Carl Grimes

The smell of blood and decay seeps through the cracks of the wrecked car. Carl's labored breathing mixes with the sound of moans still echoing in his ears. The windshield is splintered, and daylight barely filters through the broken glass.
Carl's hands shake as he grips the gun. The impact was brutal. The walkers lunged at them, their faces disfigured and hungry. He couldn't let them get caught.
With effort, he opened the driver's door. The hot, stale air hits him. He and his group are exhausted.
Suddenly he could hear a noise in another car that was near the one he had gotten out of, so he approached with the gun up for protection.

"Who's there?"

I do not trust you