A/N: Thought I'd post another excerpt. Out of context it's a bit pointless and ambiguous but I don't want to reveal too much XD This is about midpoint in my story, and comic timeline-wise it's probably about a week/half a week before Rick's group arrives at the Hilltop for the first time.
Jasmine is one of Negan's wives. She's rather odd (I'm still working out her exact mental problem XD) and she has a fascination with Walkers. Much to Sherry's annoyance, she likes to go outside Sanctuary and examine all their Walker sentinels they have staked out around the place. Amber goes down to retrieve her, and ends up running into her old flame Mark... who she'd seen in a previous scene.
Chapter 4
Just Another Dead Girl
"Shit..." Sherry turned away from the window. "Jazzi's down by the Walkers again. Amber, can you go get her?"
"Um, yeah. Sure." Amber retrieved her fuzzy coat from the bedroom and threw it on over the black bra. Slipping on flats, she made her way down the numerous stairways and through dim passageways, snaked with pipes and long-dead florescent lights.
"Hey baby," came a brash male voice. She turned to see a pock-faced guy, with long brown hair tucked under a filthy woolen cap. "Nice legs."
She made a face and kept walking.
"Hey. Can't you say 'hello'? Don't be rude, doll-face."
She cried out when his hand latched onto her arm, stopping her in her tracks. He pushed her against the wet concrete wall, his lanky body leaning over menacingly.
"Get your hands off me." She frowned and wrenched her arm away. Her attempted sidestep was thwarted when he set both arms onto the wall on either side of her head. Caged, she glared at him. "Get away from me."
"I don't think so. How many points would'ya take for me to see those fine legs spreadin' for me?"
"Keep your points," she said coldly. "I'm not for fucking sale, and if you want to keep breathing, I would back off right now."
"Ladies shouldn't swear," he said, with a leer, and smacked her across the face.
She cringed, but shot her furious gaze back at him, readying her trump card. "I get it from my husband," she said, lip curling. "Maybe you know him...?"
His hand was trying to find the zipper in the fuzziness of her coat, his other pushing up under her mini-skirt. "I don't give a shit who-"
You might know him," she continued, "His name is Negan."
He stopped, eyes shooting momentarily wide. "No fucking way."
"Yes fucking way, and he will cut your balls off and make you eat them, you sorry bastard," she hissed. "But that doesn't have to happen, you piece of crap – if you back the fuck off. NOW."
"You skanky bitch. How do I know you're not just sayin' that?"
"You don't." She smiled. "But I guess you'd find out soon enough, wouldn't you? When you're enjoying the taste of your own scrotum..."
He punched the wall next to her head, glaring death at her, and then stepped back. She straightened her clothing, shot him the finger, and continued on her way. Through a rush of adrenaline and tremors, a smile cut across her face.
That had felt good.
Really fucking good.
She understood the seething glares of Savior women, the jealous twitches of lips – they knew she had power on her side, a guardian demon spreading his black wings over her head.
But She told all the women in her head.
There's a price for power -
And Demons only take souls for payment.
Outside Sanctuary, Amber was glad for her flats. The ground was littered with concrete debris, twisted scraps of metal, spent bullet casings. She shrank into her coat, cautiously moving past piked Walkers. If they had arms, they reached out for her, their blackened teeth clicking like castanets. Their ever-present groans increased in tempo as they saw her, frenzied moans and cries.
Carefully, she made her way past a burnt-out car. There was a tattered length of fencing, laying flat on the ground – no longer fit to be a barrier. Jazzi stood on the other side, her dark blue eyes fixed on a Walker. The hapless creature was only a torso, strung up between two poles, like a crucifixion gone wrong. A spine, bones oxidized brown by time, curved out like a hook.
"Jazzi!" She called, and brooking no response, "Jasmine! What are you doing out here?"
"I like the look of this one," Jazzi said, tilting her head. "How do you think it moves without a working spinal cord."
