The town had never been so quiet. It was like a ghost town, one where you walked in and felt the presence of spirits that had been before, while at the same time not being able to imagine anyone having ever lived there. The difference was that people did live here. Less people than before, but living breathing bodies were inside these homes, looking out the windows…. and waiting.
Peyton should have been one of those people hiding behind the curtains. But regardless of what was about to happen, work needed to get done. If the town was to eat, the garden needed to be tended, and that was one of her jobs. And she was already doing a shit job of it as it was. Her dad had always been the one with the green thumb, and as much as she wanted to be like him she just couldn't get the vegetables to grow quite as large or as healthy as his always had in their tiny backyard garden. When Maggie left and Rick assigned the task to her she was confident she could figure it out. But, she quickly found that guesswork and trial and error were not going to produce results fast enough to fill the mostly empty pantry in Alexandria. So she asked around and managed to get her hands on a few gardening books, pouring over them for hours to figure out what needed to be done. Today was the day that she planned on fertilizing, and it was going to happen whether they were having visitors or not.
So there she was, covered in mud and sweat, when she heard them arrive. Four large vehicles pulled right up against the gates, and Rick's tense and shrinking frame hurriedly headed past her to meet them. Just keep doing what you're doing, she told herself. Play it cool and you'll keep your head, literally.
Rosita had been the one to tell Peyton what had happened that night. The peaceful and ignorant life that they knew in their tiny town was over, more so now even than after the Wolves came, or after the giant walker herd came through. Every time they thought they understood what it would take to survive in this new world, some new beast came and reminded them that they really knew nothing at all. Only this time, it cost them two of their most trusted soldiers and the leadership of the man they had thought would save them all. Not that Peyton blamed Rick for what happened, but she was beginning to realize after all of the things she had seen since his group arrived that yes, she had been too comfortable in Alexandria, and that she was not going to be able to rely on anyone to keep her safe. Because she was not safe. No one was.
She couldn't believe she had let herself forget. After her house, after her family, how could she have forgotten what this new world was? When the outbreak first happened she thanked her lucky stars that she was born to a survivalist war vet that her friends had all made fun of growing up. She had managed to make her way home, taking back roads and side streets to avoid the main way through town that was quickly jamming up. As she made it up the drive way he was already rushing out the door, shotgun at the ready to cover her as she ran inside. The dead ones hadn't made it to their neighborhood yet, but people were panicking and the looting began almost immediately. He led her through the house and they began organizing the supplies he hadn't already gotten to, and Peyton was shocked to find out that the four guns she already knew about hidden throughout the house were only the tip of the iceberg. As they went through each room her father added more guns and knives to the bag he held at his side. She filled hers with a limited amount of toiletries, boxed food, batteries, and other items that she knew they would eventually need if they had to make a quick getaway. And when he looked away she snuck in the items she knew he would not approve of taking up space; a few pictures from her vanity, her favorite book, a notebook and pen, and her ipod.
Her mother and sister were already hidden away up in the attic. He had made a point years earlier of making the entrance virtually invisible to anyone who didn't know it was there, disguising it as nothing more than a decorative tray ceiling. He figured that this would be the best place for them to ride everything out until things were either under control or the looters had moved onto new territory. They slept in shifts, each taking turns with a gun pointed directly at the opening to the attic and ears open to the sounds outside. Gunfire, sirens, and the occasional scream let them know that this was not going to be over as quickly as they had hoped. After about two weeks they began rationing, and after the fourth Peyton and her father began planning runs. The kitchen had been emptied by a group about a week prior, though all of the food they had left would have been spoiled by that point anyway.
They agreed that her mother and sister would stay. Neither were good shots, and their nerves were not as steady either. Peyton wished she could stay locked away in that attic as well, but her dad needed her. Needed her extra set of hands and ears. But Peyton also had the overwhelming urge to make sure he was as protected as he wanted his family to be. She had always seen her father as invincible, but age had been showing in the last few years and she knew he couldn't do this on his own. He needed her to watch his back the way he had always watched hers.
They decided stores were a last resort as they had most likely been ransacked already and might even be harboring other people who might not be keen on potentially sharing. They instead headed to the neighborhood school and found some first aid supplies and food to get them through a couple more weeks. It was there that Peyton also encountered her first dean man wandering the halls. She shot him three times in the chest but he kept coming, and the closer he got the more she forgot all of the things her father had taught her about fighting and protecting herself. His face was sunken and blood was pouring from his abdomen. His eyes had fogged over and a low growl escaped his throat as he reached out with withered hands towards her, chomping his teeth frantically like a wild animal. If her father hadn't run up behind her and slammed his shotgun into his head at that moment, she would have been done for. But he saved her, and told her that going forward all blows should be centered on the head. There was no sense in taking chances that another method might work.
