I'm a prisoner again.
It has been many years since the last time. Since those dreadful, terrifying moments in Terminus where I was almost certain I'd be killed and eaten by a group of sadistic cannibals. Looking back on it, though, that situation was a cakewalk compared to this one. Negan and his men, along with me of course, arrive at the Savior's headquarters by dusk. The sight before me, as we approach it, resembles something out of a classic horror movie setting. The Saviors' home, as it turns out, is a large abandoned factory located off of one of the many side roads weaving in and out of the hilly country just beyond Washington D.C. The factory itself isn't anything worth noting. Aside from the fact that it is seemingly falling apart due to lack of proper care, it looks like every other factory I've seen in my life, specifically an abandoned one I remember being located in my hometown years ago. Instead, it is what is around the factory that draws not only my attention, but my absolute horror.
A herd.
Literally hundreds of undead surround the chain-link fences outside of the factory grounds. Though each of the walkers are still very much "alive", their combined vocals are causing an eerie droning sound to fill the darkening skies, they are held in place by a variety of wooden pikes buried into the ground, piercing their rotting corpses in order to keep them from walking away or becoming a threat to the people living inside. I recall years ago, while still on our trek with Abraham towards Washington, the city of walkers we passed through. During that particular event, Michonne and I had used an old tactic of hers, using harmless walkers as a deterrent to the herd we encountered. I realize then that the Saviors must be trying to accomplish the same thing. Not only do they deter living humans that would want to do them harm, they also prevent herds from overrunning their home by using the walkers outside as a repellent. Its genius in a very sick and twisted manner.
"Ah, home sweet home!" Negan sneers from the front seat as the convoy comes to a halt just inside the gates, passed the sea of walkers. "C'mon, hotshot. I'll give ya the grand motherfuckin' tour."
I don't respond.
I'm not in the least bit amused.
Surprisingly enough, Negan doesn't have me restrained after extracting me from the back of his vehicle. I figure this is just because it is pretty much futile for me to run and he realizes this. Aside from being vastly outnumbered by the other Saviors, the practical ocean of walkers outside the fences didn't bode well for me. Though I resent it, I have no choice but to follow the wicked gang leader and his followers through the factory yard, up a flight of eroding concrete steps, and into the proverbial lion's den. The factory lacks electricity. Not that this matters much. There are tremendously large windows lining the upper portion of the main factory work floor, allowing moonlight from outside to filter through and illuminate the room well enough for myself and others to see. That said, I finally get a good look at the place Negan has been calling home.
Most of the machinery and workbenches that would normally be present in a modern factory have been stripped from this one, replaced by picnic benches, mattresses, and other means of living for the inhabitants here. Other than that, however, the factory remains mostly unchanged. There is a strong scent of rust permeating the air, and, unfortunately, the overwhelming smell of the decaying walkers outside is also drifting in through the building. The combination of the two rancid odors is causing my stomach to knot and churn. This place truly reeks of death. How anyone could live here comfortably is completely beyond my comprehension.
"Pretty nice goddamn set up, ain't it?" Negan inquires of me, enthusiastically gesturing towards his abode. "My Sanctuary."
I'm not impressed.
For my own good, though, I keep my mouth shut. Its bad enough that I'm here. No need to incite Negan's rage by answering him with my real thoughts.
"Not much of a talker, are we?" he jeers at me.
I merely glare at him.
"Well that's just motherfuckin' fine." he goes on. "Because I'm gonna talk to you anyways. Like I said, this is nothin' personal, but your pops has got to learn his fuckin' lesson."
Ah, so the facade is still in place.
I wonder how long I can keep Negan convinced that I'm really Rick's son. As long as he keeps me alive, I have to keep playing that role. The second he suspects otherwise, I'm history, and Carl will be in major danger.
Carl.
The sudden memory of my love, even though it has only been a few mere hours since we last saw one another, causes my chest to throb with a deep pain. His horrified expression when I acted as a scapegoat for him is still burned into my memory. I simply can't shake it. I hate myself for stressing him like this. For putting him in such a tumultuous stage of emotions. But it was simply the only way I saw him making it out of this alive. I won't let him be killed, no matter the cost. I just wish there had been a way to do it without hurting him so much. I wonder to myself what he's thinking right now. Is he scared? Enraged? Grieved? A mixture of the three? To think that he is going through any of those makes me unconsciously clench my fist and grit my teeth. I can only pray now. Pray that Carl remains safe, and yes, a small part of me prays that someone will stop Negan before he does the inevitable and kills me.
I want to see Carl again.
