A/N: Hi there! I'm happy (and surprised) to find that the fic is actually bringing entertainment to some people. Since I'm also enjoying the time I spend with the story, I'm going to run with it. I hope you'll come along :)
Glenn came into view first, soon followed by Maggie, Sasha, and Bob.
"You're here," Rick said, sounding somewhat surprised. "You're here," he repeated, this time in an undoubtedly affirmative tone.
A woman Daryl didn't recognize also approached. Rick did recognize her and was not at all pleased. Maggie looked at her before turning back to Rick and Daryl to explain, "this is Tara. She's our friend; she helped Glenn find us."
"Yeah," Daryl said with a nod. "Now she's a friend o' ours."
"Was all that shooting because of you?" Glenn asked.
"Yeah, but they weren't trying to hit us, just shooting at our feet to make us go wherever they wanted us to go," Rick answered. "When did you get here?"
They all looked at each other until Maggie broke the silence, "I'm not sure. It feels like we've been here forever but, in reality, I'd guess… 2 or 3 days?" she half-said, half-asked, receiving a general murmur of agreement.
"Did you get any idea of what this place is? We didn't have time to see much," Rick said.
"We didn't either," Glenn responded.
Rick moved towards the door they'd entered and peered through the cracks. "Doesn't matter, we'll make it out. They don't know who they're fucking with," he said with absolute certainty.
"How?" asked Sasha.
"One way or another; but we will," Daryl affirmed. He was getting back to 'Chonne, that was for damn sure. Which reminded him, "Maggie, Beth is with us, she stayed behind with 'Chonne and Carl."
"Oh, thank God!" she exclaimed before hugging Glenn.
"What about Tyrese, did you see him?" Sasha asked with evident hope.
"No, sorry," Daryl answered.
"We'll find him," Bob told Sasha as he took her hand in his.
"OK everyone," Rick started, "let's turn whatever we can into weapons, so we're ready for when they come."
With that, there was all-around scrambling as people sharpened bits of metal, bent belt buckles, wrapped leather around their knuckles, and cut pieces of the train car's wood frame.
"All right, got four of 'em pricks comin' our way," Daryl warned.
"You all know what to do," Rick said, as everyone took position. "Go for their eyes first, then their throats."
A couple of seconds went by before a voice shouted from outside, "put your backs to the walls at either end of the car! NOW!"
They all assumed fighting stance, looking intently at the door, only to have a smoke grenade dropped in their midst from an opening at the top of the train wagon.
"MOVE!" Bob screamed, prompting people to rush away from the impending danger.
There wasn't, however, enough space or time to escape the effects of the grenade, so the group was left disoriented. Daryl found himself being dragged outside by people in gas masks, but still succeeded in kicking someone, which caused another someone to knock him out. When he came to, his hands and feet were zip-tied, and he was gagged. He struggled against the ligatures as he was pulled to a kneeling position over an abnormally long metal sink, but to no avail, so he slowed down to take in his surroundings.
He could see Rick and Bob to his right and Glenn to his left, followed by four men he didn't know, all leaning over the sink alongside him, all looking terrified. A big part of that, he was quite sure, was due to the scene unfolding in front of them – a guy cutting into what he very much hoped was a dead body with an electric saw, while another guy poured something over the corpse, both looking like they might be auditioning for a role in the Texas chainsaw massacre.
The people who had dragged in the kneeling men walked out as if what was going on was an everyday occurrence, leaving them to be dealt with by the two blood-covered individuals. The bald one picked up a baseball bat from a nearby table, swinging it back and forth, and the other got a knife, which he promptly began to sharpen. The whole thing was heavy on psychological torture.
Rick was looking around to try and determine what their best chance of escape would be when the two guys moved over to the opposite end of the line and stood behind a terror-stricken man, who Rick recognized as one-half of the couple he'd met when he'd exiled Carol. They all watched as one guy knocked the young man out with the baseball bat before the other sliced his throat, pushing him forward so his blood would drain into the metal sink.
That was the last straw, launching the captives into a frenzy of fear. There were muffled screams of "No!", tears, thrashing, retching. Bob was frantically trying to think of what he could say to stop what was happening. Glenn could only think of Maggie, and how he had to find a way to prevent her from going through this. Daryl was beside himself with anger and sorrow, thinking of how he and 'Chonne had only just connected. He was realizing how strong that connection had become in such a short time, at least on his side, and thinking that, if they didn't find a way out of this newfound hell, he would never get to tell her so. Rick was thinking of how he needed to get back to Carl and, much to his surprise, this need, coupled with his anger, was actually helping him focus on the matter at hand.
As the two extras from Hostel made their way down the line, Rick worked to retrieve the sharpened piece of wood he had hidden up his right pant leg. Even though no one seemed to be paying him any attention, he turned sideways a bit to conceal his hands and got busy trying to break the plastic strips that bound his wrists. However, when he looked back up and saw there was only one person before it would be Glenn's turn, he knew he wasn't going to make it in time. Shit! They needed a diversion.
Enter Gareth.
"Hey guys, what were your shot counts?" He asked, holding a notebook and a pen.
"Thirty-eight," the bald guy answered before delivering a resounding blow to the back of the next victim's skull. Gareth wrote down the information as the throat-cutting followed.
