Sending Saviors to Hell: Part One

Daryl was breathing a sigh of relief when he remembered that danger was still breathing too, right down their necks. Ominous and heavy from every direction outside that room. He went to look over the railing of the stairwell to see if any Saviors were in pursuit of the infiltrators.

"Nobody's down there." Rick reassured him.

"This part of the ranch is always heavily guarded, Rick."

"Daryl." His superior called him back and repeated with a more sober tone, "There's nobody down there." Thunder rumbled low through the countryside like some creeping doom.

The specks of red spray on the sheriff's face reminded Daryl of the blood on his own and helped him comprehend what Rick was telling him. Every Savior in the basement was dead. He came back into the room, wiping away the splatter of Jared's execution from his cheek and asked, "How'd you find us up here?"

"Found this piece of shit in one of the stables." Hugh kicked the body on the floor with a puddle for a head. "Told him we were here for her," he nodded to Michonne, "and I promised I'd let him live if he brought us to her."

Daryl had other questions. Not the least of which was, who the hell this six foot four inch, umber-skinned triggerman could be. But the way Rick's menacing unknown accomplice popped Jared's top without a morsel of conscience gave him pause. Hugh eyed the young deputy from head to toe with his finger still in a position to fire.

Deputy Dixon felt like a scrawny calf being sized up by a great python for dinner. The dreadful feeling of being in this obvious professional's sites made him satisfied to wait until introductions were made. He wouldn't have to wait long.

Michonne picked up on how her father omitted her name in his reply. "You know, I do have a name. Or have you forgotten it after six years?"

Hugh August had already dispatched every Savior he'd met thus far to find his way to Michonne. Still her first words to him were testimony that she was not going to be trivialized. Nor had she forgotten how he'd abandoned her when she chose the life of her unborn child over obedience to him.

He didn't respond anticipating she had more to say.

"What are you doing here?"

"I'm here on your mother's orders making sure these 'yee haw yokels' don't fuck up this extraction." Hugh glowered at the other two men unapologetically. "So this is how it's going to go. We're going back the way we came."

He turned to Daryl and offered him a nine millimeter and an extra clip from the satchel on his shoulder. "The inside man goes first. They know you here. Maybe they hesitate before they fire. Maybe they don't. If not," he shrugged, "hopefully none of their bullets has your name on them. I'll be at your six.

He produced his daughter's old twenty-two caliber and asked impatiently, "You remember how to use this thing or have you forgotten your training since you've been living in a fairytale with Prince Charming here?"

Michonne's top lip quivered. His nasty words set her teeth on edge. She snatched the piece from his hand without dignifying his comments.

"Good," Hugh said, pleased with the fire he saw in her before the coming fight. "You'll be behind me so keep up. And Prince Charming, you bring up the rear. We get flanked and something happens to the package, you can explain it to her mother."

"She's not a 'package'. She's your daughter. And you're not runnin' the show."

"Oh, I'm not? Then who is? You?"

Before Rick could answer, Michonne spoke up. "I am."

She inspected the clip, the slide, put one in the chamber and closed one eye pointing the gun at Daryl to test the aim. Her movements were almost identical to Rick's and her boyfriend did not fail to notice how confident and capable she was with the weapon.

She'd told him that her father raised her like she was a little soldier and Rick always sympathized. But he still wasn't expecting the swift, fluid motions of her handling a gun like an expert. Especially after she told him how much she hated them.

The supportive man he was, he knew this whole situation had to be triggering for her. But he stood in proud amazement as he watched her put the pistol in her waistband between the dimples at the small of her back. Though the moment was a heavy one, he could feel arousal pulsing through his groin at the sight.

Michonne relieved her father of the gear bag, snatching it out of his hand. Dropping to one knee, she rummaged through its contents with a huff to find a backup weapon. She stopped abruptly and looked up at her father, annoyed.

"Such a fucking asshole," she said under her breath as she rolled her eyes at Hugh. "You bring this, but hand me a gun?"

The questions in Daryl's head multiplied when she pulled a sheathed sword out of the bag. The only question that got from his brain to his lips was a silent "What the fuck?"

