turned, looking to the area behind me. All my mindfulness was simply destroyed, however, as I feasted my eyes upon an extremely buff man merely sitting on an unopened toilet seat, looking to me in shock.

He got up in an instant, throwing himself at me before I could make a move, causing my knife to clatter against the floor.

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·4,820 words.

if you pull the 'crust' off of an uncrustable, i do not trust you. are you missing the point? do u need psychiatric help!? can i get you a crisis hotline phone number, or something?

cannon comic panels for chapter 5:

hope you enjoyed this chapter :)

sincerely yours,𝓜 ᥫ᭡.