I was sitting in an old recliner in the corner of Philip's bedroom watching Negan as he slept. He had been out for hours, and I was gripping my knife in my hand, waiting for him to turn. I had to be ready for anything, but the idea of seeing him become one of those creatures had me on edge. His chest continued to rise and fall, but I knew there was a chance he might stop breathing and never wake up.
The adrenaline rush from fighting the walkers wore off almost as fast as it came, and it wasn't long before I was struggling to stay awake. Deciding I would just rest for a little bit, I leaned my head on the arm of the charm and closed my eyelids briefly.
The next thing I knew, there was a loud growl coming from right in front of my face. My eyes flew open to find Negan had turned into a pale, dead-eyed walker, and he was on top of me. I tried to scream, but no sound came out as he bit into my shoulder blade. I panicked and went to grab my knife, but it was gone. I tried to push him off with all my might, but his teeth tore into my skin and blood sprayed out, painting us both in a sticky coat of red.
Sitting up startled, I discovered I had drifted off to sleep. A candle was gently flickering next to me on a small table, and I was in the same recliner as my dream. I had been keeping an eye on Negan—the real Negan, who was laying in Philip's old bed where he was currently staring at me in the dimly lit room.
"You're awake," I said in a low voice, getting up from the chair to go over to him.
Negan shifted a little bit and his face scrunched up as he winced.
"Don't move," I ordered, sitting down on the edge of the large mattress and by his leg. "You've been shot."
"Fuck." Negan groaned and laid his head back on the pillow, shutting his eyes.
I stared at him for a few minutes in silence. When he didn't open his eyes again, I reached out to touch his arm.
"What happened?" I asked, gently squeezing his limb. I couldn't let him fall back asleep. Not until I had answers. "I need you to talk to me, Negan. Why were you shot?" I had been waiting hours for him to wake up. He wasn't getting out of this. Not after everything I had done to keep him alive.
When he finally met my gaze, he stared at me for a few long moments.
"Derek?" I guessed. I knew it had to be, but I wanted to know the exact details.
"Can I have some water?" Negan asked. I reached over to where I had already prepared a glass and handed it to him. He tried to sit up, but his body trembled in pain and he collapsed back onto the pillows. I carefully placed a hand on his back and helped him to sit up while he cussed the entire time. Once he was propped up, he chugged the water gratefully, and some of it trickled down his mouth. I stared at his bare chest and the bandage we had created with duct tape. Negan glanced down at the criss-crossed tape and let out a dry chuckle.
"Thanks," he mumbled, finishing the water. I took the empty glass from him and set it on the table, and then went right back to it.
"What the hell happened?" I asked again.
Negan took a few deep breaths and then looked across the room at the dark wall.
"He ambushed us."
I waited for him to continue explaining, but he narrowed his eyes to glare off into space. The confirmation that it was Derek who shot him shouldn't have come as a surprise, but it still hit me like a ton of bricks. As I stared at Negan's injured body, I realized Doveport was now in a difficult situation. Negan was under our roof. If Derek came looking for him, we would be in huge trouble.
"I went to go get my stuff from the Mallrats and they were waiting for us outside. I knew he had something planned, but I never thought he'd have the balls to fucking pull that shit." Negan tried to sit up again on his own, as if testing his pain, and when he was unsuccessful, he let out a frustrated groan.
"That fucker killed my men and shot me while I was retreating."
"You crashed into the gate," I explained. "The Savior that was with you is dead. You were unconscious, and we got the bullet out, but we don't have many medical supplies. I've been waiting for you to wake up so you can tell me how to get to the Sanctuary so we can get Dr. Carson and-"
"No." Negan cut me off and I frowned at him.
"Negan, you need help. That wound can get infected." I didn't understand why he wouldn't tell me where the factory was. Negan always made me wear a black bag going to and from the Sanctuary, so I had absolutely no idea how to get to it. If we could go there, we could at least get some supplies to patch him up better. For all I knew, he needed stitches and someone to properly clean the wound.
"Forget it, Elle." He closed his eyes in an attempt to drop the subject.
"You came here and trusted me to save your life, but you won't trust me now?" I asked in a quiet voice.
Negan opened his eyes and gave me a stern look.
"I was on my way home when my men radioed and said there was an attack at the factory. Someone's been scouting out the Sanctuary and is hiding in the nearby woods, waiting to pounce. If they see you go there, they'll get suspicious."
"So send Eric! Or Ryan. We can use your radio and set up a rendez-vous." I hadn't even seen his radio and assumed it was still in the truck—the truck that was still parked outside the gate. My stomach turned as I realized it had been out in the open for hours. I hoped like hell Derek hadn't seen it.
"It's too risky. I just need to rest a little bit." Negan turned his head on the pillow still with his eyes closed.