Since finding Alexandria, Peyton had pushed the memories of those first months as far back as she could into the part of her mind that only came out in nightmares, and it was easy to tell herself that none of it mattered, that she was safe and nothing was going to hurt her. But now the nightmare was real again, and she had spent the last few weeks moving in between states of shock and anger at herself for not seeing something like this coming. Because the dead were not the only monsters this world had created, and the next one had reared its ugly head towards the people of her quiet town.
And it was there, bent over a wilting tomato plant, that she heard his voice for the first time.
"Well look at this!" It was loud and boisterous, placing emphasis on each word individually. "I don't know why you're complaining about food, Rick. Seems to me you got yourself your own little farm here."
As she heard the voice approaching where she knelt, Peyton jumped to her feet and turned face first into his chest. She gasped and began to pull back, but his hands grabbed her arms.
"Whoa there! Buy me some dinner before you jump my bones. You didn't tell me how nice your ladies are here." The man turned to Rick, giving him a smirk as he did, still holding onto Peyton's arms. Rick replied with a small sneer before turning to give Peyton as reassuring of a look as he could. The man then turned back to Peyton.
"Where are my manners? I'm Negan."
Peyton took in a deep breath and looked at his eyes. If it wasn't for what she already knew, she might have thought she saw the smallest hint of kindness hidden in them. As it was, she found herself taken aback by just how different he was from what she had imagined. His dark hair slicked back, a well-kept beard covering a wide smile, and those big hazel eyes did not belong on a killer. And it was this distracting thought that tricked her into being much bolder than she knew she should have been.
"I'm Peyton. It's nice to meet you." She lifted a hand and held it out into the small gap between the two of them. Negan leaned back a bit, a small grin spreading across his mouth. He leaned back to look at the group of men and women that Peyton didn't recognize and hadn't yet even noticed standing at his back.
"And some respect on top of it!" he turned back to Peyton. "Yeah, I'm gonna like it here." He finally let go of her arms, and she felt the tension that had built up inside of her relax only the slightest bit. He then held out his hand and took hers in a small shake, locking eyes and grinning at her the entire time. She didn't smile, just stared back uncomfortably at those eyes. After what felt like way too long she pulled her hand away, using it to pull the hair that had stuck to her face with sweat as she worked behind her ear as she turned her head away from his gaze and looked towards her boots. He kept looking at her, but directed his voice towards Rick.
"So, where's dinner tonight?"
"What?" Rick growled, raising his eyes to Negan for the first time since he arrived.
"I said 'Where's dinner tonight?'" Negan repeated, bending down into Rick's face. Then he laughed. "What, you thought I was just gonna stop by and exchange pleasantries? I've gotta get a feel for my new investment here. Make sure this place is running at tip top shape before I just blindly walk away and expect to have you all meet my demands." He leaned in to whisper in Rick's ear. "Who knows, if leadership isn't going well I might have to make some adjustments. But we don't want that now, do we?"
Rick ignored the last line, save for another small snarl. "My house is there." He replied, pointing down the street. Peyton followed his arm and saw Carl standing on the front porch.
"You, you cook?" She jumped around at the sound.
"Me?" Peyton looked back and forth between Negan and Rick. Negan was eying her curiously.
"Yeah you."
"Why?" Negan's eyebrows went up.
"Because I don't trust Rick here not to slip glass in the spaghetti sauce. And because you'd be better to look at in a ruffly apron. So I'm gonna ask again, do you cook?"
Peyton huffed a bit and crossed her arms. She had never been one to let a man disrespect her without giving her a piece of her mind. But seeing that baseball bat Rick was carrying reminded her to hold her tongue and play nice.
"It depends on what you like," she said calmly.
Negan leaned in a little closer and spoke in a low voice. "I have a feeling you can figure something out."
He backed away and turned around. "7 o'clock. Rick's place. Now, let's finish the grand tour and leave this lovely lady to her work." As he walked away, Rick lingered behind the rest and leaned into Peyton.
"It'll be alright." He said quietly. "Just gotta get through however long they decide to stay. We'll play along, but I'll make sure tonight goes smooth."
She looked up at him and gave a half grin. "It's fine. If he bashes my head in over some bad potatoes then we're all on borrowed time anyway."
