Chapter 10.

What We Do.

Negan.

She was a wraith swaddled in a blue cotton blanket, barely human.

"I gotta go out, baby," Negan said in a whisper.

Her eyes cracked open, a lackluster brown, barely a remnant of what they used to be. "You can go," she said again, like she had been saying for weeks. "Just pretend you'll be back."

He sure looked tougher right now, but Lucille was always the strong one. She kept him in line, wouldn't let him slip down any path but the one directly behind hers. It hurt to see her this way.

Every now and then he was tempted by her offer, catching himself fantasizing about being alone, but when the fantasy ended, he felt so guilty. Lucille wanted it to be over. He could see it. But he was too afraid to figure out who he was supposed to be when she was gone.

Negan drew her hand out of the blankets and kissed her knuckles, "You sit tight, and I'll bring back something to make you feel better, I promise. You have any requests? Steak? Frozen yogurt?"

"Mm, something salty. Crackers."

"Crackers it is."

Negan packed his backpack with two empty water jugs, a small pair of bolt cutters, and an eight-inch combat knife. He left the rest of the space for scavenging. He had set up shop in the far corner of the gym, stashing his ailing wife in the corner against the bleachers, just a few feet from the entrance to the locker rooms. She was hidden from the sun.

He crossed the gym to the first set of exterior doors, passing barely a dozen people – all that was left after two weeks. Negan knew all their faces, but not their names. It seemed that there were less people every day as families moved on or people died trying to find supplies.

He met up with three others – John, who was leading the expedition, and Arthur and Beau, a set of overweight hillbilly brothers with families in the gym. Their wives and kids were crowded around them, saying their goodbyes, wishing them luck, but not asking them not to go. In all of their eyes there was this hunger, this thirst, that pushed on through the fear, letting them let go with the hope that their father would bring something for them to eat.

Negan waited by the doors, and as soon as they were ready, he was the first one out.

It was cooler outside than it was in the gym. Negan turned his face into the first warm breeze, his eyes rolling shut in near-visceral pleasure. He spent most of his time inside, so he had forgotten that the air lacked the smell of shit, sweat, and sickness.

But in the gym, it was easy to forget how awful the parking lot was.

Negan followed the group in a zigzag between rotting bodies, their skin peeling in the violent sunshine. Each body they passed seemed to lift up and settle back down as hordes of flies ascended and returned. It was a sound like nothing else, a smell like nothing else, a scene like nothing else, but he made himself look at it. If this was going to be the world now, he couldn't be shy to it. He couldn't get sick from it.

He could either be strong or join those bodies on the ground.

"Some dead at the gate," John said in a whisper. He motioned to their usual exit, and then to a break in the fences way further down, "We can go that way."

"Just a few of them," Arthur said. He had a crowbar gripped tightly with both hands. "We can take 'em out, save some daylight."

John grimaced. He was somewhat thin, kind of weak, but he was smart and knew the city well. He caved pretty easily. "Okay. Just everybody stay together."

Negan knew this wasn't going to end well. He had seen these guys fight. It was like they were aiming for a pinata, not a ravenous monster.

He followed them anyway, hefting his backpack onto both shoulders and strapping it on. He brandished his bat. John had the lead at first, but Arthur cut in front of him and started running across the pavement, and Beau was hot on his heels. Arthur was still twenty feet away when the dead noticed him and started groaning excitedly.

It was over quickly.

Arthur hit the first one with his tire iron, but his tire iron got stuck in the skull and he was dragged to the ground. Bea shot the second one in the shoulder, then in the head, with a shiny little revolver. Negan hit the third with his bat, caving half its head, and he pulled a pistol out of his belt to shoot the fourth, missing once and then taking its ear off. He brought his bat back around and swung, the force of the impact rattling his shoulder.

"Store first, then the stream," John said in a rush as the group reformed. He led them away from the main exit, because more dead were appearing at the gate.

Negan stayed in the back on the way into the city, watching and listening like a piece of prey as they cut between stores and crossed large intersections. Chesterfield was not a massive city, but other group outings had revealed the center of downtown was full of walkers – John had been the one to spot it a week ago. He said it looked like a military operation had clashed with a big group of walkers moving through, and the military had lost. In the end, they were all just milling around, stuck forever in the places they had died.

John took them to a small grocery store on the edge of a neighborhood. Its doors were chained shut, a promising sign, and it looked like someone had tried to break in but failed.

"It looks like someone tried to get in since the last time I was here," John said, taking the bolt cutters that Negan offered, his eyes on the scrapes around the chains. "But the lock is still intact."

It was still stocked, like someone had shut it down on day one and never returned.

It smelled god-awful inside, but the shelves full of dry goods and snack foods were worth suffering for. Negan stepped around oozing pools left by thawing freezers, stuffing honey buns, bags of chips, and pork rinds into his backpack. He had his hands on the peanuts when he heard them.

"If you don't say it, I will."

"Shh. We're not talking about it."

"He's wastin' all our food!"

"He's risking his life out here, same as us."

"Yeah, and then throwin' all this food down a hole!"

"It's his wife, man."