He was stunned stupid the moment he saw the young woman whip the gleaming blade out from it's case and slice it through the air like an extension of her arm. He nearly smiled with her when the corner of her lips gave the slightest twitch as she recognized the gold triquetra symbol on its guard and nostalgia set in.

Daryl had no idea that the triangular arcs signified the phantom queen, Morrigan, a goddess of war. He had no idea the sword was a gift from her father's father before he passed. Or that her grandfather gave it to her as a final 'fuck you' to his bull-headed son; who thought it was an impractical weapon and a waste of his daughter's precious time.

And it would've been impossible for Daryl to know that, along with the katana, Hugh August Sr. paid for Kenjutsu classes to teach his granddaughter to fight with honor. Michonne loved that ancient discipline all the more because it begrudged her unyielding father so much. But when her grandfather was gone, Hugh made sure the lessons were too.

All that history was completely unknown to Daryl. But if someone had told him the story of Michonne August, he would've believed every word with little persuasion. The blood on his inner lip was testimony enough. The tiny but mighty single mother had thoroughly kicked his ass all night.

Now the memory of her at her lowest point in the emergency room was blurry in his mind. Now, despite her basic attire of a simple gray cashmere sweater and mom jeans, she was looking more like an action movie billboard than a mild-tempered law firm flunky. Just as Daryl came to that conclusion a random bolt of lightning flashed outside the small attic window behind Michonne and gave her an otherworldly appearance.

Hugh returned her perturbed look. "We don't have time to indulge your silly childhood fantasies. How many times did I tell you 'never bring a knife to a gunfight'? Your grandfather didn't do you any favors letting you run around like a damn fool thinking you'll be fighting enemies that play fair."

He launched his arm through the air dismissively. "None of these bigoted bastards are going to dance around that thing. They're going to come at you with rounds, Michonne. Rounds!"

"Oh, so you do know my name?" She cut into his rant, with a sarcastic tone and a testy glare. She pulled her hair up and tied one of her own locs around the thick bundle like a tassel. Situating the brown leather strap of her sword across her body, she inhaled slowly and exhaled sharply.

"Listen, I have a lifetime of things I want to say to you. Unfortunately, now is not the time for that discussion. But saying this can't wait because it's been so long since I've seen you and I don't know how tonight's going to go..."

Michonne felt the gravity of that truth drop in her gut like an anvil. Weeks had turned into months and months had turned into years. He had never reached out. Not once. Even now he callously admitted that he was only there to please her mother. No apologies.

But looking at him now, that sour expression on that chiseled face, she could only imagine that it must've been like swallowing a boulder to overcome his pride. Hugh August could only be Hugh August. No more and no less.

"I thought I hated you for a long time." Michonne began in a voice drenched in old mildewy regret and pointless sorrow. "It felt like hate because it was so consuming. You'd bark at me like a madman and my face would get so hot my tears would dry up before I could wipe them away. But talking through my feelings, taking steps to heal… I can see now that it wasn't hate."

"It was pain." Michonne pressed her fingers into her chest, her heart. The place where he'd unrepentantly hurt her. "Pain from being hurt by someone you look up to and love. And I did. I looked up to you. And I do love you, Hugh. I just wish you were a better man."

"But we're not tiptoeing out of here." Michonne rigidly insisted, "We're not leaving those stolen girls here one more night.

She looked at Daryl. "I appreciate you helping me. But your brother killed my baby and shot my mother in cold blood. He can't see another sunrise," she promised him, offering no apologies. "Understand that."

Those words were more painful than any punch she had landed that night. Still, Daryl had made his own peace with that truth. "I get it," he said through clenched teeth.

She heard herself and she sounded just like Hugh. She never wanted to acknowledge that there was any of him in her DNA. She had done so well at concealing it for so long, she almost had herself convinced. But simply being in the same space with him… with his mulish manners and his coldblooded crassness, brought the same out of her. And the thought that Rick was witnessing the full blown surfacing of it made her heart sink.

She despaired to wonder what he thought of her. He told me he wanted someone who could see, hear and feel the blessings in beautiful things, she reminded herself, coming to terms with her disappointment. Michonne thought there was nothing beautiful about this side of her. Hugh was a man who turned everything ugly.