"It's a gunshot, Negan. You need more than a nap. You need pain medication…"
And then I realized why he wouldn't tell me where the Sanctuary was.
He was trying to protect me from my addiction.
He didn't want me bringing in the opiates because he didn't want me using them. It was the last thing on my mind, but at the forefront of his.
He was trying to protect me.
"Stop being stupid and tell me where the Sanctuary is. Doveport doesn't have what you need, and I'm not going to let you die just because you're worried I'll take some pills."
Negan didn't respond.
"Negan!" I half shouted, and suddenly his hand shot out to grab mine. He squeezed it tightly, but his expression was hard.
"I'll be fine, Elle. You don't need to worry so much." His stern look dissolved into a softer one and he smiled a bit. "It'll put hair on my chest."
I gave him an unimpressed look and he took a deep breath. I could tell he was hurting, but the aspirin we had wasn't going to make much of a difference for a gunshot wound. He yawned and then gestured towards the cup with his head.
"Could use some more water, though. And something to eat. You people have room service? Or any liquor?"
I shook my head and stood up from the bed. He wasn't going to tell me where the Sanctuary was, and we were going to have the make do with what we had.
Leaving the room, I realized what this meant for Doveport. We were harboring Negan from Derek, and it was only a matter of time before we'd be caught. The truck was still outside, and we needed to dispose of it; plus the walker bodies were still littering the ground outside the gate.
As I exited the bedroom, I found Eric waiting for me in the hallway. He was leaning against the wall, and he looked exhausted. We had worked well together fighting off the walkers, and I was really thankful for him. He had been so organized about the whole situation, and not a single Doveporter got injured. I gave him a thin smile as I closed the door.
"He's awake?" Eric asked.
"Yeah. He said it was Derek. Greenbrier ambushed the Saviors."
"Shit." Eric brought a hand to his face and sighed deeply. "I figured as much."
"The truck is still parked out front. We need to get rid of it along with the dead walkers." I let out a yawn and glanced at a clock on the wall. It was about 2:00am, and we both looked like we could use some sleep, but we were far from being out of the woods.
"I'll take care of it," Eric reassured me. "I'll just move the walkers into the trees. We'll drive the car as far away from here as we can. But what about the gate?"
"Huh?" I didn't understand what he was getting at.
"The gate's busted. Derek's gonna notice. What do we do about that?"
I hadn't even thought that far ahead. My brain felt like it was completely fried, but Eric was right—we needed to have an explanation for what happened to the gate.
"We could crash our car," I suggested. "If we damage the front, we could tell Derek that we crashed into the gate when we got overrun by walkers."
"It's worth a shot." Eric stretched a bit and glanced down the hallway. "I'm gonna get Ryan to come help me. You gonna stay with Negan?"
"Yeah. He's hungry, and I figure if he's eating that's a good sign. He said there should be a radio somewhere in the truck. Can you get it for me?"
"Of course." Eric nodded and then reached out to place a hand on my shoulder. "We'll be okay, Elle. I don't think Derek would hurt us, even if he finds out we're hiding Negan here."
"I hope you're right." I didn't feel as confident about that as Eric did.
Once Eric disappeared down the hall to get Ryan, I made my way to the kitchen. We had managed to stockpile quite a few vegetables, so I placed a whole assortment on a plate, not knowing which ones Negan liked. After filling up another glass of water, I carried the food to Philip's old room—which was now Negan's.
I didn't bother to knock and entered inside to find Negan had dozed off. I set the plate down on the nightstand and went back over to the recliner. I didn't know what to think. Derek could show up any minute looking for Negan, and we didn't exactly have him well hidden. He was in no place to fight, and Doveport might have been able to handle a few walkers, but we were no match to take on Greenbrier.
Even with all my worry, it wasn't long before I fell into a dreamless sleep.
When I woke up, I could see light shining through the windows in the bedroom. I sat slowly and my line of sight fell upon an empty plate and glass sitting on a little wooden table across the room from me. Then I glanced over to the bed where Negan was asleep. I was glad—he was gonna need all the rest he could get.
Sneaking out of the room as quietly as possible, I went out into the hallway to find it was empty. The clock on the wall said it was close to noon, and I headed over to the front doors. I could see the gate was still shut and wasn't able to tell if the truck was gone yet or not, but I trusted Eric to have taken care of it. Derek could show up any minute, and we needed to be ready for him.
Then I noticed our little car parked off to the side. The entire front was smashed in and the windshield had a huge cracked line running through it. I couldn't help but smile at the sight—Eric had crashed the car to make it look like it had ran into the gate and not Negan's truck. I glanced around the yard for any sign of life when I heard someone cough from down the hall.
