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M E G A N

As Carl and I trudge along the shady dirt path, I use all of my might to stop myself from coughing. The fear of attracting the dead is the only thing giving me that type of strength.

A gross feverish feeling has completely engrossed me ever since Carl woke me up. My body constantly aches as I try to stop myself from shivering.

The boy takes notice but manages to stop himself from saying something, despite his previous attempts. He knows that we're just moments away from getting to the armory that will grant us our very own weapons of protection.

"Let's stop here," He breathes out, as I hear his boots come to a stop from beside me.

"Why?" I ask as I turn my head slightly over my shoulder to face him.

"Look at you," He mutters quietly. "Let's go into that neighborhood and find a house for the rest of the morning. We need rest."

"I'm fine, Carl." My voice cracks from the dryness in my throat. "We can stay in the armory when we get there."

"At the rate we've been moving, we won't get there for another twenty minutes. We're slow." The boy says. I'm assuming he means that I'm the one slowing us down. "You won't be able to last another ten."

"Fine." I say as I barely breathe through my stuffed nose into the crisp early-morning air. The sunlight cracks through the trees as I look toward the neighborhood Carl is talking about.

The boy takes a few steps before stopping and turning his head slightly, waiting for me to follow behind. The both of us start walking toward the vacant neighborhood. Every house except a handful is covered in blood splatters or is charred from a fire.

We both scan the area for the house that looks the most untouched.

Our quiet footsteps crunch through the dewy grass of what used to be perfectly-manicured front lawns. The overgrown grass makes its way over the ankle of my boot and tickles the exposed skin on my leg.

"Hey," Carl whispers in my direction. "What about that one?" He points his finger.

The house he has in mind is painted a pure white, with dark green shudders enveloping the windows, that surprisingly remain intact. Although the wood has clearly rotted, and the door has a few scratch marks on it, the place seems like it would hold its own against a few of the undead.

I nod in agreement.

We both cross the street, the slight echoing of our boots against the cement is the sound that breaks the absolute stillness of the abandoned neighborhood.

"I'll clear it." Carl says as we make our way onto the front yard of the house. "You stay back."

"What? Why?" My harsh whisper almost turns into a sudden shout.

"Because you've never cleared a tight space before." He huffs with his groggy voice.

"Actually yes we have. The infirmary?" I bring up, recalling the first few moments the boy and I met.

"That was one room that had zero walkers." He retorts, making the O shape with his hand.

"Fine, I'll wait out here." I roll my eyes and lean back against the wall beside the front door. "Don't take too long."

I watch as the boy takes a few steps back before gently yet quickly flinging the front door open. Something blocks the door before it can slam against the wall.

We both look at each other, not knowing what could be blocking it.

Carl's wide stance and sudden concern showcases how serious this boy is about going into survival mode. With the pistol in his hand, he slowly peeks his head in the doorway and takes a look around.

He lets out a sigh of relief and lowers his gun a little. Bending down, he picks up something and reveals—to me—the scraggly blanket that was caught underneath it.

"Okay." The boy says, tossing the blanket on the porch. "Wait here." He says as he eyes the rest of the room.

I sniffle into the sleeve of my jacket. "You got it."

Carl enters the house in complete silence and hyperawareness. After all this time, he hasn't forgotten what he's doing out here.

When he's no longer in my vision, I break my gaze away from the front door and look out into the neighborhood. Most of these houses have two stories, such a thing I'd rarely gotten the chance to see growing up.

The stale air and the quiet ambiance of this clearly Georgian neighborhood remains more crisp than I remember before. The serenity might be due to the calming lifelessness in the air.

It could also just be the neighborhood itself.

Although rundown, it's not hard to picture what life was like here before the outbreak. I even used to do it all the time when we'd pass streets like these on a long car ride home.

I take a glance to my left and slightly prop myself up from my stance against the white wooden wall. I shiver a bit as I look down the street at the rest of the houses. Sure enough, at the end of the neighborhood lies a cul-de-sac.

I huff to myself, humbled to believe that it took the end of the world—the end of human life, even—for myself to live my dream of taking residence in a neighborhood that has a cul-de-sac.

A sudden dizziness knocks me back into my position on the wall. I've only been able to fight this feeling for so long.

Ringing in my ears takes over my senses as I shrink down into a curled up position on the porch. I sit with my back against the wall, my knees pulled up to my chest and my head in my hands.

Moments of stinging silence pass as I try to tune out the world around me.

"You okay?" A sharp voice cuts through the ringing. I look up and the brightness of the sunlight causes my eyes to squint.

