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M E G A N

"What do you think?" Jessie asks, taking her towel off from around my shoulders. She then uses her fingers to comb through my tangle-free, groomed hair.

Being able to look into this bathroom mirror and care about my appearance is something I never thought I'd miss from the world before. Although my hair doesn't look much different, the selfish, civilized little girl inside of me is satisfied after not being able to worry about such silly things for so long. My new, clean reflection gleams back at me and my eyes flick down to the tufts of my mangled hair on the tile floor.

What makes this new look even more enjoyable is the friendly woman who gave it to me. Her warm, green eyes stare me down in anticipation of my reaction. Throughout the haircut, she seemed excited to just spend time with another girl. I guess two sons, a stubborn husband, and a bunch of superficial neighborhood moms who complain about pasta makers will do that to someone.

"I forgot what it was like to look like a real person." I joke, standing up and further inspecting my hair in the bathroom mirror. "Thank you so much, Jessie. You really didn't have t—"

"Oh you stop," The woman remarks, playfully slapping me with her small towel. "The pleasure is all mine. I had a great time talking to you, Megan." The woman's words followed by her gentle, warm smile comforts me in a way I never knew I needed.
She leans over and gives me a quick, gentle side-hug. Her embrace and the comforting scent of her perfume once again fill a void that I didn't even know was there.

The kind woman gives me a similar feeling to the one I used to have when I was around Beth. A feeling where I know that she doesn't know my story, or who I am, and she doesn't really care, she just cares about my well-being. But the last thing I want to do is mistake this stranger's moment of kindness for her actually caring about me.

"Well, let's get this place cleaned up and then I'll get out of your hair." The woman awkwardly jokes and the both of us chuckle. She then squeezes my shoulder one last time before letting go of the prolonged hug that I'd long-forgetten to let go of.

After Jessie packs her hair-cutting supplies into the case and I sweep the clumps of hair off of the floor, it is time for her to go. Or so we think. The woman stands across from me—in my living room—for another half-hour or so, her large supply case held steady in her dainty arms.

We have the conversation on her way out the door, standing in the middle of the living room, never running out of things to talk about. I even get self-conscious that I'm keeping the woman longer than she'd want and immediately try to kill the conversation. Jessie then reassures me by changing the subject a few times, prolonging her exit.

After the sun begins to set and the golden rays started showering through the windows, we realize our time is up. The woman even offers to have me—and then me and Carl—over for dinner when I tell her I'd already promised him I'd eat it with him. I decline for the both of us, understanding that the boy isn't quite ready.

"Well you're welcome over any time." The woman says, a reassuring, motherly look on her face, as she currently has one foot in the living room and one foot on the porch. "Seriously, Megan—if you need anything, that's our house right over there. And if we're not home, the spare key is on the porch light right next to the back door!" She says, fumbling around with the case in her hands as she frees one of her arms to point across the small community.

"Noted. I'll be sure to stop by." I say. "Bye Jessie, I'll see you at the party tomorrow!" I project as the woman makes her way down the porch, headed home. She sends a wave before I close the front door.

Painful, ringing silence engulfs the empty house once the wooden door clicks shut.

The buzzing sensation in my body lingers as I turn away from the door and head deeper into the living room. I'd forgotten what it felt like to have normal conversations. While avoiding talk of danger could be harmful in the long-run, I need to remind myself that it was okay to forget about the dark world sometimes.

I guess my loneliness has been creeping upon me for some time now. Carrying myself as the quiet girl when I entered juvy, living in that storage closet after the outbreak, being seen as a threat and an outsider by a group of people as close as a family, leaving the prison, leaving Carl. I've been accumulating loneliness for longer than I cared to recognize.

My feet—only being in socks—shuffle along the carpet until I stand in front of one of the sofas that I have yet to test out. I spin my body around and selfishly plop it down on the soft cushion.

Simultaneous with my seat on the couch, the back door squeaks open. Clunkily, the lazy footsteps travel into the kitchen before the back door even has a chance to slam closed. Not long after the door closes, the footsteps thud louder and the hatless boy enters the living room.

Seeing Carl's detrimental case of helmet-hair nearly sends me into a chuckle, before being met with the boy's playful glare. I try to force away the smile that creeps upon my face as he lazily sits down on the other sofa that's perpendicular to mine.

"I've been waiting forever for her to leave." Carl starts, leaning his hatless head against the back of the couch. "I thought she was going to leave like half an hour ago." He huffs.

