When Lucille's eyes opened again they were glazed over and her hand clawed for Negan's face.
But it wasn't her hand. Lucille watched, suspended above herself as her body groaned like some horrible monster and moved with a vitality that wasn't there just an hour or so ago. She hadn't left him, but she was hardly resting now. Unable to interfere, Lucille watched.
Her corpse startled Negan from his nap. He woke up, gasping and crying at the sight of her, falling out of his chair in his haste to get away from her. But Negan didn't leave yet. Lucille's body remained on the bed, restrained there by the bed rails that kept her from accidentally falling out of bed. Negan climbed to his feet, hesitantly approaching her body, and then he actually dipped close and kissed her forehead goodbye.
"Negan," Lucille – the real Lucille whispered. He didn't hear her and ran out the door. Lucille floated down to the floor, staring after him. "Negan." Turning back to her corpse, Lucille reached out and touched the bed. It felt solid under her hand. She reached out and touched her corpse's twitching foot – and her hand phased through. When she quickly jerked her hand back, the foot moved with it, kicking the air violently. "What the hell is this?"
She dragged herself away from her corpse. "Negan! Negan, where are you?"
Negan was gone. Everywhere there were more corpses wandering the streets. When they caught people, they ate them. For a while, Lucille could only watch, horrified. What if her body had done that to Negan? What if it has already happened to him?
Why had she been made a Valkyrie? She was useless. She could scream at people all she wanted to tell them to run, to hide, to get away, but they couldn't hear her. And her sword and shield were useless against the corpses. And even though she had wings, she couldn't fly. She tried, and tried, but she could do nothing. Useless. Lucille should have just died.
Not knowing what else to do, she went home. Negan wasn't there, but all the remnants of their life together was. It was strange being a Valkyrie. No more pain, but she was listless. No hunger, no thirst, no needs. She didn't sleep. This threw Lucille out of sorts. Was this better than being dead?
Rather than haunting her house, staring at wedding photos, and lying awake in their marriage bed – Lucille took to wandering. To keep herself from going crazy, she trailed after people like a puppy. She felt funny doing it, as if she were a parody of a guardian angel cast out of heaven, falling from grace and salvation. But she was lonely so she stayed. Besides, they couldn't sense her.
There was this one ragtag group Lucille found just as they were being surrounded by corpses. She almost walked away, but something inside her told her to stay. Something that felt a lot like purpose. So, she drew her sword and her shield materialized in hand and she charged into the fray to help them. Again, her sword and shield did nothing, but when she accidentally phased through one of the corpses, she noticed it trail after her like a puppet on strings. Her arm lifted and so did the corpse's. When she tried to direct it away, it would not. Frustrated, Lucille dragged it to one of the people with her arms held down at her sides. A man swung his weapon of choice – a fresh and new baseball – right throw Lucille's head to slam into the corpse's temple. It dropped dead for good and Lucille felt like she could breathe.
That felt good, the killing of the dead. It was like being alive again, really alive. Taking an active role did things to Lucille. She went back and snatched more corpses to direct them into weapons. Every time one of the corpses linked to her died, Lucille felt her feet lift off the ground, her wings spreading wide and lifting her into the air without a single flap. Lucille had found the will to live again.
When the last of the corpses fell. Lucille was floating above the ragtag group in near euphoria. Not a single one of the people had gotten bitten or hurt. Survival was possible. She followed them for a while, above them, listening to them talk about their missing loved ones and their rumbling stomachs as they complained for luxuries like pizza and toilets. Lucille missed those things, too.
"I was married once, you know," she told them, though they could not hear her. "My beautiful bad boy biker Negan." Lucille stretched out on her stomach, flying above them like Superman. "He was such a dork. Negan was the kind of guy where we could have a night in playing ping-pong in the garage or we could have a night out shooting pool at the bar. I preferred the night in because at least once I lost, Negan would fuck me on the ping-pong table."
Giggling, Lucille twirled in the air, light as a feather and feeling boneless. It was like she was swimming in the water and defying gravity like this, but she could tell that she was sinking slowly, gradually lower. The high wouldn't stay with her for long. "I didn't like going out either because, well, I don't know if you know this, but I was in a war and I came back all fucked up." She rolled on her back, choosing to stare up at the clouds and wishing she was up there instead of down here. "I guess I shouldn't complain. You all will be fucked up soon enough, too. Survivor's guilt."
Lucille heaved a deep sigh, and suddenly there was screaming. Instinctively, Lucille dropped to the ground feeling as heavy as a sack of bricks. She landed on her feet, sword and shield miraculously in hand again. Scanning around her, she saw one of the stragglers of the groups get snatched by a corpse coming out of the woods. It had already taken a bite out of her. She was as good as dead.
Screaming her grief and anger, Lucille swept her arm out and it passed through the chest of one of the people – a man named Arthur, if she remembered correctly. He didn't even blink at the contact. "Do something!" Lucille shouted in his face, stabbing her sword through his belly that passed harmlessly through, "She's dying! Do something for her!"
