The Wolf You Feed
Chapter 52
There were several times in the last twenty four hours that Michelle had been sure it was her last day on Earth. She had moments where she had been filled with terror at the prospect of her immediate death and also moments where she felt a weird sort of relief. Not for the first time, she wondered why she was fighting so hard to live. Her life since the turn hadn't given her much happiness. Not that her life before was a carnival ride. But living with the saviors was its own special kind of hell on earth. She only had to look down at her missing finger if she needed a reminder of what sort of people she had ended up enmeshed with..
The new group of people that had captured her seemed different. Michelle was still forming her opinion on them. They all appeared nuttier than squirrel turds at first. When they caught her, their faces were painted up like deranged clowns. A giant dog had killed one of her companions by ripping his throat out right in front of her. The animal belonged to these people. They were not afraid of it.
They had all been screaming at each other and some of the time not even in English. But once the chaos died down, these people had treated her fairly well considering the situation. Much better than the saviors would have treated one of them if they caught them, that's for certain. She had been untied. Allowed to take a shower and given clean clothes. A bed had been made up for her in a spare bedroom. And a woman had brought her a large glass of ice water and a plate of food. After her night of running on pure adrenaline, it hadn't taken Michelle long to fall asleep.
Michelle woke to a soft knock on the bedroom door. She jerked out of bed, grabbing for a weapon and coming up empty. An older man that she hadn't seen before slowly pushed the door open. He had a handgun in a holster on his belt. But other than that he didn't look overly threatening.
"I'm Reg," the man announced. His voice was low and gentle. There was no hint of a threat in his words. "I thought maybe you would like to use the bathroom?," he suggested. Michelle nodded. He led her down the hall and waited outside the bathroom door while she took care of her personal needs. Michelle was grateful for that. She expected him to lock her back in the bedroom when she was done but instead the man led her downstairs and gestured for her to take a seat at his kitchen table.
There were a few other people milling around in the kitchen. The older woman that had brought Michelle the plate of food was there. The tall man she and her companions had held at gunpoint was rummaging through the fridge. He had told her his name but it took her a moment before she was able to bring it to mind. Spencer. There was another man Michelle thought she recognized from the day before but it was hard to tell without paint smeared all over his face. He was handsome with brown wavy hair and holding a baby that looked a bit like him but with a much darker complexion. A black woman with dreadlocks entered the kitchen. The man handed her the baby and she sat down at the table opposite Michelle and began breastfeeding her son. The man brought her a glass of water before he took the empty chair closest to the woman.
Spencer dumped the contents of a large jar into a pot on the stove and turned on the boiler. Michelle watched him quietly from her seat. If anyone was going to attack her, she assumed he was the most likely candidate. She had kidnapped him. He tossed in what smelled like a handful of herbs into the pot. He stirred the contents until he was happy with the temperature. Then he ladled the soup into two bowls. He approached and set one bowl in front of Michelle and handed her a spoon. Then he sat down next to her and began eating like they hadn't almost killed each other the day before.
"You've got to be hungry," Spencer mentioned, "You slept almost a full 24 hours."
Michelle nodded silently. Now that she could smell the food her empty stomach was starting to grumble. The older woman brought them each a glass of water from a pitcher she had pulled out of a fridge. Michelle had been so overwhelmed the day before that it hadn't fully hit her. These people had running water. Clean running water. And electricity. She wondered how that was even possible. It seemed surreal. Sitting at a table in a normal kitchen and watching people do normal things. If they weren't all armed with guns or knives, Michelle might have been able to believe that the outbreak had been one long bad dream she had finally woken up from.
The door to the kitchen was swung open without a knock, the door knob slapping against the wall behind it. Michelle had started eating her soup but she stopped when she saw the woman that entered was the one Paula had slashed at with a knife the day before. The woman's dark hair fell down behind her back in a long thick braid. She was wearing a dress and a pair of rubber boots with sunflowers on them. When she entered the kitchen she kicked the muddy boots off by the door. Held carefully in her arms was a large brownish red chicken.
"Oh look," the woman announced when she noticed Michelle at the table, "it's the hostage!"
"I am considering her more of a 'guest-age' for now," the older woman corrected. Several of the people at the table laughed. Michelle stayed quiet, still unsure of what was happening around her.
A dog could be heard whining outside the kitchen door and the dark haired woman moved quickly to click the door all the way shut before the large animal could barge inside. Then she crossed the room and leaned in close to Spencer, taking his spoon from his hand and getting a bite of stew for herself.
