285chapter one: new beginnings.
I don't believe in miracles. Never did.
With what I've seen of the what the world has turned into, with the dead not staying dead, I'd say it's the polar opposite of a miracle.
A miracle would be if mom never got sick-if she never died, never turned. A miracle would be if my brother ever made it home from college, or if we'd seen any sign of him in the past three years since. A miracle would be if food fell from the sky to replenish our increasingly dwindling food supply.
A miracle would be anything in the world other than what is happening right now.
The brush thrashes angrily in every direction, their horrible growls closing in now. I came out here to look for supplies in town, but in the end it was them who found me.
The first of them breaks through the tree line-half rotted and missing its entire bottom jaw-but before it takes another step, I'm long gone. I'm fast, but unlike me, they never tire, and soon enough they're so close that I can smell their rotting hands as they reach for me.
I see my opening and lunge forward, tearing through a thin section of blackberry bushes. Bad idea. I come out on the other side and the ground gives out beneath me. I go tumbling down a steep hill, gravel digging into my skin and branches tearing at my face, until I finally reach the bottom, scraped up but somehow alive.
I push myself up on bloody elbows, meeting the dead eyes of a walker less than two feet away. I scramble back on my hands and knees, watching as it looks away from the dead, decaying deer it had been eating and stands, tripping on a long since greyed, tattered dress. It staggers forward as I frantically grab for a weapon-my brother's metal baseball bat. I make it to my feet just as the rotting smell hits me, and wham, blood splatters across my face as the thing falls to the ground, dead twice over.
The late summer air is thick and hot, just like Georgian summer is supposed to be, and I have to pant to catch my breath. Mom always used to say that the heat would kill us one day, but I never thought she'd be this right.
I stare up the incline, watching as walkers begin to cluster at it's peak, making the same mistake as me. The first goes tumbling but I'm gone before the rest can play follow the leader.
I run until I run out of woods and the growls and snarls of the herd begin to fade into the thick quiet of the evening. I've come to know that if you can keep out of their sight for long enough, they'd eventually stumble off in pursuit of a less evasive food source.
The faded green two-story I grew up in lies just beyond the tree line, and I leave the forest of the dead behind me.
After things got bad, mom and I moved everything upstairs and barricaded the stairs to secure the second story. The only way up now is the rope ladder that dangles precariously in the wind. It's not the most sturdy thing anymore, but it holds as I climb.
I'm careful moving up the root tiles until I reach the flat section of roof just outside my bedroom window. It's there that I collapse against the siding, swearing and out of breath, watching as the mindless infected wonder past the trees-the only thing between me and them being the seven foot fence that lines the yard.
I sit there and wonder what, or rather who, they used to be. It's a game my little sister likes to play-it makes her less scared, and it's not like there's a ton to do anymore. That one, in the torn pencil skirt and collared shirt, had probably been a CEO of some kind. And that one, in the torn sparkled dress, had probably been attending a fancy party she didn't know she wouldn't survive.
"You got blood on Cole's jacket."
Alice stands inside the half open window, forehead pressed up against the dirty glass as she stares curiously, breath fogging her reflection. She's my half sister, but she barely looks a thing like me. She's all green eyes and baby blonde hair while I have dark hair and even darker eyes.
I look down at the blood splattered cuff of Cole's jacket. It was his high school varsity jacket; a faded red thing with once white sleeves. It's still too big on me and doesn't fit quite right, but it was the last thing he gave me before he left for West Point. That, and it was the only thing that I had that a walker might not be able to bite through, or at least give me a fighting chance.
"Yeah, I know. I'll wash it." I say tiredly, pushing the window the rest of the way up and swinging my bruised legs inside. "How about you go pick us something good for dinner, huh? No vegetables. See if there's anything left that isn't expired."
She nods, grinning at the idea of food that isn't stale or expired, and hurries from the room. I'm sure that there can't be anything left that's still unexpired, but she's only ten, at least it gives her a job, something to do,-
Outside, someone screams.
It's so sudden that I'm almost certain I imagined it, but its followed by another half choked yell and a chorus of snarls that's so close I'd swear they were in my backyard. I freeze in place-I'm not exactly used to meeting people, hadn't even seen one in weeks-but I force myself to move, swapping the baseball bat for the machete that hung on the hook by the window.
Alice materializes silently in the doorway, eyes wide.
"Go to you room and lock both doors. Don't come out until I come get you."
She nods, her delicate features drawn into a serious frown, and she runs from the room, leaving me to crawl back out the window.
Huh. The herd from earlier made some new friends.
