She's berating herself for running into the woods, like a fucking idiot. Granted, it had allowed her to live longer, only to probably die at the hands of the walking dead and become one herself. Back pressed hard against a tree, hands grip the handle of the weighty aluminum baseball bat. Her skin is cold, ice cold, or so it seems and she feels like she's about to pass out. She freed one of her hands from the baseball bat and grasped at her shoulder, where blood just poured like a river. She applies pressure, trying to get it to stop bleeding, but is quick to grab the bat again upon hearing a branch snap behind her. She didn't have time for this. Correction: she didn't have time at all, or she wouldn't, if she kept bleeding like this.
Lifting the bat and steadying herself, she spread her legs farther apart, as her mother had once instructed her to when swinging. Then, she swung hard and fast to the left of the tree. She felt the horrific tearing in her shoulder, no doubt the wound spreading open even further and she heard the sickening crack as the zombie's face collided with the heavy aluminum, nose and face cracking as it fell to the ground. She pulled the bat back and upward, despite the pain singing her nerves and brought the bat down on his face again, splattering zombie brains across the ground. Resting the bat beside the body, she lets herself rest for a few seconds, panting heavily. Her shirt was soaked in blood from her shoulder, but at this point, she couldn't feel it. That couldn't be good.
Crack.
Head snapped up immediately and she lifted the bat, seeing that the group of zombies she'd been running from were still right close. She sighs and throws her head back, reaching up to brush hair away from her face. She couldn't keep going, not like this and she knew it. Still, standing around wasn't going to get her anywhere either. Hopefully, they'd get distracted by their zombie buddy's guts and that'd distract them a bit. She starts running again and she feels a bit of hope seeing a break in the woods ahead. She was finally out of the woods, both literally and figuratively. Atop a hill overseeing a small valley, leading down to a dirt road. There seemed to be nothing for miles, but irregardless, she had to keep going, so she started down the hill towards the road.
Stumbling down the road, dragging her bat along with her, one hand on her shoulder, her vision is blurring and she's starting to feel more and more light-headed and dizzy. Her skin is cold, though not nearly as cold as she thought it was. She isn't really paying attention to where she's walking, or attempting to pick up her feet, and that's probably why her foot caught something (probably a rock beneath the dirt) and she fell to the ground, getting a facefull of the dirt. She knew she had to get up and keep going, but at this point, she'd exhausted all of her energy and for the most part, her will to keep going. So she just rolled onto her side and made her peace with laying there to die. After all, death was the greatest adventure, right?
Headlights. The sound of an engine. What? Since when did she believe that crap about accepting death and blah blah blah? She can't even believe she thought that now that help seems to be in sight, in double sight actually. Seeing double probably wasn't good, but neither was having blood gushing from your shoulder and yet, here she was. She tries to lift an arm, to wave at them, to make herself visible on the side of the road, but it's too much. All she can do is move her shoulder and lift her arm a little before it flops back onto the ground.
This is it. You're gonna fucking die here. As far as you've come and you're done in by a single bullet. Fuckin' christ.
The sound of the engine roars to stop and she hears the brakes being put on, the tires coming to a stop right near her. She can feel the headlights on her face, and she spits dirt out of her mouth, turning her head towards the lights. She grabs the bat from her side and turns to face it, keeping her hand on the handle. If these people were bad news and she was gonna die, she would sure as hell go down with a fight. The passenger side-door opens and she can see through her hair a pair of dark combat boots. What sounds like an order is barked at the driver and the door slams shut. She shifts so that she's in a position to swing the bat if necessary. After the door shuts, she can see that the person is wearing a pair of light brown pants with a brown belt hanging loosely around their waist. As they approach, she forces herself to move onto her back so she can them more clearly. A black leather jacket leads into a red neck-warmer, which is wrapped snug around a strong neck which saw the end of a salt and pepper stubbled beard. He had a smooth, oddly angelic face aside from the stubble, with a broad nose and neat, black brows. Something is put in her face and she tries to focus on it, but fails; all she can see is what appeared to be barbed wire and that alarms her enough. She scoots back, coughing more dirt up, trying to lift up the baseball bat she held.
"Honey, you're too fucked up to fight me. I wouldn't try it if I were fuckin' you." His voice is guttural and dominant, making her feel almost-ashamed for looking directly at him, as if he was a God and she wasn't worthy of even looking upon his face. It was so strange a feeling: subjugation. One she hadn't felt in this way before. Sure, in society, men had been placed above women, but never was there a clear-cut submission. And yet, underneath the stare of this man, she felt beneath him, not just physically, but in every sense there could possibly be.
"I-I..." don't care, she finished in her head, now putting her efforts to standing up. She got up from her laying position, on her hands and knees, and dragged the baseball bat to her side, lifting it to an upright position, using it as support for the time being. He appeared surprised, or even impressed, that she had sat herself up but remained firm where he stood. Now that she was upright, she could see that he, too, was holding a baseball bat, a wooden one wrapped in barbed wire and already covered in blood. Likely zombie blood, but with the vibes she was getting from this man, she wouldn't put killing humans past him either.
"I'm impressed that you're still able to stand with, uh, that fucking hole you got in your shoulder. How long you had it?" She wasn't obligated to answer his questions and surely he had to know that, but he also probably knew he was her only savior at this point and for some odd reason, she felt as though she owed him answers. Swallowing her pride for the sake of her life, she adjusted her position, sitting back on her feet, muscles tired of holding the position.
"A c-couple miles, I think." She answered, letting her head bow after answering. She awaited an answer, but was hardly surprised when none came. A heavy breath came from her as she heard the dirt crunch as he seemed to be walking away. She looked up, watching as he walked back to the truck where he had come, opened the door, barked another order she didn't know, and hopped in. She watched as they kept going, kept driving right past her. Helplessly, she fell back to where she'd been laying and let herself drift off again. Yeah, life's a bitch and then you die.
A groan as she felt herself coming to. Wait, she wasn't dead? Or maybe she was dead and this what waking up as a zombie is like. If that was the case, it felt like a major hangover.
"Am I dead?" She doesn't even know if anyone's there. Surely, she's still on the side of the road...except, it doesn't feel like it. In fact, she seems to be on something rather soft, comfortable and clean.
"No, you're not dead, though you came quite close." The fact that she's being answered is surely an indication that she's both not dead, as the speaker indicated and also not on the side of the road dying anymore.
"W-where am I?" She opens her eyes, fluttering them several times as she adjusted to the light in the room. It was like waking up, that is, if everytime you woke up, you felt like you'd been shot, obviously.
"You're at the Sanctuary. Negan saved you. Don't move or speak too much, you're still in bad shape." She closes her eyes again, giving a heavy sigh, and moving her head to a more comfortable position.
"Negan? He that guy in the leather jacket with the baseball bat?" She asked, quirking her eyebrows but keeping her eyes closed.
"Yeah, that would be him." He answered.
"Hm." Is the simple response before she drifts off again, too exhausted to stay awake. It felt like it had been days since she slept and in reality, it probably had been. Not only that, but with losing as much blood as she had, her body was trying to replenish oxygen lost and heal, which required rest. Still, she was curious about the man she'd met on the road. He had acted like he was a God and he sure seemed to believe it, too: walking away from her then turning around and saving her like that. It kinda pissed her off, if she was honest. Then again, a lot of things did, especially this whole damn apocalypse thing. She just wanted to go back to the way things were: just awful politics.