Once my eyes adjust to the light, I see the disappointed face of my travel partner. I can't
tell if he's disappointed in my physical state or my obliviousness to the dangers of not keeping my eyes peeled in this new world.

"Yeah," I rub the burning feeling out of my eyes. "I'm fine."

"Come on," The boy huffs. "Let's get you inside." He holds his hand out toward me.

We interlock thumbs and he slowly pulls me to my feet. He places my arm over his shoulder and tightens his arm around my waist, keeping me steady.

Carl walks us into the house. I barely take a look around before he begins walking right toward a set of stairs.

I can't even begin to express my growing concern before the boy proceeds up the first steps, shifting most of my weight onto him. He pulls my arm further over his shoulder and leans his right hip further into my left side.

Carl pulls us both up the stairs with minimal struggle. It can't be easy for the boy to single-handedly carry two entire people up to the second floor.

"Here." Carl manages to say.

He shakes me off of his side and nearly lets me drop to the floor before tightening his grip on my upper arm.

I turn my head to see where he is placing me, a folded blanket and carefully-placed pillow comes into my view. Seemingly, Carl crafted a makeshift bed for me near the top of the staircase, knowing I wouldn't be able to make it too far on my own.

After he sits me down as gently as he can, he tugs on the sleeve of my jacket.

"Come on, Megan." He mutters. The boy sits down on his knees as he nods his head at the zipper.

I unzip my jacket and he tugs at my left sleeve. He grips my left arm and pulls it out. Once my left arm is free, I manage to wriggle my right arm out of the other.

The jacket rolls down my back and falls to the floor, leaving me in the oversized long-sleeve shirt that Beth lent me.

Carl takes my jacket into his grip before folding it once and placing it over the dusty pillow.

"Here." He says, disappointment lingering in his tone.

He grabs the back of my head with one hand and pushes my shoulder down with the other, laying my head down on top of my jacket.

"God," The boy says. "What the hell happened to you?"

"I do—" I try to say, but a sudden cough interrupts my sentence. I muffle it with my shirt sleeve. "I don't know."

"I think there was something bad going around the prison before we left." Carl says, sitting back against the railing of the staircase with his hands folded over his knees. "And I bet you have it."

"What do you mean?" I say, barely hearing my own voice as I struggle to speak.

"That weird kid had it." Carl says as he shakes his head, looking down. His face no longer in view as his sheriff's hat covers it.

"What weird k—?" I start to say until the realization hits me. My sudden pause catches Carl's attention and he changes his glance from the floor to myself. "Patrick?"

"Yeah," The boy blatantly says. "I saw him freak out about being sick before he bolted out of story time."

"Oh my god." I groaned. My hoarse voice barely audible. "I drank after him, Carl."

Carl shakes his head.

"It was before he got sick." I say as I roll my eyes and face toward the ceiling. Avoiding the disappointed look on Carl's face puts strain on my back as I shimmy my body.

"Megan," The concern lingering in his voice raises my anxiety about my sickness. "He was really sick."

"I know." I breathe out, a whistle emits from my throat as my tight chest wheezes.

Carl and I sit in silence for a few moments before he uses the railing to pull himself to his feet. I look over at him before I see him start for the staircase.

"What are you doing?" My voice cracks out into the silent house.

"I'm going look for medicine. Maybe there's a first aid kit or something." He says, kneeling at my side. "I'll go through all the cabinets and see what I can find. Stay here."

I remain silent as the boy stands to his feet and quietly makes his way down the stairs.

The pillow, although stiff, seems to caress the back of my head just right. A buzzing, white noise emits itself within the depths of my own mind, as if to manipulate my body into falling asleep. I try to fight whatever gravity that tugs down on my eyelids, but my own mind soon succumbs to the weakness as I feel myself slip away.

☆

The gentle clinking sound rumbles from the staircase beneath me as my body fights to wake itself up. My worsening condition leaves my whole body sore when I roll myself onto my side.

"Carl." I mutter. The word comes out as a gust of breath under the all of the shuffling the boy is doing downstairs.

"Carl!"

The shuffling suddenly stops from downstairs, and silence lingers for a moment before I feel gentle footsteps thudding against the steps on the staircase.

Carl appears up the top of the staircase, a blank look resting on his face. No emotion is left to be read in his expression.

"How long was I out?" I ask as the boy takes a few steps before kneeling down next to me.

"You fell asleep yesterday morning." He huffs. "I had to keep checking if you were breathing. Thought I might be in this alone." His tone drips of disappointment.

