Two weeks later
It had been a month since Carl met Paul, and every single day since then had been spent sharpening his survival skills.
After his first kill, the next ones came easier. He started hunting the dead on purpose, using them as moving targets to practice. Headshots, knife work, even throwing knives, he trained nonstop.
Every day, he built his own water filter, hunted his own food, and did everything Paul taught him.
Carl could feel himself getting stronger. More confident. He knew he could take care of himself now. But every time they sparred, that confidence was shattered.
Paul would take him down in seconds, leaving him face-first in the dirt.
The same cold words followed.
"You're weak."
Carl knew Paul didn't mean it to be cruel; it was just his way of pushing him. Still, it felt like slow torture sometimes.
Paul's fighting style was almost scary. Calm, smooth, effortless. He never hesitated. Every move was clean, like he already knew what you were going to do before you did it. He didn't need strength, just the right angle, the right grip, and he could break you.
His knife skills weren't flashy, just brutally effective. Their spars never lasted long. A few moves, and it was over.
Despite all that, Carl had grown to enjoy the quiet days with Paul: the forest, the training, the peace.
Sadly, it seemed the peace was going to be interrupted as Carl and Paul watched a large box truck drive down the dirt road before stopping directly in front of Paul's cabin.
Hiding within the tree line, the only sound was the sound of their controlled breathing and the truck running making for an eerie atmosphere.
A full moon hung over them lighting up the night sky.
"You're sure it's not your food guy?" Carl whispered to Paul, who was crouched down, his silenced pistol in hand, lying across his knee.
"It's the correct day and that is the truck, but he's supposed to radio in first, and he didn't, it's not him." Paul's voice darkened, and Carl felt a chill go up his spine.
If it wasn't the supply truck guy who the heck was it?
Looking back at the truck, he narrowed his eyes and gripped his gun tighter.
Finally after a minute of suspense the driver door opened up and out got a big dude who resembled a hill billy.
He was big, standing at least six feet tall, and had long hair. He wore a red sweater vest and dark blue pants.
Just as Carl thought that was bad enough, he saw the passenger door open up as well.
"You gotta be kidding me?" Carl whispered after seeing another hill billy get out of the truck.
Just as Carl thought that was bad enough, he saw both the hill billy brothers pull out guns from their waistbands, making his eyes widen.
Who the hell were these guys?
"These guys are clowns. They must not have known what they were walking into." Paul shook his head, wanting to feel pity but he couldn't, he just wanted blood.
"Let's go. You got the passenger, I got the driver. Leave them alive for now." Paul smirked before slinking off into the darkness like a ghost of hell while Carl followed.
The palms of his hands were a little sweaty, and he was nervous to shoot another person but these guys didn't look like good people.
Creeping up slowly, Carl used the footwork that Paul had taught him to make sure his foot steps were extremely light and well placed.
Finally, they were nearing the back of the truck, and Carl heard the sound of something banging against the front door of the cabin.
"Damn Joey put some muscle into it."
Carl crept out from behind the truck and saw the driver ramming his shoulder into the cabin door while the passenger seemingly talked shit.
Carl felt himself wanting to say a funny one-liner, but knew that was the kid inside of him and decided against it.
Knowing that Paul was probably waiting on him to make the first move Carl quickly aimed at the passengers knee cap before squeezing the trigger.
Psst!
"Ahhhh!
"Psst!
"Thunki!
Carl watched the passenger collapse to the dirt, screaming, before he watched the driver get shot in the knee and a knife make its way into his hand that had been reaching for his gun.
"Reach for it again and the next one goes in your nut sack." Paul stepped out of the shadows, his eyes staring into the frightened ones of the drivers as if feeding off his fear.
"M-m-mother fucker! Who are you?" The driver spat while looking at Paul, while Carl watched the passenger roll around in the dirt holding his knee like a fish out of water.
He had to say the feeling of shooting someone's knee out was something else. He could feel the adrenaline coursing through his veins.
"You're trying to break into my cabin, so the better question is, who are you?" Paul smirked a little, though it seemed more like a demonic warning.
"That mother fucker Tanner! We tortured him for the intel on this place and said their was a child here, he didnt tell us you were a fucking pyschopath!" The man cried out, his face turning pale as blood leaked from his knee and soaked the dirt.
"So you like children, huh?" Paul asked before jamming his boot onto the knife that was in the man's hand, making him scream out like a pig.
"No-no, I swear. Tanner said there were tons of supplies here, that's why we came here, I swear to god, please!" The man cried
Paul nodded before looking between the two.
"You don't have to do this. There's a month's worth of supplies in the truck we can share it." The man said trying to bargain a deal.
Carl, watching all of this, wasn't sure if he believed them, but he didn't know if killing them was really right, after all they were just trying to get some supplies, right?
"Yeah…" Paul took his gun off the man and let it hang at his side.
"Good, good." The man smiled, his yellow teeth gleaming; he saw hope. He would make this kid regret messing with him.
"I do," Paul raised his gun.
Psst!
Psst!
Thump!
The two men collapsed completely their eyes still wide with horror and anger. One second they saw hope, and the next, death.