Alright, guys, so...there is every possibility that ya'll might be mad at me for something that is going to happen in this chapter. I'm actually really freaking nervous to post this one. I mean, honestly, I really had fun writing it. On one side, you have Eugene being an absolute fucking badass (which I am so totally one hundred percent here for) as well as lots of action and fun stuff like that, but...also...it's not a happy ending guys. I'll just apologize right now for that. The chapter song is "The War" by SYML, it's pretty cool. Really captures the feel, both of this chapter and of what it catalyzes. Thanks SO MUCH for your reviews, I always, always appreciate them. (Oh, and thanks lindir's gaze, that's actually something I always was nervous about w/ this fic, having to juggle so many characters. Glad I'm not completely botching it lol!) Anyway, hope you enjoy this chapter (and that you don't hate me by the end!) As always, let me know what you think.
26. The War
Alpha
It couldn't have worked out any better.
The Chemist. The Chemist was wandering into their wood alone, wearing a look on his face that promised vengeance, wearing a look like he thought he was invincible.
Wearing his cloak.
The sheer perfection of the whole situation had her hissing with delight. She flitted back on silent feet to alert the others.
Eugene
Something was off. It was not something he could detect with his physical senses but rather something he felt in his gut, some ominous shadow climbing his spine.
He was not alone. There was no sound of wildlife, but he was not alone.
He shivered, telling himself it was because of his cloak, which was still damp and smelled of chemicals. His hands, wrapped in gauze up to the knuckles, groaned lightly from gripping his bow for so long. Every nerve prickled the deeper he ventured into the inky woods.
At first, when it started, he mistook it for the wind.
Sighing, ghost-like, the sound was no more than a breath, near-imaginary in the dark. He dismissed it. A breeze, nothing more. Nothing to get spooked over.
But then it came again. Clearer.
"Eugene..."
He stopped, the hairs on the nape of his neck standing on end.
"Eugene..."
It came again, this time on his left. He turned, bow raised, but another voice whispered from his right.
"Eugene..."
Another voice joined it, another and another and another, all drifting together like blood in water. There were shadows moving, flickering all around him. Circling him. The familiar smell of death choked the air, and the dull, relentless groan of walkers, but the voices never faltered.
He stood grim-faced in the eye of this whispering storm, gaze darting back and forth as he took in his odds. He was surrounded completely, but it was hard to tell how deep in the dark, hard to tell how many were actual walkers and how many simply looked like them.
And then one silhouette broke from the rest, and he could tell she was different. She moved different. Grace and cunning and insanity.
It filled his veins with ice, the sound of her voice.
"Chemist," she purred. "Fire-tamer. It's good to see you again. You can try to fight your way out if you want. You'll serve me just as well dead as you will alive."
Eugene said nothing. His mind was all cold calculation, nothing in it that wasn't necessary.
Play the game.
Slowly, he lowered his bow.
"Smart," she said. "But then, I knew you were. Come with us. We're not going far."
Without another word, she turned and walked away. The shadows began pressing in, herding him after her, their whispering ceaseless. He obeyed silently.
They truly didn't go far, just a few yards east. He frowned when they stopped. The place looked no less unremarkable than where they'd been previously, no signs of permanence. But a few of the others broke from the pack surrounding him. He tensed, preparing to fight, but there came no attack. Instead they knelt, and there was the coarse snap of matches striking sandpaper before three campfires flared to life, forming a triangle around him.
In the sudden glow, her eyes, the Wolf's eyes, looked unholy.
"We prepared for you," she said, as though he were no more than a guest she was delighted to entertain. "I wasn't sure it was going to be you specifically, but I was hopeful. Now. Hand over your weapons, your bag and that beautiful cloak- which I made, by the way."
Resentment burned him. Hatred turned his insides to ash.
But he was excellent at playing the game. He just had to remember to breathe instead of imploding.
He set his weapons on the ground- the bow and arrows, the rifle, (breathe, breathe) the two knives, the machete. He slid his rucksack from his shoulder (breathe, breathe) and handed over the cloak.
"What the fuck is on it?" she demanded.
"Various cleansing agents. I'm guessing from your ghoulish visage that you have never tried extracting walker blood from fabric," he replied coolly.
She spread her arms and grinned, a flash of teeth through her mask of rotting lips. "You guess correct," she said.
Still holding the cloak, she angled one hand behind her; a moment later, the dead skin sagged a bit.
"We sewed buttons on the backs," she explained, wriggling quickly and efficiently out of the putrescent hide. "It's a bit cutesy for me, but it works better than anything else we tried."
Freed of her grotesque leather, she gave him a look that was all wickedness and pitiless amusement. Her red hair was wild, matted with blood and dirt and leaves. The scars limning her face with etched with grime, and that map of burns...
The burns he'd given her.
Her eyes glinted, noting his attention. "That was a pretty cool trick, I have to admit. The fuck did you burn me with anyway?"
He offered a small, cruel smile in return. "That's classified."
"You're a funny dude, Eugene. By the way, you can call me Alpha... Although Mason will recognize me as-"
"Gina," he finished, eyeing her coldly. "Rest assured, I know who you are."
She raised an eyebrow. "So she knows, too?"
"She won't let herself believe it. She knows she was shot by the Wolf I burned, and the woman who seduced Rosita, but she will not believe that you are all three without conclusive evidence."
