Dead Man Walking | Rick Grimes

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Carl and I sat in my new room, a dirty cell near the perch so I could still be close to Daryl. For the past thirty minutes, he and I have just sat around and talked, mainly because he told me about the superhero comic books he used to have at home. He was still super excited that he was the one in charge and the one to call the shots if something were to happen, and I'm happy that Rick is letting him have more of a role here in the group. While on the road, Carl has proved himself to be quite the shot! I also had to train him on knife work—how to get down and dirty when you don't have ammo to waste.

"June, I remember you and Daryl fighting when we were still on the farm." Carl suddenly said, immediately pulling my attention back to the present day. I licked my lips and let out a small chuckle, remembering how beat up we were afterward. Dully, an ache in my ribs reminded me of how much they had hurt after the whole ordeal. Yeah, don't know if I'm gonna do that again.

"Yeah, we really did a number on one another." I chuckled as my hand absentmindedly rubbed the left side of my ribs.

"It would be awesome if you could show me a few moves," Carl said, a coy smile across his lips. I bit the inside of my cheek and flashed him a hesitant smile. I don't know what Rick and Lori would think about this. Unless Daryl offers to be a punching back, I think it's a no-go.

"Tell you what," I started, "Get permission from your mom and your dad, and I'll teach you a few moves."

"Why do I need their permission?" Carl asked me. Good question, kid. Too good! That was my way out of this, and now, there's no way to worm myself out of this one.

"Well..." I trailed as I tried to devise a reason, "To train you fully, I think it would be best if you hit me a few times – to see if you got it." Carl grimaced. I just hope the kid likes me enough not to want to beat the tar out of me.

"That's not how they do it... is it?" Carl asked me. It's not that I don't wanna show him! I plan on it... just not now. Do I have a rhyme or reason as to why I don't want to? Well, firstly, we don't have a bag, and secondly, eventually, someone is gonna have to spar with him, and I don't wanna be held liable if I accidentally knock a tooth loose. I swear it wouldn't be my intention!

I just nodded at the boy and looked toward the entrance of my cell. I keep waiting for Rick or Daryl to come in and report back to us, but nothing yet. It's making me anxious—I should've gone with them. "Can we continue talking about Germany and the start of World War 2? It's been a while."

"It has been a while, hasn't it?" I asked him, a small smile playing on my lips as my heart swelled. I love the fact that he's so interested in history. It makes me fall in love with the subject all over again as I lecture. As I was about to open my mouth, we heard screams echoing throughout the cell. Carl and I jumped up, ran out of my cell, and down the steps to where Rick, Glenn, and Maggie anxiously waited. Carl ran forward and hurriedly opened the cell, my eyes immediately falling on a wounded Hershel, his left leg amputated from the knee down and blood spilling from his stump. I heard Beth scream for her father as they wheeled him in, the panic strong among us. I grabbed the corner of the metal cart and pulled them into the nearest room, my heart hammering in my chest as Glenn explained how he was bitten.

"Maybe you got to it in time," Carol said as she looped her arms under his legs. Rick grabbed him by the shoulders, pushing me out of his way—rightfully so—and counting to three as they moved him to the bed. I pushed myself into the wall, eyeing the blood that oozed from his stump and feeling a lump in my throat. This can't be happening! "Get some pillows!" Carol shouted as she put pressure on the stump. I snapped into action and ran out of the cell, darting to the nearby rooms and grabbing whatever pillows looked clean. I ran back into the cell, my arms overflowing with pillows, when I heard voices that didn't sound familiar.