"Don't get too fuckin' angry yet, kid." Negan snaps, noting my change in demeanor. "The fun is only just gettin' started."
Before he can elaborate on his no doubt sadistic plans for me, he is cut off by the arrival of some very surprising guests. Well, surprising for me at least. Five women emerge from one of the doors on the far end of the upper catwalk above the room. Unlike the rest of the Saviors, who appear to be very much the typical ruffians in appearance, these women look very normal, if not just a tad bit timid. Though, who could really blame them? Look at who runs the place. Negan, on the other hand, seems fairly pleased to see all of them, opening his arms to them as if inviting them all to some sort of group hug from Hell.
"Beautiful aren't they?" Negan muses to me, still facing the women above us. "Though, since I have to deal what to do with your stupid ass tonight, I probably won't get around to fuckin' even one of my wives."
My stomach twists.
Just what kind of man is he?
He fits the definition of every cult leader I've ever heard of, before shit hit the fan, right down to the polygamy and yet, at the same time, he also breaks all of those rules. Negan isn't your average psychopath and that's why I find him to be such an unsettling person to be around. Well, you know, besides the fact that he caries a bat wrapped in barbed wire around with him. A flame ignites in the pit of my stomach. One of anger and outrage. He and I clearly have different views on marriage. I'd never talk about Carl in such a vulgar manner. Especially in front of others. From that alone, I know that he doesn't truly love them. Of course he doesn't.
He's just a pig.
A pig that needs to fry.
"But enough of my love life." Negan must really like hearing himself talk, because he continues on. "You're a little too fuckin' feisty for my tastes. See I need to fuckin' break you. If I break you, I break Rick. As much as I truly hate it, you have to bear his punishment. Tonight, you're gonna be our entertainment, asshole."
I wince.
That doesn't sound good.
Sick bastards like him can find a lot of ways to be "entertained". I wonder, as sickness grows in the pit of my stomach, which method he has chosen to indulge me in.
Negan leads me into a room nearly as large as the factory work floor. Like the aforementioned room, the top portion of this room allowed for moonlight to illuminate the darkness, as well as having catwalks wind across the upper levels. More unsettling, however, was the sight of two seemingly bloodstained doors across the room from me. I do not like the vibes those are giving me. Negan quite audibly commands to me to stay put on the lower floor as he and his goons ascend the steps towards the upper catwalks. Well, all accept for one of his goons. I recognize this one from the night of Tyreese's death. A thin man with scruffy facial hair, and little head hair to speak of, but his defining trait was easily the portion of his face that had seemingly been severely burned. Just looking at the injury made me wince in pain. This particular thug cross the room towards the two doors I mentioned, only increasing my anxiety regarding them.
"Me and my boys haven't had a moment to fuckin' relax since your group started fuckin' with things around here." Negan's voice booms from above. "Don't mind us if we get a little goddamn rowdy. We really enjoy these events, ya see?"
Events?
I get my answer almost immediately.
The scarred man yanks open one of the doors he'd come close to and what pours out causes the blood in my veins to freeze. Walkers. Many more than I can count. The thug makes a run for it, clearing the walkers before any of them can grab him, then climbing onto one of the nearby catwalks to join Negan. Its clear to me he's done that before. Anyone else would've been caught and eaten. I don't have time to consider his feats, though. The oncoming cluster of walkers are heading straight towards me. Negan had taken my weapon earlier in Alexandria. I am completely defenseless against them. Well, defenseless in the sense that I am unarmed. However, as it always does, experience kicks in. I've survived this entire apocalypse, minus the last three years, on the road. Part of it by myself and part of it in a group. I know how to deal with walkers, even when unarmed.
The problem is, I'd never dealt with this many at once unarmed.
I'm not about to give up, though.
My body responds to this new threat by immediately switching to fight-or-flight mode. My heart races even as my breathing quickens, a sudden burst of energy filling up every cell in my body. Mind racing for a quick solution as the snarling corpses close in on me, my head swivels in an attempt to search for anything that can possibly assist me. An initial sweep of the room reveals nothing that I can use to aid me, but I am unable to search a second time, because the oncoming horde is finally upon me. My legs begin moving before my thoughts have time to catch up with them. Running is useless, though, as the room is closed off, and I can only run so far before being cornered. Above me, Negan and his goons yell and whoop with pleasure. This is clearly very entertaining to them. Not so much for me. One corpse gets too close, skeletal arms reaching out to seize me, but my reflexes are sharp as ever. Aiming a kick for the monster's rotting chest, my shoe-clad foot catches the cadaver right between its pectoral muscles, sending it reeling back into the crowd of walkers, where it manages to knock over several of its fellow corpses in the process.