"You could've come in the house, Carl. It's yours too." I remark at the boy, stating the obvious. The reason he waited until she left is beyond me. It's not until now that his words catch up with me, and the fact that he knew to enter the house as soon as she went home. "Wait—Were you watching us or something?"

"I was waiting on the back porch." He starts. "I got back from Deanna's when you guys were cleaning the bathroom. That window—" He leans over the back of his couch and points at the window to the backyard. "You could see anything happening through it."

"Good to know." I laugh at the ridiculousness of my so-called partner. "What were you doing over at Deanna's?"

"She gave me a project." He nervously says, immediately ruining my good mood. I've known Carl long enough to know when he's about to piss me off. I immediately sit up from my sunken-in position on the couch, and face the boy with my whole body, prepared to listen.

"What project?" I ask, anticipating any news that could ruin this perfect day. I was getting ahead of myself—being that happy. What was I thinking? It's always too good to be true.

"Well," Carl hesitates. He makes it seem as if he's about to start talking but instead he just sits in front of me, staring blankly. His lips part and his eyes gleam as he just breathes in and out.

"Spit it out."

"She asked me to go on a run with Heath and the rest of his team the morning after the welcoming party. Said that—for now—I'd be more useful out there than in here." The boy carefully places each and every word as he speaks. "She also said it'll give her time to figure out my permanent assignment." He sheepishly says, shifting around in his position on the couch under my gaze.

"Carl," I start, causing the boy to nearly wince once words start coming out of my mouth. "That's great! It'll give you something to do—maybe you'll even like them." I remark, my mood changing as I feel an unexpected sense of happiness for the boy. "Which you probably won't, but it still can't hurt to tr—"

"Megan, I don't th-" He starts.

"You don't have to be nervous to go, Carl." I retort, sensing the crippling discomfort in his demeanor. It is not like Carl to worry—especially about surviving. "You're going to be the one protecting them out there. You'll be fine. I believe in y—"

"Megan, I'd be gone for two weeks." His voice breaks out at a volume above mine.

Every timid detail of the boy's expression now makes sense as he tells me the brutal reality of it all. We both stare at each other, eyes gaping and lips parted as neither of us have anything to say. His eyes search my face trying to sense what I'm feeling. He'll have no luck as I'm not even sure how to feel, myself.

The first place my mind goes to is the dark, bothered depression I felt when Carl and I split up the first time. Of course—that time we never planned to reunite, we didn't have this community. We were two tired, hungry survivors who'd learned that their home had been destroyed and that their people had fled.

This time—however, there is a game plan. There is a team involved. Carl and I now being on the same side.

He'd be out there, leading people, with a plan to come back to this established community. And I'd be here, leading from the inside, helping search for his people and anticipating his safe return. The odds are a hell of a lot better than when we first parted ways.

But then again, that was barely a week. And even then, I understood that our chances of living cut themselves in half with every single passing hour we were alone out there. Two weeks is a whole lot of time for his chances to dwindle.

"Carl," I breathe out. "I don't want you to go." My transparent concern for the boy's well-being fights it's way to the surface. "We just got here. We just found each other, and now you're just going to leav—"

"Please, Megan." He starts, the rest of his body remains tense as his eyes stare deeply into mine. The desperate boy in front of me begs for my approval with his curious expression. "This is something I need to do."

"Why?"

No answer. Silence. The boy's bothered eyes float around, searching for the words that would cause him discomfort to say.

"Okay," He chokes out in defeat. "If you really don't want me to go, I won't." Carl's blue eyes once again meet mine. The presence behind them yearns for my approval.

"Two weeks is such a long time to be out there." I remark in a monotone voice. The statement echoing into the empty room, targeted more towards myself than the boy.

"We've done it for longer." He adamantly says, his eyebrows slightly furrowing as he studies my expressionless face.

Across from me sits the anticipatory shell of who Carl used to be. The boy in front of me is afraid. Of what, exactly? I don't know, and I probably won't ever.

He hasn't been the same since we found each other again. Those few, isolated days changed Carl. And I don't know if for better or for worse. Whatever reason he has for going on the run could fulfill the mysterious purpose of the boy who so desperately needs to find his grounding.

"Fine, I guess you have my blessing." A sarcastic smile makes its way onto my face, amidst the heavy conversation. His expression loosens and his eyes crinkle a bit at my words. "But on one condition."

