RJ Grimes, an old friend of Merle Dixon. They finally get reunited, and when she finally gets her brother back, it comes at the cost of losing that smart mouthed redneck.
Though somehow, his brother is able to figure out how to do the same for her...
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RJ's POV 𓅓
Regret. Fear. Resentment; The three main things kept playing over and over in my mind as I ran with Carl's limp body in my arms.
Rick almost didn't let me, until I told him I'd be faster—which was true. He may have had longer legs, but I was still much faster than him, always had been.
My nephews arm swung back and forth, up and down, side to side—in a way that sent absolutely terror to rip through my body. With every sickening movement coming from his limp arm was more motivation for me to push harder. I had to get him to the farmhouse, I had to get him help.
I felt something when the shot rang, but when I saw Carl's body fall I knew that the bullet had missed me and went straight into my nephew.
The feeling of Carl's warm blood seeping into my shirt was enough to scare me into running faster.
"How far?" My brothers voice screamed.
"Another half mile that way. Hershel. Talk to Hershel, he'll help your boy." The asshole that shot my nephew shouted.
Another half mile, I could do that. With a determined grunt, I pushed Carl's body up with my knee, got a better grip, and continued to book it down the field.
Everything went by in a blur as I focused on my breathing and the pumping of my legs. Carl was my number one priority—always.
The sound of Ricks pounding steps behind me was the only thing I could hear—that and the sound of my heart beat beating through my chest.
The white farmhouse finally came into view, and I nearly screamed with joy. The sight of the farmhouse gave me enough motivation to run faster. It wasn't much, but it was faster.
An old man kicked open the screen door, and four other people followed behind him. Three women and a boy. He looked to be younger than Glenn.
I let out a grunt as I held Carl tighter onto my body—trying my best not to let him fall.
"Was he bit?" The old man questioned as we approached the porch.
"Shot. By your man." Rick snapped as he struggled to breathe.
"Otis?" The oldest woman asked as they all began to make their way towards us. We didn't exactly have time to exchange pleasantries when my nephew laid on the forest floor, bleeding out.
"He said find Hershel. Is that you?" The man nodded and I desperately began to jog his way. "Help me. Help my boy."
