Chapter 33:

The Small Horde Behind Him

The Walking Dead: Blood Moon Warden

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'Good.'

From a distance, Evan lowered the Stone Sledgehammer and let out a quiet breath.

Carl had not been scratched by the walker.

And he had not disappointed him.

Evan looked over again, expecting Carl to stand and keep moving toward the far end of town.

Instead, Carl surprised him.

The boy climbed to his feet, one arm burning from the scrape, and stared down at the walker still snarling beneath the storm drain.

After a few seconds, he drew a slow breath.

His eyes searched the street and found a barbecue grill behind a nearby fence.

Carl limped over, grabbed a long grilling fork with two metal prongs, and came back without saying a word.

He stood above the trapped walker. The stink rising through the drain was sharp enough to make his nose wrinkle. His hands trembled around the handle.

For a long moment, he fought himself.

Then his jaw tightened.

He lowered the grilling fork through the slats, used the sunlight to guide the angle, and drove both prongs into the walker's open mouth.

The metal punched through the skull.

Before the dead body slumped out of reach, Carl pulled the fork free and kept it in his hand.

Then he stood there, staring down through the gap.

Maybe he was thinking.

Maybe he was replaying every second of the attack and every choice he had made while the walker had him.

Evan watched from a distance and did not rush him.

The route mattered less than the training itself.

After about three minutes, Carl came back to himself. He checked his injuries carefully, then tore a strip from the bottom of his shirt and wrapped it around his scraped elbow.

When he raised his head again, there was something steadier in his eyes.

He held the grilling fork in one hand, kept his wounded arm close to his side, and limped toward the far end of town.

"I can do better," Carl whispered.

The words grew firmer with every step.

"I can do better."

Behind him, Evan nodded.

For the first time, he truly began to acknowledge what Carl could become.

Rick's son was not a helpless kid. Not really.

That was probably why Carl had admired Shane so much in the old story. To a boy his age, Shane had looked like a mountain that could not be moved.

Now Rick and Evan stood in that same place too.

Carl kept going, one step at a time. His footing grew steadier. The shock from the ambush faded, and his rhythm slowly returned.

He had a grilling fork in one hand, a makeshift bandage on the other arm, and wooden armor covering his body.

For the first time, he looked like someone who could survive the end of the world.

The last stretch to the far end of town was less than two miles.

It still took Carl nearly two hours.

When he finally looked up, he had reached the fire station.

The garage doors stood open on both sides, almost exactly as Evan had left them.

Carl stopped to catch his breath. Then he looked at the sky, hesitated, and slipped inside.

Evan slapped a hand over his own forehead.

'He's running out of strength. He's looking for supplies before he tries the return trip.'

'Problem is, I stripped that place clean. There's nothing left.'

For once, Evan regretted stripping the place so thoroughly.

Luckily, he knew the station better than Carl did.

He shouldered the Stone Sledgehammer and circled around the back without making noise. From there, he climbed the ladder to the second floor.

Carl was still moving cautiously through the first floor below.

Evan ducked back, pulled two pieces of bread, a compressed biscuit, and a bottle of water from his system inventory, and set them behind the counter in the second-floor lounge.

Then he frowned, picked them back up, and placed them directly on top of the counter where Carl could not miss them.

Once that was done, Evan copied Carl's own careful steps and climbed back outside.

He pressed his ear to the wall and listened.

A door opened inside.

Carl let out a startled cry.

Evan tensed, but no attack followed. The boy must have seen the walker corpse Evan had killed during his first trip through the station.

Footsteps climbed to the second floor.

Then came another small exclamation.

"Kid jumps at everything," Evan muttered.

The first sound had been fear.

The second held surprise.

Carl had found the supplies.

It was not much for an adult, but for Carl right now, it was more than enough.

When he came out of the fire station, he had a damaged shoulder bag slung across his body. Half a bottle of water and one piece of bread sat inside it. He looked a little less hollow, and some color had returned to his face.

"Mom," Carl whispered.

His head lowered. He missed her.

He had started the day full of pride, been knocked down by fear, found his courage again, and spent nearly everything he had in a matter of hours.

For a boy protected by his parents and camp, this was probably the hardest test of his life.

Carl dragged his tired legs forward, took a breath, and started back the way he had come.

'Now comes the part where willpower has to carry what the body can't.'

Evan came out from behind the station only after Carl had gone.

Watching him pause after almost every step, Evan could not help feeling impressed.

Carl had already gone far beyond what Evan expected.

Water and food helped, but they did not restore stamina instantly. Carl had been burning himself down all day.

Evan wanted to step out and call the lesson finished.

He forced the impulse down.

Instead, he followed, every sense sharp, ready to move the moment Carl truly needed saving.

'Come on, Carl.'

Evan cheered him on silently.

If Carl crossed this line, he would not be the same boy anymore.

He needed that change.

He needed it badly.

Ten minutes later, Carl's shirt was soaked through again.

Sweat darkened the cloth and bled into the rough bandage around his elbow. Salt bit into the raw scrape with every step. A red stain spread through the wrap.

Evan followed in silence, forcing himself not to intervene.

Then Carl was no longer walking alone.

Evan glanced sideways.

Walkers were emerging from houses and alleys, drawn by the scent of blood. Their groans thickened behind Carl, and their movements grew more eager.

Evan circled wide to stay ahead of them without being noticed.

When he looked back, a small horde had formed behind Carl.

There were more than a dozen walkers now. Even Evan would not call that easy.

For Carl, it was almost certain death.

Worse, the boy had only made it halfway back, and his steps were slowing.

Sweat blurred Carl's vision.

Then he made a choice.

He yanked the shoulder bag off and threw it aside.