Fear and Desperation

Chapter 5

Abigail clutched at the side of her leg with both hands, her features twisted in pain as her howls died into choked gasps and whimpered cries through gritted teeth. Looking down at her leg, her stomach twisted in fear at the alarming amount of blood that had already coated her hands and that continued to stain the side of her pants.

"I gotta say, I'm disappointed in you, sweetheart."

Abigail's eyes snapped up once again, moving from the menacing glint of the barrel of the gun to Negan's hardened gaze. That cruel mirth that was ever-present in his piercing eyes had now morphed into something much more sinister and dangerous.

And then that chilling smile swept across his face, slowly reaching the corners of his eyes as he lowered the gun to his side. Negan went to take a step forward, and Abigail scrambled backwards and hastily looked around for the gun that had fallen out of her grasp when he'd shot her. She spied the metal in the grass and rolled onto her stomach to reach out with her bloodstained hand, nearly crying with triumph as she fumbled with the handle and secured her finger around the trigger.

"Don't come any closer!" she screamed as she rolled back over and propped herself up on her elbow, hand shaking as she struggled to keep the gun raised.

To her relief, Negan stopped, but his smile didn't falter, and dread settled heavily in her stomach. His eyes moved from the barrel and then back to her.

"Or what?"

Abigail confidently tightened her grip, but didn't say anything.

"Go on, then," Negan urged in a low rumble, jutting his chin out. "Right between the eyes."

Abigail hesitated but didn't lower the gun. Instead, she bravely held his gaze, sucking in harsh breaths through her gritted teeth. Negan then took another step, and in a fit of panic, Abigail did the unthinkable.

She squeezed the trigger.

And to her horror, nothing happened.

The click of the empty chamber might as well have echoed like a gunshot for all the damage it had now done to her current predicament. She should have been more worried about actually having the gall to pull a trigger on Negan, of all people, as well as the repercussions for doing so; but the shrieking clash of the fight-or-flight sensation only caused her to squeeze the trigger again and again, only to receive that same empty, mocking click in return.

"Oh, Abigail," Negan crowed as he moved to close in on her. She threw the gun to the side and tried to escape, but he was much faster; his hand was quickly fisted in her hair, and she shrieked as he began to drag her toward the shed.

Abigail kicked, screamed, and dug her fingernails into his arm, but the leather of his jacket prevented her from doing any real damage, and her injured leg only made matters worse. Negan's grip was frighteningly strong, almost inhumane as he raised one leg to kick the rusted door open in one swift motion.

It swung open with a resounding crack, and Abigail cried out as she was unceremoniously thrown to the concrete floor, her head hitting the ground with a sickening smack. Horribly dazed, she rolled onto her back, vision blurring dangerously from the hit and the blood loss.

Suddenly, she was off her feet and against a wall, toes barely touching the floor and gasping for air as Negan's hand was firmly around her neck. Her vision swirled once more, stomach clenching as the remnants of her breakfast threatened to return for a second round. Her eyelids fluttered, and she could feel Negan's hot breath ghosting over her cheeks.

"While I'm impressed that you had the balls to pull a fuckin' trigger on me, that little stunt of yours still shows me that you're not on board, Abigail. And I can't have that, now can I?"

Abigail struggled to breathe, hands coming up to claw at his own, but the blood loss made her pathetically weak. Negan adjusted his grip on her neck so his fingers grasped her chin while still cutting off just enough air supply.

Negan brought his face closer. "Do you know why I shot you, Abigail?" he asked in a low voice, using his fingers to angle her chin toward him as her head lolled to the side.

"Because it's the way you look at me; you've still got that same, damn look in your eye. Don't get me wrong, sweetheart – it's why I kept you alive in the first place, but I thought that by now the fundamental fact that you are mine, and that I own you, would have sunk in."

Abigail tried to speak, but her strength was slipping. Her leg was beginning to grow horribly numb, her own blood still warm against her leg, the wound still yet to clot.

"I can't take you back knowing that you aren't ready to co-operate. However, it would be a damn shame to waste a potentially valuable asset such as yourself. See, doctors are hard to come by these days, and I need all the people I can get. Do you understand that?"

