Chapter 13

Chapter 13

The morning had started clear enough, crisp autumn air and a pale sun finding its own way through the trees as Charlotte and Carl made their way deeper into the woods surrounding Alexandria. This time, Rick had sent them to check on a cache of supplies that had been hidden months ago, before Negan's recent visit had reminded everyone how precarious their situation really was. Rick just hoped he could trust that they wouldn't rip each other apart before they even got there.

"It should be around here somewhere," Carl said, consulting the hand-drawn map Rick had given them. "About a mile north...west? Of that old gas station we passed."

Charlotte adjusted the strap of her pack, scanning the treeline for any sign of movement. "You don't sound too sure. Also how do we know it's even still there? Could have been found by anyone! Other survivors, Saviors on patrol, hell, even animals could have gotten into it."

"We don't," Carl admitted. "But we need those medical supplies and the ammo. Especially after..." He trailed off, his eyes finding the fading bruises on Charlotte's face from their fight a few days ago.

"After you decided to use me as a punching bag?" Charlotte's voice was sharp, but there was something almost playful underneath it.

"After you decided to attack me for telling you the truth," Carl shot back, but his tone lacked real heat.

Things between them had been different since the fight. Not better, exactly, but different. The hostility was still there, but it was layered now with something else, an awareness of some sort, a tension that neither of them seemed to know how to address. They'd been avoiding each other as much as possible, but Alexandria was small, and Rick seemed determined to keep pairing them together for supply runs.

"There," Charlotte pointed to a cluster of rocks that matched the landmarks on their map. "Should be buried about twenty feet east of those boulders."

They found the cache exactly where it was supposed to be, a waterproof container buried beneath a pile of leaves and debris. The medical supplies were intact: antibiotics, painkillers, bandages, even some surgical equipment that would be valuable if anyone got seriously injured...This is the sort of stuff Alexandria lacked when his eye was shot out.

"Good," Carl said, carefully repacking everything. "This should last us through—"

A rumble of thunder cut through his words, low and ominous. Both of them looked up at the sky, Charlotte's eyes wide as she pretended to not care about the sudden noise, which had been gradually darkening while they worked.

"Shit," Charlotte muttered. "That came out of nowhere."

The first drops of rain were already starting to fall, fat and cold against their faces. Within minutes, what had started as a light drizzle became a steady downpour, and Charlotte could hear the distant crash of thunder getting closer.

"We need to find shelter," Carl said, shouldering his backpack. "We're at least four hours from Alexandria in good weather. In this..."

He didn't need to finish. They both knew that trying to navigate the woods in a heavy storm was a recipe for disaster. Getting lost was the least of their worries, the rain would wash away scent trails that helped them avoid walker herds, and the noise would make it impossible to hear threats approaching.

Charlotte pointed through the trees. "There's something that way. Looks like a structure...?"

They ran through the increasingly heavy rain, their boots squelching in the soft mud that was rapidly forming on the forest floor. The structure turned out to be an old hunting cabin, probably abandoned since before the outbreak. It was small, barely more than one room, but the walls looked solid and there was still most of a roof.

Carl tried the door and found it unlocked. "Looks clear," he said, stepping inside cautiously with his knife in hand for any walkers or people.

The cabin was empty except for some basic furniture, a table, two chairs, an old, wine red couch with stuffing coming out of the cushions. There was a stone fireplace, though they couldn't risk lighting a fire, it would draw attention from the smoke. Most importantly, it was dry.

Well, mostly dry.

"Great," Charlotte said as a drop of water hit her head, making her remember her already soaked hair. "The roof leaks."

"It's better than being outside," Carl pointed out, setting his pack down in what seemed like the driest corner.

Charlotte wrung water out of her hair and looked around the small space. The cabin couldn't have been more than twelve by fifteen feet, and with their packs and gear, it felt even smaller. The rain was coming down harder now, slamming against the roof and walls with increasing intensity.

