It had been one week since Paul had given him his first gun, and in that amount of time, he had felt that he had learnt more than he had ever learned in his entire life.
Of course, it wasn't true, but he was learning different skills compared to what he used to learn in school, so it felt more real, more tangible.
His shooting practice was going well, and he felt more comfortable both holding and shooting his weapon though he still felt a little nervous sometimes, he felt that feeling getting smaller and smaller.
Paul also taught him every day how to clean and maintain his gun to make sure that it would stay working for a long time to come.
After getting his gun, he also began his knife training, which consisted of basic knife combat, though Paul taught him mostly defense as because of his current size any knife fight he got into would be a hard win.
Throughout his days surviving in the wild, Paul taught him a bunch of smaller useful tactics like setting animal traps and how to walk more silently through a forest without leaving too many tracks.
A few days ago, he had managed to catch a small rabbit, and Paul showed him how to clean it and cook it.
He had to admit Paul was a better cook than his mom.
"Hey, pay attention." Carl felt Paul slap him lightly on the back of the head, and he zoned back in to what Paul had been saying.
"Haha, sorry I zoned out." Carl rubbed his head while giving a cheeky smile.
"Remember the heavier side of the blade is the part you need to hold when throwing your knife. In your case, the Ka-bar has a heavier handle, so you will hold the handle when throwing it.
Based on the distance of the target, you will either anticipate one rotation of the blade or two. It all depends on the knife and how much force you're putting into the throw."
"As demonstrated." Paul tossed his knife in his hand before taking a step forward and releasing his knife with a smooth movement that all flowed together.
Thunk!
The black Ka-bar knife sank into the tree twenty feet away from them with ease, and Carl was almost giddy to begin trying it himself.
"Just see where you want to hit and focus on it. It's all about repetition, so it will take some time."
"Now give it a whirl."
Carl stepped up and felt the knife that he had been training with fit comfortably in his hand before he stepped forward and threw it at the tree.
Swish!
The knife went flying out of his hand, but it was nowhere near the tree as it skidded into a pile of leaves ten feet away from the tree.
"Damn. Looks like this might take you longer than we thought."
Carl looked over at Paul who was rubbing his temple before they both chuckled. The next few days, he spent a few hours on gun training, knife combat and throwing, tracking and hunting, endurance building, and even hand-to-hand defense.
Every single day was full of activity.
His hands were raw from loading bullets into magazines and pulling the trigger. A few knife cuts could be seen on his arms and hands. His body was even full of bruises and sore muscles.
Yet he had to admit he felt better than he had in a long time.
Every day, he and Paul grew a little closer, even if Paul did try to stay mysterious, Carl always got a few pieces of information out of him.
He knew Paul had done bad things, after all, not all fifteen-year-olds were trained killers, but even still, Carl felt closer to Paul than he had with anyone in a long time.
A few days later, when he and Paul were doing a routine walk through the forest, they spotted something interesting.
"I havent seen tracks like this before." Carl said while looking at the brushed up leaves that were almost in a zig zag pattern.
"Do you recognize it?" Carl looked over at Paul, who crouched down and studied the dirt before looking around like he was seeing the entire scene happen in real time.
"You should recognize it. After all, they chased you into the forest." Paul said, making Carl freeze as he remembered the living dead with their blank eyes and growls.
Looking back at the tracks Carl finally saw it. The living dead dragged their feet almost in a zig zag like pattern.
"It went that way." Carl pointed toward a more open clearing of woods.
"Let's go hunt," Paul said before they took off into the forest at a slight jog though their feet seemed to dodge every pile of leaves and fallen branch as they moved silently through the forest.
Finally, after ten minutes of following the trail, they both stopped as they heard the sound of shuffling.
"Over there." Paul pointed to the far right, where Carl saw one of the living dead stumbling through the woods, seemingly walking aimlessly.
It was wearing a dark blue t-shirt and black pants. It had once been a man, but now, it was something else entirely, its flesh rotting, teeth clacking, waiting for its next meal.
Carl saw Paul nod at him and understood the meaning.
Unbuckling his pistol, he slowly crept closer to the stumbling dead.
He felt his hands grow sweaty, his heart was racing, he wanted to turn back around, but remembering his mission of getting back to his mom, he tightened his grip on the gun.
Swee!
He whistled softly, getting the attention of the living dead as it turned around and faced him.
Almost as if smelling him, the dead grew agitated as it clacked its teeth and almost seemed to speed up a little, but Carl stayed calm, his week of training kicking in.
Raising his gun, he flipped off the safety before aiming his gun at the chest of the living dead and took a deep breath.
'Don't wonder why, just do.' Carl thought before squeezing the trigger and feeling the pistol recoil in his hands.
Psst!
He saw the bullet hit the dead man in the chest, but instead of dropping to the ground like he had expected, the dead man kept walking toward him.
"What!"
Carl, feeling a little panicked now that the dead were almost upon, quickly aimed and fired two more shots.
Psst!
Psst!
The two shots made the dead man twist sideways, and blood sprayed, but he kept walking.
"Shit!" Carl cursed and knew if his mom was there, she would have washed his mouth out with soap, but right now felt like a moment that it should be allowed.
Seeing the dead man almost in arm's reach, Carl hurriedly ran back to Paul, who had been watching everything with a keen eye.
"What the heck is going on?" Carl asked while looking at his gun, wondering if Paul had given him a faulty one.
"Try shooting it in the head this time." Paul said
Carl's eyes widened, and he remembered when Paul had killed the ones that had chased him; they had all been shot in the head.
"Did you know?" Carl asked with an angry pout
Paul shook his head.
"No, I just only shoot head shots."
"Alright, alright. No need to brag." Carl ran back over to the walking dead that had been stumbling its way toward them and raised his gun, but this time aiming for its head.
"Eat this." Carl stuck his tongue out a little while focusing. It was harder to hit a moving target, but he visualized the target in his mind before squeezing the trigger.
Psst!
Thud!
Before he could process the shot, he saw the body of the living dead hit the ground with a single bullet hole in its head.
Walking over to the now actually dead person, Carl felt both sad and happy. He was capable of protecting himself, but he also killed a person, or what had once been.
Feeling a hand on his shoulder, he looked up and saw Paul who was as calm as a rock like usual. Knowing Paul was there with him he felt his emotions calm back down.
"Let's go back. This is just the beginning."