Fear and Desperation
Chapter 1
It had been a hideous blur of throat-constricting fear and adrenaline that had managed to keep her just out of their reach. She remembered the burn in her chest and the heaviness of her legs as she ran along the desolate road, their shouts lingering behind her and getting closer as night fell.
She'd been foolish to try and steal the backpack from their truck, but she hadn't been able to help herself; the desperation had been unbearable. Her supplies had run out days ago, and she'd broken her flashlight when confronting a small group of the undead. She'd managed to escape, but just barely.
Combined with the starvation that wrought her stomach into knots, Abigail was desperate. But she'd been sloppy – careless, even.
She'd stumbled upon this group of people by accident shortly after her most recent scrape with the undead. After getting lost, she finally found her way back to the main road, and opted to stick close to it at night until she came across somewhere safe to stay and rest. While moving through the thick shrubbery, she'd heard the truck coming from down the road and kept to the dense brush, fear pumping through her chest. She was weak, tired, and laughably unarmed; she couldn't afford to get caught. As she waited for the last man to leave the truck, Abigail moved between the trees, preparing for the right moment to run over, grab the nearest backpack, and then run back into the woods. She didn't care what was in it, she just needed tools and supplies – hopefully some she could trade for others.
Unfortunately, she hadn't counted on them leaving a scout nearby to keep an eye on the truck. That was her first mistake.
Abigail had darted out of the bushes, carefully hopped into the back of the truck and grabbed the closest pack – but before she could make a run for it, she'd heard a shout, followed by the harrowing pierce of a gun being fired in her direction.
Another had suddenly appeared at her side, grabbing her and throwing her to the ground. She landed gracelessly with a sharp cry, hands immediately balling into fists as she punched and clawed her way out of the man's vice-like grip. More shouts could be heard coming from down the road. With a harsh twist of her torso, Abigail grunted as her elbow connected with something hard.
The wail of pain that followed caused her assailant to release his grip on her, giving Abigail enough time to scramble to her feet and make a run for it, backpack lying forgotten on the desolate road.
For three day's straight, she ran – and for three days straight, they had continued to follow her. No matter where she ran, be it woods or road, they were always there, waiting for her. They were ruthless and they were unrelenting, and Abigail wouldn't slow down, not even for a second.
But even as she ran, and despite her resolve, Abigail knew she couldn't go on for much longer; she was exhausted, famished, and only delaying the inevitable. They were never far away, always lurking at the end of a road or on the edge of a nearby clearing. It would only be a matter of time before they would get tired of waiting, or until her legs gave out; whichever happened first.
Apparently, there was also a third option – wait for something else to bring her down. One of the undead had stumbled out from the woods but Abigail hadn't been fast enough to dodge it. Her hands had managed to grab its shoulders in the nick of time, its teeth gnashing mere inches from her face as they tumbled to the ground.
The struggle had only lasted moments before a single gunshot pierced the air, and the monster had fallen limp.
Briefly, Abigail wished that the bullet had hit her instead.
Hurriedly, she shoved the rotting corpse off and tried to scramble to her feet but the second piercing shout of a gun and the harsh twang of the bullet on the asphalt mere inches from her feet caused Abigail to lose her footing and fall to her knees, hard.
Abigail did not dare make a move.
Unfortunately for her, she was smart enough to realize when to stop fighting.
"Hell, if you ain't the slipperiest little piece of shit I've ever seen."
A voice that would haunt the rest of her days was followed only by the echoing crunch of gravel under a pair of heavy boots. A thick silence had fallen as quickly as the night had, and Abigail blinked through the harsh beams of headlights of the parked truck, heart hammering and blood rushing in her ears.
Fear had reached up and seized her soul with an icy claw and her pupils contracted in terror as the footsteps grew closer, each step so deliberate that she flinched with every crunch that his boot made, and Abigail could feel herself curling, already wilting under the pressure.
But despite her current state, one thing was certain.
They wanted her alive.
The footsteps came to a sudden halt about two feet in front of her, and the silence was so damn near suffocating that Abigail thought she might pass out. She flinched as the tip of a baseball bat found its way to her chin, the barbed wire poking into her skin as her jaw was tilted upward just enough to come face to face with a tall figure clad in a leather jacket.
"Well, well, well," he crowed humorously, tilting her chin up further until she jerked away in what he perceived as defiance. "Flip me over and fuck me sideways – look at what we have here, gentlemen! Pretty, and she's still got some fight left in her!"