"How long do you think it'll last?" she asked, trying to ignore the way Carl's wet shirt was clinging to his chest, and the fact she couldn't ignore it.

"Could be hours. Storm this size..." Carl trailed off as a bright flash of lightning illuminated the small windows, followed almost immediately by a crash of thunder that seemed to shake the entire cabin.

Charlotte flinched hard at the sound, her whole body going rigid as she pressed herself back against the wall. Her breathing quickened, and she wrapped her arms around herself, trying to control the tremor that ran through her. She hated that she still reacted this way, five years of survival training, of becoming someone harder and stronger, and she still couldn't handle thunder.

Carl noticed immediately, his attention snapping from the window he was intensely squinting at to her face. "Charlotte? You okay?"

"I'm fine," she said quickly, maybe a bit too quickly for him not to notice, but her voice was shaky and unconvincing.

"What is it?" she asked, changing the subject.

"Thought I saw movement. Could be nothing, could be—"

A low moan from outside answered the question. Then another. And another.

"Walkers," Charlotte breathed, it was weird how quickly she adjusted back to calling them such a weird term instead of just 'the undead'. Seemed kind of like a stupid name to her.

Carl nodded grimly. "They probably heard us runnin'. Or the sound of thunder is drawing them."

They both went still, listening. The groans were getting closer, and Charlotte could make out at least three or four different voices, if you could call them that. Maybe more.

"How many?" she whispered.

"Can't tell. But we need to stay quiet until they pass."

Charlotte nodded, but staying quiet was easier said than done. Her clothes were soaked through, and she was starting to shiver as the temperature in the cabin dropped. Carl wasn't in much better shape, his hair was plastered to his forehead, and she could see goosebumps on his arms where his sleeves had been pushed up.

They sat on opposite sides of the small room, backs against the walls, waiting. The walkers' moans seemed to be coming from all directions now, and Charlotte realized they might be surrounded. The storm was definitely drawing them, every crash of thunder brought fresh sounds of undead voices.

Another drop of water hit Charlotte's shoulder, then another. She looked up and saw that the leak in the roof was getting worse, water dripping steadily onto the floor between through weakening wood above her.

Carl caught her looking and shook his head slightly, reminding her to stay quiet. But as the minutes passed and more water dripped down, Charlotte felt her patience wearing thin. She was cold, wet, uncomfortable, and trapped in a tiny space with the one person who seemed to know exactly how to get under her skin.

"This is perfect," she whispered, barely audible. "Just perfect."

Carl shot her a warning look, but she ignored it.

"Of all the cabins in all the woods, we had to find the one with a hole in the roof," she continued in the barest breath of a whisper.

"Charlotte," Carl warned, his voice so low it was almost like he was just mouthing the words.

"What? I'm being quiet." But even as she said it, another crash of thunder boomed overhead, making Charlotte visibly flinch and duck her head instinctively. The walkers outside seemed to respond to the sound, their moans growing louder and more agitated.

Carl moved closer to her, close enough that he could whisper directly in her ear. "They're drawn to sound. Any sound, and these walls are pretty thin. So unless you want to fight our way through a herd in a thunderstorm, shut up."

His breath was warm against her ear, and Charlotte felt an unwelcome shiver that had nothing to do with the cold air. She turned her head slightly, bringing their faces closer together than they'd been since the fight.

"Don't tell me to shut up," she breathed back.

"Then don't give me a reason to."

They were close enough now that Charlotte could see the water droplets clinging to Carl's eyelashes, could smell the rain and something else, something distinctly him that made her stomach flutter despite her best efforts to ignore it, something he always had, even as kids. It made her wonder if she had her own scent.

"You think this is my fault somehow," she whispered. "You think everything's my fault."

"I think you have a talent for making bad situations worse," Carl replied, but his voice lacked conviction.

"Right. Because you're so much better at handling crisis situations." Charlotte's voice was getting slightly louder, and Carl glanced toward the window nervously.

"At least I don't start damn fights every five minutes."

