Chapter 32.

The Outlaw.

She struck in the middle of the night.

Negan heard the back door creak, the only indication that anything was wrong. In the seconds that followed, he sorted through the possibilities – it was locked, so it had to be a person, and there was no knock, no common courtesy. Either they were very unaware that the house was occupied, or on their way to free up the real estate.

He sat up in bed, slowly put his feet over the side. He had a few weapons in reach, but the first thing he grabbed was the baseball bat. It was good for close combat, and the hallways were narrow.

He regretted closing the door, because he had to spend several seconds painstakingly twisting the knob, trying to keep it quiet. Jeffrey was in the next room over, further down the hall, probably blissfully unaware that anything was happening. Negan was a light sleeper, cautious, maybe overreacting. But there was a thin line between life and death these days and he would do whatever it took to stay on the correct side of it.

When he opened his door, there was a soft, soft sound at the end of the hall. Negan stood perfectly still, waiting, wondering if the intruder heard something.

And then she fired.

Negan cupped his hands over his ears, the sound of a gunshot momentarily disorienting him. It illuminated the hallway, briefly, showing him a small figure standing in the mouth of the hallway. He had no idea where the bullet went, no compulsion to find out. The shooter advanced and he took his chance, swinging wildly into the dark. He made contact, got punched in the face.

He struggled with her for several seconds, grabbing the hand with the gun in it, trying to keep it pointed anywhere but toward him. She gave in, relinquished that fight, and drew a knife with her other hand, slashing at him. He felt it tear the front of his jacket, a near-miss to his gut.

A flashlight came on, shining at the two of them, and a gun cocked.

Jeffrey was standing in the hallway, pistol in hand, "Stop! Hands up!"

Negan disengaged from the shooter, leaning in his doorway. She stood at the end of the hall, gasping for breath, the gun still in her hand. It looked like he had cracked her in the face with his bat. Good. He ran his hand over his nose and came back with blood.

"Good kid," Negan said, also out of breath. He gestured broadly at their attacker, "Drop that gun or the kid puts a few holes in you."

The woman was brown-skinned, small, a wicked glare on her face. She stood her ground.

"No need for this to get worse," Negan said. He noticed that Jeffrey was trembling, his trigger finger a little itchy. He put his hand up, "Hey, kid, it's okay. You did good. You can give me that."

Jeffrey released a breath, passed the gun over.

"Sit down or something," Negan said. "You look like you're about to pass out, or vomit, or both. I don't want to be responsible for any of it." Negan focused on the woman again, gesturing. "Put it down. We can have a civil conversation."

She said nothing, did nothing.

"I'm Negan, this is Jeffrey. What's your name? Can we start with that? Just a name?"

It seemed like she might not answer. Seconds passed. She finally said, "Arat."

"Okay, Arat – cool name, by the way – we got off on the wrong foot here. Why'd you come here, huh? What was your plan? Kill us, take our shit?"

Her stare was unwavering, a little unnerving, "Yes."

"At least you're honest. I admire that. How about instead of that, we sit down and break some bread? Not literally, because I don't have any bread, but the figurative kind – the kind that means you're not going to turn around and stab me.

She had a genuine uncertainty, "Why?"

"Why not? World ended. No need to forget our manners, is there? I think there's enough shit out there trying to kill us as is. You kill me, Jeffrey kills you – one of us ends up alone trying to survive."

"You talk a lot."

"Yeah, but am I talking crazy or am I talking sense? I don't want you dead. Do you want me dead?"

She hesitated.

He said, "You want my shit, yeah, but do you want me dead?"

Finally, "I don't care."

"Ambivalence. That's what I want to hear." Negan lowered the gun, hoping that she would drop hers. "You fired that gun, made a lot of noise. Probably a few walkers congregating outside. We should hunker down until morning and then go our separate ways."

Arat held onto her weapon, but made no move to attack again.

Negan said, "Are you hungry? I have food, water."

"Why would you give me anything? I just tried to kill you."

Negan shrugged. "You seem pretty badass and I'm into that."

XxXxX

"And you came here to, what, try the local cheeseburgers?" Negan whistled, resting his chin on the handle of his bat. He glanced at Jeffrey, "You see, that's an origin story."

Arat was very serious, thoughtful, gun in her lap. She sat in the armchair, keeping a close watch on the boarded-up front windows. Negan had lit a single candle, giving an ominous glow to all of their faces. He appreciated the aesthetic.

"Why'd you come here?" Jeffrey said.

Arat gave him a hard look, "Why did you?"

"Uh, I was born here."

Negan said, "Turkey to Virginia. Forgive me if I'm being insensitive, but, it seems like any other place would probably fare better in all of this." He let his voice drop, become serious, "How far out have you been?"

Arat was quiet for a while, thinking. She was not a big talker. Finally, she said, "Far enough. There isn't much outside of the cities. Could be people living out there, but there are so many dead."

Negan suspected as much. His journey to this house had been riddled with walking corpses.

He said, "What I was saying earlier about there being enough shit out there trying to kill us – I wasn't bullshitting. So many people are dead already. What does that leave us with? Way I see it, the strong are going to horde the resources and the weak are going to die off. Now, no offense, Jeffrey, but I've seen that shit already. It's human nature. We want security, stability. I'm not blaming you for the shit you pulled with the medicine."

Arat was watching him intently.

Negan went on, leaning into the coffee table, drawing invisible circles, "Here's what I see going down. Everybody forms up. Families, friends, whatever. They get up a stockpile. Some other bigger, stronger group comes along to take it, kills them. Maybe they get killed by the dead, maybe they live. Either way, someone inevitably comes and takes their shit, too. You already said that I talk too much, but the point I'm making here is that we should join up, Arat, because we're strong, and we're alive."

She said, "I'm better alone."

"You gonna sleep with one eye open? I mean, damn, even deer have that shit figured out – more eyes. You gonna drive until you run out of gas? You got a plan?"

"Do you?"

"No, but three heads is better than one." Negan gestured to Jeffrey, "Three sets of eyes, three sets of ears, three sets of hands to grab shit. I'd be dead if not for him. He'd be dead without me. You can join our coalition of not being dead, and we can share what we have. You're clearly desperate, if you're willing to risk a confrontation with half a clip of bullets."

She looked startled, suddenly.

Negan put his hand up, soothing, "It's okay. I figured you were out when you decided to go hand-to-hand in the hallway. I was just letting you keep that because it made you feel safe."

Her lip twisted into a dangerous scowl.

"Offer stands," Negan said. "Join up, or leave, whatever you want. But we do have bullets in our gun, for reference, and I am willing to put you down if I think you're a threat to me, because here's the big point I'm making, Arat – I'll do whatever it takes to survive."

A long silence.

She finally responded, the scowl fading, replaced with resolve, "I'll join you."

He smiled, satisfied with the way she was looking at him. Caution, a little bit of respect, a healthy amount of skepticism.

It felt good. It felt right.