Stepping to the man who loved her so easily through the lowest point in her life, she spoke tenderly. "And Rick, I know you swore to uphold law and order. It's one of the things I love about you. Your integrity." She cupped his stubbly cheek. "But I don't just belong to my mother. As much as I hate to admit it, I am my father's daughter too. I hope you'll still love me after tonight."

Rick gave her a puzzled look. "I'm gonna love you tonight and all the nights after," he said shaking his head in disbelief that she'd even question it.

He threw Mr. August his meanest scowl. "I don't give a damn who your father is." Then turned back to Michonne's tired brown eyes. "I know who you are and I love you with everythang I have. I told you the first night I met you whatever you need from me is yours. Even if tonight, that means my life. I got my deputies outside the gates waitin'. We're all gonna follow your lead."

Hugh followed Daryl back through the underground corridor that would take them from the house back to the stables. Their pounding boots echoed through the cold concrete walls under the pale tube lighting. The slumped and sprawled bodies of S.O.C. members littered the way in vignettes that could only be described as mini massacres.

Daryl knew wherever Negan's young female captives passed, his most deadly minions were on guard. But the battle hardened men did not make it out of their fray with the Marine and the sheriff alive. The fact that not one of them had been able to sound a warning left Daryl's mind boggled as he made his way through the casualties.

He saw Gerald curled up like a dead insect against the wall. His chest was riddled with bullets and his gun was still on his hip.

Cuddy's big hands clutched at a jagged scarlet smile under his chin as he laid face up in a pool of blood.

It looked like Drew tried to run. His kneecaps were shredded and his arm was stretched, reaching for escape. His reach wasn't quite long enough, though. As Daryl got closer, he could see he had taken a bullet to the back of the head at point blank range.

The hulk of bleeding flesh behind him could only be Bernard. He was a big guy, tall and stocky, who'd always been ready with an easy smile and a hearty laugh. But now he laid still. Silenced forever.

Daryl tried not to look at the gory punctures in the man's chest. He started to step around him quickly, when his right leg felt tangled and he was thrown off balance.

He looked down to see Bernard's eyes wide with fear. The dying man had a tight grip on his ankle . "Help, brother. I need help." Bloody drool ran down his chin as the wounded man begged in a strained whisper. His face was disfigured from pain. "That sheriff... is here… with… a nigger."

Daryl collected himself, moistening his dry throat with a swallow. He took a quick glance over his shoulder to get eyes on Hugh. Michonne's father was scowling at the wall, studying a map of the compound. Eager to kill the Saviors that remained, he was memorizing the names, shifts and locations posted.

With Hugh preoccupied a good distance away, Daryl stooped and leaned in on Bernard to hear him better. The man struggled to speak. Every word was agony. Daryl was fixated on the Savior's final moments, thinking how it all came to this.

Not just this night. Not just the scene around him, but America as a nation. How did it come to this?

Bernard was a nice enough guy. He was just indoctrinated with a lie. And even though that meant he had to die tonight, Daryl didn't want to brutalize the man any further. The best he could do for him was hold his hand as he faded out.

Bernard pulled at Daryl's arm and his eyes rolled back as he drowned in the blood filling his lungs. "Help me up… We gotta… stop'em. Grimes… and that big black… n-… n-… "

A gurgling gasp left the man's bloody lips and he jerked in the throes of death, loosening his grip. His eyes went wider still, as though he was staring the devil down. Daryl couldn't say that wasn't exactly who he would meet soon.

But Dixon hoped that, though this man's death was unavoidable, perhaps he was granted a peaceful vision of the great beyond as the recognition left his eyes.

That hope crumbled when Daryl looked next to him and saw Hugh pulling his blade from a foot long slice down the man's big belly. Bernard's insides began seeping out the thin incision like large pale blue worms. The smell was foul and Daryl wrenched his arm from the death grip and stood up in horror.

"Big. Black. Nigger," Hugh finished for the disemboweled man. He didn't know whether to be amused or enraged that, so close to death, a man would try to use his last breath to speak a racial slur.

Daryl's first instinct was just to run. To get as far away from Hugh and the atrocities on that ranch as possible. Again he quieted his fears and shored up his courage… but he could not stop his hands from shaking.