Alpha snorted. "She always was terrific at denial... How is she, by the way?"
She said it so casually, donning his cloak like she had nothing to concern herself with, like she had nothing to burn for...
Rage seared his lungs. "I don't think you reserve any right to be informed of her condition."
She paused. "I reserve every right. She was in love with me before all this."
"You abused her. You held her hostage in that relationship. It was nothing more than Stockholm syndrome."
She punched him in the stomach, driving the breath from him. While he was bent double, she leaned closer and hissed, "I'd dial back on the presumption there, Chemist. You're nothing more than her weird little boy toy. I was-"
"Husband," he grunted.
She blinked, going dangerously still. "What?"
"I'm her husband."
For a moment, the outrage on her face was truly something to behold, but he stared her down, unflinching. The others continued circling them, though the whispering had stopped. The only sound now came from the crackling campfires and the tireless groans of the dead.
Finally, Alpha shook her head and the menace disappeared. "My parents were married, too, and that didn't end so well. Marriage is just a glorified trapping from our former existence. Besides, she thought I was dead, right?"
Before he could respond, her eyes flicked to the side, her lips thinning, as if...
As if someone else were speaking.
It was the same tick, the same tell, that gave Mason away when she was hearing the voices.
His eyes narrowed. "Pain in the ass, aren't they?" he said.
She shook her head impatiently, glaring at him. "What?"
"The delusions. The voices."
The look that came over her then made her previous menace seem banal. He braced himself to parry another blow, refusing to shrink from the lightning in her vivid green eyes.
"The only voice I'm hearing," she murmured, "is the one telling me to kill you."
"So why haven't you?"
Her teeth flashed in a hiss. "Because I want her to see you suffer first."
He shrugged, for all the world entirely unconcerned with his predicament. "Understandable, I do get that a lot. I am not everyone's cup of tea, you see. My best friend tried to kill me, too."
While he talked, he silently cataloged everything going on around him.
The skin-walkers continued circling him, indistinguishable from the dead, but a few of them had broken away to crouch around him, rifling through his things, examining his weapons.
A few feet away, three of them were disassembling a bomb arrow, poking curiously through the propellant powder.
And Alpha stood within the radius of a campfire's warmth. Steadily drying the cloak.
His lips wanted to twitch with satisfaction, but he let nothing show on his face.
Keep talking. Keep her distracted.
He had not failed to notice that each and every one of them, walker and skin-walker alike, had W's inscribed on their foreheads. Just like the Wolves.
"Who are you?" he asked. "I mean, as a group."
"You can call us the Whisperers."
He stifled a shiver.
"Bit gimmicky, isn't it?"
Alpha narrowed her eyes. "I don't know, was it gimmicky when you and Mason haunted the Virginia countryside as vigilantes of the apocalypse?"
"That was your idea, too. Full disclosure, I don't see anything wrong with gimmicks... However, I am of the opinion that-"
Abruptly, the cloak burst into flames.
Alpha screeched as she was ensconced in fire, squirming frantically to escape the blazing fabric.
The Whisperers halted their orbit, at long last allowing Eugene a glimpse at the demarcation between living and dead. The walkers outnumbered them, but there were still plenty of the living left to fight. Their numbers probably hovered somewhere around thirty.
He calculated this in the space of a heartbeat.
In the next, while everyone was distracted, he snatched the first lighter from his belt, locked the igniter, and tossed it toward the sundered bomb arrow.
He had just enough time to duck, covering his face, as the powder exploded. The Whisperers closest to it reeled back, screaming as their flesh seared.
Quick as a wink, Eugene snatched up his rifle and his rucksack and hung them both from his shoulder. Some of the Whisperers were already recovering from the shock and moving on him, some of them dragging Alpha to the side to pat down the flames. He didn't have time to grab everything, but that wasn't his mission. He wasn't going to be able to fight them all, at least not until he'd broken free of the circle. All he needed was to fight his way out.
The first punch he threw landed beautifully, knocking one of the Whisperers on their ass and tearing flesh- both their own and that of their dead suit. A second Whisperer lunged for him, fists raised. Eugene ducked, swinging his arm back, catching a third Whisperer in the throat with his elbow. Then he stepped forward, planting the right side of his body in front of the second Whisperer, who had no time to stop. In one smooth movement, Eugene sent the Whisperer sailing, flipping him to the ground.
His redirection techniques took the Whisperers off guard, as did the broken bits of metal and glass he'd tucked into the wrappings on his knuckles. He plowed through the circle of the living and into the walkers beyond, who had no time to react as he fought his way through them.
Suddenly he was free, half-blind as he returned to the dark. From behind came the sound of swift pursuit- the Whisperers he'd let live giving chase. So he raced east, away from the ocean, away from the beach house.
He had to lead them away.
His heart pounded as he zigzagged through the trees but his breathing was even, controlled. Bright beams cut through the woods, flashlights cracking open the night. He didn't bother trying to dodge them. He ran fast but not as fast he could.
At some point, one of the Whisperers caught up to him. He could feel them just mere feet behind him, practically stepping on his heels.
Keeping his pace, he grabbed the fifth of tequila he'd tucked into his belt, hidden beneath his shirt. His other hand snatched the second lighter. Mid-step, he whirled, smashing the bottle against the Whisperer's face. They snarled, blinded by blood and glass and liquor. Eugene flicked the lighter and tossed it and the Whisperer went up in flames.