Following the noise, I entered the cafeteria to find Doveport had gathered for lunch. Right away I noticed Eric was sitting next to Amy, and Vivienne was dishing up some oatmeal for everyone.
"Elle!" Amy greeted me. She didn't get up but gave me a warm smile. "How's he doing?" she asked.
"Negan's fine. He's asleep." I grinned back at her and then faced Eric. "How'd it go last night?"
"Ryan and I ditched the truck a few miles from here. I crashed our car into the back wall, and we moved all the dead walkers into the forest." As he spoke, I noticed he had a huge bruise on his forehead. "I wasn't able to get out of the car in time, so we can just tell Derek I'm the one who crashed the car. Oh, and here." He reached out to hand me something and I took it from him. It was Negan's walkie-talkie. "I put his baseball bat in the bedroom."
"Thanks, Eric. Thanks, Ryan." I nodded at both men. "No sign of Derek?" I asked.
"Not that we know of. That truck was out there for quite some time, but you'd think he would make a move sooner rather than later."
"Negan said Derek has a man watching the Sanctuary," I explained. "Maybe they think he made it home? It could buy us some time."
"What exactly happened?" Vivienne asked, setting her spoon into her bowl.
"Derek shot Negan. And if we can take Negan's word for it, he said Greenbrier killed a ton of his men."
"Oh god…" Vivienne stared down at the table in worry. "So what do we do now?"
"We're gonna tell Derek we don't know where Negan is," I said firmly.
"So we're gonna lie?" Vivienne asked, giving me a stern look. She didn't appear to like the idea.
"That, or we turn Negan over to Derek," Amy said. "And we can't do that."
"Why not?" Ryan asked, furrowing his brow. "Negan killed Seth. He's put all of our lives on the line countless times. Why the hell are we helping him now?"
"He saved us from Caleb," Amy said, giving Ryan a critical look. "He helped Elle. We can't throw him under the bus now."
"He burned a guy's face in front of us, Amy. Or did you forget that already?" Ryan narrowed his eyes at her.
Amy let out a frustrated sigh. "If we turn Negan in, that means the Saviors come after us. They'll kill us all. Derek hasn't hurt us. We just need to talk to him and he will understand. We never wanted to get in the middle of this."
"But we are," Eric mumbled. He was staring at his wife and I could see he was also worried. We all were. We had to make a decision, and it could ultimately determine Doveport's fate.
"Well we already know how Elle feels," Ryan muttered under his breath. I frowned at him.
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" I raised my voice in defense at what he was suggesting.
"We all saw you kiss him. You're biased towards Negan, but Derek and Charlotte haven't given us a reason to not trust them. I think that when Derek comes here we should just be honest with him. Lying has never worked out well for us."
As much as I hated to admit it, Ryan was right. Every time we had lied, it had only gotten us into hot water. I was biased towards Negan because I was growing close with him. I cared about him, much more than I cared about Derek and Charlotte—but I still cared about them too. Glancing around at everyone's faces, I had no idea what we were going to do.
"Show of hands, who wants to give Negan to Derek?" I asked, choosing to take a more diplomatic path on handling things. Ryan's hand went up immediately, and I glanced around.
No one else raised their hand.
"I think we should allow Negan to heal and then he can return to Sanctuary. Then they can fight it out amongst themselves," Eric said, running a hand through his brown hair and avoiding Ryan's gaze.
"I agree. We help Negan and if Derek comes here looking for him, we offer to help him too. We just don't let him into the school. They usually stay out in the yard anyways," Amy pointed out.
"Viv?" I asked, turning my attention to her. She had become unusually silent. She didn't look up from her half-eaten bowl of oatmeal and took a deep breath before answering me.
"Negan and Derek have both done a lot for our communities, and we've helped them too. Doveport is neutral ground, and I think in order to remain neutral, we can't turn Negan over. I vote he stays here. At least until he's healed."
I nodded and then glanced up to Ryan. He was staring right at me and then lowered his hand.
"Maybe you guys are right. I don't know. I'm just scared." He stared down at the table as he spoke.
"We all are, honey." Vivienne reached across towards him and took his hand into hers. "But we're alive. We didn't get this far for nothing. If we help Negan now, he'll owe us. And having that man owe us something is worth telling a little lie."
I didn't like the sound of that, but Vivienne was right. Negan would owe us for this. We had risked our lives—we were still risking our lives to keep him safe. We had fought off countless walkers and now we were preparing to lie to our friends.
Still, I didn't feel like the reason I was helping Negan was so that he would owe us a favor in the future. I wanted to help him because I wanted to help him.
"I'm gonna go check on Negan," I said, turning to go.
"Wait, Elle. Why don't you stay and eat some oatmeal?" Vivienne gestured at an untouched bowl next to her.
"It's okay. I'm not that hungry."