The amused drawl in his tone was enough to make Abigail shiver. Along with the cool breeze that scattered the dead leaves across the road, she only just realized how cold the nights were becoming; all she wore was a sweat-stained dark grey t-shirt, pants, and a pair of boots that had seen better days.
"You," the man said, the edge of the bat coming back into her peripheral vision, "you piece of shit, caused a heap of trouble for such a little thing." He paused. "… I like that about you."
Abigail could feel his gaze burning holes into her skull, but she refused to meet his eyes. He then began to walk once more; the steady crunch… crunch… crunch of the gravel making her eye tick, but she made no move to follow him with her eyes. Instead, Abigail fixed her gaze to the gravel beneath her knees and desperately tried to control her breathing.
"But," he went on, casually emphasizing the 't', "you broke the nose of one of my best men, and then you tried to steal from me and that just makes me so… damn… angry."
His voice held no evidence of anger, but the frightening steadiness of his tone sent a rush of fear pulsing through her veins. Abigail swallowed thickly as he eventually completed his predatory circle where she kneeled, and with the last ounce of courage she had, she hesitantly looked up to meet his gaze.
Was he going to kill her?
It seemed like a logical possibility, but why chase her for days, wasting time and resources to only kill her in the end? It seemed pointless to drag this out any longer than need be. On the other hand, the man immediately struck her as the cruel type; one that would enjoy relentlessly torturing his food until he grew tired of it.
Abigail flinched as the man knelt down in front of her, bringing his face nearly level with her own and her stomach churned at the sight of the smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes.
The bat once again entered her line of sight, and Abigail's eyes immediately transfixed onto the weapon.
The smile grew wider.
"You see Lucille here?" His voice was soft, though it didn't diminish the frightening power he that practically radiated from him. "Pretty, ain't she? Well, she's just dyin' to make your acquaintance." He then waved the bat from left to right, taking obvious enjoyment in how her eyes followed suit.
"But, lucky for your sorry ass, Lucille is also a stickler for rules. So," he said, standing to his feet, "let's get right to it. Hi, I'm Negan. And you are?"
A moment of silence passed, and Negan clucked his tongue in annoyance. The bat was once again lingering threateningly at her temple.
"Naw, what's the matter, sweetheart? Cat got your tongue?"
A few of the men snickered.
"You know, it's a god damned miracle that I haven't already smeared your fuckin' brain from one side of this godforsaken road to the other, so you'd better give me an answer in the next three seconds or so help me God, I will—"
"—A-Abigail," she croaked.
Negan abruptly stopped before he barked out a laugh. "Well, what do you know, fellas – the little lady can talk! And such a pretty name, too." He then tapped the bat against her temple as a chorus of laughter rang out, and Abigail flinched away. "Ain't as pretty as Lucille, though."
Negan then swung Lucille up onto his shoulder. "So, Abigail, let me make this as damn clear as I possibly can, all right? And please—do not make me repeat myself a second time; Lucille does not have as much patience as I do."
Abigail shivered as Negan briefly bit his bottom lip, a cruel smirk peeling across his hardened face.
"Now, I did say I liked you, didn't I?" Negan laughed. "But I don't say shit like that for the laughs, sweetheart, so you have exactly five seconds to dazzle me, my dear, sweet Abby – prove to me, and to Lucille, why I shouldn't beat the holy Hell out of you right here and leave your sorry ass for the buzzards."
Lucille was then pointed directly between her eyes as Negan began to count.
"Five."
Survival came first.
"Four."
She just needed to survive.
"Three."
But then again, even if she could convince him that she had some skills of value, who was to say that they wouldn't put her to… other uses?
Negan adjusted his grip on Lucille.
"Two…"
"—d-doctor, I'm a doctor!" she whimpered.
"Woah-oh-oh!" Negan bellowed, his deep laugh echoing loudly. "A doctor, you say?"
Abigail nodded furiously, eyes squeezed shut, shoulders shaking and wrought with panic.
Negan brought Lucille down, cocked his jaw to the side and clucked his tongue. "Shit, but we already got one of those, sweetheart. And he's a pretty good one, too. Unless…" He then gave his chin a contemplative rub, "you can prove it to me?"
With a click of his fingers, a man stepped forward, and Abigail's breath hitched as he pulled out a gun from the waistband of his pants. He handed it to Negan, who immediately aimed it straight for her.
"Simon, get me the first-aid kit."
Crack!