"Hey! What are you waiting for asshole?" a young woman, probably not much older than Peyton yelled, glaring at Rick. Peyton could see his hand tense around the bat in his hand as he let out a labored breath and began walking towards the group of strangers ahead of them. She still had not taken too much notice of them, but as they walked away she could see the guns in each of their hands, the knives at their waists and the chip that each one wore on their shoulder. They were enjoying this, coming into other peoples' homes and taking what they wanted without a soul who'd be willing to fight back. Although she had a feeling they would have enjoyed an excuse to start a fight themselves.
She took a deep breath and looked at the mess of a garden all around her. What the hell am I going to do? She thought. Could she cook? She was ok she supposed, had definitely graduated past the Ramen Noodle days of college, but she definitely was no chef. And her comment to Rick about her head being bashed in was meant to be taken as a joke, but for all she knew could be a real possibility. Yes, this guy looked normal, possibly even handsome if she'd let herself admit it, but he was also a psychopath that Peyton had been banking on trying to keep her distance from. And that plan was failing a good five minutes into his arrival.
"You got this P," she said to herself letting out a deep breath. She looked back down at her tomato plant, wilted and barren, cursed herself for not giving it enough water in this summer heat, and got back to work.
"Shit…"
It was 6:15pm, and the pantry had a few boxes of macaroni and cheese, some spam, a couple cans of vegetables, and some powdered lemonade. Peyton looked pleadingly at Olivia.
"This is seriously all that we have? Where is everything?"
"They already loaded it." Olivia responded. "He said they were only going to take half, but after he left his men just started taking everything. I tried to reason with them, but they just said that half is whatever they want it to be. Can you believe that? How do they expect to get anything from us if we starve to death first?" She shuffled and pushed her glasses up further onto her nose. It was a nervous habit Peyton saw her do often. Olivia was a quite woman, someone who put others' needs before her own on so many occasions. She wasn't meant to be in a place like this. Peyton loved her as a sister.
"And how do they expect a home cooked meal if all the food is in their trucks?" Peyton sighed and crossed her arms, closing her eyes to think. "Well, I can make the mac and cheese and try to fancy it up as best I can. Do we have any more bread in the freezer? I can try to bake it or something and give it a topping."
"I think they might have left a loaf or two."
"Awesome. And I can use some of the chard in the garden to make a small salad. That's the only thing ive been able to keep alive out there. It'll just have to do. Pray for me." She crossed her fingers and held them up in the air.
Olivia pulled her into a tight hug. "Keep your head up. They want to see us break."
"That goes for you too, missy," Peyton responded as they broke apart. Olivia turned to go back to the freezer to finish taking stock of what their new friends had left them. As Peyton turned to leave, she reached back and grabbed the lemonade as an afterthought.
When she entered Rick's house, she was immediately taken aback. The living room was in complete shambles, with furniture overturned and items scattered across the floor. Carl barreled around the corner as she walked further into the room.
"What happened?"
"Someone took two guns from the armory. Theyre searching everyone's houses now. You didn't see them?"
"No I was in the garden most of the morning, and then I took a shift with the kids. I was just at the pantry getting food. Olivia didn't say anything." She headed to the kitchen and began setting her items on the counter. She looked at Carl to continue.
"She wasn't there when they came through. Dad's trying his best to figure out who has them or else Negan's going to go back and shoot her on the spot." He let out a loud sigh and hung his head." I don't know why he's not fighting. He's just going along with whatever they say. This isn't us."
Peyton rubbed his arm. "He's just trying to make sure no one gets hurt."
"Yeah, well, unless he finds those guns it won't matter." He left the kitchen and Peyton could hear his footsteps heading up the stairs.
She focused her attention on the task in front of her, slipping this information about Olivia into a compartment deep inside her head with the hope that she wouldn't have to readdress it later. Rick would find the guns. He had to. That was his job as their protector and she knew he would do everything in his power to make sure it happened. Her job at this moment was to cook a meal that would keep their guests satisfied. So she let her mind become occupied with boiling noodles and mixing herbs she found in the cabinet with bread crumbs, trying to ignore the urge to listen for gunshots outside. The clock was quickly reaching the seven o'clock mark, so while the food was cooking she did her best to reorganize the living and dining areas and put out place settings. Once the table seemed presentable she began preparing the lemonade. The clock had now passed her deadline and was approaching seven fifteen. She walked over to the window and looked out onto the street. No one was headed down their stretch of town yet, but she also had not heard anything in the distance that sounded threatening. She tried to take comfort in that, but her heart felt like it was up in her throat.
