XVIII: XXVII

~Alpha~

"Lydia, oh Lydia
Say, have you met Lydia?
Oh, Lydia, the tattooed lady."

I sing softly as I look around the overturned wagon, stepping over a body before one of my Whisperers drags it away. I kneel next to the woman of the group, her eyes open as she lies dead from a snapped neck thanks to Beta.

I draw my knife, prodding my thumb along the edge. I let out a sigh—it's not sharp enough. I stand, taking off my belt and using it to sharpen my blade. I continue to hum under my breath as I put my belt back on, then kneel next to the woman, playing with her hair for a moment, the same way I used to play with my Lydia's.

I brush her bangs back before placing my knife at the edge of her scalp and making the first incision.

"She has eyes that folks adore so
And a torso even more so
Lydia, oh Lydia, that encyclopedia
Oh, Lydia, the queen of tattoo."

~Clary~

I've been searching all day, but I've found nothing. The Fair would've begun while I've been gone, and I know the others are probably starting to get worried since I'm still not back. And Alden would've figured out that I lied to him.

I keep pushing nonetheless, praying to come across them.

The skins are hard to track, any trail left behind by them blending in with the walkers' trails. They dip their shoulders and mimic the walkers' stumble, only abandoning the facade when they near us.

Leaves rustle behind me, and I slow, turning my head just enough to spot two walkers out of my peripheral. My crossbow is already in my arms, and I spin, firing on one of the walkers. The bolt sinks into its eye, and it drops.

The second walker jumps back. A human reaction.

The skin is momentarily distracted by the walker going down right beside them, giving me enough time to reload my crossbow.

"Drop the knife," I order, moving closer as I raise my crossbow on them. "I know you've got one. You all do."

The skin unsheathes their knife, dropping it to the ground. They start to raise their hands, but they reach behind their back. The skin starts to pull a gun on me, but I already saw it. I fire, my bolt sinking into their shoulder. A female voice cries out as the skin drops the gun, falling to the ground.

I kick the knife and gun away as I drop my crossbow, pouncing on the skin. I grab the mask, the skin fighting me. With my free hand, I grab the bolt, twisting it in her shoulder and causing her to scream. She stops fighting, and I pull off her mask. I pause for a second to take in the look of terror on her face before punching her out cold.

I sharpen my knives using my belt, passing the time until the skin comes around. I've already dug a handful of traps around the perimeter of this clearing in case any walkers stumble across us or she makes an escape attempt, and then I covered them with leaves to hide them. The gun was empty, nothing but a way to keep a possible attacker away.

I put my belt back on when the skin I've tied up lets out a moan, signalling that she's awake. I get to my feet, standing before the skin. I say, "I hope you're rested, 'cause we've got a lot to cover."

The skin jerks against her restraints, demanding, "Who are you?"

"Well, you can call me any number of things—I've heard it all. But most of my enemies, they call me the Orphan. I really don't give a shit what they call you. That's not what I want to know. Where's my brother?"

"I don't even know who your brother is," the skin replies.

"You do."

"I really don't."

"I can do this the hard way if that's how you wanna do it," I say with a shrug. I draw my knife, the skin eyeing it as I step closer. She tries to pull away, turning her head, but she doesn't get very far. She lets out a cry that's a mixture of pain and surprise as I make the first cut across her cheek.

She looks back and me, and I order, "Talk."

"I don't know where your brother is!" she insists.

I make another cut, this one on her opposite cheek. She gives me the same answer again, so I make another cut in another spot, and the cycle continues. Blood drips from each of her wounds, and I glance over my shoulder as I hear a walker approaching, drawn by the sound we've been making and the scent of her blood.

The walker stumbles right into the trap that I had set up, its foot getting stuck. The walker's not going anywhere, and it's really not posing much of a threat at the moment.

The skin pants as I pull my knife away yet again, trying, "I've already told you. I don't know where your brother is!"

I clench my jaw, wanting to just kill her already, but I'm determined to get something out of her. I command, "Pick a body part."

"What?"

"Pick a body part to live without. And that's what I'm gonna cut off."

The skin stares at me. "You can't."

"Oh, trust me, I can," I say. "You see, everyone else that I know that's lost a limb, they didn't have a choice. They could only hope they'd live, that what they lost was something that they could survive in this world without. You're lucky. You get to choose what you're losing."

The skin doesn't speak.

"No?" I question. "Dealer's choice, then. I can do that." I glance towards the walker, its foot still stuck in the trap. A far more wicked thought crosses my mind, and I can't hide my grin. "I've got it. Say, what's your dominant hand?"