"Shoot."

"You better come back."

☆

Stupid is how I feel.

Dire regret, even.

As the boy and I sit here in stupid silence, eating our stupid dry cereal, in this stupid kitchen. Everything about this is completely bogus. The thick tension between us not making anything better.

The morning sun beams through the open window, which allows us a cool breeze as the sun hasn't gotten the chance to heat up the day. We sit on barstools at the island of our kitchen, and I try to get used to the idea of—at the same time tomorrow—sitting here by myself.

And doing the same for another two weeks, maybe more. Maybe even forever.

Last night wasn't much different. After it was established that he was—in-fact—leaving, the boy packed all of his new belongings into a duffle, which is currently sitting by the front door. The bag waits, creeping upon Carl's departure. Another, similar scene plays out upstairs. Across the hall from mine, sits his empty room, the door wide open and the bed unmade from waking up this morning.

"You know I'm not leaving until tomorrow morning, right?" His shy voice says. The boy digs his spoon into his dry cereal flakes before crunching the small, sugary bite in his mouth.

I say nothing at first, just staring back at him after he gulps down his bite of cereal and looks back at me.

"I know." I mutter.

"Then why does it feel like my funeral?" The boy spits, dropping the ultimate, emotional bombshell.

The truth in his words scrapes my rough, jagged surface when I realize that there's a large possibility of Carl actually having one, and soon. A shadow of doom has consumed us, similar to the feeling we had back at that house in Georgia. But this time, we know what will happen. We know we'll be separated for two whole weeks, which will be the longest we've ever been apart since we met.

"I just—" He starts, his voice cracking. While the two of us would usually laugh at the common occurrence, we both remain stone-cold. "I don't want to leave here acting—feeling like I won't come back. Because I will."

"I know you will." I say. My words being the complete opposite of all of my worries. Maybe words alone aren't enough encouragement for the boy. "I'm just really sad to see you go." I sheepishly admit, avoiding all of the deeper, negative thoughts I have about this run.

My eyes wander all around the kitchen, first bouncing to my cereal, then to the white backsplash behind the stove, then to the boy's cereal and finally landing on both of his crisp, blue eyes. He sits, his elbow propped on the bar, with his entire body turned to me. A slight smile across his pink lips, which he recently started putting balm on—courtesy of the Alexandrians.

"Don't hit me." A shy smirk plays on his lips, as his feet gently hit the floor and he stands up from the barstool. Confusion washes over me in anticipation of what the boy's about to do to me. My first instinct is to grab the counter with my hand and stabilize myself.

"What do you me—" I start, but my words stop as the boy continues to confuse me with his actions. He takes a few steps toward my stool and grabs my arm, gently pulling me to my feet. "I—" My words fumble in my throat as I prepare myself for the worst to happen.

But the worst never comes.

Instead, the boy's gentle grip on my upper arm allows him to pull me into his chest. My ear gently presses against the muffled pounding of his heart, through his soft, cotton shirt. His tights arms wrap around my shoulders and upper back, the sleeves of his grey shirt rubbing against my sore stitches.

As soon as I realize what's happening, my arms snake around his back and I sink into the boy's unexpected embrace. He rests his bony chin on the top of my head, digging into my hair a bit, but it's the least of my concerns during this heavy moment. The boy that used to be my height—maybe even a bit shorter—now has the extra inches on me to hold onto me like he's protecting a child.

"You're my best friend." I feel his chest vibrate with the kind words that leave his hesitant mouth. "You know that, right?"

Then don't go. I want to say. Stay safe, they don't need you out there. The selfish, lonely part of myself wants to shout. Being in Alexandria has so far granted me the camaraderie that I've been starved of for so long. And, it goes against the better angels of my nature, but I'm not ready to let go of it all, not just yet.

"You're mine too."

☆

"Sam, we're leaving!" Jessie shouts up to her son. We wait for a few moments, only for the boy to never come down the stairs.

"And we're bringing cookies!" She says.

Soon after, the patter of his gentle footsteps echo down the stairs. The awkward boy walks into the kitchen with a stamp in his hands and grabs a cookie, walking out the front door.

The two of us stand poised in her kitchen. I wear a large sweater and some denim jeans that the kind woman lent me for the party. The itchy fabric of the sweater hides the handle of my screwdriver, that sticks out of my waistband.