About fifteen minutes later, the sound of footsteps headed up the front porch. Peyton stood from where she had been biting her nails at the kitchen island and headed to the door. She pulled it open to find Rick and Negan facing each other, the latter with a look of smug amusement on his face.
"Well hello again," he said turning to Peyton. "I must apologize for my time. We had some business that needed taking care of now didn't we Rick."
"This isn't Olivia's fault, I told you."
"All I need is a name and Miss Piggy goes free. But hey, its dinner time, and I don't do business at the table Rick. Its sacrilegious." He brushed past Peyton into the house, looking down at her as he did. They were so close, Peyton couldn't help but notice his scent. Like a mix of tobacco and clean linens. She hadn't been around anyone who smelled that good in a long time. She hated herself for noticing it and even more for appreciating it.
"Where is Olivia?" she asked as he walked further into the house.
He sighed. "Did you not just hear what I told Rick?"
"We're not at the table yet." She wasn't sure where her boldness came from. The man in front of her had no sympathy for her, wouldn't think twice about harming her, but he was also holding the future of her friend in his hands and she was not going to let anything happen to her without putting up some sort of a fight for her.
Huh, I guess you're right about that." Negan scrunched his face up and looked at her with curiosity in his eyes. "You've got some pretty big ass balls on you for a broad don't you?"
"She's my friend and I want to know that she's ok." She looked him straight in the eye, but her already thin confidence began to waver as he walked towards her. "I'm not trying to cause trouble. I just want to know if she's ok."
He chuckled. Peyton could feel Rick shift uncomfortably behind her. "Well I can tell you that Olivia is peachy for the moment. Your fearless leader Rick found the guns she lost, but doesn't seem to want to tell me who had them. So the issue as it stands is that someone broke the rules, and so someone has to pay the price. Now I don't wanna hurt your friend, I don't, but until Rick gives me a name she's the only one I can use as an example to get my point across." He chuckled again, this time only inches away from her face. "Now it's 7:30 and I'm starving. So if you don't mind, I'd like to quit rehashing this and eat." He backed himself up into the kitchen, whistling as he sat at the head of the table and placed a napkin on his lap. He looked back at the two of them with a questioning look on his face. "Well, are we eating or what?"
Peyton looked to Rick, who gave her a nod and headed over to the table to take his own seat. She went to the oven and took out her sad excuse for a casserole, praying that is was still at least warm enough to eat. As she brought it along with a bowl of green beans to the table, Negan looked around, leaning his head to peer back into the living room.
"Where's the kid? Kyle?"
"Carl." Rick replied.
"He's upstairs in his room." Peyton answered. She grabbed the lemonade and began pouring it into the glasses she had set out.
"Call him down here, Rick. Haven't you taught him it's rude to not greet guests?" he looked up at Peyton. "No one teaches manners anymore."
"He's just a kid." She said quietly. He looked back up at her as if surprised she even had a response.
Rick got up from the table and stood at the base of the stairs. "Carl, come down and eat." Moments later, they heard the sound of a door creeping open and Carl's footsteps slowly making their way back down the steps. He stood in the doorway to the kitchen and glared at Negan.
"Ooh well if looks could kill. Come on kid, sit. Peyton has made us a delicious feast." He looked down at the casserole dish in front of him. "Is that Macaroni and cheese?" he looked up at her again, this time with a look of almost sincere confusion.
"That's all we had. If you wanted something fancy you should have left us a bit more to work with."
"On the contrary, mac and cheese is a delicacy where I come from. But point taken." He laughed under his breath and turned to the others. "Although let's be honest, without Olivia here you guys just might have more to spare anyways." Peyton dropped the salt shaker she had been moving over to Carl's side of the table. She quickly picked it up and placed it where she had intended before turning and rushing towards the kitchen.
"Wait, where do you think you're going?"
Peyton turned back around. "I was going to start cleaning up the mess I made in Rick's kitchen."
"No you're not. Grab a plate, sit down. You worked so hard making us this fine meal you deserve to eat it. The men can handle the clean-up, right Rick?"
Rick nodded, looking apologetically at Peyton. He looked so broken, so much smaller than he had seemed when he first walked into Alexandria and told them all about what it was like to survive on the outside.
She sat down opposite Negan and scooped a small amount of food on her plate. She doubted she would be able to eat at all, Olivia's fate still weighing heavily on her mind.