He could look at the cadavers around him and know immediately whether it was Rick or Hugh that had finished them. Understandably, there was a certain rage in both men.

But Rick's kills looked familiar to Daryl. Measured. More like justice. Like what had to be done.

Hugh's kills, they looked like frenzy. The work of an uncaged lion reminding himself that he is still king in the jungle.

Dieter's neck had been snapped and his head hung between his shoulder blades in a freakishly gruesome fashion. He was drooped in a chair behind the small desk that sat midway the length of the hall. The computer monitor in front of him was set up for surveilling the entrances and exits but it was blank with static.

"T minus 5." Hugh spoke on a rogue channel of a confiscated S.O.C. walkie.

"You cut the security feed," Daryl questioned Hugh, staring into Dieter's blank eyes as they passed the motionless man. He just wanted Michonne's father to say something. Some words to prove he was human. Conversation to prove he viewed Daryl as an ally and not meat to butcher.

Hugh didn't respond and when Daryl looked back at him for an answer, Mr. August only narrowed his gaze. His eyes were two black holes creeping closer to Daryl, ready to swallow him up. The younger man swallowed thickly. Having Hugh behind him, silent, armed and full of bloodlust, made Daryl's stomach lining quiver.

He tried again, "You seem like military. Did you…"

Hugh cut him off, his voice dry and menacing. "All you need to know about me is, I'm here to send every Savior I see straight to hell. Every Savior," the bald man looked at the deputy accusingly, "and every motherfucker that looks like a Savior."

The implicated threat choked the words out of Daryl's throat. "But since we're asking questions," Hugh continued, "why didn't you let Rick know Michonne was a target?"

"I swear, I didn't know."

"But once they got her, you knew she was here and that Rick would be looking for her. Why didn't you tell him where she was?"

"How? We're literally down here right now to disable the cell jammer. Negan don't allow no phones on the ranch, just our walkies. Besides this place is crawlin' with eyes and ears. Everybody is here tonight because of the cattle drive."

"Cattle drive?"

"That's what they call it."

"They?"

"Yeah, 'they'. They sell girls to raise money for operations… give girls away for the night to call in favors later. Tonight they're usin' the blonde ones to breed white babies with pure blood and then for fun my brother says sometimes they hunt the darkest girls through the woods like wild rabbits."

"Your brother, the Savior? That would be the one who shot my wife?"

Daryl went quiet again and Hugh let him languish in the heavy silence until they reached their first destination to execute Michonne's plan. The cramped space of the utility closet at the end of the hall only allowed one person inside. The machine that blocked cell phone signals was easy to spot. The black box with a dozen tall antennas displayed small green indicator lights until it's cord was yanked out the wall.

Daryl handed it to Hugh standing on the other side of the threshold and the man quickly snapped off every single transmitter. They both checked their watches and Daryl opened the mounted gray metal door, looking for the right switch.

Anger over Hugh's accusations had him red in the face. He wouldn't allow himself to be grouped in with these homegrown terrorists, but the towering stance of Michonne's father made him keep his voice low when he spoke in his own defense.

"I been keepin' track since I got here. I know where some of these girls got sold to. After this is all over, I'm done with that badge. My mission'll be findin' these girls and bringin' them home.

"I'm not my brother," he said through a clenched jaw as he flipped the main circuit switch for all the lights in the house and everything went black.

Following the instructions Michonne had given him before the pairs split up, he counted to ten in the shadows. But the click of Hugh's gun being taken off safety behind him, ruined his count. Daryl wanted to turn around, but in the unlit underground space, he wouldn't have seen any more than if his eyes were closed.

He'd promised Michonne he'd give them until the count of ten and he wasn't going to let her down. Even if Mr. August put a bullet in his brain and he became just another dead Savior in the basement, he was going to keep that promise to her.

Hugh leaned into Daryl's personal space. "Maybe you're not your brother. But to me, you look just like him..." he paused for dramatic effect. A wet dog smell of fear came with the young man's perspiration, filling Hugh's wide nose.

But all Daryl could smell was the stale spearmint on Mr. August's breath, when the Marine's deep voice snaked into his ear, "... and in a fire fight no one pays attention to details."