"I don't start fights. I finish 'em."

"Like you finished the one the other day? When you attacked me for no reason?"

Charlotte's eyes flashed. "I had plenty of reason."

"Because I told you the truth about—"

"Because you're a self-righteous asshole who thinks he knows everything about everyone," Charlotte hissed, completely forgetting about the plan to be quiet.

A moan from directly outside the window made them both freeze. It was close, maybe just a few feet away from where they sat.

Carl immediately moved even closer to Charlotte, his hand coming up to cover her mouth before she could say anything else. She tensed at the contact, her eyes going wide, but she didn't pull away, all those feelings, and more, coming straight back to her from that one long moment in the closet.

They sat like that for several long minutes, Carl's hand over her mouth, both of them barely breathing as they listened to the walkers stumbling around outside. Finally, the sounds began to fade as the walkers moved away from their hiding spot.

Carl slowly removed his hand from Charlotte's mouth, but he didn't move away. If anything, he seemed to lean closer, and Charlotte could feel the warmth radiating from his body despite their wet clothes.

"That was close," he breathed, voice softer than he meant it to come out as.

"Too close," Charlotte agreed, but she was looking at his mouth when she said it.

The storm was still raging outside, rain lashing against the windows and the thunder overhead. But inside the small cabin, everything seemed to have gone very still. Charlotte was too aware of every point of contact between them, Carl's knee brushing against hers, his shoulder touching hers where they both leaned against the wall, the way his eyes kept dropping to her lips.

"Charlotte," Carl said softly, and there was something in his voice that made her breath catch, eyes holding something uneasy.

"What?"

He seemed to be struggling with something, his jaw working as if he was trying to find the right words. "I..."

Another flash of lightning lit up the cabin, followed by thunder so loud and sudden that Charlotte couldn't help the small whimper that escaped her lips. She immediately clamped her hand over her mouth, mortified, but not before Carl saw her fear. In the stark moonlight, Charlotte saw something in Carl's expression shift, the want and confusion were still there, but now mixed with something softer, more protective.

"Charlotte," he whispered again, and there was a gentleness in his voice she hadn't heard since they were kids.

He moved then, so quickly that Charlotte barely had time to process what was happening. One moment they were sitting side by side, and the next his hands were in her wet hair and his mouth was on hers.

The kiss was nothing like what she might have expected from Carl Grimes. It wasn't gentle or tentative or sweet. It was desperate and hungry and full of weeks of suppressed tension. His lips were warm and soft but insistent, and when Charlotte gasped in surprise, he deepened the kiss, his tongue sliding against hers in a way that made her forget all about the storm outside.

For a very short moment, Charlotte was too shocked to respond. But then something inside her snapped, and she was kissing him back just as desperately, her hands fisting in his soaked shirt, pulling him closer. All of the anger and frustration and confusion of the past weeks seemed to all tumble out of her mouth into the kiss, transforming into something else entirely.

Carl's hands moved from her hair to her face, then down to her waist, pulling her against him until she was practically in his lap. Charlotte could feel the rapid beat of his heart against her chest, could taste the salty rain on his lips, could feel the way he trembled slightly when she bit down gently on his lower lip.

The kiss seemed to go on forever and not nearly long enough. When they finally broke apart, both breathing hard, Charlotte could see her own confusion and want reflected in Carl's eye.

"I-" he started, his voice rough.

"Don't," she said quickly, scrambling away from him, eyes wide as she looked like she just committed the worst crime. "Don't say anything."

Carl's hands fell to his sides, and Charlotte immediately missed the warmth of his touch, and she hated herself for it. "But—"

"I said don't." Charlotte wrapped her arms around herself, trying to ignore the way her lips still tingled from the feeling of his. "That was... that was nothing. It didn't mean anything."

Carl stared at her for a long moment, and Charlotte could see the hurt flash across his face before he managed to hide it. "...Right. Nothin'."