"She could die any minute, and my kids are starving!"

Negan had heard that conversation before, whispered in the gym, like nobody thought he had ears, like they wanted him to hear. Once he was sure Lucille had heard them, and the look on her face broke his heart. He pictured that look, and heat flooded his head.

He crossed the store and faced John and Arthur, "You wanna say that shit to my face?"

Arthur hesitated at being confronted, but then he put his hand on his weapon. "Yeah, your wife is dyin' either way, and you're wastin' food. Everybody is hungry – my kids are hungry."

Negan felt a nasty itch to reach for his gun, but he did his best to swallow his temper, "So, what do you suggest we do, Arthur? You wanna put a bullet in her head? Is that what you want? You want me to put a pillow over her face until she stops struggling? Or did you want the honors?"

"No, I just-"

"You just what, Arthur? You wanna stand here and bitch about it? How about you do a little less whining and a little more scavenging and your kids won't be hungry. Or, better yet, and here's a novel idea for you, why don't you just kill John here so you can have a little more food for your fatass kids? Yeah, I said it, your son looks like he swallowed the Michelin Man!"

Negan didn't wait for a response. He left the store, sure that if he stayed much longer, he would have to scratch that itch. He was rearing for a fight.

He had his own plans, anyway.

It was only a four-mile walk to Foreman's Cancer Treatment Center, a specialized hospital that he had brought Lucille to a few times before the world went to shit. He had drawn himself a map the night before after interrogating Lucille on how to get there.

He made the whole walk angry, keeping his fear of walkers at bay with his fury. Arthur thought every other life at the shelter was more valuable than Lucille. On her worst days, she was worth ten of him. And why did it matter, anyway? Negan was the one who got the food for her. He brought water and medicine for her. She wasn't a burden on anyone. It was like the moment the world ended, everyone became animals again. Push out the sick and the weak, just like that.

It had to be over a hundred degrees outside, with no clouds and no shade from the store to the hospital. Negan was drenched in sweat and exhausted by the time he made it to the Center. The building stood like a monument, mirrored windows violently reflecting the sun, plaques on the walls to commemorate some of the patients who had died or survived.

It had been evacuated early. Only a few cars remained in the parking lot and the front doors were barricaded from the inside. A few walkers wandered here and there.

Negan went straight for the front door, putting his whole weight against it and getting nowhere. He groaned, "Son of a bitch. Gotta be some kind of fire hazard. World ends and everybody forgets about fire safety." Lucille was not there to appreciate his commentary.

He was so focused on the door that he didn't notice a walker coming up until it was right on him. Negan staggered away, pushing it back with his bat and nearly dropping it in his panic. It stumbled, but then lurched toward him again. He gripped the bat tightly in both hands and swung, straining his shoulder with the force, dropping that thing like a bag of rocks.

He stood there for several seconds, blood pounding in his ears at this close encounter, and then redoubled his efforts to get inside. He was desperate, as more walkers appeared and ambled toward him. He hesitated, and that hesitation brought them closer, their insidious movements suddenly more threatening than ever. How had they gotten so close, so fast?

In his desperation, Negan ended up breaking through one of the front windows and climbing over the sill, tearing his jeans and cutting his leg on the way in. He ran straight for the main staircase, hoping the dead could not follow – even with that hope, he started turning corners, planting himself firmly in the maze of the hospital.

Once he was thoroughly lost, his run slowed into a walk, and then a meander. His heart calmed. He had not been so close to them very often, and never so many. In the past weeks he had let himself forget how dangerous they were.

He wandered the halls, taking supplies from patient rooms, nurses' stations, and offices and adding them to his collection. He kept his bat ready in his right hand, unwilling to pull his gun like he had back at the shelter. It felt like it should be a last resort. Most of the hospital was abandoned, anyway. He found a few rooms with dead or nearly-dead patients in them, and quietly shut the doors on them, and a few doors that were already shut, with heartbreaking notes left behind begging anyone who came through to leave them closed. Negan peeked into a few, sometimes finding walkers clawing at the doors, sometimes finding bodies with holes blown through their faces lying in their beds, like they were sleeping when they died.

The pharmacy was on the third floor, a little window protruding near the elevator with a metal grate pulled down over it – and signs of life inside.

Negan spied a woman sleeping on a pile of blankets on the floor, wearing a robe and slippers. She was mid-fifties, at least, with stringy, silvery hair. He crept to the door and tried the knob, finding it unlocked. He turned it slowly, gingerly, making hardly a whisper, and then slipped inside.

She was not alone. She had three companions sitting up against the far wall, between rows of pills and little prescription bags. One of them, the only man – well, boy –, was half-awake and working on a crossword puzzle, and the other two were curled up and dozing. Negan had stepped into their sightline, and he stood absolutely still for several seconds, watching them, trying to locate any weapons, trying to decide what to do.

Before he could say anything, the boy's eyes flickered up to his, and he leaped to his feet, drawing a jagged knife awkwardly from his belt and brandishing it, "Hey! Judy, get up!"