Abigail managed a nod, but she gasped as he only tightened his grip.

"Here's the thing – I don't think you do," he growled, eyes fierce as he willed her to hold his gaze. "I can still see it – even as you're bleeding out all over the fuckin' floor, you're still lookin' at me like that, and as I said, I simply can't have that."

Negan then reached behind him and pulled the gun from the back of his pants. Abigail's eyes widened in horror, but she was still too weak to move. She shut her eyes and whimpered as the cool metal of the barrel was pressed underneath her jaw.

"But lucky for you, I don't enjoy killing women."

Abigail flinched as the gun went off three times, ears ringing at the proximity. She opened her eyes to see the gun pointed in the direction of the open door.

"As for men," he laughed, shoving the gun back into his pants, "I could waste them all fuckin' night – but at the end of the day, Abigail my dear, you have yet to show me that you're really ready to co-operate."

Negan suddenly released his grip, and Abigail crumpled to a heap on the floor, crying out as she landed on her injured leg, clutching her throat as she coughed and sputtered. Too weak to hold herself up, Abigail used the last of her strength to lean herself against the wall, leg stretched out.

"You have until sunset to get me my gun and drag your sorry ass back to the Sanctuary, and then we will see if you're ready to co-operate," Negan bit out as he headed toward the door, Lucille coming to rest on his shoulder. He then stopped and slightly turned his head to address her once more. "Do not keep me waiting," he added in a low voice, tone thick with venom, "because I will find you, and I will kill you."

Abigail watched as he passed over the threshold and disappeared back into the backyard, and she let her head fall back against the wall as she sighed in defeat.

"Oh, and by the way," he called back to her, "you'd better get moving. Those dead pricks ain't gonna stop themselves!"

Her eyes shot open, terror flooding her veins as the realization quickly dawned on her – those gun shots weren't a warning, they were to draw in the undead.

But before she could blink, two of the undead suddenly appeared in the doorway, hands outstretched as they lumbered closer, snarling and gurgling at the scent of fresh blood.

Get up, get up, get up!

With a desperate cry, Abigail pushed herself against the wall and launched for the closest, hands coming to grasp its face as she drove her thumbs into its sockets. It hissed and attempted to scratch her, but she twisted their bodies as they tumbled to the ground and landed so her knee drove into the side of its skull, her weight effectively crushing it with a sickening crack.

The second took a swipe at her, narrowly missing her face, and Abigail scrambled backwards, eyes searching for something to defend herself with, the searing pain in her leg overshadowed by the adrenaline pumping through her veins.

Abigail spotted some tools hanging on the far wall, and with a swift kick of her good leg, she sent the second undead to fall backwards, which effectively bought her some time. With a groan, she stood once more and hobbled over to the wall, pulse quickening as she could hear more of them closing in on her.

In her daze, Abigail grabbed the nearest object – something heavy with a long wooden handle – and used her body weight to swing the tool outward, the dull object connecting with the second one with a satisfying thud, and it was sent to the floor. Gripping the wooden handle with both hands, she dropped to her knees, bringing the heavy end of the tool down on its head with a crack.

Keep moving… get up… can't let them in…

Abigail needed to get to the door and barricade herself inside so she could tend to her leg immediately, lest she bleed out – which she guessed would be only mere minutes. With every move that she made, every step and every twist, the clotted blood would begin to leak again, causing her to lose even more blood and her vision to blur dangerously. And despite her extensive medical knowledge, Abigail knew that she wouldn't be able to move around much longer, and that if she didn't stabilize the bleeding quickly, she was going to die.

With a grunt, Abigail used the wooden weapon to steady herself as she stood to her feet once more and limped toward the shed door. Another handful of the undead were getting closer, but with a quick succession of steps, the door was closed, and to her relief, there was a heavy latch which could lock the door from the inside.

Once the latch was secured, Abigail sunk to the floor, panting and bordering on unconsciousness. Her vision was blackening, and her breaths were growing more shallow by the second. The undead were pounding against the metal door, their collective weight making the small shed shudder under the impact. If she didn't hurry, and if enough of them pushed against the walls, the whole thing would soon come down.

