Chapter 20

Charlotte's mind raced like a whirlwind of leaves, tossed and turned by the wind, unable to settle on one point. She was almost shocked when her grip tightened on her knife. Shaking her head before re-holstering it. And taking a deep, silent breath.

"Hello?" Carl's steady and firm voice called out, stalking closer and closer towards the tree she was behind. The anxiety of the weapon in his hands that she knew all too well was crushing. She closed her eyes before slowly walking from behind the tree, she heard a gasp and then.

BANG.

Charlotte's mouth fell open at the sharp sensation coursing through her body. Her jaw going slack as she reached up to her stomach, a trembling hand gripping at her now bloody top.

"Did–Did you just....shoot me?" She slurred with drooping eyes.

Carl was frozen.

His rifle was still raised, smoke curling from the barrel, his face a mask of absolute horror. For a moment that stretched like eternity, neither of them moved. Charlotte swayed on her feet, her hand coming away from her stomach slick with blood, dark in the moonlight.

"Oh god," Carl whispered, the rifle falling from his hands to clatter on the forest floor. "Oh god, Charlotte, I—I didn't mean—I thought you were—"

Charlotte's legs gave out, and she collapsed to her knees, one hand pressed against the wound while the other reached out instinctively toward Carl. "You shot me," she repeated in a soft whisper, her voice filled with disbelief more than anger.

Carl was moving then, dropping to the ground beside her, his hands hovering over her body like he was afraid to touch her. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I thought—when you came out from behind the tree with the knife, I thought you were gonna—"

"Gonna what?" Charlotte's voice was getting weaker, but her eyes were still blazing with hurt and confusion. "Attack you? Kill you? Jesus, Carl, it's me."

"I know, I know, but it was dark and I was scared and—" Carl's voice cracked, and Charlotte could see tears streaming down his face. "Let me see it. Let me look at the wound."

Charlotte reluctantly moved her hand away, hissing in pain as the action sent fresh fire through her abdomen. Carl's flashlight illuminated the damage, a bloody patch in her lower left side, just above her hip. Bleeding heavily but not immediately life-threatening if they could get it stopped.

"Okay," Carl said, trying to keep his voice steady even as his hands shook. "Okay, it's not—it missed the vital organs, I think. But we need to get you back to Alexandria. We need to get you to Denise."

"No." Charlotte's voice was firm despite her obvious pain. "No doctors. No questions."

"What?! Charlotte, you've been shot. You need medical attention."

"I need you to stop the bleeding and help me get back to my room without anyone seeing." Charlotte's eyes were hard, determined even through the pain. "If people find out about this, about me being out here..."

Carl understood immediately. If anyone discovered that Charlotte had been sneaking out of Alexandria for weeks, that she'd found a way through their defenses, that Carl had shot her in some kind of confrontation in the woods. it would confirm every suspicion Rick and the others had about her being dangerous, untrustworthy.

"You could die," Carl said quietly.

"I could die from a lot of things." Charlotte tried to shift position and immediately regretted it, a sharp gasp escaping her lips. "But I won't survive them deciding I'm too much of a risk to keep around."

Carl stared at her for a long moment, conflict warring across his features. Finally, he nodded. "What do you need me to do?"

"Your shirt," Charlotte said, her voice hoarse. "I need something to put pressure on this."

Carl immediately pulled off his flannel, leaving him in just a thin t-shirt in the cool night air. Charlotte guided his hands to press the fabric against her wound, both of them wincing when she cried out softly at the pressure.

"I'm sorry," Carl whispered again. "Charlotte, I'm so sorry. I never meant—"

"I know." Charlotte's voice was strained but softer now. "I know you didn't mean to. You were scared, you didn't know it was me. I get it."

"No, you don't get it." Carl's voice was rough with self-recrimination. "I've been following you. For the past week, I've been watching you sneak out, trying to figure out what you were doing. And tonight I decided to confront you, and I was so convinced you were gonna run, gonna disappear and never come back..."

"So you brought a gun?" Despite everything, there was a hint of Charlotte's usual sarcasm in her voice.

"I always bring a gun when I leave Alexandria. You know that." Carl's hands were steady on the makeshift bandage now, applying consistent pressure. "But when I saw you with the knife, when you came out of the shadows like that... for a second, you looked like..."

"Like what? Like a Savior?"

Carl's silence was answer enough.

Charlotte closed her eyes, feeling something break inside her chest that had nothing to do with the bullet wound. "Right. Of course."

"That's not...I didn't mean—"

"It's exactly what you meant." Charlotte's voice was flat now, emotionless. "Even you, Carl. Even after everything, when it came down to it, you saw exactly what everyone else sees."

