Chapter 35 Load Up the Cakes

“Not bad,” Magnus Vane said as he looked Carl over from head to toe.

“Not bad at all.

You’re actually starting to look the part.” Carl’s serious expression immediately cracked.

“What do you mean, starting to look the part?

I always look like this.” Magnus stared at him for a second before laughing.

Carl’s offended expression only made it worse, and Magnus had to wipe at the corner of one eye before finally getting himself under control.

“All right, enough.

Put on the rest of the equipment I prepared for you.

We’ve still got training to do.” Carl followed the direction of his finger.

A simple Primitive Bow rested against the wall, and beside it lay a small leather quiver containing roughly twenty crude wooden arrows.

Magnus had crafted both after reading the Hunter’s Bow magazine and raising his Bow Crafting skill to Level 5.

The weapon wasn’t particularly powerful, but it was light enough for Carl to handle and more than sufficient for training.

Magnus had considered starting him with a handgun like Rick would probably prefer, but bows had their own advantages.

They were quiet, ammunition could eventually be recovered or remade, and the weapon encouraged patience instead of simply pulling a trigger.

If Carl later decided archery didn’t suit him, there would be plenty of opportunities to change weapons once they reached the prison.

Carl slipped the quiver over his shoulder and adjusted the bow across his back.

Most of his body remained protected by the Wooden Armor Set, though parts of his clothing and right arm remained exposed enough to give him freedom of movement.

Magnus also found him a dark protective bracer for his forearm so the bowstring wouldn’t keep striking bare skin.

Once everything was fitted properly, Magnus nodded.

“Much better.” Carl looked down at himself with obvious satisfaction.

A few minutes later, the two left the house and climbed into the fire engine.

Magnus started the diesel engine and turned toward the highway, while Carl sat beside him with the bow resting carefully across his lap.

The boy had changed considerably over the last few days, and Magnus intended to spend the remainder of the week building on that foundation instead of overwhelming him with another extreme test.

They reached the highway later that morning.

“The bow itself isn’t complicated,” Magnus explained once they stepped out.

“What takes time is learning how to use it consistently.

You haven’t done this before, so we start with the basics instead of trying to look impressive.” Only a handful of walkers remained scattered across the highway.

The massive herd Rick’s group had encountered earlier had dragged most of the dead away, leaving enough isolated targets for controlled practice.

Magnus pointed toward one walker shambling across the asphalt a good distance away.

“There are a few basic parts to every shot,” he said.

“Grip the bow, nock the arrow, draw, aim, release.

Don’t rush any of them.” Carl listened carefully.

Magnus adjusted his grip first.

“Keep the bow steady without squeezing it like you’re trying to crush the handle.

If your hand is fighting the weapon, the arrow won’t go where you want.” He then demonstrated how to seat the arrow and draw the string smoothly rather than jerking it backward.

Carl copied him.

“Slow your breathing,” Magnus continued.

“Don’t panic because the target is moving.

Walkers are actually good practice because they’re predictable.” He stepped beside Carl and adjusted the angle slightly.

“Now.” Carl released.

Whoosh!

The arrow streaked across the road and buried itself through the walker’s eye.

Its body dropped immediately.

Carl’s eyes widened.

Magnus grinned.

“That works.” He walked toward the fallen walker while continuing the lesson.

“A bow like this doesn’t hit with the same force as a crossbow, so placement matters.

Against walkers, you want openings or softer parts of the skull whenever possible.

Against a living attacker, the goal is different—disable them long enough to escape or end the threat.” Carl nodded seriously.

“Got it.” From there, practice became repetition.

At first, Carl missed completely.

Then he started hitting torsos.

By afternoon, he could place arrows into a walker’s face from a reasonable distance often enough that Magnus stopped correcting every shot.

They moved along the highway together, clearing the remaining walkers while Carl recovered arrows whenever it was safe.

The days passed.

Magnus worked him hard but not recklessly.

Carl practiced drawing the bow while tired, judging distance, moving quietly, changing position after a shot, and recognizing when shooting wasn’t worth the risk.