"My right?" the skin replies, not understanding my motive.

"Just because I'm feeling nice, I'll give you a chance of survival. I'll take your left," I say, then add, "First."

I untie her left hand, taking it in mine and extending her arm away from her body. She gets it now, struggling against me, but it's no use. I tighten my grip on her hand, making sure it hurts, as I draw my knife.

It's not a clean cut, my knife only going about halfway through. The skin screams, and I make another swing, blood spurting on me as her hand separates from her arm.

"No!" the skin sobs. "No!"

I look down at the hand, studying it for a second as blood drips from it. I comment, "Don't really need that anymore."

I toss it to the walker like you'd toss a dog a bone. The walker growls in response, the skin sobbing from a mixture of pain and horror. I tie the skin's arm up again, the stump to the sky so she doesn't bleed out. Her head is turned away from the walker eating her hand, eyes squeezed shut.

"Look," I tell her, grabbing her chin with one hand, turning her head to the walker. I open her eyes, forcing her to watch. "Ooh, he looks like a hungry fella, doesn't he?"

"You're insane!" the skin cries.

"You think he'll want seconds?" I ask. "I think he will."

"No, please!"

"Then tell me what you know!"

"I don't know anything!" she repeats. "I don't know!"

"Hoss is getting hungry," I warn, the walker growling as if in response. "It'll all stop if you talk."

"I already told you!" the skin sobs. "I don't know who your brother is or where he's at!"

I sigh, then turn to the walker. "Hey, hoss, you want some more? You're a hungry fuck, ain't ya?"

"No, no, please!" the skin begs, her voice a shriek, as I untie her remaining hand. "Please! I'll give you anything! Just stop!"

"Anything?"

"Anything!"

"Tell me where my brother is."

"I can't give you something I don't know!"

"Then I can't stop."

Her screams ring through the woods again, and I get farther through her wrist this time, having a better idea of the force I need to use to sever her hand. I still don't get it off clean, so it takes another swing. The walker abandones the bones it was gnawing on when I throw it a fresh hand.

I keep questioning the skin, slapping her or making a new cut every time she comes close to passing out or gives me an answer I don't like. The walker is getting riled up with the scent of her blood in the air, and I know that the more it's smelling her, the less that trap will hold it.

It doesn't take me long after I cut off her other hand for me to decide that I've been wasting my time on her. I flip my knife in my hand, slicing it across her throat. There was once a time that I flinched when blood spurted on me, but I've become so used to it that it doesn't even faze me. The skin chokes on her own blood, and I grab my crossbow, throwing it over my shoulder as I go to leave. The walker snarls, desperate for her flesh.

As I pass by it, the walker pulls itself free, the trap ripping skin off of its leg. The walker doesn't even pay attention to me as I sidestep it, shoving it towards the skin tied to the tree. I turn away when the walker starts tearing into her, stepping over my traps and leaving the scene.

I'll find another skin, I decide. One that knows more than the first one. I glance down at the blood splattered over me, at the blood coating my knife. I now know that I have what it takes to get what I want, that there's nothing holding me back from ruthlessly killing the skins. I know that I can track them down like I'm hunting them for sport.

I clean my knife off, sheathe it, and set off in search of my next victim. I will do better next time, get more information and prolong my questioning before I kill the next skin. I will take more from them, be more creative.

I am calm. My heart beats at a steady rhythm, low and consistent.

A low heart rate is a true indicator of one's capacity for violence.

I sneak up on a walker from behind, driving my knife into the back of its head. It drops, taking my knife with it. I curse under my breath, leaning down to pull my knife out. When I notice that there's no stitching in the back, I curse again.

Just another regular walker.

As I start to stand, something ahead in the forest catches my eye. The majority is hidden by trees, but I can see a wagon wheel up in the air. I look around, realizing that I'm near a trail that's a shortcut to the Kingsroad.

Those are my people.

I take my next few steps carefully, avoiding crunchy leaves and fallen branches. I hide behind a tree as I observe the area for a few moments, searching for any sign of movement. The wagon has been overturned, its goods spilling out from the bed. The horses that were pulling it are nowhere to be seen, and neither are the people that were in it.

Seeing no movement in the time that I've been here, I move forward. There's an open box, wooden coins with an H carved into them spilling out of it.

"Hilde," I murmur, picking one up. She's been making these since she came to Hilltop a few years ago. I look around once more, finding no sign of her or her husband, Miles.

"Miles!" I hiss, just in case they're hiding somewhere nearby. I know that they're hiding is extremely unlikely, that they were most likely attacked by someone or something. "Hilde!"