While I was choosing an outfit in the Anderson couple's bedroom, Jessie baked some fresh lemon-sugar cookies. The sweet aroma filling the entire first floor of the house. Pete stayed behind after our shift in the infirmary to wash the bedsheets that needed replacing. He wished me luck at my first Alexandria party and sent me home early because it was my special day.

We both chuckle at her peculiar little boy before she follows him out the door, myself then doing the same, closing the door behind me. The woman, her son and I walk just a few houses down with their possessions in hand. She holds her platter of cookies and he grips tightly onto his stamp set.

Jessie doesn't bother to knock as she walks into the crowded house. Several new faces are everywhere, chattering over glasses of wine and bland finger-food. My eyes quickly scan through these people as if they're as dangerous as a herd of walkers.

After my eyes wander amongst all of the new people, I notice Jessie break away from greeting a small group of the neighborhood women.

"Follow me." She whispers to me, placing her cookie platter on a table with the rest of the food and shimmying her way through the crowd of people.

I make sure to stay close behind her, trying not to make it seem like I'm avoiding all of the others, even though I kind of am.

"Ron!" She quietly shouts, getting the attention of the boy I have yet to meet, who stands alongside another boy, as well as Carl.

Now, over the fabric of his familiar grey long-sleeve, is a neat flannel. The boy and I exchange a look, making sure the other is doing well as opposed to drowning in the sea of new people.

"Megan, I'd like you to meet my other son, Ron." She says, introducing me as we step into the small group.

The boy stands slightly shorter than the other two. His ashy hair curls away from his brown eyes, as he's never missed a consistent haircut from his own mother. A denim jacket is layered over his neat, brown sweater, the sleeve of said sweater, rising with the boy's arm.

"Hey, how's it going?" He says, raising his hand to shake mine. I oblige, muttering a rushed response, and returning his same sheepish smile. Carl and the other boy stand awkwardly, watching the greeting.

"Ron, I'm trusting you to keep an eye on her." Jessie says, putting her hand on his shoulder. "Make sure these two feel right at home." She says, motioning to me and Carl as we stand awkwardly across from them.

"Will do, mom." Ron embarrassingly mutters.

Jessie says a quick goodbye to all of us before disappearing into the crowd of adults.

"So, Megan," He starts, looking over his shoulder and waiting until his mother is out of earshot. "You've been spending an awful lot of time with my mom. Are you okay?" He asks and then retorts earning a chuckle from myself.

"Yeah, she's great." I say before grabbing some of my hair from behind my shoulder. "And she's great at cutting hair."

"No argument there." Ron laughs as he raises his hands in fake defense.

Soon, the three of us fall into simple, teenage conversation. Ron, Mikey, and myself. The two normal boys were completely oblivious to the world outside of these walls, not that I minded.

It didn't take me very long to notice that Carl was missing, but when I did, I decided not to bring it up to anyone. They would just worry. Wherever he is, he's safe.

It also isn't uncommon of the boy to disappear when other people are around, just like he used to do back at the prison.

I guess some things never change.

After my ongoing conversation with the two teenage boys, several people pull me aside to greet me. Deanna thanks me for coming, introducing me to her husband, Reg, and then making small talk about Carl going on the run.

Another woman offers to cook me my favorite meal. Of course, I don't have a favorite, so I tell her to surprise me. And then I bump into Aaron and Eric, who almost didn't even come because of Eric's healing ankle.

As the slow hour passes and the evening evolves into night, more and more people leave the party and decide to go back to their homes. The first being Heath and the rest of his run-team, because they have to wake up bright and early. Then, a few of the nice neighborhood women say goodbye to me before also turning in for the night.

With the absence of a few people, I decide it's time that I set out to find Carl and make sure he's okay. After slowly saying my goodbyes to the rest of the chatty people of Alexandria, I finally make my way outside the door and onto the front porch.

There, Sam sits, next to an empty plate containing the leftover crumbs of his mom's cookies. "Hey Sam." I say, getting the boy's attention. "Why are you out here all by yourself?" I ask, sitting down on the steps next to him.

"We ran out of cookies." The boy pouts.

"Well," I start. "I didn't get to try your mom's cookies tonight, so maybe I can ask her to bake a whole batch just for us. How does that sound?" I ask him, leaning toward him.

"I'd like that." He mutters, a small smile on the boy's face.