There are two people-maybe a father and son, surrounded by at least ten walkers with more stumbling out of the woods, drawn by the noise. They only have knives, and although they fight well, the walkers are closing in. I'm not sure what I should do, I only know that I don't want to watch these people die.
"Hey! Up here!"
All things considered, maybe it isn't my best idea, but it's the one I'm going with.
They turn towards the sound of my voice and I catch a glimpse of their faces. The man is old, probably in his late sixties, with thinning blonde hair and a limp. The other is much younger, probably a bit older than me, with dark hair tucked under a sheriffs hat.
I make it to the ground in record speed, unlocking the gate before ripping it open just to meet the eyes of a walker so close I can touch it. I backpedal quickly-it's at least six feet tall and built like a quarterback, or was, before it's left arm and half its face went missing. It staggers after me, letting out a low growl. I back into Alice's trampoline, and then climb up quickly, using the height to get an advantage on the thing. It lumbers straight for me and I drive the blade down as it does, burying the machete in it's head.
By the time it's dead, two more have stumbled into the yard. I jump down and yank the machete from its head with a sickening squelching sound. I need to get the gate closed, but I've lost sight of the people. But I haven't heard any more screaming, so I figure they're still alive.
The first walker is easy-once a girl about my age, with a bullet hole ridden chest and dark blood dripping from her broken jaw. I kill it before it can get close to me, and are about to reach the second when it trips suddenly, falling right into me, teeth snapping, when a bullet berries itself between its eyes.
My head jerks up to see the boy with the sheriff's hat standing in the gateway. For a moment, I'm not sure whether to be grateful for the gun or scared he might use it against me. He's sweating, out of breath and covered in blood, but when his eyes meet mine, he nods once.
Someone screams; an agonizing, half choked sound that imbeds itself in my head. It's the man-a walker has got him by the shoulder, ripping, and more walkers are coming, drawn to the noise. There's no saving him-the man is dead, not yet but he would be, one way or another. The boy seems to understand this too, because for the second time, a single bullet hits its mark.
And then he's running towards me, back through the gate with walkers on his heels. I duck behind the gate, letting him draw the immediate walkers away so I can close the gate.
Only two make it through, but they're fast and aggressive, probably freshly turned. The boy, whatever his name is, doesn't look like he's in great shape; exhausted and road worn, but he holds his own, baiting them on until he reaches the porch and gets some height on them.
I reach him just as he kills the first, with the second right on his heels. It trips over the dead walker, sending it forward, right at his feet. It gets its hands on his shoes and pulls hard, yanking him off the edge of the porch. He scrambles away on his hands and knees through the garden, but the thing has got him by the ankle now.
I lunge forward, grabbing the boys gun from the dirt where it fell. It's different than my mom's gun, bigger and bulkier, but it looks to work the same way. I aim carefully at the rotting thing just as it snaps its jaws inches from his feet, hold my breath and, boom, it falls, dead, and then it's finally over.
I look at the semi-automatic gun in my hand, at the dead man past the gate, the herd of walkers that nearly killed me, and the boy laying half dead in my garden-and wonder how my day went and got so screwed up so fast.
But then again, I'm not dead, so I figure it's a win.
Before the boy can stand, or even move, I've got his own gun pointed at him. "Don't even think about trying anything."
He breathes his response. "Yes, ma'am."
I lower the gun, fiddling with it until I can figure out how to take out the clip, pocket it and toss the empty gun back to him. He stands slowly, holding his hands out in surrender as he does so.
He looks me over once, and seems to decide something. "I'm Carl."
As the adrenaline fades, I realize I'm left with a complete stranger-the first person other than my sister that you've talked to in months, and suddenly I'm hesitant. "Jasper." I force myself to say, unable to keep the slight suspicion out of my voice.
"I'm not gonna hurt you, I swear." He says, reading my expression, and although I think he's sincere, it isn't me that I'm worried about.
So instead, I tilt your head to the side, eyeing him carefully. "Don't be offended if I don't automatically believe you."
He almost smiles. "Fair enough."
We leave the walker's bodies where they fell. There are too many outside the gate to get rid of them right now. We'd have to be quiet and wait a day before they'd finally wander off. Instead, I show him upstairs.
"And you've been here since the beginning?" He's asking, looking out at the fenced yard, the walkers beyond the fence, and the darkening forest beyond them. "I wish we could've stayed at my house. We were too close to the city."
"It hasn't been easy." I push your bedroom window the rest of the way up and swing one leg through. "But yeah, we did okay."
"We?"