As I put the coin back with the others, I notice a few have splatters of blood. It only confirms my working theory that Hilde and Miles were attacked, whether by walkers or the skins.

I keep my eyes closer to the ground, searching for any trails or tracks. I let out a small sigh of relief when I find one—I have something to go off of now. I kneel next to one of the trails left behind, reaching down to touch it.

The trail's less than a day old.

Whether it was Hilde or Miles or one of the people with them, they were dragged away from the wagon. Walkers don't drag people, they kill them on the spot.

It wasn't walkers that did this. They're here.

~Aaron~

I can't fight the smile that crosses my face when I see the door to Clary's room open, relieved that she's changed her mind and come back to us. I push it open the rest of the way, starting, "Chey, I'm—"

I cut myself off when I see that it's Gracie sitting on her sister's bed, holding the stuffed duck that Clary had found for her when she was three. I lean against the doorframe, greeting, "Hey."

She spares me a quick glance but doesn't speak.

"What's going on?" I ask, and Gracie shrugs. "Talk to me, honey. What's the matter?"

"I miss her," Gracie says, hugging her duck tighter.

"Oh, Gracie." I sit on the bed next to her, wrapping my arm around her. Gracie leans into my chest, and I press a kiss to the top of her head. "I miss Clary, too."

"Then why didn't you make her come with us?"

"Because she's an adult, Gracie. She can make her own decisions, and she made the decision to stay at Hilltop to defend them."

"We left her in danger, Daddy."

I close my eyes, unable to deny it, unable to tell Gracie that it'll be alright because I did leave my eldest daughter in danger.

"I want to go back."

"The skins know where Hilltop is. It'd be dangerous. We're safe in Alexandria."

"Are we?" Gracie questions. "Are we safe, Daddy?"

I pull back just a bit to look down at her. "What do you mean?"

"Alexandria isn't safe like people think. Enemies have been inside Alexandria."

"Negan's back in his cell. It's safe."

"That's not what I meant. Michonne's friend."

I let out a sigh. "You were supposed to be asleep, Gracie. Not listening to my conversation with Michonne."

"Daddy, this isn't where we belong. We both know that. This isn't our home, not anymore."

I pause, looking down before I ask, "Do you want to go back?" I look over at my daughter. "Go back to Hilltop?"

"That's where we belong," Gracie says. "That's where our family—our real family is. Tara, Maggie when she comes back. Clary. Daddy, we never should've left Clary."

I nod slowly, sighing softly before I make my decision. "Okay. I'll talk to Michonne when she gets back, and then we'll go home. We'll go back to Clary and Hilltop, where we belong."

Gracie smiles, hugging me tightly. "I knew you'd do the right thing, Daddy."

~Beta~

A small group of us remained at the wagon, lurking in the trees so as not to be seen. I'm glad I decided to stay myself when the girl appears, armed with a crossbow on her back and two knives on her belt.

No gun, I note. This should be easy. Key word being "should." The crossbow poses a problem. We need to get rid of that, and the armor, too. She's trespassing. She doesn't get to live.

Wait a minute. The crossbow.

That asshole that shoved me down the elevator shaft used one, too.

I listened in as Lydia told Alpha what she knew, what information she'd managed to gather. She knew who the people that Alpha met at the gate were. I'd already made the connection that the one that pushed me down the elevator shaft was the man, Daryl. I had overheard Lydia telling her mother that the girl that accompanied him called herself the Orphan, and Lydia was pretty sure she was the one Daryl meant when he said he loved his sister.

I recall Daryl's face, noting the resemblance (and the crossbow) between him and the girl examining the wagon.

This is the Orphan, I realize. This is the one Alpha ordered me to kill if I ever saw her because of the threat she poses to the rest of us.

The Orphan stands, drawing one her knives as she calls, "I know you're out there, somewhere. Face me now and I'll be quick."

To the two Whisperers on my left, I quietly order, "Go. Get the knives and the crossbow. Get the armor off her."

They nod, getting to their feet. They circle around the Orphan before emerging, one on each side. She turns on her heel, turning back and forth but only able to keep her eyes on one of my Whisperers.

"What did you do to my people?" the Orphan demands. "Where's my brother? Where the fuck is he?!"

"This is our land, not yours," Lars tells her. "Your people wandered into our land."

"Where's my brother?!" the Orphan shouts. When she gets no reply, she lunges forward, killing Lars.