Wiping the sweat from her forehead, she spared a glance down at her leg.

"Fuck… oh fuck, fuck…" she groaned, stomach dropping. "Shit…"

Her left pant leg was absolutely drenched in blood – so much that it made her stomach churn. The material clung to her skin, and Abigail briefly hesitated in reaching for the singed hole where the bullet had torn through; she'd lost much more blood than originally anticipated.

With a sharp tug, she threaded her fingers into the tear and ripped the bottom half of her pant leg off, twisting it around her hand before securing it over the wound in a tight knot; the blood that had soaked into the material would effectively hold the knot in place until she got somewhere safe. The bullet was still submerged in her flesh, but she hadn't the resources to remove it safely.

She needed to administer proper medical attention, and there was only one place she knew that had the proper equipment.

"Son of a bitch…" Abigail spat, covering her face with her hands.

If she wanted to live, Abigail had no choice but to return to the Sanctuary. But she knew that if she returned, there would be no telling what Negan had planned for her. And if she didn't return, she was going to bleed out and die – and that was if Negan didn't find her first.

The shed suddenly shook, startling her. There had to be at least ten to fifteen of the undead pushing on that door, she guessed, and it would only hold for so long before their noise would attract more of them. Abigail choked out a sob of frustration, and then another, balling her fists and furiously rubbing at her eyes, chest burning hot with screams that she willed to keep in.

But she couldn't give up now – not after how hard she'd fought to stay alive. She may be bleeding out, trapped in a shed by the undead, and was at least an hour's walk from the Sanctuary, but she would be damned if she was going to let it end this way.

Blinking through the tears, Abigail looked to the ceiling and took several deep breaths.

You can do this… just breathe, she told herself.

Another shudder followed by the groan of buckling metal brought Abigail back to reality as she saw the walls begin to bend and bow underneath the weight of the undead.

If she didn't escape now, she was done for.

With great effort, Abigail slowly pulled herself to her feet. Black spots danced across her vision, but she pushed on, moving to the wall where she'd found her earlier weapon that she'd used to defend herself from the two undead that now lay lifeless on the concrete floor.

She braced her shoulder against the wall, granting her injured leg a brief rest as she looked for something sharp and light enough to both use and carry with her.

Near the top of the wall hung a curved, rusted blade – but with no handle. Below it was a hammer; too risky to use since the curved head could easily become wedged in one of the undead and unable to be removed. There were other tools, such as wrenches, and a lot of empty spaces where other tools once hung, as well as a reel of fishing line.

Reaching for the rusted blade, hammer and fishing line, Abigail used the string to tie the rusted blade to the end of the hammer, even going as far as to tear her other pant leg off and securing it around the junction where the blade was attached to the hammer.

The noise of the undead grew louder still, and Abigail knew she only had minutes before the backyard would be overrun with them.

Tapping the blade against the ground, the knot appeared to hold tight. Moving over to the two undead, she sunk the blade into the nearest one's head, satisfied in the easy way it sunk into its flesh. She pulled it back out, and it came away with ease, the weapon still intact.

Abigail turned towards the latched door, heart hammering hard in her chest as the raspy cries and scratches of the undead turned into a rushing sound in her ears. She was damn near terrified, and possibly quite close to death, but it was now or never.

The night was quiet; not a damn thing out of place as the breeze caressed the leaves of the trees as if touching a lover, and the warm air of the night as calm as the breathing of a newborn infant.

And he hated every fucking second of it.

His nerves were practically ablaze, the anticipation churning hotly in his gut. His fingers curled and uncurled around the handle of his precious Lucille in impatience. He tapped her once, and then twice against the pavement, eyes fixed on the darkening distance, searching through the stillness.

"You think she'll show up?" Simon asked gruffly, folding his arms over his chest as he came to stand beside him, face twisted in doubt.

I know she will.