In the same breath, he swung the rifle into his hands and took aim at a second Whisperer, who was closing in as well. They tried to duck, but too late. Eugene got them right between the eyes.
There came the sound of another gun firing. Something hot cut a path right past his head, grazing his cheek. A bullet missing its fatal mark by inches.
Hissing, he turned and ran. More gunfire peppered the night, but by some miracle none of the rounds landed, though several times he felt the sharp bite of splintered wood as a tree took the hit intended for him.
A few times, he tried to return the favor, though he was never certain how many of his shots hit their mark.
And then he was breaking free of the trees, right on the edge of a district of suburban housing. Far enough away from the beach that he felt confident in turning to face his pursuers.
But there was only one, feral and fire-eaten, every inch of her silhouette ridged with fury.
He took aim and fired, but she was quick, the knife she'd been holding already airborne. It sank into his hand and he dropped the gun.
Before he could recover, Alpha lunged for the gun. She almost had it, she was almost able to aim it at him-
He kicked it out of her grip and it skidded out of range. Pulling the knife from his hand, he grabbed her singed hair and stabbed at her throat.
Snarling, she lunged forward and the knife drove harmlessly through the air behind her. She grabbed the wrist of the hand tangled in her hair, digging her nail into a pressure point until he was forced to let go. Then she turned and bit his other arm.
He let out a shout. The knife tumbled from his fingers and she was quick to take advantage, snatching it up and slashing at his throat.
He jumped back, yanking up his sleeve and revealing the butterfly knife he'd taped to his arm. He had just enough time to rip it free before she was leaping at him. He stepped aside, barely able to parry her away.
They circled each other, jabbing and slashing and deflecting, until each of them was sweaty and crisscrossed with wounds. It was a stalemate for what felt like an eternity, each of them trying to reach the gun while simultaneously trying to keep the other from it.
She was quick. Smart. And he began to realize as they clashed that she was going to wear him down. But he couldn't land a killing blow, couldn't get close enough for that. And neither of them was getting to the gun until the other dropped.
Every breath felt like fire to his lungs. There was blood and sweat dewing on his eyelashes. His thoughts lashed his skull like lightning.
He moved abruptly, jarring their dueling pattern. Alpha paused as he darted back a few steps- just a heartbeat, but it was enough.
He threw his knife. She dodged it, just as he predicted she would, but in the few precious seconds she was distracted, he swung his rucksack into his hands and reached inside.
He pulled out the first thing his fingers touched- a roll of metal twine. There was no time for anything else. Alpha had already recovered and was surging toward him.
Twisting to the side, he unrolled a bit of the twine, and as Alpha was barreling past him he hooked it around her throat. She choked as he pulled it tight, the knife clattering from her hand in a sudden flinch of panic. She struggled, kicking her legs, clawing at the twine and then clawing at him when she couldn't break free.
He didn't yield an inch. His muscles strained as he jerked the noose tighter. Tighter. Her thrashing was growing weaker...
Something struck him over the head.
There was one brief heartbeat of pain before the world rushed away on a wave of black.
Mason
She jarred awake suddenly enough to incite a stab of pain in her healing stomach.
"Eugene," she gasped breathlessly, reaching for him.
But he wasn't there.
Her hands tangled in the sheets, her pulse frantic in her fingers. His side of the bed was cold. He'd been gone awhile.
For just a heartbeat, she sat frozen in fear.
She'd dreamed, she'd dreamed such horrible things, and for the first time since the nightmares had begun, she remembered it.
She'd been on the beach, under white, ceaseless cloud cover, the ocean muted on her left. She'd been crouched before a grave marker, a salt-whitened, wooden cross. She'd been...overwhelmed. Breathless with despair, with desperation, with something that was so far beyond desolation she had no name for it.
She'd dug her fingers into the sand and it had begun to bleed. Just little beads of it at first, standing out from the pale grit like rubies, like pomegranate seeds. But the deeper she probed, spading her fingers through the reddening silt, the blood sopped up around her, until she was splashing in it, until it was a grotesque tide pool.
Feverishly she'd kept digging, tears blinding her, calling Eugene's name over and over while a weight pressed in on her lungs.
Because he was down there. She'd known he was down there, trying to dig his way up, trying to swim his way up from the ocean of blood lurking beneath the shore. Reaching for her just as she was reaching for him.
With every second that passed, breathing had become harder, as though she were the one buried alive, but finally, finally, a hand had shot from the earth, coated in blood and sand, and she had grabbed it, she had pulled with all her strength...
And she'd woken up. Sweat-slick. Trembling.
And now he was gone.
She lurched out of bed, grabbing her gun and her fire poker. She was still wearing what she usually wore to sleep- one of Eugene's t-shirts and a pair of boxers. She didn't bother changing out of them, partly because she didn't want to waste a second, but also because the shirt smelled like him, and after her nightmare she needed him, every single part of him- his smell and the feel of his skin and the sound of his voice. She was suddenly, heart-wrenchingly desperate for him.
She rushed out of the room, wincing slightly at the ache in her stomach. Her heart sank when she realized that some of the others were already up, but she barreled toward the door anyway, hoping to escape before-
Someone grabbed her arm, pulling her to a halt.
"Hey, where the hell you goin'?"
She turned, wide-eyed, to find Daryl glaring at her. She tried to pull away but he held tight.