The shot echoed throughout the clearing, and Abigail doubled over in pain as the bullet embedded itself deep into her upper left arm, forehead crashing hard onto the gravel as she gracelessly slumped on her side. She howled against the pain, throat ripping, but she screamed harder as she clutched her arm. A dull thunk came from her left, and a harsh jut of Negan's boot sent the bag containing the first aid kit into her injured arm.
"I don't have all day, sweetheart. Lucille is mighty thirsty today, and she tells me that your blood smells so damn good, so I'd hurry it up if I were you."
There was no way around this.
Negan was testing her on purpose, and they both knew it. The instinct to survive was pulsing beneath her chest, competing with the white-hot burning in her left arm while a fresh wave of adrenaline thrummed through her veins.
This was her last chance to prove herself.
With a great effort, Abigail pulled herself up and reached out for the bag, pushing through the pain and fumbling around for the familiar shape of the first-aid kit. Everyone watched on in silence as she eventually pulled the box from the bag and flicked the latch open.
Gritting her teeth, she pulled herself up into a sitting position, free hand trembling and sucking in breath after ragged breath. Securing her fingers around a set of pliers, Abigail held her breath as she inserted the tip into her arm, flicking the bullet out with a shaky turn of her wrist.
Abigail choked out a sob of relief as the light clink of the metal greeted the ground. Negan gave a low whistle.
"Well, would you look at that! Those are some mighty big brass balls you have there, little lady! Shit, I must say, I am impressed." Despite the amused tone, Abigail could detect the sarcasm hidden underneath.
Ignoring him, Abigail found a small clear bottle of what appeared to be an antiseptic. After she managed to get a few haphazard drops over the wound, she tipped the box over, spreading the rest of its contents over the road, hand desperately rummaging before clamping over a dowel of thread and a packet of needles. Her vision began to swim dangerously, but she'd be damned if she was going to pass out now.
Hours seemed to pass until Abigail had managed to sew the wound shut in a handful of minutes, finally letting her hands drop into her lap, hiccupping out soft sobs.
"Well, gentlemen," Negan announced. "It's not every day that you come across a pretty little thing who knows how to take some serious shit, now isn't it?"
They snickered, and Lucille was at her temple once more.
"But, I did say that we already have a doctor, sweetheart." He sighed, running his free hand over his chin, turning back to face his men. "S'damn shame to waste someone like her, ain't it?"
Abigail's eyes went wide as they met with his, the fear ripe as he adjusted his grip on Lucille.
"I'm sorry," he said, voice completely devoid of any remorse. "I truly am."
And as he swung, Abigail fell forward, throwing her hands protectively over her head.
"No! Please – please don't! Stop! I'll do anything – anything!"
The words tumbled forth in a graceless, pathetic, shrill string of sobs. Abigail was cowering like an animal, and she knew it. Self-disgust rose like bile in her throat, but she continued to plead and beg until her voice broke, her entire body quaking in fear.
Since the outbreak, Abigail had proven herself useful as a doctor. She'd been moving between large communities and smaller groups, offering her services but never staying for too long. In return, she'd been given a place to sleep and learned to defend herself so that she could safely travel alone when the time came for her to leave.
However, in the back of her mind, Abigail always had a second plan in place if she ever found herself in a situation where there was no other possible choice for survival.
And this was it.
"Do my ears deceive me?" Negan taunted aloud, bringing Lucille down in a jovial swing. "Did I just hear that precious word 'anything' come from that pretty little mouth of yours, dear Abby?"
Still sobbing, Abigail could only nod, keeping her head bowed. Negan chuckled darkly.
"Jesus, I love it when a woman begs."
A hand suddenly fisted itself in her hair, and Abigail's head was forcibly brought up with a yelp of pain. Negan's hot breath ghosted over the sweat that glazed her cheeks and forehead; gone was the twinkle of humour in his eyes.
"You belong to me now – I own you. You provide for me, and you answer only to me."
Abigail sobbed, and Negan's grip on her hair tightened.
"You will speak when you are spoken to, do you understand me?"
"Y-yes, yes… yes," Abigail whimpered.
His hand then moved to roughly grip her chin, the leather of his glove pinching at her skin.
"Yes, who?"
He jerked her chin once more, and she practically sobbed out her reply. "Y-yes… N-Negan."
The corner of Negan's eyes crinkled, the cruel mirth returning and his teeth flashed as another low chuckle rumbled from his chest.
"Atta girl."
He then released his grip with a light slap to her cheek and stood, letting Abigail fall forward with a gasp. But before she could meet his gaze once more, a sharp pain exploded from the side of her head, and everything went black.
Is there room for one more in the Negan fan club?
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