Dante makes his move, attacking the Orphan from behind. He disarms her, knocking her to the ground. Just as I instructed, he rips her armor off of her, making it easier for me when it's my turn to face her. The Orphan manages to flip Dante so he's the one on the ground, and she rolls away, grabbing her knife.

"Stop her," I growl, urging the rest of the Whisperers out into the open. "But don't kill her. She's mine."

~Clary~

I turn my back on the second skin to kill the first one, and they take advantage of it. They attack, but they don't try to kill me. They kick my hand, forcing me to drop my knife, and rip my crossbow off of my shoulder before kicking me to the ground.

He throws my crossbow off to the side, straddling me and pinning my arms down with his knees as they pull my armor off of me, throwing it in the opposite direction. I manage to knock him back just enough to get my legs free, wrapping around him and flipping the skin under me. I start to throw a punch, but the skin shoves me off of him first.

My back hits the dirt, the skin getting to his feet. I roll, picking up my knife. Skins emerge from the woods, more this time, surrounding me on all sides. I flip my knife, ready for a fight. I leave Alden's dagger on my belt in case I need a back up. They charge all at once, converging from every side with blades drawn.

I duck the first one's swing, bringing my knife up and stabbing them in the stomach. I pull my knife out, spinning away, only to be met with a punch. I stagger back, right into the waiting arms of one of the skins. I suck in a gasp of air as they plunge a knife into my stomach, unprotected now due to my lack of armor. I bring my knife up, just trying to strike back, and manage to stab them in the neck.

The skin releases me, but I lose my knife in their neck as I drop to my knees, crawling away from them. I push myself to my feet, one hand pressing against my bleeding side. A tall skin emerges from the woods, catching the one I stabbed in the neck. Instead of helping them, the tall one uses my knife to slit the skin's throat, but not before growling, "I said she's mine."

I look around as I stagger to the middle of the circle the skins have formed around me, searching for a chance to make a break for it. There is none.

I let out a cry as I'm knocked to the ground by a skin I didn't see, trying to get my hands under me to push myself to my feet and draw my weapon. A hand grasps my hair, and I shout in pain as the hand drags me onto my back. The skin above me—the one that claimed me—pulls me towards him, and I struggle against him, crying out, "No, no! Let me go!"

My voice rises to a shriek as the skin turns, dragging me along behind him. "No!" I shriek, crying and just praying someone would show up and save me. "No! Dad! Daddy, help me! Daryl! Alden! Daryl! Please, Daryl!"

The skin that took my armor raises a finger to his lips, shushing me. He chuckles at my fear, bouncing along and clicking his tongue absentmindedly as if this is just an everyday walk in the woods. They flank me as the skin drags me by my hair, dispersing once he stops. He pulls me to my feet, and I try to free myself, struggling, fighting against him. It's all useless—he's too strong for me to break free. He reaches forward, touching the dagger on my belt.

"Pretty," he comments, almost as if he's patronizing me for having a beautiful blade as he pulls my dagger out of its sheath. He leans down to be at my level, studying me. "You call yourself the Orphan," he says. "I call myself Beta."

"I don't give a shit who you are," I shoot back, ignoring the throbbing pain in my stomach and the blood running down my chin from my split lip now that I'm face to face with who, by his name, I can only assume is Alpha's second in command. I turn my head, spitting out the blood in my mouth before looking back at Beta. "All that I care about is the fact that you're one of these sick fucks wearing the dead to prom. It's because of you and your people that my best friend is dead. And for that, I'll kill you."

"You won't kill me."

"Then I'll die trying."

"You will." Beta pushes me down, growling, "On your knees."

My knees hit the ground, and I feel tears flowing from my eyes. It isn't because of the fact that I know I'm going to die very soon—it's the memory. It's been nearly ten years, and I still remember that night. I can still feel the blood that painted me, the pain in my shoulder and heart. I still remember the terror I felt when Negan forced me to my knees that night he changed everything.

Beta knows he has power over me, and he flaunts it. It doesn't matter what I do—my fate is up to him, and I know he doesn't like me very much. I snuck onto their lands, after all, and killed their people.

It's not like they didn't do the same to us first.

I watch Beta as he twirls my dagger—the dagger Alden gifted me with the hope that it would keep me from dying—in his hands. Even though it's an average sized dagger, the blade looks tiny in Beta's large hands—he'd be taller than Aaron if they were standing shoulder to shoulder, and Aaron towers over me. Someone's definitely been eating his Wheaties. Beneath the mask, I can see the smirk Beta still wears on his face as he forces my head up, the sharp edge of the dagger biting into my neck. He questions, "Any last words?"

