Disclaimer: I don't own AMC's The Walking Dead, wishful thinking aside.
Authors Note #1: This is a 'what-Carol-was-up-to' fic meant to fit in after 4x04 to whenever Carol comes back to grace our screens. Written in response to an anon prompt in my askbox on tumblr. Honestly, I just couldn't resist.
Warnings: Contains spoilers for all four seasons of the Walking Dead, strong language, probably very much AU, angst and more.
In Transit
Chapter Ten
"This is a god damned waste of time," a voice growled, male, but unfamiliar and gruff. It was enough to send her hopes plummeting in less than two seconds flat. The man sounded ticked off and angry as heavy boot heels dug deep in the loose gravel. His words were punctured by another slam as an engine, well maintained enough that she hadn't heard it when they'd pulled in, cut off in mid-purr.
"Fuck you, Fornell! You and I both know this rig wasn't here when we came through last week. I'm positive of that!" another voice answered, lighter, less rounded and trying far too hard.
There was a screech of rusty hinges, the slight impact of vehicles shocks, then-
"Why do we even care anyway?" a woman's voice asked, only a few octaves away from being shrill as the sound of footsteps, light and far more delicate, approached the side of the bus.
She bit her lip, willing the woman to stop as the sound of long nails rasped across the side panel, just inches away from where she was resting. She shivered at the sound, nails on a chalkboard.
"The boss has a whole mess of SUVs with tripped out gadgets and bumper decorations, why waste time on a hunk of junk like this?" the woman continued, tone practically drowning in derision as she tapped against the window, startling in its sudden closeness.
"The lady has a point," the first voice returned. Fornell, she reminded herself, from somewhere near the reinforced door at the front of the bus.
"I wouldn't be surprised if she's had every man's god damned point since god damned winter," the second man muttered, sounding mulish and just bitter enough that a chuckle rose up in the back of her throat.
The crisp sound of an open palm meeting unprotected flesh echoed – followed by the sound of rakish laugher as the man's friends called him out for being a sore loser.
She shifted, carefully easing her Glock out of its holster as they argued amongst themselves. She considered her options, carefully lifting herself up into a sitting position, mindful of her leg as the bindings pulled taut around the cut. The main door was locked, protected by at least a layer of reinforced steel and soldered metal. The windows were supposed to be shatter proof; they popped out on latches from the inside in case of a roll over. They could shoot through them, but it would take more than a clip from a regular pistol to bring them down in pieces. The driver's door was the weakest point, locked, but lightly reinforced. Then, of course, there was the emergency hatch. The hatch was accessible both ways, inside and out.
Shit.
She flicked off the safety, breathing in through her nose. Her finger tightened around the trigger. …Easy does it. Wait. You don't know what they're going to do. They might even leave. Let them decide. Don't show your cards until you have to.Just wait…
"Come on then," the woman cut in, interrupting the others as the agreement reached its peak. "Let's get this over with. Drake? You first," she hummed salaciously, voice promising violence under a thin layer of velvet.
"What? No way! It's Fornell's turn!" the second man complained, voice pitching loud enough that she winced. The echo carried. The rest stop was in full view of the highway, were they that confident in themselves that they'd risk-
"I didn't ask Fornell, you whiny little bitch, this is your party, remember?" the woman grated, tone icy as she crunched through the gravel, so close that she could actually hear the gravel rasping across the bottom of her soles.
"Look lady, just because you're the boss's favourite doesn't mean you can just-"
"Jesus, Drake! While we're young, dude!" Fornell groaned, slapping his hand against something metallic and hollow – the hood of a car as the woman's voice, borderline nasal, echoed her agreement.
She inched her way across the floor as footsteps approached the main door, dragging her injured leg as she scuttled off the pile of blankets, trying to find a good position as she neared one of the windows. If she could just see what was happening…
The second man, Drake, yanked on the handle, pulling ineffectively as the action sent tremors through the side of the vehicle, making the shocks groan at the force. And she used it, moving in time as she dragged herself to the middle window, hoping the action would mask the noise of her movements as the man cursed.
"Locked," he whined.
"No shit," Fornell returned, pausing to spit before he continued. "Try the other one." A muscle ticked in her cheek at the sound, chewing tobacco. Thankfully, Ed had always preferred cigarettes. She'd considered it the lesser of two evils and had invested in a steam cleaner.
The sound footsteps neared the front of the bus. But she paid the other man no mind. Instead, she peeked around the edge of the curtain, blinking at the light as her eyes slowly adjusted. There were only three of them, two men and a woman, just as their voice's had indicated.