"I'll have to ask about it the next time I see her, okay?" I ask him and he nods, the expressionless boy not really giving me much to go off of. "Hey, have you seen Carl around by any chance?"

"Yeah, I saw him leave a while ago," He lifts his eyes and looks around. "I think he went that way." The boy says, pointing toward the pond across the street.

"Okay, thanks Sam." I smile, not putting much thought into my words before I make my way down the steps.

"Wait." His high-pitched voice interrupts my walking. I turn around with curious eyes to see what the kid in front of me needs. "You don't have a stamp." My feet begin to hesitantly trail back toward the boy. "Do you want a stamp?"

"Sure." I walk up to him, dragging my feet through the grass and sticking out the back of my hand.

The boy fumbles with the handle of the stamp before pressing it into the back of my hand. It squeaks as he pushes the pad onto my skin.

An 'A' in red, washable ink is now wet on the back of my hand. I take a step back and blow on the ink, drying it.

"Now you're officially one of us." 

☆

The past eight hours have been a silhouette of what I can only imagine to be my first journey through the stages of grief.

Acceptance keeping its troubled hold on me.

After having found Carl at the dock last night, I've been fighting to come to terms with the fact that he's leaving. No longer having the safety net of his presence in this community leaves me feeling bare and exposed upon his departure. Knowing he's here with me is a comfort I didn't think I'd have to go without so soon.

I sit on the couch, staring at the bag of his belongings, waiting for the boy to come downstairs. Normally, I'd be at the infirmary setting up for Eric's early-morning physical therapy, but Pete told me I could wait until after the group left for the run. The understanding man could sense my nervousness when I asked him about it during yesterday's shift.

The pink rays of the sunrise flow throughout the first level of the house as I lift my eyes away from Carl's bag.

Harsh, patterned footsteps thump down the stairs. The boy steps onto the floor, his holsters now fastened around his leg and his waist, returning after a few days of their absence. He wears a baseball tee with a grey base and dark green sleeves. His hat now carrying on in the same spot, right where it left a ring in the boy's dark, sloppy hair.

Carl stands at the base of the stairs, looking to me, standing in place. "Walk me out?" He jokes.

"What?"

"I'm basically going to war, Megan." The boy jokes. The reality of his words clearly doesn't shoot the same shivers down his spine as it does mine. "The least you could do is walk me to the car." He laughs, and so do I, amusing the boy.

I've come to terms with the fact that I should be making the boy's potential last memory of me, a rather nice one.

I dramatically stand up from the couch and walk over to his duffle bag, picking up the item that has been taunting me for the past day, and throwing it over my shoulder.

Swinging the door open, I step to the side and roll my eyes at the boy. "After you."

He chuckles, eyeing the comical size of his large duffle against the small size of my upper body.

We both walk onto the street and towards the front gates. The taboo entrance we haven't been through since our arrival only a few days prior. In front of the gates sits Heath's van. A few other people sit in the back seats. Aaron and Eric wait hand-in-hand for Carl's unofficial send-off. The couple realistically, probably waits for me because Eric has his physical therapy right after the group leaves.

Olivia stands with Carl's familiar weapons in one arm and her clipboard propped up with her other hand. She scribbles on the checklist from the armory and, in-turn, hands the boy his defense for the world he's about to go back into, along with a case of bullets.

"I can take it from here." Aaron says to me, grabbing one of the straps of the heavy duffle from my back. I gladly swing the bag off of my shoulder and allow the man to catch all of its weight.

Once I'm free, I immediately walk over to the boy as he leans by the open passenger door of Heath's van, talking to the man. As I approach, he sees me and peels himself off the side of the van, stepping toward me.

"We'll find them." I start. "Your people."

"Our people." The stubborn boy corrects me. His few words say much more than their simplicity can convey.

"You'll be back." I say, my stern eyes willing the boy. My voice says the statement, yet my brain asks the question.

Carl smirks smugly, nodding his head, along with the tilting rim of his familiar hat.

"I'll be back."

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4747 words
A/N

okay these chapters are getting progressively easier to edits and it's crazy seeing how much my writing improved from November 2021 to April 2022???

Although, I don't really like how wordy these chapters are, they still hold a v special place in my heart!!

all 33 chapters will be edited and released in the next 48 hours and then I'll have 34 up this weekend!!! SORRY FOR SPAMMING YOUR PHONES

☆vote if u want Carl to come back NOW☆