The distraction affords me a moment to slip away. And that's when I see it. I hadn't noticed it before because the horde of walkers had obstructed my view. Against the far factory wall sits a rusted pile of steel pipes, likely a fixture of the original factory that the Saviors never saw the need to remove. Each pipe, illuminated by the light of the moon pouring in above them, looks to be about the length of my sword, though they probably weigh a bit more. I break out into a sprint, pushing all of my energy into my legs to propel me forward. Behind me, the walkers continue to pursue, gnashing their rotting teeth with ravenous hunger. My body is moving so fast, I very nearly trip over my own feet as I screech to a halt in front of the pile of pipes. Overhead, several of my spectators boo their disapproval, though Negan doesn't seem the slightest bit concerned at my findings. I seize one of the poles and haul it into my grip.
Like I had suspected, the pole is slightly heavier than my sword, but it isn't anything that will hinder me.
One cue, the first of the dead things reach my position and makes a lunge for my neck. A sickening crunch ensues as I crack the metal pipe against the nearest corpse's skull. My stomach twists as the revolting sight of brain matter and and blood spraying from the wound, even as the walker drops dead, unfolds before me. By this time, fatigue is beginning to crawl into my bones. My body has been in overdrive in a ferocious attempt to help me escape death, but the human body, no matter how amazing, has its limitations, and mine is slowly reaching its own. Gritting my teeth and tightening my grip on my new weapon, however, I push on, dropping another corpse with a heavy swing. The third walker I strike is so fragile, at this point in its decay, that I manage to completely bifurcate it, spilling blood, gore, and intestinal matter onto the smooth concrete floor. With each successive walker that I kill or incapacitate, the whoops and boos from above get louder and louder.
Its almost as though Negan and his men are at some sort of NFL sporting event.
It only serves to intensify my anger.
Exhaustion now grips me powerful, sweat dripping down my face and onto the soiled floor. The horde is thinning but I still have several more to kill and my strength is fast fading. For a split second, I entertain the thought that I could actually die from this. In my mind, I can see it happen; my strength falter, guard dropping in the process, the bite, me turning; probably ending up one of the Saviors' sadistic gate guardians. The snarl of the remaining walkers fills my head cavity as my mind travels to Carl. Carl, who would be unaware of my fate, hoping in vain that he could rescue me, only to find me dead and one of the monsters that feeds on the living.
I can't let that happen.
I can vividly imagine his face. Actually see his heart breaking.
I won't let that happen.
My own heart throbs.
Carl whom I love.
Carl whom I have done everything to protect. The only person in this world I would give up everything I own and love, and then some to make happy and to keep safe. They say love changes a person. I am living proof of that. Originally a loner who wanted nothing to do with love or relationships beyond casual friendships, someone who didn't believe that there was anything else waiting for me in this life other than loneliness and misery, somehow, whether it be by Fate or pure luck, stumbled across Carl in some godforsaken Georgian neighborhood and now I can't seem to even spend a day away from him without missing him to the point of nearly being driven insane. Carl is one of the few people I would never want to hurt and the thought of dying, knowing how much pain he'd be in, is too much for me to bear.
Carl...
I can't allow myself to die.
Carl...!
I won't allow myself to die.
I...!
They're closing in.
I can smell their rotting flesh. See their skeletal silhouettes lurching out of the shadows towards me for the kill.
I... won't..!
"I WON'T DIE!"
The roar that escapes my lips, the back of my throat, echoes throughout the chamber, silencing the Saviors watching me from above. Anger has replaces fatigue and hatred has replaced my draining reserves of stamina. Heat slowly creeps through my veins, causing my skin to flush, my heart to race even faster, and my eyes to narrow. Again I raise the bloodied bar of metal to do combat with the undead. Only this time, my attacks lack grace. They lack precision. My body explodes into action, slamming the metal pipe down as hard as it's strength will allow it into the first cadaver's skull. I don't even wait to see it drop dead to move to the second. My next swing not only obliterates the walker's head, but takes it clean off of its decaying shoulders at the same time, resulting in a gory explosion of blood and brain matter. Another walker falls and then another. When I at last come to the final corpse, I unleash what remains of my fury upon it; knocking the monster down before repeatedly slamming the metal pipe into its head until there was nothing recognizable left of it.
I can feel the results, though I can't see myself.
I'm drenched in blood.