"Eugene's gone, I have to find him," she said, still breathless.
"What do you mean he's gone?"
"I mean he's fucking gone, what the fuck else- just let me go!"
"Whoa, whoa, Mason, wait," Rick said, appearing at her side with Michonne, Carol and Morgan. "You've checked everywhere else?"
"I don't have time, I know where he went," she insisted, and the way Rick looked at her, the worry in his eyes, told her he was in agreement.
"Alright, Mason, it's okay. Daryl and I will scout the woods," he said. "The rest of you check around the house, but keep close. We need-"
"I'm not staying here, I'm going with you," Mason said. Rick opened his mouth to protest but she swept on. "I am not fucking staying here, if he's out there, I'm out there."
Michonne shook her head in disbelief. "Mason, you were just shot."
"And I'm healing. Look, please- we don't have time to sit around and argue, we need to find him!"
In her mind she was still seeing the blood, still feeling Eugene's hand clutching desperately at hers. Her stomach filled with lead.
Daryl and Rick exchanged a glance. Mason ground her teeth.
"If you two leave without me, I'll just find a way out by myself," she snapped.
Rick sighed. "Alright. You, me and Daryl."
"And me," Morgan said. "We could split up in twos- cover more ground, see in more directions."
Michonne still looked dubious, but Carol nodded. "We'll look for him here, hold down the fort until you get back."
Rick nodded and smiled, pulling Michonne in for a quick kiss.
"We'll be back soon."
Eugene
The world came back in bleary fragments. Little snippets of sound and imagery that it took him a bit of an effort to piece together.
The sun was coming up, just barely coloring the eastern horizon.
He was being dragged somewhere, his feet trailing and snagging in the undergrowth.
His hands were bound, stingingly tight, behind him with the same twine he had tried to strangle Alpha with.
Occasionally there were voices. One he recognized...Alpha. The other he didn't, but it was high and querulous and cracked with age.
His head throbbed, and there was blood, half-dried and sticky, trailing from his temple, down his chin to his neck.
Suddenly, someone grabbed him by the hair and yanked his head up. He cried out as a sickening wave of agony spiraled down his spine from the head wound.
"Welcome back, Chemist," Alpha hissed.
"Alpha," he puffed by way of greeting.
"You're a surprisingly delightful fighter. Really thought you had me there for a second."
Her free hand ghosted to her throat, where a long cut was oozing blood, shadowed by bruises.
"You would have, actually, if not for ol' Murph here," she continued, indicating a short, bushy-haired man who looked to be in his early seventies. The man regarded Eugene nervously, like he thought Eugene might attack.
Neither of them were the ones carrying him. Two Whisperers held him up by his arms, though they were the only ones in sight. It made him wonder how many of them he'd actually been able to take down.
As if she could read this in his face, Alpha said, "You took out twelve of my people. Single-handedly. I'd probably be more pissed if I weren't so damn impressed." Finally, thankfully, she let go of his hair.
"So where are the rest of them?" he asked.
"Wrangling the cold bodies. They scattered when you broke through the ring. By the way, those were some badass tricks you had up your sleeve. I'm still racking my brain trying to figure out how you set my cloak on fire."
"A proprietary mixture that ignites when it dries."
It was guncotton, actually- nitrocellulose left unwashed had a tendency to combust at room temperature.
Alpha peered at him, eyes gleaming.
"I'm really gonna have to watch my back with you, aren't I?"
"You are."
"I admire that. I admire you. Part of me wishes I could keep you alive." She gave him a grin, like they were old friends. "Perhaps as a pet?"
"Pets turn their teeth on their owners when they've reached their threshold of complacency. I am well past that threshold."
She laughed, a raspy sound, like striking matches. "You're fun. I like an even playing field."
While they talked, his head began to clear. It was a struggle; he had to dig every thought out of the mud. But after a moment he began to recognize where they were. Back in the woods, not far from the cliff side.
His stomach twisted, but he made his voice sound casual.
"Where are you taking me?"
"To the beach. You're going to act as a little calling card to Mason."
Not much of a shocker, although he couldn't quell a pinch of anxiety all the same. With any luck, however, Mason was still asleep. Likely no one was going to notice he was missing for a while yet.
He kept his eyes heavy-lidded, as though he were still muddled, while he analyzed his predicament.
The Whisperers carrying him had knives on their belts, but no firearms that he could see. His gun, however, was strapped across Alpha's back, and Murph held a pistol in a surprisingly steady hand.
He wouldn't have much time. The odds weren't terribly favorable. But it was his only chance. He would not let himself be used as a weapon against Mason, to hurt her.
Sharp buttons and hella confidence, he thought before digging his feet into the earth, propelling himself backward into the Whisperers.
He could have knocked them down, but they would've taken him with them, giving Alpha and Murph time to aim their weapons.
Instead, he pushed back just enough so that he could crouch down, snatching one of the knives before un-looping his arms from his captors'.
Alpha and Murph had halted, already readying their guns, but Eugene whirled. And god, the movement made his head spin but he refused to collapse.
He wasn't able to see where he was aiming with the knife behind him, but he felt it sink into flesh. Murph yelped and dropped his gun and now, now Eugene barreled backward with all his strength, driving the old man into Alpha.
All three of them crashed into a tree. Eugene sank briefly to the ground, the world tilting at a dangerous angle, his stomach churning sickly.