Judy was the woman sleeping on the floor. She started, sat up, and gazed at Negan for a few seconds before she registered the danger. She scooted toward the boy, shaking the others awake. One of them was young, vaguely similar to the boy, but bald and gaunt, and the other was in her twenties, and she had her arms around Judy the moment they were close enough to touch. Negan picked out the dynamic immediately – a boy and his sister, an old woman and her daughter.

"Whoa, whoa," Negan said, going to put his hands up, but then realizing he was still holding his bat – and he was unwilling to let it go. It had been weeks since he had talked to strangers. "I'm alive, see? I'm not here to hurt you."

The boy didn't lower the knife, but his voice betrayed relief, "Jesus, I thought… I thought…"

"I know. Just breathe. I thought you were one of them, so I was being a little sneaky. I apologize." He was lying, but only a little. "Get some deep breaths in there, kid. I'm Negan."

"Jeffrey," the boy responded, gesturing around, "And this is my sister, Fred, and this is Judy and Delia." He looked like he wanted to sheath his knife, but he held onto it, like Negan held onto his bat. He had enough sense to know that there was still danger.

"What do you want?" Judy demanded. "We don't have much food or water, not anymore."

Negan got the sudden impression that he was not the first person who had found them here. He tapped his backpack, "I got my own. I came here looking for medicine." He pulled a list from his jacket pocket and held it out for them, "My wife, Lucille, has breast cancer, and she ran out of the meds the doc gave her when this all started. I just need the stuff on this list."

Judy seemed to soften at that. She got unsteadily to her feet and came over, taking the list and reading through it. She gave it back. "We don't have that much, and Fred and I need it."

He quelled a bolt of frustration, "Can you spare something? Just enough to travel to the next town?"

Judy retreated, leaning heavily against the wall when she arrived, and her daughter surged up to hold her. She shook her head, though she at least had the decency to act like it hurt her, "I'm sorry. You need to look somewhere else."

Both of them knew that the 'somewhere else' was probably too far, and that he would die on the way. Was that how the world worked now? Somebody laid claim on something, and that was the end of the story? Negan stood his ground, stood there, thinking, and he saw them start to tense up. What were they expecting him to do? What was he supposed to do? He needed those meds, and the only thing stopping him was this little boy and his knife.

"Please," Negan tried, his eyes on Judy, "I have to bring something back. She can't eat, she can barely drink. She's in a lot of pain."

"I'm sorry," Judy repeated, firmly this time.

Fred looked sadly at Judy, "Can't we just give him some of it?"

"We can spare some," Jeffrey said hesitantly.

"No. I'm so sorry, but no," Judy said, resolved.

He tried again, "You have enough here for months, maybe years." But the woman did not budge, and the boy looked on nervously.

Negan did not make a choice. It just sort of happened.

He grabbed his bat with both hands, crossed the blankets, and brought the broad end across the boy's shoulder, knocking him flat on his stomach in one resounding blow. The women cried out as he crumpled, but Negan held the bat threateningly, grabbing the kid by the arm and dragging him out into the open. He pointed at him.

"I want half of what you have, or the next hit breaks his head."

Judy scrambled to divide the drugs while Fred, the sister, cried softly against the wall. Negan stared intently at the boy, determined to block out what he was doing, but then he realized it was the same as the parking lot. If this was the way the world was going to be, he might as well face it. He looked at the girl, sympathy surging through him.

It was easy to hit that kid, hard to see it.

She slid the drugs to him in a duffel bag. Negan crouched and picked through it, eyes on the women, until he was satisfied he had what he needed. He put it on his shoulder and stood, taking a few steps back so they could retrieve the boy.

"I'm sorry it had to be like this," Negan said, genuinely. "But now we can share, like civilized human beings."

Judy glared at him, "They're ours! We need them."

"What did you do, piss on 'em?" He opened the door, stepping onto the threshold, still unable to pull away from the scene he was leaving behind – a boy facedown on the ground, unmoving, as his sister cradled him. He said, "I'm sorry. I hope you make it. I really do."

Negan left with a lump in his throat. He was condemning them to die, he knew he was, but what else could he do? He wondered what would happen when the meds ran low – would Judy give up her half to let the young girl live, or would she hoard it and condemn Fred to die? It was a deep question, one that nagged on him all the way back to the high school.

He came in alone, immediately aware that the others had not come back yet. He had gone by the stream to fill his water jugs and saw no sign of them. Their families looked up hopefully as he crossed the gym, but their eyes slid back to the ground as he passed without a word.

Lucille was asleep.

"Hey, baby doll, I brought you something."

She stirred, but only just. Negan hauled her up into his lap and crushed the pills for her, slipping them into a cup of applesauce he had been using to give her medicine for the past week. She grimaced as the spoon touched her mouth and gagged when he tried to force her to swallow. It went down in the end and she relaxed against him.

Negan sat there, holding her like a child, thinking about that boy in the hospital.

"Did you see the doctor?" Lucille asked faintly.

"Yeah. She told me what to do, gave me some stuff. Give it a few hours and you'll feel a little better, and then we can try the next pill. I got you some crackers."

She nodded.

Negan was glad his face was behind hers, so she couldn't see the tears in his eyes.