Not that of my own, but that of the endless walkers I have just finished slaughtering. The warm, sticky fluid drips off of me like sweat and tears, but I'm able to ignore it. My rage abated, fatigue once again rushes in to seize its place. Exhaustion hits me like a brick wall and I unconsciously release the metal pole in my hand, letting it clatter loudly to the floor below. My legs soon grow weary of standing, quivering under the demand they carry, and soon I buckle as a result; landing in a pool of walker blood, which only causes more of the decayed ooze to splash up onto my face. At least here on the floor I can take a moment to catch my breath.
Suddenly, however, above me, the sound of clapping resounds in the room.
"Bravo!" Negan's voice echos out. "Bra-fucking-vo! I have to hand it to ya, you're pretty goddamn impressive. I totally expected you to die within the first couple of minutes!"
Amazing.
Just the sound of his voice entices the sleeping rage within me back to the surface, only this time, it comes with slight confidence.
"Go to hell." I hiss angrily.
God, that felt good.
Negan chuckles darkly, "Seems you grew a fuckin' pair as well." he jeers. "Alright boys, I think he's had enough for one fuckin' night. Lock him the fuck up. We'll have some more fun with him in the mornin'."
####
"Kid."
A voice.
"Hey, kid."
On the outside.
"Wake the fuck up."
My eyes are heavy, extraordinarily so, and yet I somehow manage to open them. The room I'm in is small. Only a fraction of moonlight filters in from one of the nearby windows. Truth be told, I don't even remember getting put in here. The last thing I remember, before fatigue took me, was Negan instructing his men to lock me up. I suppose they followed his orders. My vision drifts over to the source of the voice that beckoned me out of my slumber only moments before. Squinting in the darkness to bring the subject into view, I clearly see the source... and remember him. Its the man with the facial scars. One of Negan's top henchman. Not exactly the person I wanted to wake up to. The moonlight casts an eerie glow against his charred and scarred skin. Upon getting a good look at his face, I realize he doesn't seem too pleased to be here with me either.
"What do you want?" I manage to grumble despite my exhaustion.
"Finally awake?" he replies, dodging my question. "Took you long enough."
Irritation is all I can feel at this point.
Exhausted and heart throbbing from the distinct lack of Carl by my side, the least these monsters can let me do is sleep. Seems that isn't going to happen though. This man seems very intent on holding a conversation with me. Otherwise, why bother to wake me up?
"Who are you?" I press.
"Dwight." the man snaps pointedly. At this point, he seems to notice my extreme irritation. "Relax." he chides me. "I'm not here to torment you."
"And what do you call this?" I indicate to my walled prison. The filter that prevents me from smarting off to people, who technically can kill me at any point, has vanished by this point.
"It is what it is." he replies cryptically.
I have to admit, I'm curious.
If he didn't come to torment me, then what else could he possibly want from me?
"I'll ask you again." I say. "What do you want?"
"To learn more about you." Dwight is rather direct. "Can't lie, you fuckin' interest me. That a problem?"
I don't reply.
At least, not immediately.
"What about me could possibly interest you?"
"I was about to tell you if you'd quite fuckin' mouthin' off." Dwight snaps. "None of Negan's prisoners have ever done what you did."
I shoot him an inquisitive glance.
What is he on about? The walkers? I find it hard to believe that anyone who knows how to kill walkers would fail to at least try to fend them off. Nevertheless, I keep my sight trained on him, now interested in what he has to say.
"You fought back." he continues. "Not the biters. I'm talkin' about when you smarted off to him at the end. None of the other prisoners have ever done that. Negan scares them shitless. They think if they just appease him, Negan will let them go in due time." He glares at me. "I think you know differently."
Not particularly.
I was coming off of a sympathetic nervous system response, was morbidly exhausted, and had just escaped death. The combination of the three gave me no regard for Negan's status or capabilities. Of course, my hatred of the man also likely fueled it. Still, I can agree with Dwight's reasoning. Negan isn't the type to let others go if they appease him. He has made it very clear to me today that he enjoys torturing his prey before killing them. This is all simply a waiting game now. Once Negan finds something or someone more amusing than me, he'll kill me. I know that much.
"There's more." Dwight goes on. "I was there when they took you. There when they killed that black guy. Friend of yours, I'm guessin? I know your secret. You're not that Rick guy's son."
My heart stops.
Wha-... How?!
How does he know that?!
I grit my teeth unconsciously, giving me away.
"Relax." he is quick to cut me off. "I'm not gonna tell Negan."
"How did you know?!" I hiss angrily.
Dwight regards me with the closest thing to sympathy I've seen since arriving here.