"Seriously Rowan," the man complained, "get away from me with that dirty bird while I'm eating."
Mention of the bird seemed to jog the woman's memory. She apparently hadn't come for soup. She turned her attention to the older woman.
"Deanna, do you have any epsom salt?," she asked.
Michelle watched and listened as the woman named Rowan explained to Deanna that the bird had something wrong with its foot. Apparently she intended to give it some sort of bath and needed the salt. The handsome man that Michelle assumed was the father of the baby in the room rose and examined the bird's foot. Some discussion and negotiations were had. After it was clearly agreed that the bird would NOT be taking a bath in Deanna's bathroom, a small container of epsom salt was retrieved from the upstairs bathroom and given to Rowan. She took it and her injured bird and left through the same door she had come in.
Michelle tilted her bowl, scooping up the last bit of soup. It was rich and savory, some sort of meat and vegetable stew. She washed it down with a sip of water and put her hands in her lap. The atmosphere in the room was slowly changing. It had felt oddly casual and friendly at first but now a feeling of nervous anticipation was creeping in. Michelle noticed the people in the room were now turned towards her, giving her their full attention. She shifted nervously in her chair.
Deanna sat down at the table, while Reg stayed behind the large island counter. He had some papers spread out around him and appeared to be working on some sort of project. He glanced up occasionally, displaying only a casual interest in what was going on at his kitchen table.
"You know we are going to need to ask you some questions," Deanna stated, looking at Michelle. Her voice was calm and even but not without a touch of authority. Michelle nodded. She had heard people screaming about wanting information from her when she was captured. But she had envisioned they would get it from her in some sort of post apocalyptic torture session. She guessed she would be schlepped away to a basement and tied up, not sat at a kitchen table and given a bowl of soup. She had been preparing herself not to tell them anything. To hold out as long as she could. But now she wasn't sure how she felt.
"I'll start with an easy one," Deanna offered, "How about you tell us your name?" Michelle relaxed the tense posture of her body. She hadn't realized she had been gripping the edge of the table. Releasing her grip she placed her hands back into her lap.
"Michelle," Michelle said. That wasn't so bad, she thought. Deanna nodded. She introduced herself and then her husband Reg and her son Spencer. Michelle felt a little jolt of fear ripple through her. She had kidnapped the son of the leader of this community. There was no way they were going to let her live. She tried to remain calm, gripping the edge of her chair this time instead of the table. The good looking man told her his name was Rick and the woman with the baby was Michonne. Michelle did not get introduced to the baby himself. He had finished eating and was sleeping peacefully in his mother's arms.
"Tell us a little bit about your life before the turn," Deanna suggested. Michelle just stared at the woman, a baffled look on her face. She wasn't sure she understood the question correctly. When she didn't speak up, Deanna asked her a few more specific questions to get her started. "What did you do for work? Were you married? Where are you from?"
"Uh…," Michelle stuttered. She had been living day to day surviving for so long. It took her a moment to dig into the recesses of her mind and drag up the long buried memories of who she was before the turn. She had never been married. A few long term boyfriends but nothing that turned into something more. She was from Fredericksburg, outside of Washington DC. She hadn't always lived there. She had been from Ohio but moved out to take care of her ailing aunt. After her aunt died, she continued working as a caretaker. She dreamed of going back to school to become a hospice nurse. She had been working overtime to save up money for school. Then the turn had happened.
Once Michelle started talking, the words seemed to flow from her on their own. She hadn't realized how much she had been holding inside. The people sitting around the table listened, offering empathy and quiet nods of encouragement for her to continue. She told them she stayed home and hid inside her apartment at the beginning of the turn. She had been able to stay there quite a long time, scavenging what she needed from the other apartments in the building. But eventually she ran out of food. When she tried to go looking for supplies, a large group of the dead ones had come after her. A ruggedly handsome stranger on a motorcycle came out of nowhere and saved her. She had climbed eagerly on the back of his bike, not having any idea at the time where that split moment decision was going to take her.
"He was part of the saviors?," Deanna asked. Michelle nodded. She didn't want to say more. She was afraid she would say too much. If Negan or any of his lieutenants ever found out she had run her mouth about them she didn't want to even think about what they would do.
Deanna waited, hoping the woman would fill the silence with more information. But after a moment it was clear she was going to need a little more encouragement. Deanna was hopeful. They had already gotten more from the woman just by treating her kindly than she bet anyone would have by threatening her. Rick had promised Deanna would give her a chance to try it her way before he took over or turned the wolves loose on the woman.