"What are you doing down the—ere?" I breathe out as a cough forces its way out of my throat.

"I'm setting up a noise-maker at the bottom of the stairs. It's just a few empty cans and some string." He says, putting his hand on his knee and feeling my forehead with the back of his rough hand. "So that you'll hear if something gets in."

"Why woul—"

"I'm going to the armory tonight." Carl says, taking his hand off of my forehead. "By myself. We need the weapons."

"No, Carl." I start as I try to take my head off of the pillow. "Let me co—"

"You can't even sit up, Megan." The boy breathes, lacking his usual tone of disappointment. His voice almost sounds remorseful.

"I'll go by myself and bring us back some weapons. It's just a twenty minute walk both ways, I'll be okay." His reassuring tone doesn't make me feel any better because the boy is usually overconfident in his dumb decisions.

"No, C—" I start as I finally find the strength to sit up.

"I left you some food," He says, pointing to the space on the floor next to me. I shift my gaze to see a few cans of sweetened fruit as well as some crackers. "I found it downstairs."

He turns to the side and begins digging in his pack. "Take this."

A water bottle gently crinkles as Carl takes it out of his pack. His other hand reaches in and pulls out a box with a little green pill on the cover.

"Acetaminophen," I breathe out. "Right?" My time in the prison commissary is to thank for my slight knowledge of over-the-counter pills.

He takes the green pill out of the box before laying it flat on his palm and stretching his hand out toward me.

"Yea, the box said it helps with a fever. You definitely have one. Take it." He says as I make an effort to grab the bottle.

I move my arm to grab the bottle, and instead, my shaky hand barely makes its way off my lap.

"God—here," He says, "Open up." The boy scoffs.

Holding my breath, I open my mouth after looking at him in confusion. The boy tosses the—probably expired—pill into the back of my mouth before bringing the bottle of water up to meet my lips.

His other hand goes to the back of my neck to stop my head from tilting back too far. I tilt my head back and slowly take a swig of water into my dry throat as the pill roughly makes its way down.

Drinking the water was too much for my new symptom: shortness of breath.

After a few gulps, I quickly became too lightheaded. Those few breathless seconds immediately cost me whatever stability I'd built up. Using whatever strength I have to catch a breath, my body decides to push the bottle away and let itself slump backwards.

"Here." Carl says before quickly stopping my head from hitting the floor. The word comes out muffled, as well as the world around him. His forearm lies behind my neck as he fumbles around with my pillow from under me.

Reality feels faint as my vision goes in and out of my control. A harsh, prominent ringing clouds my brain and it is the only thing I can focus on.

I feel the rest of my back touch the hard floor as the boy lays me down. This time, the pillow is propped up against something, and my head now lies at an upward angle.

I focus on steadying my breath as my vision slowly makes it way back. A concerned-looking Carl hovers over me, quickly switching his gaze between both of my eyes.

"Hey," His muffled voice breaks through the sound barriers created by my ringing ears. "Megan!"

My body instantly craves the stability it once had. Its weak hands pat around for something to grab onto. I feel nothing but the bundled up blanket until my hand lands its grip on the bony upper arm of my travel partner.

A breath slowly creeps its way into my throat.

"Carl," I manage to say. The second my voice breaks out, the ringing in my ears vanishes, and the room is filled with an intense silence. "I'm okay." I say, squeezing my eyes shut. "I'm okay, now."

"Just breathe." The worried look on the boy's face never halters as he removes his arm from under my neck, causing my weak hand to fall off of it.

Kneeling attentively at my side, the boy carefully watches my every move, as if I could possibly turn into a walker before I even die. The sound of my slow, labored breathing is the only noise filling the house.

My eyes wander all over him. His chest, his arms, his neck, his face. Every inch of the boy seems tense at my expense.

Catching my breath, I look up to the ceiling and just wonder about how I even got here. Hours ago, I was safe. I was behind several walls, I had several people, plenty of food, a community, even.

Now, I feel as though I'm on the verge of life and death. Behind the thin walls of an unfortified house. The one thing I gained from this, is someone who cares.

Carl's disappointed facade and infallible sternness are nowhere to be seen as the boy hovers over me. His expression almost fills all of my senses up with the panic radiating from him.

The boy would never admit it, but he cares. Carl cares for the prisoner he was forced to grow accustomed to. He cares about the useless, weak, girl he was forced to take his work shifts with.

He cares.

☆

Night falls and the gentle beams of the golden sunset cease to linger through the moving curtains. The house remains darker than I've ever been conscious to see.

