Using the cover of darkness as her shroud, Michonne made her way to the cabin. Quietly, unnoticed, she slipped past the stakeout by the park's northern entrance. Audrey's friends, no doubt. She spotted a few more of them near the cabin, stalking it. She took care of them swiftly, putting her sword to good use.

Whoever they were, they seemed content enough to wait. For what, Michonne couldn't begin to guess. She didn't think they were Saviors, not really. Audrey hadn't recognized Negan's name.

Whoever they were didn't matter. This was Michonne's first solid lead in weeks. It was a shame she hadn't gotten more out of Audrey. The woman's directions had been accurate, at least, even if she'd become a babbling mess toward the end, spewing nonsense about angels and monsters and whatnot. Michonne had pushed her too hard. She regretted it, but not enough she regretted slitting the woman's throat.

Michonne crept closer to the cabin, uncertain of what lay ahead. A soft light spilled through the cracks in the boards. Even in the dark, Michonne could see the strange markings on the walls. Satanic, Michonne's mother might have said. Perhaps Audrey hadn't been alone in her madness.

As Michonne approached, a child's soft cry flitted to her ears. She would have recognized it anywhere.

Judith.

Hope surged through Michonne's body like a lightning bolt. She stalked forward, sword in hand, determined to face whoever it was. Whoever had taken the children, taken them right from her house, in the dead of night, right from under their noses. Furious, longing, Michonne crept toward the cabin. Whoever it was, she swore they would not make it through the night.

Somewhere, not too far away, a fight had broken out. Michonne could hear the gunshots, the yelling. On any other day, she would have either fled or investigated, but now she only had eyes for the cabin.

It wasn't until a gunshot went right by her head that she stopped to duck and roll, spinning around to face her attacker. Her gaze focused on the figure running down the hill, coming right for her. She prepared herself for a fight. Then she froze, her breath caught in her throat, the sword slipping from her grip.

Michonne almost hadn't recognized him; he was so filthy.

Carl flew into her arms, knocking the breath out of her a second time. Gasping, Michonne held him tightly, pressing her face to his hair. She whispered his name once, twice, afraid he would disappear if she ever let him go. He was shaking. Or perhaps, she was.

"Are you all right?" Michonne demanded, pulling back to cup his face in her hands. It had only been a couple of months since she'd seen him last, but he'd grown, gaining a few inches over her. His dirty hair spilled over her hands. In the dark, it was impossible to tell if his face was bruised or just dirty. He wasn't wearing his bandage; Michonne could only imagine how much muck had gotten into his eye. She shuddered. "Where have you been?"

Tears spilling down his face, Carl nevertheless grinned at her. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

"Uh, hi," a voice said to their right, sheepishly. "Sorry I shot at you."

Two teenagers came to stand beside them; dark-skinned, and dressed in torn, dirty clothes. They couldn't have been older than eighteen. They looked similar enough that Michonne guessed they were related. The shorter boy with the floppy hair and the huge rifle in his hands smiled at her shyly.

"Cool hat," the taller one said flippantly, leaning on his crowbar.

Michonne laughed lightly, wiping at the tear rolling down her cheek. "It's not mine." She took it off and placed it back on Carl's head, where it belonged.

"A little less cool now," the tall boy snickered.

"Screw you," Carl said good-naturedly. He beamed at Michonne. "These are my friends," he said, gesturing at the two boys. "Jake and Scott. Guys, this is Michonne."

"The stepmom," the shorter boy whispered to the other.

Carl shook his head, exasperated. "Come on," he told Michonne, grabbing her hand. "We gotta hurry."

He pulled her toward the cabin. Judith had stopped crying, but there was definitely movement inside. Carl didn't seem the slightest bit afraid. No one had been keeping them hostage here, Michonne realized. They reached the door, but before Carl could pull it open, a blonde girl charged out, knife first.

"Woah!" Carl retreated, holding up his hands. "Claire - it's us!"

"Damn it, Carl," the blonde hissed, lowering her knife. "I almost poked your other eye out." The girl, Claire, snapped her narrowed-eyed gaze to Michonne. "Who the hell are you?"

Michonne didn't pay her any mind. Behind her, the cabin was dimly lit. A group of children sat around a single lantern, staring at her in disbelief. Enid and Mikey, the two other missing teenagers from Alexandria, and a small boy Michonne didn't recognize. They looked like they'd been through hell, dirty and disheveled.