The Walker was wiggling, weird twitches of one arm, then the other. Amber supposed after long enough, it would eventually work its arms free of the sockets. She didn't want to be here when that happened.
"I don't know," she said. "That's the question, isn't it? How do they move at all – when they're dead?"
"I wonder if I could bring one upstairs. Then I wouldn't have to come down here. Sherry wouldn't have to get mad."
"Um...heh. I think Sherry would be even madder if you brought home a pet Walker..."
"Yes. I think you're right. They do smell rather bad."
"Come on...let's go back up, ok?"
Jazzi didn't move, continuing to stare at the writhing corpse. Amber's flats crunched over the fallen fence, and she slipped her hand into the girl's bony grasp.
Jazzi turned just her head. Her lips spread with a slight quirk to the corners; her version of a friendly smile. "There's a new one out here. That's why I came out. To see her. I saw her from up there with the binoculars."
Amber looked around uneasily at the snarling, rotting faces. "How do you know it's new?"
"You can tell. And I can tell even better. I know all their faces. I don't know her."
Amber shuddered... the thought of memorizing these faces, these husks of human... cataloging them... keeping the imagery and sound of them inside her brain...
"You need a new hobby," she said.
Jasmine shrugged.
"All right... fine. We can go look at 'her'. But then we're getting out of here, ok? These things give me the creeps."
"Don't be scared." Jazzi pulled her hand free and walked away, moving much too fast for Amber's liking through the rubble and Walker littered landscape. The girl's skinny white limbs flashed through the greyness, passing frighteningly close to the chained and staked Walkers. Amber watched fingers brush Jasmine's arms and ankles on occasion, but the girl didn't seem to notice or care; she merely kept walking.
"Yeah. Don't be scared," Amber muttered. "Right." She followed at a much slower pace, edging past the grabby hands. As they approached the perimeter fence of Sanctuary, Jazzi squealed and pointed towards a staked group of Walkers.
"I see her. She's up there."
"Hey!" Amber screeched, as the girl broke into a run. "Don't run, it's too dangerous!" She ignored her own advice, bolting past an overturned car. Suddenly, she felt the dreaded hand of a Walker closing around her ankle. The hidden dead snarled and growled from inside the busted-out car window, beginning to drag itself out. Amber fell to the ground, screaming.
"NO! Get off!" She kicked frantically at the Walker's wrist, hearing it crack – but the hand didn't release. Now the head was in sight, the blackened teeth snapping. Her hand clawed for anything – it found only dirt and small pebbles. She threw a handful in the Walker's face but it did nothing. "Help!" she screamed, "Help me-"
Turning her head, motion in her peripherals. Jasmine was running back, soundless, blond curls snapping back in a cascade, catching the sun. She leapt over Amber, a piece of rebar held in her hand spear-like. There was a horrible crunch as she thrust it downwards hard. Skull pierced, a spurt of something that had once held memories splattered Amber's bare leg. The hand loosened and she kicked free.
Jazzi looked down at the dead Walker. "That one is no good anymore." She kicked it lightly, not assisting as Amber clambered shakily to her feet.
"Thanks."
"Yeah." Jazzi was breathing heavier, her cheeks flushed, but her face perpetually stuck in neutral. She tossed her head to evict the wayward curls.
Amber put a hand to her chest, feeling the palpitations of her frantic heart. "Shit. Let's go back. It's too dangerous out here." The mess on her leg felt gross, filthy, but she didn't want to touch it.
"But we're almost there."
"Ugh... fine..." Amber scowled. "I don't know why you care so much about this 'new' corpse, it's the same as all these others. A dead, nasty body that wants to eat us. They're not interesting, they're just scary and gross."
Jasmine's expression didn't change. She bent down to yank the rebar from the fallen Walker's head. Blood and congealed brains dripped from the tip. "I won't run. I'll protect you. Then we can go back."