'Nonsense. At least take it with you. If you don't want it, Negan can eat." She picked up the oatmeal and held it out across the table towards me. Taking it into my hand, I smiled down at her and then exited the cafeteria.
As I entered Negan's room, I noticed he was awake again. His eyes went straight to the bowl and I held it out towards him.
"It's oatmeal," I muttered as he took it from me. "I just spoke with the others and we're prepared to lie to Derek if he shows up. Oh, and here." I handed him the walkie-talkie. He took it into his free hand and stared down at it for a few moments before looking up at me.
"Thanks, Elle," he said with a small smile. "I knew I could count on you."
Doveport was on edge as we anticipated Derek would come any second, but he didn't. I half expected him to attack us in the middle of the night, but as each day passed, there was no sign of Greenbrier.
Negan's wound actually started to heal after a few days. The punctured skin turned pink and started to close up a bit. It took quite a few arguments, but eventually Negan agreed to set up a conversation over the radio to talk with Dr. Carson concerning the gunshot wound.
Carson couldn't be absolutely certain, but after talking with Vivienne and me, he guessed by the amount of blood and the fact Vivienne was able to remove the bullet with a simple first-aid kid that it hadn't been a point blank shot. Negan said he remembered feeling the bullet strike him when he was retreating towards the truck, and Carson surmised that it may have been a ricochet. He pointed out that if the bullet had hit bone, Negan wouldn't be able to move his arm at all, and Vivienne probably would have seen fragments when removing the bullet. He offered to come to Doveport and assess the gunshot wound better, but Negan refused to let him. Carson said that the wound would need to be closed to ensure Negan didn't tear the healing skin, and asked if we had anything to patch him up.
Amy went to the arts and crafts department and actually managed to find some supplies, including some thread and a needle. We were able to stitch the wound closed, after cleaning and drying it thoroughly. Negan was eager to get the duct tape off him, though he wasn't exactly in high spirits. He was still in a lot of pain, and the aspirin barely helped.
I continued to ask him to give me directions to the Sanctuary, but he turned me down every time I brought the idea up. As if he was trying to prove me wrong about needing them, he started getting up and helping himself. He would slowly make his way down the hallway towards the bathroom or the kitchen, and refused to accept my help, using his baseball bat as a makeshift cane. I told him there was no need for this tough guy routine, but he seemed determined to do things on his own.
So after a full week, Negan seemed to be doing a little better. Part of me was happy he was in our care, because that way I could keep a close eye on him. I just wished he would let me get Carson, because we couldn't be one-hundred percent sure he was totally okay.
Negan was using some of the clothes Derek and Charlotte gave us from the mall, including a pair of grey sweats and a plain white t-shirt. His old clothes had been sitting in a pile on the floor since he had come to Doveport, and it was late into the afternoon one day when I decided to do laundry. Moving into the bedroom quietly, I noticed Negan appeared to be in a deep sleep. He was constantly napping, and I was glad. I needed him to get better.
Picking up his clothes, I noted the stained blood on his leather jacket and the hole in his t-shirt where the bullet had torn through. I studied the tear for a few moments before standing up and heading towards the door.
"Doing laundry?" a sudden voice caught me off guard and I turned towards the bed where Negan was sitting up and watching me.
"Yep," I answered, holding up the pile for him to see. "Figured I'd try to get the blood stains out."
"Ha! Good luck with that." Negan smiled at me. "And thanks, Elle."
"You're thanking me a lot these days," I mumbled, opening the door to head out into the hallway.
"Well then I take it back!" Negan called after me in a teasing voice.
"Get some rest," I said over my shoulder and headed towards the bathroom. The school didn't have a washing machine, but we used the shower to clean clothes and then hung them outside to dry. Knowing Derek might show up, I decided it would be a good idea to just hang the clothes up in the locker room.
After preparing a bucket with soapy water, I dunked the t-shirt into the water and scrubbed at the bloody stains. After about ten minutes of washing the garment, I realized the shirt was a lost cause and hoped Negan would be okay if I just tossed it. I knew he wouldn't feel the same way about his beloved leather jacket, and so I spread it out on one of the benches in the locker room and prepared to clean the blood stains from it.
I was flattening the jacket out when my hand brushed over a round object in the left-hand pocket. Curious, I reached into the deep pouch and pulled out a tiny white ball.
I recognized it immediately.
Sitting in the palm of my hand was a familiar ping pong ball—the same ping pong ball Negan and I had used from our game months back—back when he had brought me to the sporting goods store and I had found the same ball and negotiated that Doveport would only give supplies every other week. It had been my prize, but I had given him the ball back as a gesture of goodwill.
Squeezing the round object in my hand, I stood up from where his jacket was laid out and left the room.
I needed answers.