Carl and I sit in the hallway, leaning against the railing of the staircase. The boy'd reluctantly agreed to wait a few more days for me to get better and be able to go to the armory with him.

He's been keeping me company in between my states of unconsciousness. Every time I awake, I feel either slightly more or slightly less feverish. It's a guessing game.

Groggily, I actually manage to laugh at something Carl says.

"Wait—I have a question." I say, crossing my legs.

"Shoot."

"You went to story time?" I asked him with a puzzled look on my face. The boy's always made such a fuss about it being for little kids.

"No, I—"

"Well, you said that you saw Patrick run out of storytime when he got sick." I explain myself. "I saw him too, but I was in the courtyard. What's your excuse?"

"I went to see what it was all about. I knew there was more to it than just a children's book." The boy huffs.

"What do you mean?" My scratchy voice echoes a bit through the hallway.

"The whole thing was some kind of coverup," He sighs. "Carol was teaching all of the kids how to use weapons."

"Oh."

"Yeah," The boy says as he shakes his head. "I think it's admirable that someone's at least trying to talk some sense into those dumbass kids." Carl grunts.

"That's not very nice." I huff. Even Carl can tell that I want to laugh at his rude remark.

"It's the truth." He breathes into a loose smile that quickly fades. "Now I have a question, for you."

I let out a sigh. "Shoot."

"Now that we're out of the prison and all," He says sheepishly under his breath, avoiding eye contact with me. "How did you end up in there?"

"Carl." I groan.

"You don't have to tell me if you don't want to." He raises his hands up in defense.

"Do you want the long version or the short version?" I offer. His eyes quickly meet my gaze from just underneath his overgrown bangs.

"I mean," He shrugs. "We do have all the time in the world. That's the beauty of the end of it." I notice the boy fumbling with his fingers as his arms remain wrapped around his knees.

"You're getting the short version." I bluntly state.

I expect the boy to respond with one of his usual witty remarks, but he instead remains silent. Quite a few seconds pass while I wait for his response, but instead, he just patiently waits for me to start talking.

"The system."

"The what?"

"That's how I ended up in there." I say in a defeated tone. "Circumstance, the system, the situation."

"So you're saying it was unfair?" The boy tries to ask but it comes out as an underwhelmed statement. "That's all you're going to tell me?"

"Yeah."

"Fine." The boy says, pushing his hands on his knees and standing to his feet. "I'll take what I can get."

"Where are you going?" I ask the boy, only being able to see his pale skin under the dim moonlight circulating through the windows.

"To sleep." He says, reaching down and grabbing a can of pears off of the floor. "But before I do, you need to eat and drink."

He removes his knife from his waistband and stabs the rim of can with it. It takes a good bit of time as well as a lot of screeching, echoing noise as the dull blade scratches against the tin can.

Carl hands the open can of pears to me and I grab it. My weak arm nearly lets the can drop to the ground, but I manage to gather the strength to hold it up.

"What would I do without you?" I sarcastically ask the boy. A thank you would've been better but exchanging nice words isn't a thing that Carl and I ever do.

"You'd be in the same situation." He shrugs. "Nearly dying, but you'd still at the prison and you would probably infect everyone else."

"Okay, smart-ass." I roll my eyes.

"I'll be in that room." He turns his head and points down the hallway before taking his sheriff's hat off of his head and holding it at his side. "Get something in your stomach before you sleep. We actually have a long day ahead of us this time."

Carl's body leans to the side as he uses his boot to gently nudge a full water bottle that lies on the floor. The bottle rolls toward me and I look at it before I struggle to lift it up.

"Don't turn into a walker and try to kill me in my sleep." He teases. "Alright?"

I switch my gaze from the water bottle to the boy. Unexpectedly, he waits for me to look up at him, a sly smile present on his face. I manage to smile back at the boy's inability to show proper concern for my health.

We've both been a bit awkward ever since Carl helped me catch my breath earlier in the evening.

The boy looks down to the floor before I notice that he gently brushes the tips of his fingers on the gun in his thigh holster, making sure it's still there. He sends a nod my way before turning around and disappearing into a room at the end of the hallway.

"I'll try not to."

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3900 words

A/N

the vibes are so much better the INSTANT they leave the prison :p I absolutely love these little moments

also I'm drawing on my own experience of a sickness where I was weak and passed out and the only unrealistic thing is how fast Megan gets it and gets over it lmao

but I gotta put me (my plot) first

☆leave a vote for world peace ☆