Michonne couldn't see Judith anywhere. Heart in her throat, Michonne pushed past the blonde girl, entering the cabin. It was a mess of empty shelves and display racks. She spotted Judith sitting by the counter, right next to a dead body. No, not a dead body, but a heavily injured man. He was unconscious, looking like he could turn at any moment, and yet Judith was sitting right next to him, unbothered.

For a moment, Michonne thought Judith didn't recognize her. She'd grown, too. Her blonde hair had gotten longer, tangled, and matted. She was filthy, and yet the most beautiful, wonderful things Michonne had ever seen. Judith's blue eyes blinked up at her, bewildered by her sudden appearance. Slowly, she raised her little hands, asking to be lifted.

Openly crying now, Michonne snatched Judith up into her arms. The girl made a tiny sound of protest; Michonne knew she was squeezing her too hard, but she couldn't help it. The weight of the past few weeks, months, came crashing down on her. She leaned back against the counter, afraid her legs would crumble under her.

"Hey," said Carl, coming up to them with a small, unsure smile. "Just so you know, Judith's totally potty-trained now," he said proudly.

Through her tears, Michonne laughed.

"Uh… excuse me, ma'am?" One of Carl's friends, the dark-skinned boy who'd apologized for shooting at her, interrupted them. "I'm sorry, but we really gotta go."

"The plan's working," said Enid, peeking out the cabin door. "They're totally going at each other." Outside, not far enough, the firefight was still in progress.

"What is it?" Michonne whispered above Judith's golden head. She glanced at the dying man at her feet and stepped back, pulling Carl away as well. "What's happening? Who's after you?"

The tall boy took a step forward. He'd picked up Michonne's sword and was holding it loosely in his hand. "Doesn't matter," he said, shaking his head. "We sicced the Saviors on them. Sooner or later one of 'em is gonna win. I don't wanna be here when that happens."

Michonne looked at Carl, who gave her a small nod. She had a million questions, but they would have to wait. Reluctantly, she passed Judith over to Carl, knowing she needed both of her hands free. All that shooting was going to draw walkers out of the woodwork, no doubt about it. Carl's friend handed her the sword back. Michonne took it, feeling its comforting weight in her hands.

"Okay," she said, gazing at the children. Her stomach churned. She didn't like being this close to the Saviors, even if their attention was elsewhere. "We move."


They ran for what felt like hours, long after they could no longer hear any gunshots in the distance. Michonne led the way, her sword carving out walker after walker, protecting the tired children at her back.

The little boy whose name Michonne had yet to learn stumbled. He didn't make a sound, but he was struggling to keep pace. Meeting his startling bright eyes, Michonne snapped him up, noting how little he weighed. With little effort, Michonne positioned the little boy on her back, curling his legs around her waist.

"Can you hold on to me without falling?" Michonne asked. The little boy nodded his head against her back, tightening his arms around her shoulders.

The blonde-haired girl, Claire, gave her a look of approval. She ran with a limp, her arm slung over Enid's shoulders for support. Her pale skin glinted with a sheen of sweat.

"How're you holding up?" Enid asked, gasping a little, worry evident in her voice.

Claire replied, "Knee's feeling better, if you can believe it."

"Shit," one of the boys (Scott or Jake, Michonne wasn't sure), stumbled a little, nearly dropping his end of the stretcher. He and his brother (twin brothers, Michonne had learned) were carrying the dying man between them.

"Take a break," Carl ordered, handing Judith over to Mikey. He took his friend's place on the stretcher. "I've got him."

Michonne watched them somberly. On several occasions, she had opened her mouth, intent on asking the children to leave the dying man behind. The words kept dying on her tongue. It was obvious that, whoever he was, none of them were willing to abandon him.

"He'll turn soon," Michonne tried to say, heart aching for these children. "We need to-"

"No," Carl interrupted, breathing coming a little fast now. "You gotta trust me, Michonne. Please."

She sighed. The man would turn; it was only a matter of time. The bite on his face was a stark reminder of that. As soon as they reached shelter, they'd have to put him out of his misery. He was already unconscious, it would be a mercy. Michonne would help the children bury him, if need be. She only hoped he wouldn't turn before they had a chance to say their goodbyes.

"Okay," Michonne told Carl, who looked back at her with relief.

Two walkers came shuffling out of the woods, growling. The little boy's arms and legs tightened around her as she beheaded both creatures with a single hard swing of her sword.

"That's socool," Claire breathed, looking at Michonne with starry eyes.

