The Wolf You Feed

Chapter 9

Once his wounds had been tended to, Daryl expected to be taken back to the shed he was being held in before. Instead, Katie marched him over to the large fenced in area he had seen when he was walking past it to be questioned. The wooden fence was high, and topped with twisted barbed wire. Daryl had not paid much attention to it before, assuming that the women must be keeping some sort of livestock inside, like the goats and chickens they kept fenced in at Alexandria. But as he got closer, he saw movements behind the wooden planks. And human eyes peeking out a him between the cracks.

Several women were guarding the gate that led into the surround. One looked younger than the rest and her hair was so short it was almost shaved. She was the only one that made eye contact with Daryl. The other woman ignored him, wrinkling up their faces like he smelled bad, which he guessed he might, since he had been sleeping in a tiny hot box with a bucket of his own piss and vomit.

When the woman moved to open the gate, the people peeking out from the inside scattered away from it. Daryl was shoved inside, with a few harder than they needed to be pokes from the rifle Katie was holding. Then the gate was slapped shut behind him. He heard the latch being snapped into place.

The first thing Daryl heard was Carl's voice. "Daryl!" The boy ran at him, throwing his arms around Daryl's neck in what Carl would normally consider a rather unmanly gesture of affection. Daryl hugged him back, happy to see that his friend was alive and unharmed. Then Daryl looked around at his new accomodations. There were a lot more people inside the small area then he expected. They were all men of varying ages. They were filthy and hungry looking. That didn't always mean much, a lot of the people that Aaron and Rowan's dad brought in from the road were dirty and hungry. But these people had a different look to them. They looked starved and beat down.

A man approached, using a wooden walking stick to aid his limping movements. Daryl could tell he wasn't able to put much if any weight on his right leg. The man had long white hair that was twisted into dread locks, sort of like how Michonne wore her hair. In contrast to the white of his hair and curly white beard, the man's skin was dark and weathered. He looked old, especially for someone that had made it though the turn, but his eyes were bright and alert. Daryl had a sudden flash of Hershel. That was who this man reminded him of, despite the difference in skin tone. The man had a look to him that was distinctly Hershel. Wise and kind at the same time, the old farmer had always inspired unquestioned respect. The man stuck his hand out to Daryl. It was the first gesture of friendship Daryl had received since he arrived in this camp. It made the corners of his mouth turn up into a slight grin.

"Daryl Dixon," Daryl told the man, surprised at the strength of his grip.

"Ezekiel," the man responded. He smiled and added with obvious sarcasm, "King of all that you see before you." He waved his arms around like he was showing off a grand landscape instead of a dirty pen where people were forced to shit and piss in one corner and sleep in the other. "Welcome to the pen." Daryl gave the man's hand one more pump and then let go.

"What the hell is going on around here?," Daryl asked. He directed his question towards the older man, but also glanced at Carl, who he was hoping knew more by now than he did. There was an overhang on one end of the pen, but instead of sitting under it to get out of the sun, Daryl noticed most of the men were huddled up near one of the fenced walls. He heard a loud moan coming from under the overhang. Sounded like a damn walker. Before the older man or Carl could answer his question, Daryl went stomping over to see who or what was making the noise.

Daryl moved back, covering his mouth and nose with his arm, quickly understanding why the other men were huddled against the fence. There was a man under the overhang, lying on what looked like a dirty pile of hay. The man was dying from a very badly infected puncture wound in his leg. The smell of the infection was unbearable. He had to have some advanced stage of gangrene in his leg. There was so much puss and swelling. Along with that, the man was lying in his own excrement. Daryl had seen some crazy shit. But nothing like that. It was absolutely disgusting. At the very least, that man should be put out of his misery before he died and turned.

"Katie's amazon women and their pig stickers did that," Ezekiel explained. "He tried to escape." Daryl nodded, understanding now that the man had been left inside this pen to die a horrible death on purpose. To teach the other men in this pen some kind of lesson. Those women out there were crazier than he thought. And meaner. This was some sick twisted shit.

"Do you have a knife?," Daryl asked the man. Ezekiel shook his head. None of them had weapons of any kind. Or anything that could potentially be used as a weapon. Daryl kicked at the ground, looking around the place. In the corner near where there men relieved themselves, there was a pile of food scraps. Daryl stomped over and nudged through the pile with the toe of him boot, trying not to breath through his nose.

He found what he was looking for rather quickly. A sturdy looking bone. It had been the foreleg of some medium sized animal. Maybe a deer. Daryl grabbed the bone and brought it down on his knee, cracking it in half. Making two formidable weapons. He handed one to Carl. The other one he kept in his hand and headed back under the enclosure.

Daryl fought his nausea as he crouched down next to the dying man. He held the sharp shard of bone up in front of the man's face, looking at him questioningly. The man nodded, looking grateful. He knew days ago when the fever set in that there was no hope for him. He didn't want to be in pain any longer. Daryl pulled back his arm and jabbed the bone in through the man's ear, killing his brain. He heard a few audible gasps come from behind his back. Ignoring them, Daryl grabbed the man's now dead body by the ankles and started dragging him out from under the overhang. A hand came down on his shoulder.

