Everything was on fire. Smoke burned his eyes as he ran through the wreckage, clutching his shotgun in his hands tightly. It had been only moments before that he stood at the fence in front of Daryl, ready to shoot. The Governor had arrived with a small army, only a few men, but with enough firepower to flatten their sanctuary entirely. Daryl had told him to hold back, that he could start something else. His Dad could handle this, and he could trust him. But the inevitable happened anyway.

Now he couldn't see anyone, couldn't hear any shouts. After the explosions stopped and the smoke cleared enough to see, Daryl was gone from beside him and Beth and Maggie's screams had faded into the roaring, cracking flames around him. Carl stood shakily, scanning over the yard and seeing bodies lying prone in the grass where his father and the Governor had last been seen. The only movement was the slow shuffle of the dead, moving in waves all over the grass and approaching quickly. They began to press into the chain link fence, their teeth gnashing over the metal and rotten hands reaching through. Carl gave one last look over the grass in desperation before turning to run.

Rounding a corner and taking advantage of the distance between himself and the walkers that followed, he reloaded, taking stock of the two shells he had left. Swearing to himself, Carl followed the length of the fence until he came to where it had twisted and buckled under the tank. Walkers were pouring in, and he knew he had to get out before he was trapped. He raised his gun, striking one in the temple and stepped over it as it collapsed to the side. There was still relative silence, save for some distant gunshots that sounded like they were now miles away. Walkers were pouring across the grass from all sides, and he found himself running with no direction. The Governor's vehicles were parked in a loose formation on the grass near the edge of the perimeter. He could see Hershel's body from ten feet away in two pieces, his head severed, his temple stabbed through cleanly. The Governor's body lay a few feet away, maimed and still. Carl looked frantically for his Dad, for Michonne, but could see neither. He turned on the spot, desperately looking all around him for anyone, any sign of life.

"Dad?" He called, and he saw the walkers begin to head in his direction, a wave closing in on him. He couldn't hear anything, just the ringing in his ears and the soft groaning of the dead around him. "DAD! Michonne!" he called again, tears springing into his eyes. The groaning became louder and outstretched, grey fingers were only a few feet away. Carl felt icy panic rise up in him, his mind racing but knowing he only had one choice. He ran.

He ran until he couldn't see the smoke anymore. He came out of the woods, and onto a dirt road, He could hear his breathing, harsh and fast, before he realized he was crying. He dropped to his knees, no longer able to stand. Everyone he knew was dead. His whole family, obliterated in what felt like moments. If by some miracle anyone else had escaped Carl knew he probably wouldn't ever find them. He was alone. He thought of his sister, and hoped that death came quickly for her and that she didn't suffer. He thought of Daryl, Beth and Maggie, who had been so close to him before the explosions but gone once the smoke cleared. When he thought of his father, he felt a swell of anger. This happened because he wouldn't go looking for the Governor, didn't anticipate another attack like this. Carl thought of the times he wanted to help, wanted to go out and find the Governor with Michonne but his father made him stay. He had sheltered him in the prison, thinking he was keeping him safe. But now he was utterly alone, with two shells in his gun and the clothes on his back.

Wiping away the streams of tears from his face he picked himself up off the ground and started walking again. He needed to find somewhere to hide until he could figure out what to do. The sun was beginning to fall behind the trees ahead of him in the road. Carl knew that meant he had only a couple hours before nightfall. He picked up his pace, noticing old telephone lines in the distance that followed the road into a fork on the left. When he came to the intersection he saw three houses along the road, their paint peeling and windows broken. The first house looked as though it had been partially burned, the window frames licked with black ash.

Looking further down, the second house seemed to be in better condition. Carl approached it apprehensively, raising his gun up in front of him. The small porch was overgrown with bluegrass and dandelion, growing up to and through the open front door. Listening momentarily, Carl tapped the barrel of his gun against the metal frame of the broken storm door, waiting for footsteps. When none came, he pried the door open completely with his foot before pushing in the heavier wooden door with his gun. The air inside was stale, damp, but he couldn't detect the tell-tale scent of death that was now as familiar to him as the smell of grass. It was bright inside, although the carpets had turned black with moisture. The front door opened directly into the living room, the kitchen a bright beacon towards the back with a large window above the wooden countertop. Keeping his gun raised, Carl crossed the living room, looking quickly around his surroundings as he passed.