But the two Whisperers were converging on him. He had no time to wait for his equilibrium to return.
With one last desperate lurch, he dropped the knife and scrambled for the pistol. His heart was an unbearable jackhammer against his ribs. He had only precious seconds before Alpha and Murph recovered.
When the gun slid into his hands, a surge of hope electrified him. He could do this. He could escape, he could get back to his people and warn them-
Clumsily, he staggered to his feet and hurried away, pulling the trigger once, twice, three times. There was no way to aim properly with his hands bound, but he hoped that the errant shots would discourage any pursuit, or at least create some distance.
He didn't stop until he was almost to the cliff. The edge of the trees loomed, but he skidded to a halt, ducking behind a tree. Alpha had been taking him to the beach, so there was every possibility the rest of her Whisperers were already there. If they were, perhaps he could take a few more of them out. But he couldn't do that with his fucking hands bound.
One brief glimpse revealed no one hunting after him, but one brief glimpse was all he was allowed. Quickly he dropped the gun and sat on his hands, leaning forward so he could draw his knees up to his chest. It took quite a bit of graceless wriggling, and sharp pains alerted him to muscles he pulled in the process, but finally he was able to maneuver his feet behind his hands. Bracing himself against the tree, he stood, his hands now in front of him.
The effort left him breathless and dizzy; his head throbbed as he bent to retrieve the pistol.
Gunfire went off. He had barely enough time to hide behind the tree again, chips of wood exploding around him.
"Come out and face me, you pussy!" Alpha snarled. "I'm gonna bleed you like a pig!"
Eugene focused his breathing, honing his thoughts until they were blade-sharp.
Alpha behind him, with his rifle.
Movement to either side indicated that the other Whisperers had caught up as well and were closing in. Boxing him in.
One cartridge in the chamber of his pistol, three more in the magazine.
Alpha behind him.
The cliff ahead.
He breathed out, steadying his hand.
Then he turned, firing at the Whisperer on his right. They hit the ground a moment later, a fresh, new hole in their head.
He turned to aim his gun behind him, where Alpha was barreling forward. She ducked out of the way, allowing him a pocket of space to run.
The second Whisperer lunged, seizing the back of Eugene's shirt. He managed to pull free but the effort took the balance from him; he tumbled forward, landing roughly in the dirt just inches from the cliff.
Alpha began firing again. Eugene rolled, launching himself down the cliff face.
There was enough of a slope that it was't a straight ninety degrees, but it sure as hell felt like it when he hit the bottom.
"Fuck me with a crowbar," he gasped- one of the many delightful colloquialisms he'd picked up from Abraham. His head was spinning, his breath coming in ragged gasps. Every inch of him throbbed with pain and exhaustion.
But he couldn't stop. He had to keep moving, had to-
The breath caught in his throat.
Up ahead, not far from him, the ring of walkers and Whisperers rotated once more.
Except there were more them now.
There was no way to tell who was alive and who was undead, but the whole lot of them easily outnumbered his people.
"No," he whispered, frozen in horror.
Rocks clattered as Alpha skidded down the cliff. Eugene raised his gun, but he wasn't quick enough.
Alpha fired- a warning shot, he realized, as the bullet only nicked his shoulder.
"Drop it, you unbelievable, royal, pain in my fucking ass," she seethed.
He let go of the gun. Even in his rising despair, he felt a spark of satisfaction at the look on Alpha's face.
She snatched the gun and belted it, then grabbed the twine binding him.
"Come on."
Mason
She and Daryl were deep in the woods when they heard the gunfire, multiple reports of it bursting the quiet of the morning.
Mason lurched to a halt. Fear made the world spin sickeningly.
"No," she whispered, reaching for her gun, turning... But she was moving in slow motion, she was moving through mud, goddamn it, she wasn't moving fast enough-
"Hey. It's okay, it's okay." Daryl touched her briefly, steadying her, and it was only then that she realized she was swaying on her feet. Frantically, she met his gaze.
"Eugene. Eu-eugene-"
"Hey, I need to know you're good first. You won't be any help to him if you're fallin' over, and I ain't leavin' you here by yourself."
Breathe. Breathe.
She closed her eyes. Focused her breathing.
"I'm good." When she opened her eyes, Daryl still looked dubious. "Daryl, I'm good, I promise."
"Alright, c'mon."
They raced off in the direction of the noise. Mason nearly let out a scream when the gunshots came again, her heart thrumming a mile a minute, such painful staccato it was like gunfire in her own chest.
It was even more terrible when the gunshots stopped and didn't come again.
She pushed herself faster, ignoring the stabbing in her abdomen, the irritating tug of her stitches. Her breathing was labored from pain and panic. The memory of her nightmare dogged her every step.
Daryl picked up a trail not far from the cliff, branches broken and undergrowth frayed in obvious evidence of a chase. They followed it to the wood's end, right up to the edge of the cliff.
They halted when they saw the strange circle in the sand below.
"What the fuck is that?" Daryl growled.
Walkers, Mason realized. All of them shambling in a large loop, surrounding a lone figure.
Eugene.
Her heart leapt to see him alive, even as ice filled her stomach at the sight of him, hands bound and looking horribly ragged, in the center of a ring of the dead.
Before she or Daryl could move, one of the walkers stepped- deliberately, delicately- out of the dead circuit. It looked right up at them, cupping its hands around its mouth so it could shout.