"What would happen to you if they found out you talked?," Deanna asked, attempting to sympathize with the woman.
"My boyfriend, the one that rescued me from the herd…," Michelled started, "...he went missing. I stole gas and went to look for him. I just needed to know for sure. I found what was left of him on the side of the road. When I went back they punished me for stealing the gas." Michelle stopped and held up her hand, showing her missing finger with the ragged stitches Paula had used to stop the bleeding still visible.
"They cut off your finger for taking some gas?," Spencer asked. He knew he was supposed to let his mother do the talking. But he was shocked by what the woman had just told him. Michelle nodded. Reg had stopped fiddling with his papers and was staring at her with wide eyes.
Now that the seal of only Deanna talking had been broken by her son, Rick leaned forward and asked, "Did we get most of them? …at the satellite station?"
Michelle looked at him and then looked down, shaking her head. Rick looked like he was about to pepper her with another question but Deanna held her hand up to stop him.
"Can you tell us anything else you feel safe saying?," Deanna asked. It was clear this woman was somewhat willing to cooperate with them. She could always ask her more later. Deanna was worried if they overwhelmed her now she would either shut down or just start telling them whatever she thought they wanted to hear. Deanna knew they needed the truth from her. Not a pack of lies meant to stop their questions.
Michelle looked around the table. The little baby in Michonne's arms stirred, snuggling in closer to his mother. Deanna reached over and placed her hand over her son Spencer's, giving it a gentle squeeze. The truth was, Michelle was beginning to suspect that these were actually decent people. She sat silently, trying to decide what she was willing to say. What she wanted to say.
"The satellite station is just an outpost," she stated. Spencer had heard Paula on the radio calling for backup. So these people already knew there was someone to call. She wasn't really telling them anything they didn't suspect. "The base camp is somewhere north of there. I'm not sure where. That was my first time at the outpost and I didn't see much on the way." Michelle left out the reason she hadn't seen much. It was because her new 'boyfriend' had made her blow him while he drove there. So she hadn't exactly had much of a scenic view. "It was at least an hour's drive. Maybe more." She paused again. Her hands were starting to sweat and she rubbed them on her pants before she spoke again. Then Michelle told the people looking at her the truth. The real truth.
"These people you're dealing with…," she stated, "The saviors. They are worse than you can possibly imagine. There are more of them than you can imagine. Hundreds of them. You have absolutely no chance against them. If I was you I would pack up everything I could and leave now. Head south. As far as you can get. Keep going. Because if you stay here they WILL find you. And when that day comes you will wish you left when you had a chance."
Michelle stopped talking and looked down. No one spoke at first. Then Reg came around the counter and placed his hand on her upper back. He thanked her for her honesty and suggested that she should return to her room upstairs for now. She assumed that meant they wanted to talk without her listening. But Michelle didn't mind. She was grateful for some privacy to think about the new strange turn of events her life had taken. Reg walked her to the same room she had slept in. He disappeared for a moment, then returned with a small stack of paperback books. Michelle took the books and put them on the table next to her bed.
No one returned to check on her for several hours. Michelle couldn't sleep any more. She paced around before she eventually grabbed the one chair in the room and pulled it over near the window. There wasn't a lot to see. Just the houses on the other side of the street and their front yards. She watched people come and go from their homes. Some children ran up and down the street, playing a game of tag. A few large dogs ran among the children. One large brown one seemed to be circling the kids, herding them back towards the group if they started wandering too far away.
A man Michelle was sure she had seen before came walking down the middle of the street. She recognized him easily without the face paint because of his size and his bright red hair. He was armed with a rifle so she assumed he was heading out to perform some sort of guard duty. The children ran when they saw him, latching onto his legs or jumping up and down around him. He stopped and handed his rifle to a blonde woman that had been minding the children from the front porch steps of a nearby home. Then he crouched down. One of the smaller children climbed onto his back. He stood and started chasing the other children up and down the road, charging at them like a bull. The little girl on his back squealed in delight, clinging on to the man with a death grip so tight he finally had to stop and peel her little arms from around his neck. The blonde woman was laughing as she approached and handed him his gun back. Michelle smiled as she watched the man disappear from view.
A sound from the doorway of her bedroom startled Michelle. She had been so engrossed in watching the children play she hadn't even heard the door to the bedroom open. A young man stood in the doorway, clearing his throat to get her attention. He didn't look familiar. The only boy his age that she had seen so far was the boy with the long dark brown hair and the hat. This one had hair that was lighter and had a little wave to it. He was tall and thin and had a gun in his hand. From the way he was holding it, Michelle was sure he wasn't very skilled at using the weapon.