"We're cold and wet and scared, and people do stupid things when they're scared," Charlotte continued, more convince herself thany him.

"Stupid," Carl repeated quietly.

"Yeah. Very fuckin' stupid." Charlotte couldn't quite meet his eyes. "It won't happen again."

"No," Carl agreed, but his voice sounded hollow, unsure. "It won't."

They sat in an uncomfortable silence after that, the space between them feeling both too big and too small at the same time. The storm continued to rage outside, but the walkers seemed to have moved on, their moans fading into the distance.

Charlotte found herself stealing glances at Carl when she thought he wasn't looking, noting the way his jaw was tense, the way he kept running his hands through his hair, the way he seemed to be very carefully not looking at her. Her lips still felt swollen from the kiss, and every time she caught his scent, salty rain and soap and something uniquely him, she had to fight the urge to close the distance between them again.

After what felt like hours, the rain finally began to let up. The thunder moved off into the distance, and the harsh drumming on the roof turned into a steady patter.

"I think it's safe to move," Carl said, his voice carefully neutral, blank like he wouldn't know what to do if it showed a hint of emotion.

"Good," Charlotte replied, though she made no move to get up. "The sooner we get back to Alexandria, the better."

"Right."

But neither of them moved. They sat there in the increasingly uncomfortable silence, both pretending that nothing had happened, both too aware that everything had changed.

Finally, Carl stood and shouldered his backpack. "Come on. We should get back before anyone sends out a search party, it's been like six hours"

Charlotte nodded and gathered her things, being very careful not to brush against Carl as they prepared to leave the cabin. The walk back to Alexandria was in almost complete silence, both of them lost in their own thoughts.

By the time they reached the gates, the sun was setting, painting the sky in shades of pink and gold. It was fascinating how many different colors it could turn into. Rick was waiting for them, relief clear on his face when he saw them approaching.

"Thank god," he said, pulling the gate open. "When that storm hit, we were worried you might have gotten caught in it."

"We found shelter," Carl said shortly. "An old cabin about three miles north of the cache site."

"Good thinking. Did you find the supplies?"

"Yeah, we got everything." Carl lifted his pack and held it out to his father. "Should be enough to last us a while."

Rick nodded, satisfied, taking the backpack and looking through the contents briefly. "Good work, both of you. Go get cleaned and warmed up. Dinner's in an hour."

As they walked through Alexandria's streets, Charlotte caught Carl looking at her out of the corner of her eye. When their gazes met, he looked away quickly, his cheeks flushing slightly.

"Carl," she said quietly as they reached the Grimes' house.

He paused on the front steps, looking back at her. "Yeah?"

For a moment, Charlotte thought about saying something, acknowledging what had happened, admitting that maybe it hadn't been as meaningless as she'd claimed. But then she saw the hope in his eyes, and something inside her panicked, doing what she always did, again, ran.

"Nothin'," she said instead, already starting to walk away

Carl's expression closed off again.

He disappeared into the house, leaving Charlotte walking alone on the street as the first stars began to appear overhead. She touched her lips with her fingertips, still feeling the ghost of his kiss, still tasting him on her tongue, it was weird. But that might not have been the word for it.

It had been nothing, she told herself. A moment of weakness, a reaction to stress and fear and closeness. It didn't mean anything, and it would never happen again.

But as she walked closer toward her own temporary house with Glenn, Charlotte couldn't shake the feeling that she was lying to herself. And worse, that Carl knew it too.

That night, as she lay in bed staring at the ceiling, Charlotte found herself replaying every moment of the kiss over and over again. The way Carl had looked at her in the lightning, the desperate hunger in his touch, the way he'd shook when she'd responded to him.

It had felt real in a way that nothing had felt real in years. And that terrified her more than any storm, any walker, any threat she'd ever faced.

Because if it was real, if what she'd felt in that moment was real, then everything she'd built her life around for the past five years was a lie.

And Charlotte wasn't ready to face that truth. Not yet.

Maybe not ever.