When his foot crossed the carpet and landed on the kitchen tile a loud hissing sounded from the sink that made Carl leap back in fright, hands shaking as he tried to keep his gun in position. Peering forward, he let out a breath of relief when he saw a brown rattlesnake curled up in the sink, head lowered and tail shaking threateningly. Carl retreated a few steps before looking up at the wooden cupboards, doors all open, and barren. Someone had already been through this house, probably long ago, and stripped it clean of supplies. Carl backtracked towards the door, looking out briefly before stepping out onto the porch. There still weren't any walkers, but when night fell he wouldn't be able to tell anymore. The last house was worth checking, he reasoned. It may not have food or water but he would settle for no snakes.

The small bungalow at the end of the street had the most intact windows. This time, the door was closed and Carl had to think for a moment before deciding how to proceed. He peered into the dirty window to the left of the door and saw nothing. Despite being abandoned for years, the living space he could see inside looked well preserved. He scanned the room thoroughly before deciding once again to tap his gun on the door a few times. He returned to the window and waited, gun drawn. No walkers emerged after a couple minutes but he still felt hesitant to open the door. Glancing back at the setting sun which had turned the sky hazy shades of purple, he swallowed thickly and turned the knob.

/

"Rick! Rick, we have to go-" Michonne shook him slightly. She was carrying most of his weight but he was still managing to pull her further into the prison grounds, towards the interior fence. "No one is in there! If we go in well never get back out."

"CARL! " Rick's shouts were getting lost over the noise of the dead closing in around them. He continued to drag them both towards the inferno beyond the fence, walkers flowing in like ants.

"Rick, he's not there!" Michonne pulled him to a stop, sinking her boots into the grass to hold him still. He was sobbing, barely standing. His eyes were wide and fearful, never quite reaching Michonne's gaze as she tried to reason with him. "He got out, I know it, but we need to leave."

"Judith... she was inside." Rick stared off into the flames and smoke from the cellblock. Michonne grabbed his face with a firm grip and forced him to look her in the eyes.

"We have to believe they had time to get out, and if they did they're going to need their father." Rick stared back at her through tears and nodded, becoming suddenly hyper aware of the dead stumbling towards them from in front and behind. "Come on." Michonne unsheathed her sword and hauled them both to the side, forcing Rick to run despite the gunshot wound to his leg. Rick gritted his teeth and willed himself to move across the grass towards the trampled exterior fence. As they began to move uphill beyond the fence, Rick glanced back once more to look for any sign of his son, of anyone else, but could see none.

They dead trailed them for miles. It took nearly an hour for them to make any meaningful distance between them. They decided to walk south, where although uphill, the walkers seemed to thin out quickly. The first sign of anything but countryside they saw was an old restaurant set back behind a single gas pump. They separated as they approached, Rick leaning against the stone wall, gun in one hand and his other hand pressed firmly over the wound on his leg.

"I'll just be a second." Michonne reassured him, hesitating for a moment to make sure he would stay. Rick said nothing but looked ahead at the trees in the direction they has just come in, at the barely visible plume of smoke in the distance.

The old rusted door was barely hanging on its hinges, and Michonne had to yank it off entirely to gain access to the building. She dropped the door to the side, the metal scraping loudly on the concrete. She waited. Glancing one more time at Rick, he nodded at her without looking at her and she stepped through the doorway.

Two steps in and she could immediately hear a walker growling. She stopped, but could tell from the repetitive banging that it was trapped. She approached slowly, turning to the left down the hallway and immediately saw it barricaded behind the counter, tables and chairs stacked up in its path. With her katana firmly in her grip she crossed the room, the walker becoming aware of her and reaching it's arms out across the counter. She raised the blade above her head, and brought it swiftly forward through its rotten eye socket. As the body collapsed, she raised the handle of the katana so the flesh would slide off cleanly. Pausing momentarily to listen, she took note of the small collection of canned food and condiments behind where the walker lay before moving on to sweep the rest of the building.

Once she had finished, she backtracked to the front door. "All clear." Rick remained where she had left him, bracing himself against the side of the building, eyes looking desperately over the trees in the distance. Tears ran down his face from his swollen eyes and landed on his blood soaked shirt.

"We have to leave a sign, something... in case he got out." Rick choked, buckling over slightly. She crossed the distance between them, holding him up once more. She scanned the property before her eyes fell on a white plaster wall that made up the side of the garage.

"Over there." Michonne motioned with her head and Rick stumbled towards it, still clutching his leg. She tried to support him once more but he shook off her hands and continued to the wall. Using just his fingers and the blood from the wound on his leg, Rick sprawled CARL in large letters across the surface, going over it several times until the letters were nearly black. When he was finished he stepped back before he finally allowed Michonne to throw his arm over her shoulders and nearly carry him towards the restaurant. They made it two steps inside before Rick legs gave out and he collapsed.