Amber didn't answer; she followed the girl's lead with her senses on high alert. There were no more close encounters. Amber tried to figure out which Walker was new as Jasmine scouted the fence. The skinny blond came to a sudden halt.
"Here." Jazzi tilted her head. Amber came alongside her, ready to criticize again... but her words died in her throat.
It was easy to tell the Walker apart from her peers. She was freshly dead. Her pallor was certainly that of the dead, grey and blood-drained, but there was an elasticity to her flesh... her skin hadn't withered on her bones, her hair still shone, flowing like a black waterfall over her shoulders. She growled and strained towards the girls; held to the fence by a thick collar and chain.
"She's very fresh. She must have only died a few days ago," Jasmine mused. Her hand reached out, and Amber shuddered as the Walker reached too; and the fingertips of dead and living brushed... and then Amber hastily grabbed Jazzi's wrist, forcing her hand back to her side.
"She still feels warm..."
"You're just imagining that...it's just the sun warming them up." Her teeth gnawed the succulent flesh of her lip. There was something about the dead woman. Amber's stomach churned, her mind whispered... saying go, don't look, and always, always, her rebellious eyes refused to listen.
The reaching hand. Still stretched out, the fingers flexing. The fingernails smooth and polished, not the cracked and blackened keratin of the long dead. Amber's stomach heaved upwards suddenly, the muscles of her esophagus contracted.
Jazzi stepped back as Amber pivoted sideways and emptied the contents of her gut onto the ground. She coughed and moaned, spitting the acidic bile from her mouth.
Four fingers. Four fingers on the hand, pinkie missing...
She clutched her hand to her mouth, flitting her eyes to the Walker; who seemed agitated by her sudden movements, straining hard against her chain. Her ears were full of piercings, the lobes tattered and torn.
"Crystal," she croaked. "Her name is Crystal."
"Oh." Jasmine did her straight-lipped, corners-quirked smile. "You name them too. Crystal is a nice name. I haven't used that one yet." She glanced down at the puddle of vomit. "Do you have food poisoning."
"No, not food poisoning. Just don't feel good. Might be the smell of these things." She spat a few times. The sour-bitter taste lingered on her tongue.
"Are you pregnant...did you miss the pill again. Negan will be angry."
Amber turned away from Crystal, her puke, all of it, eyebrows slanted fiercely over her gaze. She was sick of being afraid, so she dredged up anger instead, basked in it. "No," she snapped, "I'm not pregnant! And fuck Negan."
Jazzi fell into step alongside her, casting a wistful look back at Crystal – she hadn't gotten her fill of the newest deader. "We're supposed to fuck him."
"That's not what I meant." Alarmingly, Amber found herself imitating Hubby's frequent sign of irritation – her fingers pinching the bridge of her nose.
For a few moments, there was only the sound of their crunching footsteps and the hungry sounds of the dead. As they neared the door to Sanctuary, Jazzi stopped to look at the crucifixion Walker again, like she was paying homage to her decaying gods.
Amber grabbed her wrist and tugged, and Jasmine begrudgingly followed along, but not before stunning Amber with one of her eccentric questions. "What do you think it's like to have sex with one."
"Oh God!" Amber made a face, her eyebrows raising high. "Not very good at all! Why – are you thinking about it?" She found herself dreading the response.
"No. I imagine they would try to eat me. But I overheard Negan and Sherry the other night. He said it felt like he was 'fucking a Walker.'"
Oh dear. Amber's face contorted again. "I guess it's because Sherry wasn't...uh... moving much? She was probably tired." Sick and tired of him...
"I don't fuck like a Walker." One of those sudden, malicious smiles was spreading across the skinny girl's face. "I like to move. But I bite like one."
Well, that explains the scratches and bites on him. She'd always wondered what wife had the feral fingernails and teeth. She snorted and banged on the front door. The old man, Orson, pulled it open and let them in without a word. Amber pulled Jasmine towards the main metal staircase; normally she'd take the back way...it was more private, but she felt audacious. Like she wanted to fight.