"'Then out spake brave Horatius, the Captain of the Gate,'" I quote, remembering Aaron saying it. I push myself up, standing tall just like Abraham did that night, even if we are on our knees. "'To every man upon this earth, death cometh soon or late. And how can a man die better than facing fearful odds for the ashes of his fathers and the temples of his gods?'"

I pull away, ducking under the blade and pushing Beta away from me. I vault to my feet in a kip up, knowing I can't just slip away. I know I'll have to fight my way out of this one, starting with the behemoth that's Beta.

"Remember what I taught you," Jesus says in my ear. "I trained you for years. Now's the time to use it. Fight, Clary. Fight! Fight for us! For me! Fight for me, poppet, and everyone that loves you!"

I stand before Beta as Jesus disappears, weaponless except for my fists. Beta laughs, "Lydia said you were a fighter. Come on, girl. Show me what you've got." Beta puts his hands behind his back. "I won't even fight back until you get a hit in."

I charge, and Beta sidesteps my first punch, which would've connected with his jaw. I throw another, this one landing on his stomach.

Beta doesn't even move.

He grins, showing off golden teeth, as he looks down at me and says, "You got your hit in, girl."

"Help me, Daryl," I whisper, staring up at Beta in abject terror. I start to back up, hoping to get away from him. It doesn't really matter though, as Beta's faster than me.

Beta reaches me in one stride. As he moves, he growls, "You… are nothing to me."

I don't even have time to process the blade piercing my chest before everything stops.

~Beta~

"Then out spake brave Horatius," says the Orphan below me, reciting her last words, "the Captain of the Gate: 'To every man upon this earth, death cometh soon or late. And how can a man die better than facing fearful odds, for the ashes of his fathers and the temples of his gods?'"

The Orphan abruptly shoves me away from her, ducking under the blade. She vaults to her feet in a kip up, and I realize that Lydia was right. This orphan is a fighter, a trained one.

I want to see what she can do. She'll be dead at my hands before long, so why shouldn't I have a little fun?

She stands before me, her feet in a fighting stance, her hands raised and curled into fists. I laugh, nodding as I say, "Lydia said you were a fighter. Come on, girl. Show me what you've got." The Orphan doesn't move for a moment, and I put my hands behind my back, placing the dagger that I took from her behind my back as well. "I won't even fight back until you get a hit in."

The Orphan attacks, and I sidestep the first punch she throws. It misses me completely, and she's turnt, her back to me. It's the perfect opportunity to stab her in the back, but I spare her for the moment—I did say I wouldn't fight against her until she gets a punch in.

The Orphan pivots on her heel, landing her freebie punch on my stomach. I let out a quiet grunt, but her punch doesn't faze me much aside from that. I see the blood drain from her face upon realizing that she couldn't move me with a right hook to the stomach.

I grin, knowing that I can fight back now. "You got your hit in, girl."

"Help me, Daryl," she pleads. The Orphan looks up at me with terror-filled eyes, taking baby steps away. I don't think she realizes that she won't get anywhere taking that small of a step, her fear taking over.

I bring my hands out from behind my back, her dagger in my hand. The Orphan doesn't have a chance to react. She's frozen in place, paralyzed with dread.

"You," I growl as I make my final advance, "are nothing to me."

I drive the blade into her heart.

She's dead before her body—with the dagger still protruding from her chest—hits the ground.

"That's a shame," I tell her body as I kneel beside it. "You could've been one of us."

I pull the dagger with the beautiful antler handle out of her chest. I sheathe it in my belt, claiming it as my own. It's small, but it'll be a good backup in case of an emergency. I look up, finding Alpha standing beside me, a machete in her hand. Alpha chides, "What have I told you about playing with your prey?"

"Oh, come on," I sigh. "She wasn't going anywhere. What's it matter how she ended up dead as long as she's dead?"

A smile twitches on Alpha's lips. "Don't do it again."

"Fine, I won't have any more fun."

Alpha shakes her head at me, rolling her eyes. "Get her up. I have others."

"You should take Dante with you," I advise. "He did good."

"I thought he would," Alpha says with a nod.

I lift the Orphan's body up to her knees, holding her head up. I hold her hair clear, and Alpha separates the Orphan's head from her body in one swipe. Her body drops to the ground, her head dripping blood as it sways in my grasp. I take her head in my hands, looking down at it with a wicked grin. I tell her, "Wait until your brother gets a look at you."

AN: This is the most fucked up chapter I've ever written. Am I sorry? A little. But it's important to note that Clary's last words are also the first thing she said in the first book in my series, A Dance With the Reaper. Am I sorry about that? Very.