The only sound that could be heard was the wind rustling the leaves and twigs snapping under her feet. The moonless sky made it difficult to navigate through the forest but using her flashlight would have been too much of a risk. This was their territory, and she did not want to find out what they would do to trespassers. Or thieves for that matter.
And to them, she was both.
She pulled the scarf tighter around her neck, shivering from the cold. The days held the promise of spring, but the nights still carried the bite of winter. The soreness in her feet reminded her that it was time to get a new pair of boots and she added the item to her scavenging trip's mental shopping list. She had just left the factory and was eagerly prepping for the next run already. Tomorrow could not come soon enough.
It was not always so, though.
She had learned the hard way not to trust anybody and to keep to herself. Even after the dead had started walking, the living were the real threat. As the disease had wiped out most of mankind, the line between right and wrong blurred into oblivion. Theft, rape and murder had become everyday occurrences and were punishable only by the laws of the different communities setting up camp on the ruins of civilization. But she had no intention to rely on the unlikely humanity of others and avoided settlements like the plague.
She did not have a choice. Not after what had happened at the Manor.
She searched for an abandoned house or cottage, but the buildings in the area were burnt down or damaged beyond repair, providing no shelter from the elements or potential enemies. The treehouse was so well hidden in the canopy of a large oak that she would have missed it if the creaking of the rusty door hinges would not have caught her attention. It had a single room that served as the living room, kitchen and bedroom combined, with a make-shift roof made of branches that kept her dry from the rain and cool from the relentless Virginia sun. The furniture consisted of a battered armchair, a hollow mattress, a tiny wood stove for water heating and cooking, and some basic tools and supplies she had gathered along the way. The place was small and without any luxury, but she finally had a safe place to call her own. The forest provided an ample variety of fruits, roots and seeds, the nearby stream a supply of fresh water. It was a meagre diet, but it kept her going.
She marked the days along with her observations in a diary she had found in a looted convenience store. But as the days turned into weeks and the weeks blended into months, every day was just like the one before. There was no point in keeping track of time anymore. Her entries became shorter and darker, and eventually stopped all together. The only indication of time was the changing of the seasons and the gradual decay of the world around her.
As the first rays of the morning sun filled the treehouse, she kept her eyes closed, murmuring a mantra to herself that it had all been just a dream. That she would wake up in her apartment, in the comfort of her bed, make herself pancakes for breakfast, take a long shower, get dressed in clean clothes, go to university, and in the evening she would meet her friends for drinks. That life would be back to normal. When she opened her eyes and took in her surroundings, the thin mattress beneath her, the grumbling of her stomach, the shabby clothes on her body, and another day to make it through, the realization left a bitter taste in her mouth.
She followed her daily routine methodically: wake up, gather food, eat, wash up, sleep, repeat. Most days she just felt numb, sadness enveloping her like a constant cloud of grey. She walked the forest from sunrise until dusk, to keep her hands and thoughts busy. But as darkness fell and she was forced to stay put in the treehouse, she often tossed and turned for hours, her mind buzzing with questions and dreams haunted by ghosts of the past. Even after sleep finally claimed her, she would jolt awake a few hours later, panting and covered in sweat, just as terrified of the night as of the day after.
Then she came across the factory.
Hunger made her venture deeper into the woods but all she managed to find was a withered mushroom that was most likely not edible and some nuts. She was on her way back home with empty hands and an empty stomach when she spotted the top of an industrial chimney over the treeline. From far away the giant steel plant seemed to be deserted, upon closer inspection, it proved to be the complete opposite. At least two hundred people lived there, men, women and children. They had cars, trucks, electricity and running water. Vast gardens surrounded the premises and the residents grew a variety of vegetables and fruit. It looked like a safe haven for the lost and the desperate. But she knew better than to believe appearances.
First, she just wanted to take a closer look at the building, then curiosity got the better of her. The area was patrolled by armed guards, and there was an extra layer of security in the form of walkers roaming in the front yard, still, getting in and out was easy, almost too easy. Climbing back over the fence she ran for a good twenty minutes before allowing herself to rest. She expected to be followed and ambushed any minute, but her fears were unfounded. Nobody noticed her or the things she took, not then, not later. Considering the amount of supplies they brought back from runs, it was no surprise. It looked like they were going to the nearest Wal-Mart for the weekly shopping, except there was nobody at the cash register anymore.
The success of her first theft made her crave more, and soon she was sneaking into the factory every day. She planned every detail meticulously, the route through the forest, the part of the building she would explore, the things she was going to take. The pages in her diary were now filled with the accounts of her outings and the list of spoils. And for the first time in a while, she looked forward to waking up the next morning again.
What a difference a few weeks can make.
Deep down she knew that eventually she would have to stop but kept pushing back the deadline. The factory people may have been sloppy with keeping track of rations, but they were not stupid. She learnt the basic layout of the grounds, the weak spots of their security, still, every trip was just as dangerous as the first. And yet the possibility of getting caught only added to the thrill. She became obsessed with her little game and like every addict always promised to quit tomorrow, until every tomorrow became yesterday.
She continued along the path deep in thought, fishing out her latest prize, a bar of chocolate from her backpack. Saliva pooled in her mouth as she tore off the packaging and took a bite. Candy was a rare treat these days, she could not remember the last time she had had one. She closed her eyes in delight as the rich, milky taste melted in her mouth and warmed her insides.