"I don't know if Negan likes it," Jazzi mused, ignoring the stares and glares of the Saviors they passed. "He usually yells and swears when I do it."
"Um...it probably hurts..." Amber couldn't help but grin. Hope she bites him harder next time...
"Why don't you get back up to your Penthouse, you little Playboy bitches," a woman hissed in their wake. "Hurry on home to your Pimp."
Amber stopped, eyes narrowed. "You only wish you were pretty enough to get in, you ugly cunt." The woman's eyes went wide. She turned away hurriedly, like she was afraid Amber would memorize her face, report her.
Jazzi looked after the woman impassively, her lips quirked at the corners. "That was mean."
"She started it." Amber was starting to sweat inside the fuzzy coat, and Jazzi's close body heat didn't help. She stepped onto the staircase. Now began the tedious journey of ascending.
On level eight, Jasmine wanted to walk onto the catwalk that spanned across the open space of Sanctuary, looking down onto the factory floor far below. She leaned against the railing, one of her legs leaving the ground. Amber hurried onto the metal walkway, fighting vertigo.
"Get down from there... God, you're like a little kid. Sherry will kill me if you go 'splat'."
Jazzi sighed and put both feet flat on the ground. "You are no fun. I'm not going to fall. I'm not going to get bitten."
"Come on, let's just get back home..." Amber snatched up the girl's bony hand and tugged. At first, Jazzi resisted, but then she fell into step and they continued to the back hallways where the last three flights of stairs led home.
As Amber set her foot on the first step, she noticed a man walking down the hallway. All alone, heading away from them, but she knew... she recognized Mark.
Her eyes shifted to Jazzi and then back to him. She opened her mouth, yelled the first name that came to mind. "Ben! Hey, Ben!"
Mark turned at the sound, eyebrows high in confusion. Amber dragged Jazzi along as she hurried towards him, a fake story tumbling from her mouth. "Oh wow, Ben. Tanya's boyfriend, right? Gosh, I haven't seen her in forever. How are you guys doing?"
Mark stared at her, then Jazzi, and blinked. He smiled, nodded. "Uh... yeah. Yeah..that's right. I'm still with uh... Tanya. She's doing great. We're both doing fine." He scuffed his boot on the floor. "Making pretty good points..."
Jazzi was scrutinizing Mark, prussian blues narrowed, the curious gaze of a cat looking at a wounded bird. He gave her a polite, nervous smile.
Amber pulled her forward. "Jazzi, this is Ben. He's the boyfriend of a girl I was friends with."
She tilted her head.
"Nice to meet you," Mark's smile was becoming apprehensive.
"It's all right to meet you, I suppose. Ben." Jasmine shrugged.
Amber sighed and nudged her. "Why don't you go on ahead? I just want to catch up for a minute."
"All right."
"Go straight up, ok?"
"Yes, mother."
Mark stifled a laugh and they made fake small talk until her footsteps faded away.
"She's kind of odd."
"Tell me about it." Amber scoped out the hallway; they were alone. And then she lunged forward, her arms wrapping him.
"Whoa," he said, and returned the embrace momentarily, before gently shaking her off. "We shouldn't. Anyone could see."
"Sorry..." She clasped her arms around her torso instead, fearful of her desire. She wanted to hug him again. Kiss his mouth, his neck, his chest. She wanted to unzip his pants. The anger she'd dredged was sinking, fear floating to the top like an oil slick. He was right. This was dangerous.
"How have you been?" Despite his warning, he gently touched her, just a lingering brush of fingers on her arm. "I've been worried about you. After the other day..."
"I'm ok..."
His concerned eyes. The fading warmth of the hug. A dead girl, chained to a fence with a collar. Fingers missing. Who needs pinkies anyway...? Her gut clenched, the stifling air of the closet was in her lungs again, the darkness in her eyes.
I'm not ok. I'm so not ok.