send me 'grim reaper' for my muse's response to yours dying in their arms
He should have left the house sooner. He shouldn’t have even let Carl leave the house like that. If he’d just sucked it up and went after him a little sooner, Carl wouldn’t have gotten bit. Duck panicked and pulled out his gun, shooting the duo of walkers that had taken the teen by surprise. When they fell to the ground, Duck ran over to the other, collapsing on the ground next to him.
"Oh God, oh God.." Duck uttered, running his hands through his hair. Carl had been bitten twice. Once on the arm, and once on the shoulder. The thin layers of fabric protecting his skin had done nothing to stop the hungry walkers from getting their meal. There was no way Carl would survive that, even if those weren’t walker bites. "Jesus…!"
"I can’t feel my arm…I-I can’t feel my arm," Carl cried out, sitting up and grasping onto the bite wounds on his forearm. He frantically looked up at Duck. "My arm’s numb, I—I can’t feel my arm…!"
Duck was at a loss for words. No matter what he did, Carl was going to die. He couldn’t bandage up the wound, because the fever would take over and turn him. If Carl already couldn’t feel his arm, cutting it off would be pointless. There was nothing Duck could do except wait.
"I-I’m so sorry Carl, I…I should have come outside earlier and helped you, and I—…" He trailed off, looking down at Carl. Duck pulled on his hair, trying to piece together what to say. "I’m so…I’m so sorry…"
"God dammit…" Carl uttered, hanging his head and trying not to cry. He knew that this was it for him. He knew that there was no being saved. He knew that he was going to die. He pulled his knees up to his chest and leaned his head on them.
Duck could already tell that the fever was setting in. It astounded him how quickly the bites affected Carl. For a young body like his though, it really wasn’t all that surprising. Duck let his hands fall down to his sides and he looked over at Carl, guilt in his own eyes.
"Wh…What do we do…?" He asked meekly, though he knew the answer perfectly well.
"I…" Carl started. He too knew the answer, but he didn’t want to come to terms with his fate. After taking a moment to himself, he inhaled to speak. "You gotta do it. I can’t become one of them. I won’t become one of them.”
Duck nodded at Carl. There was nothing else he could do for the boy, and he knew that. The only thing he could do was wait with him and finish the job when Carl’s time came. There were long moments of silence between the two, and over time, Carl’s condition was getting progressively worse. He’d already lost a lot of blood from being bitten in the first place, and now the fever had set in, making Carl cough and sweat. He was incapable of moving from the pain.
"I…I-I think this is it…" Carl uttered, followed with a cough. He let out a groan of pain, and a few tears escaped his eyes, much to Carl’s dismay. "I…can’t…move…"
Duck readied his knife for when Carl gave him the okay. Though he didn’t really know him all that much, it was never a pleasant sight watching someone go through the pain and suffering that Carl was at that moment.
"Hey," Duck said, knife ready in his hands, and scooting closer to Carl. He himself could feel a couple tears working their way out from his eyes. Carl’s breaths were getting sharp and short, and he began coughing and groaning more and more. "I’m here, okay? You’re not alone. I’m here."
"Just…" Carl whispered, pain and vulnerability clear in his voice. "Do it quick…Don’t…let me become…"
Carl trailed off and was completely silent. His breathing stopped and he was left motionless and lifeless curled up the way he was. Duck sniffled and turned away for a moment to pull himself together. He turned back to Carl, starting to cry, and removed the sheriff hat on top of his head. Duck plunged the knife into Carl’s head, finishing what he had ultimately started.
He laid Carl down on the grass and placed his arms on top of his chest, and put the sheriff hat over his face. He figured that even if he didn’t know him that well, he should at least show him some respect. Standing up, Duck wiped at his eyes and stared at Carl’s corpse, and then he realized something.
He’d never even told Carl his name.
