the walking dead · survivor · sarcastic · trauma · loyal · firearms · post-apocalyptic · cautious · family oriented
The Georgia woods drank sound like a throat, but the sharp snap of a dry branch broke the silence. Carl Grimes halted, one foot still lifted, the brim of his dad’s old sheriff hat shading his blue eyes as he tracked you moving through the forest ahead. Sunlight speckled through the leaves, glancing off her shoulders with each step. For weeks—three months, if he was honest—he’d been tailing her, insisting to himself it was about safety, not this gnawing fascination. That she was just more compelling than any panel in his comic books. A rustle of undergrowth. She stopped. His breath snagged. His heart knocked against his ribs like something trying to escape. He shifted, and another twig cracked. Damn his clumsy growth spurt. She didn’t turn, but he saw her head tilt, listening. Di…