Fornell, the man who'd spoke first, was as burly and rough as he'd sounded, boasting a barrel chest and thickly corded forearms. The man had a Mossberg cradled in his grip, with silver-shot temples barely visible under a worn Budweiser cap. He was staring off towards the front of the bus, braced up against the hood of a reinforced SUV, presumably where the other man, Drake, was poking around.
And as if on cue, the bus shook again, she caught a flash of a profile when the blanket covering the driver's side window fluttered, swaying with the movement. All she got was a glimpse of an angular nose, spiked brown hair and a reedy-looking chest.
"Can you see in?" the woman asked, appearing from the shadow of the bus, so close she could have reached out and touched, as a wave of strawberry blond hair caught in the afternoon glare.
The blonde had her back to her, hands posed, unimpressed at her hips. She had a Glock strapped to each hip and a machete and holster arranged snugly in the small of her back. The woman's figure was lithe, but not young, mature enough to have earned the title, but far enough in denial that it didn't matter.
"Nope, they've blacked out the windows from the inside, can't see shit," the reedy-looking man replied, coming back around the bus with a bored look and a swagger that looked a bit too confident for the person behind it.
The woman snorted, tossing back her hair, "Well, Sherlock, what do you propose?" she asked slyly, baiting.
"Dude, this shit is from Atlanta. This is a god damned city bus," Fornell growled, kicking at the back wheel well as he inspected the advertisements peeling off the sides. "Why the hell would we be interested in a fuckin' city bus anyway?"
"You're missin' the point, dumbass. How the hell did it get out here anyway? Atlanta is what? Three hundred? Four hundred miles from here?" Drake spat, ire up as he thumped his fist along the side. "Think they were just makin' a pit stop?"
"Hey, you watch 'yer tongue boy. I've had it just about up to here with your-"
"Enough!" the woman hollered, tone loud enough to send echoes rippling through the still air. But what really surprised her was when the two men automatically quieted. "Just break into the god damned thing so we can all go home," the woman sighed. "I don't know about you, but I certainly don't want to be hearing about the 'one that got away' for the next fifty years."
The little one, Drake, grinned nastily, tossing Fornell a one fingered salute as he hurried over to the SUV, pulling out a crowbar and a sledge hammer.
"Pick your pleasure, grandpa," Drake offered, expression anything but friendly as Fornell glared down at him, staring at him the same way she imagined a cat did to an unsuspecting mouse – just waiting for the right time to strike. Drake didn't have a clue either; it was that or he was too high on himself to care. The kid was on borrowed time and everyone save for himself seemed to be aware of it.
Fornell hefted the sledge hammer like a baseball bat, testing the weight of it in his hand as he left his Mossberg on the hood of the SUV. "Let's get this over with," he grunted, leading the way around the bus towards the driver's side door.
She cursed under her breath. She needed to do something, to move, act, now.
Options, she needed options.
Should she run? Try and take off in the bus before they managed to force their way inside? Or did she stay, confront them? Neither option was particularly appetizing. They both pretty much sucked, actually. But that was all she had. If she ran, taking the bus down the interstate, and they decided to chase her, well, it was pretty much curtains. The bus turned like a semi-truck jack-knifing on black ice and at the best of times she could barely keep it in one lane. The SUV was faster, smaller and far more manoeuvrable. Not to mention there were three of them and one of her, she could drive and shoot, at least not for long.
No.
She could hear Daryl, all low tones and that subtle rasping purr in the back of her mind as an idea formed. She thought quickly, pulling herself across the floor as she grabbed the spare Glock and her last box of ammo. Her injured leg throbbed dully, manageable but tender. She half-hobbled over to the ladder, trying to steady herself as her bad leg dragged.
If she could just get up to the emergency hatch she'd have the high ground, she could deal with the three of them if she had to, if they gave her no choice. She scrambled up the ladder, biting her lip as her free arm trembled, willing the rusty metal to not creak as she eased herself up another step.
Easy does it, just one more-
The box of ammo fell, sliding right out of the crook of her arm and slamming against the floor of the bus with a deafening clang. The sides split open on impact, sending nine millimetre shells spilling out in every direction, pinging and clattering down the aisle as she watched her plan curl into flame and ash around her.
She froze, eyes closing for a split second as the footsteps outside skidded to a stop and a trio of muffled yelps and half-formed curses whipped out into the silence.
Shit.
A/N #1: Thank you for reading. Please let me know what you think! Reviews and constructive critiquing are love! – Oooo! Suspense! Stay tuned, there is more to come!