Carl Walking Dead Novels & Stories

Because there are two things in front of her, and she cannot afford to let them touch. The first is a threat. Cara is the seventh. The watcher. The final living thread of ARBITER, despite Maya’s report declaring the committee neutralized in eleven reassuring words. Cara is embedded inside an allied settlement. She has been reading the network cleanly for months. She keeps the recall protocol alive and is the reason Dex is dead. As a threat, Cara is almost a gift. An enemy who does not know she has been seen. The second thing is a wound. Cara is the woman from the awning's shadow. The clean bandage, the shared protein bar, Dex laughing easy. The most private humiliation of a life that unmade

Beside him, one of his surviving scouts quickly stepped forward, pointing a trembling finger through the gap in the wall and whispering frantically into his ear. Carl's head snapped up. He locked eyes directly with Joanna, and she saw pure, unadulterated fury and hatred burning in his gaze. Carl stepped past his truck's bumper, the air around him visibly shimmering with a sudden, oppressive humidity that defied the freezing winter cold. "So you're the one who thinks she owns the wasteland," Carl sneered, his voice cutting through the crisp air like broken glass. "You think burning down the Blood Fang’s turf makes you a god? You destroyed all our work in a single night!"

Carl sat down next to him, his dick waving about, with Titania coiled ready on the other side. "Hey Jim." Carl grinned smugly. "Hey Carl," Jim said resignedly. "How's it going?" "Quiet over there." Alvarez called over at them. Carl kept grinning at him for a moment, then fished out his copy of Frankenstein from his bag. Jim knew it was only a matter of time. He stared fixedly ahead, trying to will his peripheral vision to turn off. It was hopeless. No matter how he tried to focus on the lesson, he was too keyed up for the madness to begin.

Tiny pieces cut his arm. "M-Mom?" He put his hand on her shoulder, and she squeezed it. "It's okay, Mom." He lowered the gun, guilt filling his eyes. He blamed himself for what happened, for making her feel scared, for letting her go through this fear. "They roam and hunt, searching for food to satisfy their hunger. Human flesh," Carl said, his vacant eyes fixed on the woods ahead. "But when they find a person and tear them apart, they lose interest. They move on, looking for someone with a beating heart."

The door swung open, and there stood Chester, who was supposed to have been a fixture in the morgue for the past two weeks. I nodded at him, my face a blank slate. "It's been a while!" The relatives froze, their exchanged glances screaming silent panic. "Ah!" "He's alive!" "I said we shouldn't visit the morgue after midnight, but no, you had to see for yourselves!" "All this for a few bucks from selling their organs? It's not worth dying over." My aunt, gripping Theodore's arm and shaking it, wailed. I let out an icy laugh, lifted my hand, and gave Chester a slap that left a red mark blazing on his cheek.

“I know enough, Prince. But you won’t hear anything from me. That hurts, right?” Carl tilted his head, a chilling smile creeping across his lips. “Really? You think so?” “Yes,” the man spat. “You’re a weakling, Prince Carl. There is nothing you can do to me. You can only kill me.” Carl chuckled darkly, stepping closer. “Oh… you flatter yourself. You think I’ll kill you? Dream on. Death is mercy. You won’t die—not by my hand. You’ll live… but as a walking dead.”

Since returning from my trip and sending Kelvin away, I haven't been there. Carl arrived at the company and headed straight to the office, meeting me seated, and going through my laptop. He should have been here much earlier, as we are going together to the underground. “Boss.” Carl called as he walked in and sat down. “I thought you were going to come over with Damon.” I spoke with a calm voice. “He's busy attending to other matters. Damon got a call from the warehouse; someone died. He was sick and didn't take his treatment.” Carl responded by taking a deep breath.

“They found us!” The windows shattered, bullets raining in. Alarms blared outside, spotlights cutting across the dark. Carl’s men were here—fast, efficient, relentless. “Move!” I barked, yanking Skyla behind me. Charlie grabbed his rifle. Steph hesitated near Ed’s bed, torn between guilt and fear. Carl’s voice rang out through a bullhorn outside, smooth as ever. “Bring me the girl. Bring me Skyla, and maybe the rest of you get to live.”

"Yeah, one of my colleagues in the group got a fever, it hasn't gone down yet, keeps saying he answered the question wrong." "Let's hurry up and go, don't wait until the afternoon, it's too weird." "The abbot probably wouldn't take that path, right?" "Don't even mention the team leader, even the people in the building across the street take a detour." "That's fine." Not many people came by. That was said too early. At that moment, Carl walked into the deep alley with an umbrella. He was like eyeing the convenience store at the end of the alley, dressed in a sharp black suit. His hand holding a black umbrella stood out in the rain because of his overly pale skin.

He walks over leaving Roland to take care of Henry, who looks like his head is in more pain than it appears to be. “Carl.. baby” Carlson halts in his steps. He could not believe his ears. It's been such a long time since he heard that voice. Even in death, he would know who it belonged to.