Oh, yes, Abigail would definitely show up – that he knew for sure. There was no doubt in his mind that he would soon see that pretty little thing drag her beaten and bloodied ass back to the Sanctuary – back to him. Their little… confrontation back in the shed practically cemented that fact even before she would come to realize it herself. It was that look in her eyes, he knew; the particularly defiant one that she didn't even know she had that told him just as much.

Negan let his tongue dart out to give his lips the faintest of licks. He hadn't expected her to be so damn resilient, especially given the way she'd pathetically thrown herself at his feet that night, and nor did he expect her to so blatantly disregard his authority and risk her life to save that woman's infected leg.

"We got a live one!"

Negan straightened up ever so slightly, eyes coming to rest on a dark figure that came lumbering from within the trees.

"Hold your fire," he commanded, walking toward the gate.

Silence fell once more, and through it could be heard the dull rasping of one of the undead. Negan watched as it came closer, feet dragging against the asphalt. As it neared, his lips curled into a sneer.

He then raised his hand, and watched as it was brought down with a single shot that was barely a whisper.

Negan swung Lucille onto his shoulder, wringing his fingers around her handle once more, the leather of his glove crinkling underneath the pressure. Anticipation made his balls itch, but the wait would certainly be worth it.

While he enjoyed watching her squirm underneath his thumb, it was only a taste of what he had in store for her once she would walk back through that gate. Defiance was something he could only tolerate for so long. Hell, he wouldn't deny the perverse enjoyment he received in watching that spark ignite, but what he enjoyed far more was watching them break.

Typically, it didn't take much to break a person – once you knew their weaknesses. Negan was fairly adept at reading people, and knew just which buttons to push, which raw nerves to expose, in order to watch their defiant spirit eventually crumble underneath his touch. Oh, yes – he would enjoy slipping through the cracks in her fragile exterior, and he would most certainly relish in getting under her skin and enjoy breaking her from within.

"Sir, another one!"

Negan watched as another figure emerged. He squinted, hard; the growing darkness making it difficult to identify any familiar features. That same limp was there, as was the sluggish movement the undead often exhibited, but something about it was… off.

The familiar click of the safety broke his train of thought, and as one of his men shouldered his rifle, it was then that he saw the bloodied weapon clutched in its hand.

A single shot pierced the air, narrowly missing her with a sharp twang.

"Hold your fire, god damn it!"

Negan marched toward the front gate, nose coming within a hair's breadth of the bars, the anticipation in his gut churning excitedly.

She was barely recognizable underneath the blood that bathed every inch of her skin in a delicious coat of deep cherry red. He watched her shuffle closer, head hung low, her steps short but nevertheless determined, and he licked his lips once more as they peeled back into a smirk.

Abigail was mere feet away now, and he swallowed thickly as she let the weapon slip from her hand and land with a harsh clatter on the asphalt. Her hair clung to her face and neck in a way that reminded him of a woman in the throes of passion, and he could barely contain his triumph as she edged ever closer.

Slowly, she raised her hand and her footsteps came to a halt, her fingers curling around one of the bars as he intently watched the other hand reach around to the back of her pants.

The familiar glint of metal winked up at him as she let the gun unceremoniously fall to the ground, the harsh clang of metal effectively breaking the otherwise palpable silence that engulfed all who were present.

And then, she looked up at him.

And he saw it.

Underneath the blood and through the dirt and grime was that same brave flicker defiance that screamed and glistened fiercely behind her eyes. While she appeared to be moments from passing out and perhaps minutes from death, she was not broken – not yet at least.

And never in his life had Negan ever looked so forward to destroying something.

"Welcome back, sweetheart."

So, Negan ain't fucking around, am I right? I hope you all enjoyed a little taste of his point-of-view – it comes as a gift to you guys since I'm only able to post one update this week. The combination of a lack of Negan in this week's episode coupled with the homework I must do really puts a damper on my muse.

Lastly, I'd like to thank a few special people for their unwavering support thus far – the first is AylaWilson16 for fangirling and helping me with my ideas; ZombifyMeCapn for her consistently helpful reviews, and the ever-so-lovely guest reviewer BananaChips who seriously needs to make an account so I can thank him/her properly for their lengthy and sweet-as-sugar reviews!

As always, leave your thoughts behind!