Running.

Despite me being my size, I wasn't that fit. Running was my least favourite. Especially now. It was essential these days.

You run, or you die.

So you have to be good at running.

My lungs and ribs ached. Each intake of breath was sharp and cold. My throat felt constricted. I felt like I couldn't run any longer. My calves burned, my heels in pain.

Carl's been shot.

Carl's been shot.

Carl's been shot.

Carl's been shot.

Carl's been shot.

I repeat that though in my head as it seems to be taking me a lot further than I thought.

Carl's been shot.

The only sounds I could hear was my struggled breathes, and Rick's mournful cries and hisses.

Behind me, he was carrying his son. Blood already staining half of his shirt and hands.

Behind him is Shane, and the man who shot Carl.

The man was large and had a graying beard and baseball cap.

He seemed familiar.

But I couldn't think about that right now.

I had to keep focused.

Carl's been shot.

The man gave us instructions and directions, to take Carl to a farm. That was where we could get Carl help.

I ignore the hollow thuds against my sides. I keep going. And that surprises me.

"Hey, you move, shithead," Shane yelled at the man. His voice seemed distant, which alerted me as to how far away I had run. "Come on, get I said."

"How far? How far?!" Rick screeched.

"Another half mile, that way!" the man shouted back, breathless.

He said something else, but I didn't hear him. He wasn't shouting loud enough for me to hear him. The guys behind me had faltered whilst I stayed focused

Carl's been shot.

Amongst my heavy breathing, and the stamps of all our feet on the dry grass beneath us, I could hear Shane's voice.

"Go, Marley!" he yelled, taking a large gulp of breath before continuing. "Marley, Run! Keep going! Get there!"

Instead of helping me run faster, his voice pulled me out of focus, and I was slowing down. I was giving into the fatigue. I couldn't run anymore. But I had to.

I blocked out his voice and any other sound than the sound in my head. The repeating image of Carl's body on the ground.

His eyes were closed when I turned to look at him after his hand left mine. I hadn't heard him wince, or scream. It was like he was hit with sleep, not a bullet.

Carl's been shot.

Soon, the ground beneath me started to levitate. Using all of my energy to get up the small hill, I then saw a fence.

The fence seemed to run for miles around fields. Seeming to be directly in the centre, was a house. Not too far from that was a barn.The place looked to be untouched. Unfazed. I already felt envy for these people, and how they seemed to have come out of all this unscathed.

But I hadn't even met the people.

As I squinted my eyes, my eyes getting dry from the constant wind batting at my face.

I ran past some wire fence, and glance over my shoulder.

Rick was readjusting his son in his arms.

"Come on, Rick!" I ordered, setting off running again towards the house.

It didn't take long for me to get to the porch steps, which I collapsed on. I had made it.

People emerged from the front door. In front was an old man, white hair and braces. Behind him, a young boy with a baseball bat. To the left was a woman in a faded dress, and behind her was a pretty blonde girl. To the right was another woman, short brown hair and ripped jeans. She was the one I saw run into the house.

The old man looked down at my hyperventilating form, a questioning look in his eyes.

"His... so-sons been shot," I breathed, clasping the bricks bellow me. My neck strained from looking up at him. He seemed familiar, like the man who shot Carl. "You're ma-... man shot him. Please... help."

"Otis?" the woman in the faded dress asked, shocked.

That was his name.

Soon enough, they looked up from me and I knew that Rick had made it.

The older man ordered Rick to bring him inside. As they all clambered back into the house, I crawled up from the steps. My thighs, calves, and generally my whole body protested against me getting up. But I needed to.

Carl's been shot.

I followed them, trying to catch my breath. I was now feeling the real pain in my lungs and my abdomen. My stomach was tight, and I felt like throwing up. But now was not the time.

Rick carried him into a bedroom, and I followed.

Carl was now on the bed, still unconscious.

"Pillowcase," the man ordered, directing it at Rick. But he was in too much of a daze and shock to comprehend what he had said.

I was gripping the edge of the bed, staring at Rick from the opposite side of the bed. I collapsed to my knees but stayed upright.

"Is-is he alive?" Rick asked.

"Pillowcase, quick," the man repeated.

Rick now complied, taking a pillow from the bed.

I then focused my eyes on Carl.

He had a thick layer of sweat on his face. He was pale but still held a pink tint to his lips. This lifted me with hope, that he wasn't dead.

Rick pressed the pad he made to the boy's wound. I pulled my hands away from the thin sheets of the bed, to lay them on top of Rick's bloody ones. I pressed harder than he was. He was clearly out of it.

The old man placed a stethoscope on Carl's chest. I held my breath as the man's eyes read the air, listening.

"I've got a heartbeat," he announced. I let go of my breath, relaxing my tense shoulders.

Both women urged Rick that they had it, and they needed space. I small hint of anger laced through my veins, but I quickly suppressed it.

"Your name?" the older man asked, turning to the dazed father.

Rick could hardly let out any words.

"His name's Rick, that's Carl, and I'm Marley," I said to the man. I wringed my hands together, the blood spreading across my wrists and palms.

He did a double-take at me but quickly looked to Rick.

"Rick, we're gonna do everything we can, okay?" The man comforted, loudly. "You need to give us some room. Now."

Rick stepped back, slowly towards the door. I took one last glance at the little boy's face before following him.

I looked down to my feet, seeing tiny droplets of blood creating a path towards the front door. I didn't usually throw up at the sight of any anatomy; blood, brains, emaciated walkers. But I felt bile rise up in my throat. I swallowed it quickly. My throat burnt.