Reaching out, Lucille tried to grab his wrist. Arthur was holding a gun limp at his side. Touching him there, of course, did nothing; but Lucille's fingertips brushed against the pistol, and she felt magnetized to it. Instincts of being a soldier on the battlefield flooded her again, and instead of being consumed by her PTSD, Lucille felt none of that as she forced Arthur to raise the gun. She made him aim it at the straggler and the corpse. She made him pull the trigger.
The straggler stopped screaming and dropped the ground, dead and gushing blood that steamed in the cold morning air.
The corpse dropped with the straggler's corpse and plunged its bony fingers in the soft stomach until it yielded intestines.
Horrified, Lucille screamed again, her cries joining those of the people behind her. Her feet sunk into the ground as if her combat boots were made of cinderblocks. "You were supposed to shoot the corpse! I didn't do that! You did that!"
Lucille made the gun point at the corpse and she made Arthur shoot again. This time the mark was true and now there were two bloody corpses on the ground. But they didn't stop screaming, and while Lucille didn't feel so heavy anymore, she had not lifted even an inch off the ground. In her selfishness, she had failed. Never again.
To prevent loss of life again, Lucille took to practicing with her newfound abilities. People who were alive had free will and it prohibited Lucille from taking control of their bodies. Corpses were fair game, but controlling their bodies took a lot of effort. Lucille was a Valkyrie, not a ghost. Possession just wasn't possible.
Even with objects, Lucille could only control weapons, and even then, only if they were in the hand of the living. If the living used something unconventional as a weapon, Lucille could help, too, but it was harder for her. Her powers were so damn temperamental; Lucille didn't understand any of it.
One thing she did know was that for every person that died while she did nothing for them, she sunk. Lucille was so afraid, afraid that that meant she was being dragged to hell. But when she saved people and protected people, she floated. Somehow, though, Lucille doubted that meant she was going to heaven anytime soon.
There were flaws in this system, though. Sometimes people deserved to die and were not meant for this world, either because they were weak or because they were cruel. Those were the moments that Lucille hated the most. Someone in the group tried to steal food and when confronted, they held someone else hostage. The man with the baseball bat tried to talk the man down – Arthur, Lucille knew. But she could tell by that look in his eye that he was not to be swayed. And Lucille didn't want the death of that young man he threatened with a gun to be on her. She grabbed the bat before she even knew what she was doing.
It felt good when Arthur died, and Lucille was raised off the ground a full foot. Staring down at Arthur – or rather his lifeless corpse that would stay immobile – Lucille shook her hand. "You're not meant for this world, and I don't think you're meant for heaven either." It didn't leave much else for Arthur to go, but Lucille didn't care. She doubted that he'd become a Valkyrie.
But that was something Lucille had yet to encounter. Other Valkyrie. Sometimes she wondered if this was a private punishment or maybe other Valkyrie were invisible to each other or Valkyrie were assigned to areas that way there wouldn't be any overlap with each other. Or maybe there weren't enough Valkyrie in the world to protect everyone. Lucille only hoped that wherever Negan was – and he was alive and she wanted to believe that so much for it be to true – there was a Valkyrie watching over him.
There was one occasion, though, where Lucille discovered a new ability. Not only did she have the power to damn people, or to bless them with heaven, but she could make other Valkyrie. This woman in the group, Angela, and out of all of them, Lucille knew she was a liability. She didn't have the fighting spirit – she scrapped to survive – but she didn't want to live. In this world, there was a difference between survival and living. Lucille knew that well. As it was, Lucille knew she was only surviving out of fear, doing her job because that was the role she was given. There was no relish in doing it, though.
One day, Angela had sequestered herself away in her tent, and as Lucille walked the perimeter checking for threats, she heard screams. Immediately, Lucille sprinted for the camp and phased through the crowd gathered around Angela's tent. Angela had cut herself deep on one arm going up her forearm from wrist to elbow. Blood gushed and seeped around her. Lucille dropped to her knees and a heavy weight settled in the souls of her feet. Angela was the first person to die after Arthur; Lucille thought she had been doing a good job. Numbly, she listened to the group talk around her.
"Angela, you know that, you know we can't help you," Sherry said. Lucille didn't care much for her. Sherry was selfish, and hoarded supplies. The group knew that Angela wanted to die, and Sherry had been of the mind that if that was the case they shouldn't share their supplies with Angela. "We don't have enough supplies to waste – to use on you to save you. It's too late."
A ripple went through the crowd, but no one had the balls to openly disagree with Sherry. There were all survivors just getting by. They needed a leader; as it was, Sherry's husband Dwight was a makeshift husband. He had to do. But Dwight was out hunting right now. Lucille thought he'd be fine by himself. Besides, he was hunting with a crossbow, and Lucille did better with melee weapons. She particularly favored knives or that bat.
Angela's voice was soft when she answered. "It's okay. I'm ready to die. Tired, so tired."
Lucille lifted her head, familiarity and power coursing through her veins.
"You'll... you're going to turn, Angela," Sherry continued.
"Just, leave me here. Zip up the tent, leave a sign. I won't hurt anybody." Angela was a simpleminded woman. Lucille shook her head. But they did as she asked. Angela was confined to her tent and left to turn. Sherry said that when Dwight returns, they'd eat and sleep, but leave in the morning. Lucille had half of mind to drag the man – no one called his name – by the bat in here to finish the job, but she stayed with Angela instead, watching her die.