By the seventh day, the awkwardness in his movements had mostly disappeared.

Rain fell lightly over the highway that morning.

Carl drew.

Released.

The arrow cut through the rain and struck a walker through the side of the head near the ear.

It collapsed.

Carl lowered the bow with a satisfied smile.

Then he pointed ahead.

“Magnus, that’s where we hid from the herd.” Magnus followed his finger.

An open section near the highway had clearly been used by Rick’s group during the earlier walker migration.

Abandoned vehicles remained scattered around the area, and not far away sat something considerably more useful—a delivery load of unopened bottled water that had never been recovered.

Magnus remembered hearing that Shane had spotted it before the herd forced everyone away.

“Well, no reason to leave that sitting here.” They brought the fire engine closer and began loading the sealed bottled water into its storage compartments.

The farm already had enough drinking water for the moment, which explained why nobody had risked coming all the way back for it.

Magnus had no intention of wasting supplies simply because they weren’t urgently needed today.

He also siphoned usable fuel from several abandoned vehicles and added it to the fire engine.

Once finished, they continued farther down the highway.

After roughly two more kilometers, the traffic congestion began thinning noticeably.

Instead of continuous lines of wrecked cars, vehicles now appeared only in scattered groups.

Another half kilometer later, Magnus spotted a white box truck resting at an angle beyond the guardrail.

His eyes immediately brightened.

“Carl.” The boy already understood.

They approached cautiously.

The rear cargo doors remained closed and secured by a chain.

Magnus gave Carl a quick hand signal.

Carl stepped back and raised his bow, covering the doors in case something came rushing out once they were opened.

The coordination between them had become nearly automatic over the last several days.

Magnus lifted the Stone Sledgehammer.

Then brought it down.

CLANG!

The chain snapped and struck the pavement.

The metallic crash echoed along the highway.

Carl tightened his grip on the bow.

Magnus stepped forward, grabbed the cargo-door handle, and yanked it open.

Both of them braced for walkers.

Nothing lunged out.

Instead— Plastic packages poured from the truck.

Dozens.

Then hundreds.

Small individually wrapped cakes spilled across the ground until they were piling around Magnus’s boots.

He stared.

Carl stared.

Magnus slowly bent down and picked one up.

“Well, damn.” He checked the packaging and expiration information.

Still sealed.

Still within a usable shelf-life.

Magnus grinned.

“This is why civilization was impressive.” Carl crouched beside the pile.

Magnus tore one package open and handed it over, then opened another for himself.

He took a bite and immediately tasted sweet cream followed by vanilla.

“Vanilla.” Carl was already chewing his own.

“Mine’s strawberry.” His words came out muffled because his mouth was full.

Neither had eaten anything like this in a while.

For several moments, training, walkers, and the end of the world stopped mattering.

They just ate cake.

Magnus finished his and looked back at the truck.

Then at the fire engine.

“Yeah.” He smiled.

“We’re taking all of it.” They brought the fire engine closer and loaded as many sealed packages as possible into the available rear storage space, filling compartments until Magnus was satisfied they had taken everything worthwhile.

Between the bottled water, fuel, and now an absurd quantity of snack cakes, the return trip was becoming considerably more productive than expected.

Once the last package was secured, Magnus climbed into the driver’s seat.

Carl took the passenger side.

Magnus rested both hands on the wheel and finally relaxed.

“Carl.” “Yeah?” “You know what day it is?” Carl’s face immediately brightened.

“Day seven.” Magnus smiled.

“Exactly.” Carl sat straighter.

Training was over.

Magnus started the engine.

“Let’s go home.” Carl immediately raised the Primitive Bow over his head.

“Back to camp!” His cheer echoed through the cab.

Magnus laughed and pulled the fire engine onto the highway, turning it toward Hershel’s farm.

Carl stared eagerly through the windshield, unable to hide his excitement anymore.

After seven days away, he would finally see Rick and Lori again.

He just had no idea how worried his parents had become while he was gone.

[Goal Tracker]