Title: A Prayer
Fandom: The Walking Dead
Rating: PG13
Length: 678
Author notes: Also written for Challenge #9: Weekly Quick Fic #3 @ writerverse. And thank you to Jessi, who looks over anything and everything that I write.




He ran as fast as he could; legs burning, heart beating, he turned a corner, only to double back when a Walker who had been mindlessly walking along, caught a glimpse of him. Feeling his breath coming up short, Carl turned towards the first alley he saw, only to pause again when two Walkers walked past.

Panicking, he turned back again. He had a small herd of Walkers behind him, two down an alley, one limping towards him, and Carl knew he had to think quickly. To his right, was an open door, but after going out patrolling with his father, he knew that there were always Walkers in abandoned buildings. Sometimes they would be sleeping, other times they would be walking along, with their skin falling and black teeth chomping air, but it wasn’t something he wanted to chance. Even if he decided to run in and he found the building to be empty, he couldn’t keep out the Walkers alone. The time to hide under a table and hope they don’t find him had past. He needed to move, and soon. To his left was another alley, ending with a fence that could keep the Walkers at bay, at least until his father found him.

Hands shaking, he pocketed the gun his father had given him the way he had seen Shane do once, turning the safety on before placing it behind his back so it hung on his jeans, before he sprinted down the alley to his left. He could hear them behind him, their eyes craving his flesh and their dead fingers craving his blood.

His blood was pumping maddeningly when he reached the metal fence. Don’t look back, his father had said once. You look straight ahead and you run, Carl. You hear me? You run.

Carl was shivering as he started to pull himself up, his young fingers getting cut from the sharp metal rings. He had nearly made it to the top when his foot was grabbed. Biting his lip, he tried to kick the Walker away, or kick its face in the way he had seen everyone else do. But he was only a kid, he didn’t have the strength of his father and the Walker kept a decomposing hand tightly around his ankle.

Fighting it with all his strength, Carl pulled himself up, kicking and squirming until he successfully sat on the top of the fence with his free leg dangling on the other side. Still kicking at the Walker, he reached back for the gun, hating the fact that he needed both hands to turn the safety off. He tried to stop himself from crying out, but couldn’t, not when the small herd finally caught up and started limping down the alley towards him.

Truly panicking now, Carl gave one final kick, hitting the Walker right between the eyes and causing it to dazedly let go of his leg. He only needed that second. Pulling the gun out and cocking it, he shot the Walker in its head and watched it go down. Then, before the others reached him, he jumped to the other side. The herd came towards the fence with their arms out, fingers grappling with the metal, teeth trying to bite them free so they could get to him just as he landed, wincing when his leg hit the pavement particularly hard.

Gasping for air, Carl stepped back and looked around to see where he was. He was trapped, there was no way out. He only had three bullets left and over a dozen Walkers reaching for him. He held onto his father’s sheriff hat, still on top of his head, and prayed that his father would find him; that they would survive this apocalypse and live to watch all Walkers burn.

When he heard the unmistakable sound of a gunshot and saw a Walker go down, only to follow the sound and see his father and three others with rifles drawn, Carl knew that at least one of his prayers had been answered.