"Come join us, Reaper! We've been waiting a very long time for you!"
That voice...
Mason's heart stopped.
No.
No, it wasn't...it wasn't-
"C'mon, Mason," it called again. "Come join your husband."
That got her legs moving. Mason led the way over the edge, sliding unceremoniously down the rocky slope. She scraped her legs up to hell in the process, and the impact of landing in the sand shot her abdomen through with pain. Panting, sweat breaking out on her forehead, she held her stomach and willed the pain to stop. Daryl wrapped an arm around her, glaring at the walker-human-thing as it laughed.
"Yeah, sorry about that," it said, and god, that voice, that voice- "Grand payouts demand hard decisions. A bit like what you'll be doing today."
Mason limped forward, leaning heavily on Daryl while she tried to get her breath back. She could only barely see Eugene within the ring, occasional glimpses of him staring out at her in anguish. Not for himself, she realized, but for her.
She swallowed convulsively. "What hard decisions?"
The thing didn't answer at first, but it stared at Mason with eyes that glittered like cruel emeralds.
Those striking green eyes...
Slowly, it reached a hand behind its back, unfastening what looked to be a crude button sewn in the back of its hide. It kept its eyes on her the whole time, as if it were savoring the denial, the horror, on Mason's face.
"I've missed you, little Reaper," it said, shimmying out of its skin. "You don't know how much I've missed you."
Mason shook her head, trembling, blood cold. "No," she whispered weakly. "Stop-"
She couldn't see this, didn't want to-
But the woman peeled the last of the walker skin from her body, revealing a mane of singed, fire-red hair, a body that was ballerina-lithe, a face covered in burns, covered in scars-
A face Mason recognized.
Those lips- lips Mason had kissed, in a different world- stretched in a wide, wicked grin.
"Did you miss me?" that voice (Gina it was Gina it was fucking Gina) asked.
Suddenly, voices started up within the walker crowd, which continued to rotate. They echoed (Gina) the woman, whispering the question, layer upon layer of voices.
God, how many of them are human in there? Mason wondered, though mostly to distract herself.
"C'mon, Mason," the woman (Gina no no it wasn't it couldn't be please) said, pouting. "Don't you have anything to say to me? All this time we haven't seen each other? Didn't you miss me?"
Mason was aware, only distantly, that she had sagged completely in Daryl's arms. That her knees were shaking, barely holding her up. That she wanted to wake up, she wanted to wake up, she was still dreaming, she had to be-
When the silence dragged, the woman's eyes flashed.
"Speak!"
And it was instinct, instinct buried so deep in Mason, instinct she thought she'd killed, that had her obeying.
"Gina," she gasped, and the last of her denial swept away with that single word, leaving her hollow and shivering.
Gina grinned. Triumphant, ruthless. "Yes," she hissed. "Hello, Mason."
The ring of walkers echoed her, limning Mason's bones with frost.
"Hello, Mason. Hello, Mason. Hello, Mason."
"Mason."
A new voice. Comfortingly familiar, but...she couldn't find the strength to respond...
"Mason," Daryl tried again, and when she remained mute he threw Gina a vicious snarl. "You best tell us what you want, you fuckin' bitch."
Mason flinched, but Gina looked delighted by his rabid attitude.
"Right to the point, Daryl Dixon. I like it."
Out of the corner of Mason's eye, a flicker of movement...
She glanced up at the cliff, where two figures were creeping. The moment she saw Rick and Morgan she looked away again, unwilling to draw Gina's attention to them.
"I want to make an exchange," Gina continued. "Right now, the Whisperers are keeping these cold bodies at bay. See, if they think you're one of them, you can get them to do just about anything. We've mastered the art of keeping them docile. But if the ring were to break..."
She glanced back at Eugene in amusement. Through a gap in the dead circle, Mason saw pure hate on his face.
"I don't know how well it would fare for your hubby. All those wounds leaking blood... They'd be on him in seconds."
"Gina, please," Mason said, and it was a struggle to give any voice to her words. "Please don't do this."
"Oh, the name's Alpha now. Way fucking better, if you ask me."
"Okay, then, A-alpha. Please. Let him go."
Alpha curled her lip. "Really? Him? I mean, okay, okay, granted- he is very clever. A supreme fissure in my ass, if we're being real honest. But you...you're the Reaper. You brought the Sanctuary to its knees."
Up on the cliff, Rick and Morgan had gone still.
Keep her distracted keep her distracted
"He is clever," Mason said- pleaded. The only way she'd ever been able to communicate with Gina. "You can't- you can't destroy that. You can't let that go to waste."
"I'll admit, it would be a shame," Alpha said. "I admire that mind of his. But destroy him I will, if I don't get what I want."
She paused, a look crossing her face that instantly filled Mason with dread.
"I have an idea. Let's play a little game. To see if he's even worth all the trouble. I wouldn't want you to make sacrifices if he's not worthy of you."
She snapped her fingers, and the inner layer of the ring shifted- what Mason assumed were the Whisperers moving aside to let the walkers trail into the center. One after another, they shambled toward Eugene, gnashing their teeth as they scented his blood.
"No!" Mason cried. Through gaps in the ring, she could spot him, grim exhaustion shadowing his face, hair rumpled with sweat and blood, as he faced the onslaught. He was able to take a few down, but with his hands bound his options were limited, and his strength was failing him.