"He's one of ours," Ezekiel said, "we can take care of him." Daryl nodded at the man and stepped back. Ezekiel gestured for a few other men to step forward. They were so skinny and weak, it took three of them to drag the man's body across the small enclosure. He was left near the gate.

Daryl opened his mouth to start asking questions. He had quite a few. The first one being why in the hell these men stayed in this dirty pen instead of fighting their way out. This was some pussy shit. Most of those women didn't even have guns. Before he could speak up, the gate was flung open.

"Line up!," Katie hollered at the men. Daryl saw all the men moved quickly to comply, so he did the same. He figured the less attention he could draw to himself the better. Not that he didn't already stick out like a sore thumb. He was at least twice the size of every man in this place. Carl shuffled in front of him. The men were led outside and lined up along the fence. Daryl and Carl were taken aside and both of them had their hands tied behind their backs. The rest of the men's hands were left free.

No explanation was given as to where they were being taken. Daryl looked for a chance to make a break for it, now that he had Carl with him. But Katie and a few other choice women were keeping a very close eye on him and the boy. He had obviously been branded as a trouble maker already. The women marched them down a hill and away from the main camp area to a grassy spot where a lot of people were already gathered around waiting.

The group was all women and girls. But Daryl noticed not all of them had short haircuts like Katie and the other guards. These women looked mostly like people that might have been from this community before the turn. Several of them had long flowy dresses or loose pants on, like the type Rowan favored. When Daryl was marched in closer, he realized he was attending a funeral.

Three bodies were laid out on the ground. One young woman and two young men. Each one of them had been shot through the head. One. Two. Three. The shots Daryl heard fired from inside the shed. The girl looked like she might have been pretty when she was alive. She was pale with long coppery red hair. The boy to the left of her was black, with a shaved head. The boy to the right was hispanic. Both looked like they had been beaten severely before they died.

The tall woman Daryl knew now was named Amanda stepped out in front of the crowd. She looked around, her eyes lingering on Daryl for a moment before she spoke.

"No one here is immune from the rules!," she yelled out. Daryl's face itched. He tried to turn his head and rub it against his shoulder, but it was no use. What was this fruit loop yelling about now? He was already sick of this woman's shit. No one is ammune from the rules? What the hell did that mean? Then Daryl took another look at the dead girl on the ground. Her hair. It was almost the same color as the woman's who was speaking. And they bore more than a passing resemblence in the face too. Did this woman kill her own daughter? Daryl had no idea how anyone could be that sick.

Before Amanda could speak again, an older woman with dark skin and curly dark hair stepped forward out of the crowd. She pointed at the taller woman.

"You are to blame for this!," the woman hissed.

"Silence!," Amanda yelled back at the woman. But the woman would not be silenced. A very pregnant looking girl, about the same age as the dead kids, came forward. She grasped the older woman by the arm and started trying to pull her away. Daryl guessed she was the woman's daughter. They looked enough alike to be family.

"Silence or what?," the woman screamed. "Go ahead and kill me Amanda! You already killed my son! My daughter is as good as dead as soon as she gives birth! You're a fucking monster!" The girl holding her mother's arm put a little more force into her grip and managed to pull the woman back into the crowd. But not fast enough. Amanda yanked a knife from her belt and headed after her. Daryl sucked in his breath. If someone didn't do something quick, they were going to be digging another hole in the ground. Maybe more than one.

To Daryl's relief the woman that had cleaned up his wound for him stepped out into the path of the leader of this camp. Robin. That was her name. She held her hand out in front of her.

"She's sick with grief Amanda," the woman said. Her voice was low and shaky. Daryl could tell she was afraid. But she was holding her ground, giving the other woman's daughter time to usher her away. "Just let her be." Amanda narrowed her eyes at the older woman. Then she cocked her hand back and slapped Robin hard across the face, rocking her head to the side. When she straightened back up, Daryl could see the red outline of a handprint welling up on her face. Her lip was split and blood was dribbling down from the corner of her mouth.

"Get on with it and get them in the fucking ground," Amanda screamed out. She didn't seen to be talking to anyone in particular. Then she marched off in the direction of the main lodge. Several women in long dresses stepped forward and lifted the sheets the young people's bodies had been laid out on. To Daryl's surprise a few of the men went down to help. No one stopped them.

The boy's bodies were placed into the shallow graves that had been dug for them. Then the people stepped forward and lifted the body of the girl up. When they started to shovel the dirt in on top of her, Daryl heard a strange strangled sob come from behind him. He cranked his head around to see where the noise had come from. When he found the source, he quickly averted his eyes, feeling like he had seen something he was not supposed to see. Katie. The woman with the scars that had treated him no better than cattle. She was keeping quiet in an obvious attempt to control herself. But there was a river of silent tears streaming down the good side of her face.