"Deanna sent me," the boy announced. There was an air of false authority to his voice. Michelle nodded. She assumed the boy had been sent to keep an eye on her while she used the bathroom. Maybe he felt this was an important task. Michelle rose and followed the boy down the hall. She turned into the bathroom that she had used before.
"No," the boy barked, "you are supposed to come with me to my house." Michelle paused in the doorway of the bathroom. The boy seemed nervous. He kept shifting his body and glancing towards the top of the stairs. When Michelle didn't move immediately to comply, he added, "Deanna said to move you."
"Is it okay if I pee first," Michelle asked the boy. Something about the situation seemed off. These people seemed nice. But they didn't seem stupid. Michelle found it strange that they had sent a child alone to move her to another location. Once they were outside she could easily overpower this boy and make a run for it. More people must be waiting outside to supervise, she decided.
The boy hesitated, glancing back towards the room she had come from. Then he nodded. Michelle went into the bathroom, shutting the door behind her. She took care of her personal business, trying to decide if she even wanted to make a run for it. She had no idea where she was or how far away the saviors were. And she didn't really want to go back there anyway. That would leave her alone, on the road, not knowing where she was. Maybe staying put was her best bet for now, she decided as she washed her hands.
Michelle stepped out of the bathroom, surprised to find she was standing in the hallway by herself. The boy appeared quickly, stepping out of the room she had been locked in. He pulled the bedroom door shut and locked it behind him. Michelle found this a little odd, since there was no longer any reason for the door to be locked now that she wasn't inside. But she shrugged it off and followed the boy towards the stairs.
The kitchen was empty, the dishes Spencer used to make soup earlier were clean and sitting in a plastic dish rack on the counter to dry. The boy led her out the door and into the backyard of the home. Michelle expected there would be more people outside but the space was oddly empty. There were raised garden beds covering most of the area, filled with herbs and vegetable plants. A small structure was half built off to one side. From the look of it, Michelle guessed someone was building a chicken coop.
"Hurry up," the boy urged. Michelle stopped her observations and followed him. He led her through the backyards of several other homes before turning and taking her between two. The boy motioned for her to wait while he exited the alley. He looked both ways, checking to see if anyone was coming. Then he motioned for Michelle to follow him. She was confused by the boy's behavior. It seemed like he was sneaking around. But Michelle remembered that there were a few men in the group that had wanted to kill her. She thought maybe the boy was just making sure she didn't run into those people.
After walking through a few more backyards, the boy led Michelle through the backdoor of a house. She followed him in. This house was a little smaller than Deanna's. But it was still nice and clean inside. There were a couple folded towels, some combs and brushes, and a small pair of scissors on the table. They passed through the kitchen and down a hall. The boy opened another door by turning the wheel of a deadlock and unsnapping it from a latch. He reached in and turned on the light. Then he motioned for Michelle. She stepped forward, pausing in the doorway when she realized the boy was gesturing her towards a set of stairs. The stairs led into a basement. They were wooden and unfinished and Michelle could see the floor was cement. All her torture nightmares had taken place like this. She didn't want to go into the basement. And the whole situation was feeling more and more off. Michelle was starting to suspect that Deanna had no idea this boy had released her from her room and brought her here.
"I want to talk to Deanna," Michelle announced, taking a step back away from the basement stairs.
The boy moved lightning quick. He was slamming into her with his full weight before Michelle even saw him coming. He pushed her hard, sending her through the doorway and down the basement stairs. She fell forward, her feet still planted near the top step. The crunch of her shoulder and face sounded as she made contact with the wooden steps. She could already taste blood as she felt her feet follow her body, cartwheeling her until she slammed onto the cold cement floor below. The pain came next. Her entire body pulsed with it. But her face, arm and shoulder seemed to be the worst. She began to feel herself drifting out of consciousness. But the sound of the door snapping shut above her pushed her back to reality. She was locked in a basement. Badly hurt. She had to think of a way out.
The boy came down the steps towards her, his movements slow and casual. He stepped over her body, leaning down and looking over her injuries. His hand snaked towards her, poking at her broken collarbone. When she moaned in pain, he licked his lips. The boy stood up and loved back, grasping her by the ankle. The pain increased as he dragged her across the basement floor, leaving streaks of blood trailing behind. Spots of black clouded her vision. Michelle blinked her eyes, trying to stay awake. But the pain was pulling her quickly down into the dark. The last thing she felt was the boy's hands around her throat.