The indulgent moment was broken by a noise coming from somewhere behind her. She looked back over her shoulder, scanning the dark for the source of the sound. Besides an owl howling in the distance, everything seemed quiet and peaceful. Letting out the breath she was holding, she allowed herself to relax and scarfed down the remnants of the chocolate.
A few steps later she caught movement from the corner of her eye, making her freeze in her tracks. Someone was lurking in the shadows, following her. She obeyed her first instinct and pulling the scarf up around her mouth started running. Her best option was to lure her pursuer away from the treehouse and to make sure that he never found his way back.
Her hopes were quickly shattered when she heard a whistle pierce the night, soon joined by another and another, forming an eerie choir, closing in on her from every direction. She frantically searched for a way out of her predicament when her boot got caught in a tree root sending her face-first into the ground with a painful thud. She scrambled to her feet but lost valuable seconds in the process and heard footsteps behind her, followed by a hand roughly grabbing her shoulder.
Spinning around on her heels, she managed to catch her attacker off guard and kick him in the crotch, effectively disarming him. She continued to run, but he was too fast and caught up to her again. Before she knew it, her hands were twisted behind her back and she was dragged along helplessly no matter how hard she kicked and screamed.
Reaching the edge of the forest they arrived in a clearing filled with dozens of soldiers surrounded by several cars and trucks with their headlights on. She was pushed in the middle, and the men closed the circle around her. Her captor turned her around and patted her down for weapons. The car lights shone on his face revealing a giant scar marring his skin.
"Get on your knees," he yanked the backpack off her shoulders and shoved her down on the ground.
"Fuck you, Scarface!" she growled through gritted teeth. Exhausted from fighting and dizzy from hunger she felt a dull throb building in her temples, making it hard to focus.
The door of a truck opened and slammed closed, then footsteps approached. The familiar whistle shrilled again, ending in a low chuckle. Looking up she saw a man enter the circle, the guards parting in front of him like the Red Sea. She recognized his face immediately, having seen him from her hiding place while spying on the factory. It was evident that he was the leader, an aura of power surrounding him like a dark coat. He wore a black leather jacket complemented with a red scarf and the attitude of a rock star. His dark hair was slicked back, and a neatly trimmed beard peppered with grey lined his face. His eyes spoke of experience and sharp intelligence, the twinkle in them of boyish charm and mischief. There was something about him that drew her in with inexplicable force making her unable to take her eyes off him.
But she could not miss the baseball bat resting on the man's shoulder and the sadistic smile playing on his lips either. His voice was firm and cold, clouds of breath swirling around his mouth in the crisp night air.
"Are we pissin' our pants yet?"
Negan felt adrenaline course through his veins as he advanced on the figure kneeling on the dirt. He stood still for a couple of seconds, enjoying the dramatic effect of his entrance. Moments like this were the favourite part of his job.
Frankie was giving him a deep-tissue massage when they got interrupted by the buzzing of the walkie-talkie. The Saviors discovered the footprints in the yard and alerted him right away. He dispatched a search party with a not-so-friendly warning that if the thief was not caught, his men were going to be scraping toilets with their toothbrushes for a month. No more than ten minutes later the suspect was in custody. He could have had his men take him back to the Sanctuary and leave the interrogation for the next day, but he did not want to wait another minute to look this one in the eye and introduce him personally to Lucille. Whichever community he belonged to, they were going to pay the price tenfold.
When Negan arrived at the meeting point, he was lusting for revenge and release: Lucille was tingling his palm, thirsty for blood, and his dick strained against the fabric of his pants, every move reminding him of his earlier plans to be balls-deep in his wife by now. He was going to sate both of their needs before sunrise.
The little shit had been stealing from the Sanctuary for a few weeks when they had noticed that something was wrong with the inventory. There was never a lot of supplies missing, just some food, medicine, clothes, but there was a strange pattern to the items disappearing. His first guess was that one of his men had grown greedy, and while he was relieved when his hypothesis proved wrong, the result did not please him one bit. His Saviors were loyal, or at least, not stupid enough to steal from him, but this meant that the perpetrator was coming from outside. The idea made Negan want to have the furnace fired up to a thousand degrees. Then he became curious. He wanted to know who did it and how. He was equally impressed and pissed off by the stealth and cleverness with which the fucker outsmarted them. But his luck ran out tonight and he was going to regret even thinking about taking his shit, Negan was going to make sure of that.
His eyes raked over his victim with interest. The clothes were at least two sizes bigger on the slim frame, and in dire need of a wash, the original color of the fabric unrecognizable from wear. He must have been out on his own for a while. His nose and mouth were covered by a blue scarf but could not hide the most striking feature of the stranger: a pair of defiant, yet surprisingly soft eyes. Even in the dim car lights Negan could see a fiery spark burning in them.
"Well, well, well. What do we have here?"
His question was purely rhetorical, but when there was no reaction, he got impatient.
"Get that thing off. I wanna see your face when I talk to you," he waved his finger in the air, as if scolding an errant child.
When his order was not followed, he closed the distance between them and crouched down. The man tried to lean back from his reach, but Negan was quicker. He grabbed him by the neck of his hoodie with one hand, and tugged on his scarf with the other, letting the garment fall. He narrowed his eyes at the sight, his expression turning ecstatic when realization hit him.
The defiant eyes with a spark belonged to a young woman.