I followed the blood covered man, his footsteps heavy and sluggish. He opened the front door, stepping out into the cool breeze. A better feeling came over me than the feeling I had in there. Out here, I could breath better.

Shane and the man; who I now knew as Otis, walked up the steps where I once laid.

Worry laced both of their faces, more so in Shane's. He looked at the man beside me, who took off his hat.

"He's still alive?" he asked, searching through his partners eyes for anything comprehendable.

Again, the father fell short of words, and just opened and closed his mouth repeatedly. He was visibly unable to handle the situation he was currently in.

I couldn't say I knew how he felt. I never had a child. I never had a child that was shot. Saying "I know how you feel" never helps in my opinion. At least not for me.

"He's in there... with the man," I stuttered, filling in for the trembling man beside me. "He has a heartbeat."

Rick lifted his hand to his forehead, and I watched as he managed to smear blood there. Shane rose a few more steps, looking through his bag and coming out with a pink rag. He started wiping the blood from his friends face, sending comforting words his way.

I looked down the my own bloody hands. They weren't as a mess as Rick's, but they still had a good amount on them. Which really shows how much blood Carl lost.

I squinted my green eyes, as I tightly knitted my fingers together, squeezing my hands together to the point where they were shaking. Violently.

Shane, Rick, and Otis retreated inside to go look in on Carl.

I stayed outside, and sat on the steps. I made sure to stay away from the blood droplets that laid there. I leaned my head against the banister. I still held my hands together, painfully squeezing them.

My head hurt. A deep thumping rang through my synapses. It was like someone was knocking the door to get in my brain. It hurt like hell.

It must be what it felt like to hold in a cry.

Did it build up like water in a well? Or was it like air pressure?

I wouldn't know, I never not let myself cry. I normally let it take over.

I wasn't letting myself. But the knocking kept happening.

Knock! Knock!

I cracked my knuckles, making me twitch from the crunching noise that echoes through them. They squelch. I do anything to crack them again, but they simply make no noise.

Knock... knock.

I stand from my seat, taking in a deep breath. I walk onto the grass, breathing in the country air. It seems to be untouched, so it feels that way. It feels kind of glorious. Some sort of freedom comes with it.

Knock... Knock. It starts again.

I look at the house in front of me. It's rather large. Most of it was surprisingly white. Again, with the untouched thing about it.

There had to be a catch, surely. Maybe it was that this all looked very familiar. Eerily familiar. But I couldn't put my finger on it. That made it press my buttons.

I looked down, scowling.

"Marley?"

I looked up quickly, only finding Shane.

"Are you all right?" he asked, looking at me through his eyebrows.

I walked quickly towards him, aiming to walk past him. He grasped my shoulder, holding me in front of him.

"Aw- Marl," he whispered, taking my wrists in his. He looked at the now dry blood that reached the middle of my forearm. He took the pink rag he used for Rick, out of his pocket.

He ran it up my arms. It was useless. It wasn't coming off.

"Come on, inside, Marley."

+

It seems like hours as we sit in the living room. I spend it staring at the brown wooden door. I only hear hushed whispers coming from the room, the clock ticking from the wall, and the pounding in my head which has dulled down to a light thumping.

Shane and Rick sit across from me, hands up to their mouths in anticipation.

I keep my eye on Rick. He could break any moment.

The door suddenly opened, the woman whom I hear her name was Maggie stepped out.

I had learned all of their names. There was Hershel, Maggie, Patricia and Otis whom I knew do far.

"Rick," she said anxiously. He jumped to his feet, with Shane and I not far behind. I sensed that something was wrong. Deeply wrong.

We walk into the room, and Carl is a mess. He seemed paler than before. More sweat, and the smell of iron hit my sinuses. He was struggling under the grasp of metal tongs sticking into his stomach. I didn't know what Hershel was trying to do.

I wanted to hit Hershel in the face, because whatever he was doing was causing Carl to scream for his Dad. His hands grasped the bed sheets, as Patricia tried to hold him down.

He needed blood

"You," Hershel ordered Shane. "Hold him down."

Shane complied and took Patricia's place, placing his arms across Carl's chest and hips.

I stood there shocked, glued to the spot. I had never seen anyone in so much pain before. It looked excruciating. My heart ached for Carl.

I would consider Carl one of my best friends. Our long conversations together fused us together. He was so brave and genuine and honest and kind to me. I didn't want us to lose this kid. He meant a lot to me.

Carl screamed louder.

"Stop!" Rick screeched, hesitating from giving blood. "You're killing him."

"Rick, do you want him to live?" Hershel counteracted.

I looked from the pain riddle boy, to the man that needed to give him what he needed.

"Do it, Rick. Now!" I yelled at him.

He held his arm out to Patricia, who pricked his skin with a needle.

I looked back to the young sir. I knelt on the bed and put his head between my hands. He was cold on contact.

Suddenly, his eyes rolled back in his head and he closed them. His body slumped, and his head fell from my hands. Just like his hand did in the forest.

My breathing quickened and I started panicking. Me and Shane looked to each other, then to the old man in front of us.

I couldn't lose Carl.

"He just passed out," Hershel comforted. He pulled away the tongs from the boy's stomach, revealing a shrapnel piece of bullet. Saying, "one down... five to go," he put it in a metal tin, making a clinking sound.

I let out a breath of relief. Carl was okay - for now.