Disclaimer: I don't own AMC's The Walking Dead, wishful thinking aside.
Authors Note #1: This is a 'fix-it-what-Carol-was-up-to' fic meant to fit in after 4x04 to whenever Carol comes back to grace our screens. This is 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 Eleven
"What the fuck!" Drake bleated, offensively loud as Fornell jerked backwards, snagging the Mossberg from the hood of the SUV as he went. "There's something fuckin' in there!"
"Form up!" Fornell barked, ducking behind the SUV as Drake and the blonde dove for cover. The dull sound of loose gravel grating across frayed fabric and worn boot heels put her teeth on edge.
She used the moment to stuff a handful of shells into her sweater pocket, holstering her spare and aiming through a gap in the curtains, tunnelling down the sight until all she could see was the brim of Fornell's baseball cap poking up from over the SUV. A thought, stray and half-formed, rose up in the back of her mind. She could end this now, from this range her shot would probably go right through the glass. It was shatter proof, no fuss, no muss.
"If there's anyone in there, you best come on out now!" Fornell shouted.
She didn't say a word. Hell, she barely even moved. She remained frozen, halfway up the ladder, bad leg screaming.
"Yeah! We've got ya' surrounded," Drake piped up, only to let go of a yelp a few seconds later when the sound of a boot heel whacking against unprotected flesh carried in the afternoon breeze.
Her nails bit into the meat of her palms. If she spoke now she'd reduce the element of surprise. She would tell them by proxy, by the lack of another voice, that she was alone, a woman alone on the road – well, you know the rest. But on the other hand, what if they weren't a threat? Sure they were rough around the edges, militaristic, suspect simply because they were strangers, but what if they were doing the same thing she was? Scouting for supplies, heading onto the next town, the next place? Surviving?
There was no right answer.
She frowned, uncertain. Rick, Daryl, even Shane had made these sorts of decisions every day. How had they known it would be the right call? How had they remained so confident? So in control? How had they looked so sure, when in reality, their guts had probably been roiling?
To say she had a new appreciation for their position was an understatement.
Her mind was a jumble of conflicting loyalties, ideas, instincts and drives. One part screamed for her to shoot, to just squeeze down on the trigger, certain they were a threat. While the other, more subtle, more rational part of her, argued against it.
"…Maybe it's a biter," Drake drawled, tone jumpy but dripping with false bravado as the click-click-click of someone reloading carried in the still air.
She shook her head, the scales tipping in the back of her mind. The decision was practically made for her. She had no right to shoot first, not in her mind. She already had more on her conscience than she could handle. She had to be sure. In spite of appearances, they hadn't done anything wrong, not by her. Who was she to pass that kind of judgement?
She wasn't Rick. She'd never-
"Will you shut up!?" the woman whispered, all snarling upper lip and the flash of a gun barrel half hidden in her right palm. She tried not to tense, to make any more noise than necessary when the woman's head peeked over the hood, trying to suss her out before disappearing again.
Her throat tightened, chest vice-like as she cleared her throat. She remained where she was, halfway up the ladder, gun trained on the hood of the SUV as she spoke loudly enough to be heard.
"If it's all the same to you, considering the direction your guns are pointing, I'm just fine staying put, thank you," she remarked, tongue thick in her mouth as she forced the words out. Still, she was surprised when they came out level, a solid dead calm.
The silence that followed was stilted, hushed, stale.
"Holy shi-" Drake muttered, the words barely audible as the blonde shushed him. From her vantage point halfway up the ladder she caught sight of both Fornell and the woman's heads coming together – the muffled whispers carried but she couldn't make out the words. Uncertainty and fear coiled deep in the pit of her belly.
It was a handful of beats before Fornell broke the silence, accent typical for the Deep South as he raised his head above the hood, showing one hand up as a gesture of goodwill. "We don't mean any harm. We're just out here, same as you. Survivin'. We got people to feed is all."
Her brow furrowed when she caught sight of the blonde inching her way underneath the carriage of the SUV. She adjusted her aim through the window, switching between the woman and Fornell as her attention grew divided.
"We don't mean no disrespect, but we figured this rig was abandoned." Fornell continued, raising himself up another few inches as she wavered on the ladder. His other hand was still behind the SUV. She would have bet all of her and Ed's life savings that despite appearances, it was still holding onto the stock of the Mossberg.
It would be what she would do.
"Well, it's not," she managed, conviction entering her tone as the conversation evolved, ignoring the sting from her bad leg as she shifted. "This is our home," she improvised, using what she'd read of the previous owner's papers to fill in the blanks. "We've been on the road since Atlanta fell."
"Atlanta, huh?" Fornell echoed, tone bland, yet not sarcastic as he tipped the brim of his hat towards her, "that's some tough shit. Not many people made it out. Especially on the buses, poor bastards got the brunt of it when Atlanta fell. Most of them weren't even clear of the barricades when they started firebombing the city."
"We were lucky," she returned, keeping it simple as the barrel of the blonde's gun glinted.
"We? You're not all alone in there, darling?" Fornell asked, spitting a mouthful of dank liquid off to the side as he switched a wad of chewing tobacco to the other cheek.
"No." She affirmed, trying to force conviction into her words, as she caught sight of Drake edging around the SUV, clearly trying to pin-point her location. She paused in mid-breath as inspiration suddenly struck.
"My-my husband has the sickness, the fever that's been going around," she added, "I've been exposed. You don't want to get much closer than you are," she advised, willing them to just pack up and take the bait as she inched her way up to the emergency hatch, free hand clutching onto the handle as she slowly eased it open.
"Is that so?" Fornell drawled. "I don't know nothin' about a fever, haven't heard a peep about it in fact. Why don't you and your husband come out here, tell us all about it, might interest our people and all."
The hairs on the back of her neck prickled. She opened her mouth to reply, to say something, anything. But even she knew she was probably just delaying the inevitable.
"I don't think you understand, this fever is different, it isn't like anything I've ever seen before. It's fast, it burns you out and you bleed, from everywhere. The eyes… There were more of us, they didn't make it," she replied, desperate, letting a hint of it enter her tone for effect as Drake looked back at Fornell, questioning.
She bit her lip as the seal around the hatch whooshed, easing it open incrementally as she balanced on her good leg, forcing herself to steady as she inched the hatch open enough to slide her spare Glock up onto the roof and off to the side, ready to grab the moment she needed it.
"Be that as it may, I still think you and your old man should come out and have a talk about this, it's only friendly after all," Fornell insisted.
She sucked in a breath, heart pulsing raggedly, unsteady. Please, just go away.
"I can speak to you from here, but my husband is barely conscious, he's too heavy to move," she responded, just shy of biting as her feelings got the better of her. She knew what he was doing. He was trying to suss out if she was alone or not, figuring she'd be easy pickings if it was just her in there. As far as he knew, she was the only thing standing between them and a cargo full of food and fuel.
People had certainly killed for less.
Don't make me do this.
Fornell straightened, spine clicking as his reached his full height, over confident and bold as he stared straight ahead, gaze off by about half a meter as she glared back through the gap in the curtains. A smug grin curled lazily around the curve of his lips as he took a step around the SUV. He kept one hand up, but the other still hidden behind the headlights. It reminded her so much of Ed that her aim actually wavered.
She could see the tip of his Mossberg skimming across the ground beside the treads. The sound was metallic and hollow, as inconspicuous as anything, yet to her, it echoed out as clear as a death knell.
So be it.
A/N #1: Thank you for reading. Please let me know what you think! Reviews and constructive critiquing are love! – There will be more to come, stay tuned!