I climb the rest of the way through and wait as he climbs in after. "Me and my little sister. She's ten."
As if on cue, her head pops out from behind the wall. Speak of the tiny devil and she shall appear.
"Hi." She chirps the words, staring curiously at Carl. Unlike me, she hadn't even seen another person since mom died, and had been locked up in here since the beginning.
Back turned to Carl, I give her a hard look. "What did I tell you? I said stay in your room until I come get you." Still, I can't really blame her.
She ignores me, of course, still staring at Carl. "I'm Alice Dare." She declares it proudly. "What's your name?"
Carl smiles, and by the look of it it's the first in a while. He's got tiny dimples around his mouth that look out of place surrounded by blood and grime, but they're cute all the same. "I'm Carl. Carl Grimes. It's nice to meet you, Alice."
Alice grins, thrilled by her new friend.
"You know, you kinda look like hell." I look him over, from the frayed sheriffs hat with a bullet hole through the side, down to his blood caked shoes.
He looks down at himself. "Yeah, I guess I do."
"We, uh, got running water. It's well water, so you probably shouldn't drink it, but the shower works." I grab a handful of my brother's clothes from his room opposite mine and toss them at Carl before Alice gets carried away. "Bathroom's down the hall."
When he returns a few minutes later, he's a new person.
He's got dark hair that hangs just above his jaw, and freckles across his cheeks that I hadn't noticed before. He looks younger than I first thought, but he's got that way about him that people seem to have nowadays-and offhandedly I wonder what he's lived through out there.
He finds me on the floor by the fireplace in what used to be my mom's bedroom. Alice is in the other room, picking out cans for dinner, and I'm glad I have a minute to talk to him freely.
"So what's your story?"
He nods like he was expecting to be asked. That's the norm now, what's your name and how are you still alive.
"We were at a prison…" he says, going on to tell you about the prison they made their home, and how when it finally fell it took everyone else down with it. "After, I couldn't find anyone else. I've been on my own since then, a few weeks I think, until I met Jack yesterday. And now I'm here."
"I'm sorry about him, by the way." I can't stop remembering the way he screamed as the walker tore into his shoulder.
He ducks his head, nodding a thanks. "I just met him. He was a good guy, though." He brushes off his jeans, picks up his hat and puts it back on his head.
"What's it like out there?" I steal myself to ask, feeling sheltered.
Sure, I'd probably been through the whole town a dozen times over, not to mention a few of the neighboring ones, but I'd never gone far. He tells you he's been through most of Georgia and South Carolina, and my last hope that things were better in other places finally dies.
He hesitates then shrugs, shaking his head in a you-don't-want-to-know kind of way. "A lot of walkers." He says finally. "Not a lot of people."
Alice twirls through the doorway, brandishing not three, but four cans from the stockpile we kept in the hall closet. With how fast the food is running out, I know it's too much, but I let it slide. I could've bet money on what cans she'd choose, they were always the same; baked beans, spaghetti-o's, and two cans of peaches.
I can't make myself regret taking so much food because it's the best we've eaten in months, even stale. Alice peppers Carl with questions the entire time, ranging from asking his favorite color to asking if she can shoot his gun. He answers her dutifully, unfazed and amused. It's only after that he tells me he used to have a little sister too.
"It's so boring here.." Alice says faintly, on the edge of falling asleep in my lap. "Carl should stay forever."
I carry her to bed a few minutes later and come back to Carl leaning against the wall, staring at the fireplace. "Sorry, she can get kinda stir crazy."
"How long have you been taking care of her?" He asks, and I know what he's really asking-how long have we been on our own.
I hesitate, eventually deciding to give him the short version. "Just us and my mom growing up. She died two years ago…my is brother yet to be found."
He nods. "I lost my mom too." He glances down, then looks at me. "You know, I haven't thanked you yet. I don't think I would've made it out of there alive without you."
"How about we call it even?" I look up at him, trying to see more than I can; trying to see the future; if he's good or bad, if I'd regret helping him or not. I ultimately decide that what's done is already done. "Just don't make me regret it."
"I won't."
I lean back against the side of the bed and watch the flames lick up the logs in the fireplace. "At least we're still alive then, huh? That's gotta count for something. Even if it's just so I can eat stale spaghetti-o's with some dude who almost died in my garden."
He chokes on a laugh and nods, clinking his can of expired peaches against my can of stale spaghetti-o's. "Cheers to that."
a/n: big surprise: editing is endless. currently redoing chapter one of like sixty something, so I should be done by this time 2022. I really hope I'm kidding. thanks for reading, xx.