Mason lurched forward- just as the gunfire started up.
One of the walkers looming behind Eugene crumpled to the ground. Another followed suit, blood exploding from its head. Panting, Eugene stood still as a whole volley of bullets took down the walkers surrounding him.
Alpha snarled, whipping to face the cliff.
Suddenly everything was chaos.
The Whisperers were breaking rank. The few that had guns turned their attention on Rick and Morgan as well. Eugene was left undefended again.
Taking advantage of their only chance, Mason and Daryl rushed forward, fighting their way into the crowd.
It was like nothing she'd experienced before.
She'd aim at what she thought were walkers, only for them to dart out of the way, or swipe at her with knives, or punch her. And then while she was distracted with the living, the undead would cluster closer and she would have to worry about them. It was like being thrown into a lake, bracing to have to swim, only to crack her bones on rocks hidden beneath the surface.
But she pushed through the turmoil, toward Eugene, who was in the thickest of it, who was swiftly losing ground...
Her pulse became a wildfire. Everything smelled like death and there was blood misting the morning air and the feel of sand beneath her bare feet just reminded her of that damn nightmare and...
And they weren't going to make it to him.
He was fighting as hard as he could and they were fighting as hard as they could, but there were too many Whisperers. Mason's gun was empty by the time they were halfway through the fray and Eugene was surrounded and they weren't going to make it.
She screamed, a feral, desperate sound, half-choked with tears. She screamed as she raged forward, swinging her fire poker, not giving a shit who was living or dead, not giving a shit if they bit her or shot her or stabbed her.
And it made no difference. She was not going to reach him.
In her mind, she saw that cross.
She felt the blood, thick and hot, on her skin.
She saw Rick-
Rick.
Rick. Not in her mind, but in front of her, across from her.
He had fought his way in from another angle, had somehow cut a path straight through to Eugene. Morgan was still some distance away- holding off Alpha and a few others. The sight of them put new strength in Mason's legs.
Rick reached Eugene, pulling him from the pocket of walkers trying to swallow him. He had no time to unravel the wire binding Eugene's wrists, but he did hand him a knife. Together they stood back to back, holding the convergence at bay by inches.
And finally, goddamn finally, Mason reached them, reached Eugene. She wanted to hold him, press him to her chest and protect him from everything, but instead she reached for his bindings, hastily undoing them while Daryl watched her back.
When he was free, the four of them stood shoulder to shoulder in the chaos, a defiant spark flaring against the ever-pressing circle. And her stomach was burning, she thought perhaps she'd torn her stitches, but she didn't waste a second to check.
And then...and then, suddenly, the Whisperers began to retreat.
Retreat from the Misfits and their gunfire as they charged down the beach.
The relief that seized her then...it took the breath from her.
While the Misfits drove the Whisperers back, Morgan joined the nucleus that Mason, Eugene, Rick, Daryl made up. The five of them set to work dispatching the walkers, who were much less of a threat without Alpha's ghoulish warriors haunting their ranks. Mason kept her mind carefully focused on the task. She didn't let it wander, because if it wandered-
Hello, Mason.
You don't know how much I've missed you.
No. No, she couldn't think about that. Not yet.
Only when there were a handful of walkers left did she at last stagger to a halt, glancing down to find red staining her shirt.
"Mason," Rick said, but she waved off his concern.
"Just tore my stitches a little bit. It's no biggie."
"You should head back. You and Eugene both. Denise needs to take a look at you."
"What, and miss one second of this super awesome day?" The cheer in her voice was manic, and yet she felt strangely numb, weightless and heavy all at once.
Rick's eyes softened, and he laid a hand on her shoulder, opening his mouth to say something.
A heartbeat later, he was swinging her into his arms, crushing her against his chest. Shielding her body with his own. It happened so quickly her mind reeled.
In the same moment there was a crack of artillery, one lone report followed by a cascade of retaliatory fire.
Blood splashed the right side of her face.
Rick shuddered, letting out a low, strangled noise.
In a haze, in a dream, she looked up.
"Rick?"
There was so much blood, she couldn't believe it at first.
In the back of her mind, she heard Eugene's voice, teaching her interrogation techniques, how quickly someone could bleed out from a severed artery.
There are several vital thoroughfares that allow for treatment, so long as it comes promptly. But you're in trouble if you sever the carotid artery.
The carotid artery. The one in the throat.
Where Rick was bleeding from now.
All this passed through her head in a fraction of a second. Already Rick's arms had gone slack around her, his face pale. He stumbled back. She tried to grab him as he collapsed, to ease his fall.
"No, no, Rick!"
Panic flooded her as she pressed her hands to the wound. Impossible, this was impossible, it couldn't be happening-
"Stay with me, Rick, stay with me. I've got you, okay?"
But her hands were swimming in his blood.
Too much. He was losing too much. Even if she were to wrap the wound, he'd just bleed right through it-
Tears blurred her vision.
"Rick, please," she sobbed. "Stay- stay with me, okay? Stay with me."
He blinked at her. His mouth moved but no words came out. Just a gurgling rasp and a gush of blood.
But his hands found one of hers, pulling it away from the wound. Wrapping something in her red, slick fingers.
His revolver.