"Uh oh," she heard the tall boy say with a chuckle, "Claire's crushing on Carl's mom."

"Dick," Claire hissed back at him.

His response was to hum the chorus to Stacy's Mom. His brother barked out a laugh, but swallowed it quickly, masking it with a cough. He glanced at Michonne with embarrassment.

"Ignore it," Enid told her kindly, rolling her eyes a little. "They're always like that."

Michonne smiled at her. Their bickering was, in truth, coming as a bit of a relief. Whatever had happened to these children, they were not so traumatized that they couldn't joke with each other. Their camaraderie was real. Even when they teased each other, it was clearly without malice. It was heartening to see Carl so comfortable with friends his own age. He'd been so awkward with the teenagers in Alexandria, so serious and out of place.

It was clear these children trusted each other. What happened to them? Did somebody hurt them? Michonne intended to quiz Carl about everything. Later, in private. For now, she had to focus on leading them to safety.

Just when Michonne thought they were in the clear, headlights appeared behind them. No, she thought desperately, overtaken with terror. No. They were so close.

"Get off the road," Michonne hissed, taking a sharp turn into a wide field.

Whatever hopes they had of getting away were dashed when the heavy, semi-trailer truck chased them into the field. It veered dangerously on its side as it swerved. The person behind the wheel clearly didn't care that the truck was not suited for off-road pursuits. It gained on them quickly. Just as Michonne thought the truck would run them through, its huge wheels suddenly locked, bringing the truck to a wailing stop.

The tall teenager (Jake, Michonne thought) made a guttural sound in his throat. "Fuck," he gasped out. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck."

Another vehicle overtook the truck, then another. The cars swerved around them, much more suitable for the rough terrain. There was nowhere left for Michonne and the children to go; they were blocked in, trapped between the blinding headlights.

A memory floated to the forefront of Michonne's mind. The night Glenn and Abraham had been murdered, Daryl taken away. Every nerve in her body was screaming at her to get away, but there was nowhere to go. The little boy she'd been carrying slid down to the ground. She took his hand in hers and squeezed, offering empty reassurances.

"It's all right," Michonne choked out, turning to meet Carl's gaze. His face was tight with anger. Michonne shook her head at him, silently asking him not to do anything brash. "It'll be okay," she promised, even though it was a lie.

The Saviors surrounded them, guns drawn. One of them, a familiar-looking woman with a tattoo on her neck, stomped over to Michonne. "You know the drill, dreadlocks," the woman sneered. "Kneel."

Closing her eyes briefly, Michonne obeyed. A few of the children hesitated, but the Saviors wasted no time pushing them down, forcing them to kneel in the dirt. Mikey managed to hand Judith back to Carl; the little girl clung to him, confused and frightened. They were searched, none too gently. The Saviors took away their weapons, making snide comments about their appearance.

"Don't touch me, you pervert," Claire groused as one of the saviors, a bald man in thick-rimmed glasses, searched her. He was shirtless, dressed in sweatpants and unlaced boots. A few of the Saviors looked like they'd been dragged out of bed, with sour moods to match.

The balding man huffed. He held up Claire's strange silver knife, inspecting it curiously. "Y'all crawled out of a swamp or something?"

"Yeah, asshole. You want a tour?" Claire snarked. The Savior responded by slapping her across the face, hard.

Michonne couldn't do anything for the girl except beg on her behalf, "Please," she choked out, pleading, "she didn't mean it."

The Savior smirked down at Claire. "Say you're sorry."

"Leave her alone," Carl demanded, voice filled with anger.

"Go to hell, goat fucker," Claire rasped back. She braced herself for another strike.

"Jeff." A voice rang out in warning, stopping the Savior with his fist halfway to Claire's face.

Michonne's heart dropped.

Negan strolled into their light of sight, looking like he had all the time in the world, swinging his cursed baseball bat lightly. He turned to Jeff, tsking. "Fuck off," he whispered to the Savior who proceeded to bow his head and make a hasty retreat. Negan rolled his eyes, loudly adding, "And Jeff? Pull up your goddamn pants. Your dick root is showing, it's fucking disgusting."

Jeff complied, stammering apologies.

Negan grimaced, rubbing his forehead. He dropped his hand with a sigh. He brightened up considerably as he turned his attention to the group. "Hi," he said, as affable as ever, "I'm-" he stopped, and his smile widened a fraction. "Aw, you know who I am."


A/N: I apologize for my behavior. Feel free to yell at me about it in the comments (please! x)