Glenn heard movement behind him and shut his eyes, concentrating on the image of Maggie; he wanted her to be the last thing he saw.
The bat was halted mid-swing when Gareth asked the guy with the knife, "Hey! Your shot count?"
Following a brief silence, came the answer, "crap, man, I'm sorry. It's my first round-up."
"After you're done here, go back to your point and count the shells. Kaylee won't be gathering them until tomorrow," Gareth said as he scribbled on the notebook. "Four from A… and four from D?" he asked, first pointing to the live men then to the dead ones.
"Yeah."
Gareth was now directly in front of Rick and all the latter could see was the gun strapped to the former's waist. It was so close, if only he could get that damn zip-tie to break already.
"You have two hours to get them on the driers, then we go back to public face," Gareth started to instruct his men. "Now's the time when we can get messy, but we need to dial it all in by sundown."
"Got it."
"Yes, sir."
Two shots rang out, stopping things momentarily. Gareth got a walkie-talkie and spoke into it as the two men resumed their killing duties. But, once again, they halted mid-bat-swing, this time due to the sound of a third shot, which had them all looking around.
After four or five seconds a loud explosion was heard and the whole place shook, sending mostly everyone to the ground.
Michonne knew it couldn't have been more than two hours since Daryl and Rick had left, probably quite a bit less than that, but it felt to her as if half a day had gone by. She didn't know what was going on with her. She'd become so accustomed to handling these kinds of stressful situations, she was usually able to take them in her stride, so why was she so bothered?
Carl was seated next to Beth watching as Michonne paced around the room, which was driving him crazy, specially since it was so unlike her. He was just about to try and get her to calm down a bit when they heard the faraway sound of gunfire. A lot of it. Michonne ran to the window, Carl jumped up, and Beth didn't so much as flinch.
"See anything?" Carl asked, joining Michonne.
"No," she answered. "I think I'd better go have a look," she went on, "will you be OK by yourselves for a little while?"
"Sure."
"I won't be long," she assured him.
"OK. Just be careful."
"You, too; stay out of sight," she instructed before giving him a quick hug and walking out.
She moved silently through the woods until a new wave of shots made her halt. Daryl! Just like when she'd heard the first round of bullets, he was all she could think about. She knew he could take care of himself; but she also knew sometimes that simply wasn't enough, no matter how skilled you were. She shook her head, trying to push away the terrifying images that kept popping into her head, and carried on. As she was approaching a set of train tracks, she halted again, this time due to a herd of about thirty walkers moving along towards Terminus. Towards Daryl. Shit!
While making her way back to the shack, she considered her options. The problem was, she didn't have any good ones. She could leave Carl and Beth by themselves as she attempted a blind, solo rescue mission, keeping her fingers crossed she didn't make matters worse, or she could stay put and slowly descend into insanity.
As their current hideout came into view, she heard engine noises, so she quickly ducked for cover. At the sight of a grey sedan coming, she unsheathed her katana, hoping against hope that Carl and Beth stayed hidden like they'd been told to do. The car stopped just outside the little shack and out the driver's door came a white male in his twenties with a rifle strapped to his back. He went around to the other side, grabbed a duffel from the passenger seat, and walked away from the vehicle a little before setting the bag down. He opened it and pulled out what looked to be a firework tube, which he placed on the floor as a voice spoke out of a walkie-talkie he had strapped to his waist.
"Ten-minute count. You screw up, you're on your own, Martin."
"You don't have to tell me, I wipe my own ass," the man, presumably Martin, responded.
He grabbed another firework and set it a few feet away from the first one as he went on, "Alex didn't get it, you see. I knew those two were bad news. I mean, come on, the redneck had a crossbow, and the guy with the cowboy boots looked like he should be in a mental institution."
Michonne didn't really hear anything after 'crossbow'. Before she even knew what she was doing, she had jumped out from where she'd taken cover and had brought the blade of her katana to rest firmly against the back of the guy's neck.
"Keep your finger off the button and drop it," Michonne said, and the guy did so before putting his hands up.
"Listen, you don't have to do this. Whatever you want, we got a place where everyone's welcome," Martin said.
"Shut up," she ordered, as she moved her blade to his Adam's apple so she could look him in the eyes.
"OK," Martin agreed.
"The two men you just mentioned; what have you done with them?"
"Nothing," Martin started to respond, "we didn't do nothing. They're fine, I can take you to see them."
"Don't try me," Michonne warned in a deadly voice, pressing her blade a little harder into the guy's flesh.
"OK, OK," he exclaimed, as he inched his neck backwards. "We have them back at our place."
"What did you do to them? I'm not gonna ask again," she said, again bringing her katana to his neck, this time breaking the skin just a little.
"Nothing, I swear! They attacked us; we're just holding them," Martin said, sweating profusely.
Michonne caught movement in her peripheral vision and looked up, being so surprised by what she saw that she momentarily forgot what was going on. Noticing this, Martin made the stupid decision of trying to tackle her and almost got his head chopped off, soon finding himself not only back on the wrong side of Michonne's katana, but now also staring at the business end of Carol's gun.
A/N: Let me know what you think. I appreciate your taking the time to leave comments, they are a great incentive and always make my day :)