And she remembered their conversation in the desert. Joking with each other at the Oasis, blissfully unaware that this day awaited them. Joking about...about Mason taking over Rick's role as leader, joking about him giving her his revolver-
She dropped it, returning her hand to his neck.
"No," she said furiously. "No, don't you fucking dare. Don't you fucking leave me. Don't- don't- "
But she couldn't fight the sobs any longer. They crushed her.
"Don't leave me, please, don't leave me."
She bowed her head, pressing it to his chest. She kept her hands stubbornly, uselessly, pressed to the wound.
Beneath her temple, his heartbeat slowed. Stopped.
She stayed crouched over his body for an eternity, crying so hard it felt like convulsing, only barely aware of it when Eugene wrapped his arms around her. Holding her while the world fell down around them.
Eugene
He couldn't bear the sight of Michonne and Carl, huddled over Rick's body.
He couldn't bear the thought of Judith, still at the house, and how she would react when they explained what happened...
Most of all, he couldn't bear the sight of Mason, crouched in the sand next to Rick, staring at his body with dull, empty eyes.
She'd screamed and thrashed when he'd tried to pull her away to get her wound tended, enough that he'd worried she would tear her stitches further. So he'd let her be, limp and terrifyingly hollow.
Everything. Everything was horribly, terrifyingly hollow.
Rick was dead.
Rick
was
dead.
It was near impossible for Eugene to accept that this all wasn't some kind of fucked up, hyper-realistic nightmare.
He looked dazedly at Renee as she strode toward him. There was a familiar steel in her eyes, the look she got when she had patients to tend to, but beneath it...
She was as lost as the rest of them.
"I fixed her stitches, but she needs antibiotics. She needs rest," she said. "It would be way too easy for her to get an infection right now, but she won't let me move her."
"She's in shock," Eugene said numbly. His voice was someone else's.
"Yeah, I know that. She could also go into septic shock if that wound gets infected. And you. You need to get looked at, too. You're dead on your feet and riddled with wounds. You look like a goddamn cutting board."
Eugene closed his eyes, trembling. Everything was crashing around him in slow motion and he could barely breathe, but...but...
Carl was sobbing in Michonne's arms and Michonne looked vacant, she looked dead, and Mason...
Mason needed him.
He breathed in through his nose, spooling himself back into his body. They all had jobs to do.
Mason didn't look up as he approached her. She didn't respond when he said her name, softly, gently.
But she resisted, muscles hard under his fingertips, when he tried to pull her away.
"May. Sweetheart."
He pressed his forehead to her temple, brushing her cheek with his nose. She wouldn't move out of concern for her own well-being, so he'd have to get her up another way.
"I'm sorry, love, but we...we need to get ready."
Slowly, slowly, her eyes slid to his.
"Ready," she rasped brokenly. It was not a question, but he answered anyway.
"To fight them," he murmured.
He expected the fire, to see the Reaper reawaken in her eyes.
But there was only void as she nodded, clutching his arms to let him pull her to her feet.
She leaned on him as they walked away, picking their way through the corpses that they hadn't had a chance to clear yet.
But she paused, a rush of sudden strength ridging her spine. She turned to the Misfits, eyes smoldering.
"Who?" she growled. Only that, but no one needed further explanation.
Dave fidgeted uneasily. "Alpha," he answered.
A tremor ran through her. She closed her eyes, nodding, and just like that, the strength drained from her. Eugene tightened his grip around her waist as they continued on their way.
They were halfway to the house when Mason staggered, lurching toward the sea.
"May-"
"I want...I want to clean myself off, I can't...I can't have his blood on me. I can't let Judy see me..."
He swallowed around the lump in his throat.
"Okay. Okay."
He led her to the water's edge, the tide gently lapping at their feet and then pulling away. Kissing, then pulling away. The sound of it was soft. It was the sound from another world, the peaceful world they'd been kidding themselves for two years they were living in.
Eugene knelt, guiding Mason down with him. She sat quietly, letting him wash the blood from her skin, her eyes vacant as she stared across the ocean. He wished he had something to say, anything. But he was fighting to keep from collapsing under his own grief and besides, what was there to say?
"She killed him."
Her voice was desolate as a tomb. She didn't look at him when she said it, entranced by that distant horizon, as if she wanted to disappear into it.
"She's alive," she said. Slowly. "She's alive and she killed him."
Her breathing hitched.
"Rick...he's-"
She crumpled then like a wasted flower, crying weakly as though she had no spirit left for anything else. The pitiful sound of it broke something inside of him.
He pulled her closer, wrapping her up as though he could shield her from the world. And he could no longer fight it. He clenched his teeth against the sobs but they shuddered free anyway.
He and Mason clung to each other like they were the only port in a storm. They washed each other in the salt of their tears, and the tide washed them in the salt of its eternal movement, and they held each other tight in this merciless collapse of the world.
NOTE: ...is everyone okay? I'm kind of joking, but kind of not lol Guys, I really, really love Rick, he's one of my all-time favorites, but... Even in the show, I never saw him lasting till the end (which is why I was so upset they killed off Carl because I thought they would set him up to be the next leader after Rick died but we won't get into that). Just...he's that kind of protective dad figure who would absolutely sacrifice himself for his loved ones, and I always saw him going out, you know, protecting them. Also...you didn't think the reunion with Alpha and Mason was going to come without its price, right? Even so, that was really, really hard to write. I hope ya'll can forgive me. As always, much love, you guys.