"Charlotte, no—"

"Help me up," she said, struggling to get her feet under her. "I need to get back before I bleed out in your secret girlfriend's hideaway."

Carl wanted to argue, wanted to explain, but Charlotte was right, they needed to move. He helped her to her feet, keeping one arm around her waist to support her weight while maintaining pressure on the wound with his other hand.

The journey back to Alexandria was a nightmare. Charlotte was weakening with every step, leaning more and more heavily on Carl's support. Several times she stumbled and nearly brought them both down, and Carl had to bite back his suggestions that they just go straight to the infirmary.

Getting through the gap in the wall was the worst part. Charlotte had to practically crawl through the opening, and by the time she emerged on the other side, her face was gray with pain and blood loss.

"Almost there," Carl whispered as they made their slow way through Alexandria's empty streets. "Just a little further."

Charlotte's room felt impossibly high as Carl helped her climb the oak tree, supporting her weight when her strength gave out completely. Getting through the window was another ordeal that left both of them gasping and Charlotte barely conscious.

"Okay," Carl said, settling Charlotte on her bed and immediately going to her dresser to find more cloth to replace his blood-soaked shirt. "I'm gonna clean this up and bandage it properly. But Charlotte, if you start showing signs of an infection, if you get a fever or—"

"I'll be fine," Charlotte mumbled, though she looked anything but fine. Her skin was pale and clammy, her breathing shallow.

Carl worked quickly and efficiently, cleaning the wound as best he could and wrapping it tightly with strips torn from one of Charlotte's spare shirts. It wasn't professional medical care, but it would have to do.

"The bullet went clean through," he said as he worked. "That's good. Nothing left inside to cause problems. But you're gonna need to stay in bed for a few days at least."

"Can't. People will ask questions."

"Then we'll figure out a cover story." Carl's voice was firm. "Food poisoning, stomach bug, something. But you're not getting up and pretending nothing happened."

Charlotte was quiet for a long moment, her eyes closed and her breathing slowly evening out as the immediate crisis passed. When she spoke again, her voice was barely above a whisper.

"Why were you following me?"

Carl's hands stilled on the bandage. "Because I was worried about you."

"Worried I was planning to escape?"

"Worried you were gonna do something stupid because you were hurting." Carl's voice was soft, honest. "After what my dad said, after our fight... I could see you pulling away from everyone. And then Glenn mentioned to my dad that you'd been acting strange, distant. I was afraid you were gonna disappear one night and I'd never see you again."

"So you decided to spy on me."

"I decided to make sure you were safe."

Charlotte opened her eyes then, looking up at Carl's face in the dim light from her bedside lamp. He looked awful. Pale, shaken, his t-shirt stained with her blood.

"And when you found me tonight? What were you planning to do?"

Carl was quiet for a long moment. "I don't know. Talk to you, I guess. Try to convince you not to leave."

"I wasn't leaving."

"I know that now. But in the moment, when I saw you with all your supplies, your little camp set up... it looked like you were preparing for something."

"I was preparing for a few hours of peace," Charlotte said bitterly. "A few hours where I didn't have to pretend I belonged somewhere I clearly don't."

Carl finished with the bandage and sat back on his heels, studying her face. "You do belong here."

"Do I? Because your first thought when you saw me tonight was to shoot me."

The words hit Carl like a punch, eyes softening apologetically. "Charlotte—"

"I'm tired, Carl." Charlotte's voice was getting weaker again, exhaustion and blood loss taking their toll. "I'm tired of fighting for a place in a world that doesn't want me. I'm tired of trying to prove I'm something other than what everyone thinks I am."

"I want you here," Carl said desperately. "I've wanted you here since the day you came back."

"But you still shot me."

The simple statement hung between them, impossible to argue with or explain away. Carl had shot her. In a moment of fear and confusion, he had pulled the trigger on the person he claimed to care about most in the world.

"It was an acc–." he sighed, shaking his head. "I know."

Charlotte's eyes were drifting closed, her body finally succumbing to exhaustion. "Just... stay until I fall asleep? In case something goes wrong?"

Carl nodded, settling into the chair beside her bed. "I'm not going anywhere."

As Charlotte's breathing evened out into sleep, Carl sat in the darkness and stared at his hands, hands that had just bandaged the wound he'd caused, hands that had held a gun and pulled a trigger and nearly killed the only person in the world who made him feel like he might actually be worth something.

He'd wanted to protect her. Instead, he'd become just another threat she had to survive.

And Carl wasn't sure either of them would ever be able to move past that.