"I'm gonna tell you a little story." he says. "When shit hit the fan, my wife Sherry and I were livin' in D.C. We made it out before the napalm bombings started and sought refuge in the hills. After that, we survived. I don't know how we did it, but we did. It always came down to food, though, and we could never find enough. That's when Negan found us. Took us in. Sheltered us. Fed us. I fell in with his men, started helpin' out. That's when things took a turn for the worst. Negan demanded that all women in the group be his. In exchange, he wouldn't kill them, and we men would be allowed to stay. I couldn't let Sherry die for somethin' like that. She agreed. We underestimated just how much we'd miss each other, though, and ended up gettin' caught doin' the dirty one day. See these scars on my face? That's what Negan does to those who break his rule."
I wince.
God only knows what Negan did to him to cause that result.
"She's still alive, you know?" Dwight inquires, suddenly seeming distant and thoughtful. "Those women you saw today? She was one of them. Everytime I see her she gives me this look. A look of concern, of sadness, longing, and sorrow. At the same time, though, its a look of love." He glances up and looks me full in the eyes now. "That's how I knew you weren't Rick's kid. That other guy, in the sheriff's hat. He's the one. I saw the look he gave you. It was obvious to me. Same look my wife gives me."
Guilty as charged.
I have to hand it to Dwight, he is pretty observant.
"Why are you telling me this?" I finally manage to speak, genuinely curious.
"You ask too many questions." Dwight chides me. "Tell me. Does he set your heart on fire when you see him? Do you long for his touch even now, after being dragged away for his sake? Are you willing to die here for him?"
His questions strike home.
Is he intentionally taunting me?
Bringing Carl into the mix of a situation like this is not a good way to get on my good side. Though, if I'm honest, he isn't asking me anything I haven't already asked myself a million times already. Of course, the answer to each question is grafted into my soul, but that never keeps me from asking them again and again.
"When I'm with him," I begin, purposely excluding Carl's name, just in case Dwight is baiting me. "My concerns and worries, even in this modern hellhole, evaporate. Just the thought of him ignites the inferno lying only for him within my chest. I miss him, even though we haven't even been apart a full day yet, and even though I know Negan wants me dead. I can't help it. I need to be with him. Its just how I'm wired. That said, I'd be dragged away for him a million times over if it means he's safe. I'm willing to die for him. I'd do it this very moment if it was required of me."
I pause.
A smirk touches my cheeks.
"But I'm not gonna die." I declare. "If I did, it'd hurt him, and I won't allow that. I'm going to get out of here. I don't know when and I don't know how, but even if I have to kill Negan and burn this place to cinders, I'll escape. For him."
Dwight observes me for a moment before chuckling aloud;
"I knew I was right about you." he says. "You're interestin'. No fuckin' question about that."
Unfolding his arms, the Savior slowly crosses the small confined space back to the door. I let him leave in silence. I've said what I need to say, even if it does get me killed later. Dwight stops short of leaving after pushing the door open, stopping suddenly as though a thought has struck him. He silently stuffs his hands into his pocket and holds his position for an instant before turning to face me slightly.
"If I were you." he says gravely. "I'd forget about escapin'."
Without a word more, he steps out of the room.
But he's wrong. I am going to escape, or die trying. No matter what. For Carl, I'll do anything. Now all that needs to happen is for me to figure out a plan. But what? I suppose I'll soon find out.
And with that thought firmly in mind, the door slams shut, and I am alone again.
A/N: I hope you all found that a suitable follow up to the last chapter! I immensely enjoyed writing this one. Especially the last scene, for obvious reasons. New character introduced and he will play an important role coming up! Keep your eye on him! Is he a friend, an enemy, or someone in between? You'll find out in due time, I promise xD hahaha The next chapter will be entirely from Carl's point of view. Unlike the last story (This Cruel Reality), I haven't done any point of view changes, and that is purposeful, but next chapter you shall see everything from Carl's eyes and I promise you, you won't want to miss it! Hope you all enjoyed! Review, comment, follow, and favorite! I appreciate all the support I've received from you guys. Means a lot! :)
On to the reviews!
CindytheSlayer: Thank you! With the prequel story, I was asked the same question, and I answered no, since it was a romance between Carl and Tanner. However, for this story, I have not yet decided. Its about family, so it certainly could happen, but if it does, I want it to happen naturally. I don't want to force them to be a couple, even though I personally think they'd make a great one. So, to answer you more directly, if the story permits it, I will allow it to happen, but if not, I'll leave them as close friends. Michonne is my favorite character, with Carl in close second, so I think she deserves love, but the plot is most important. I want it all to make sense so that you guys will enjoy :) Thank you for you comment and question! It is much appreciated.
IamwhoIam987: Good! That is the reaction I wanted to induce! I'm SO glad you feel that way! :D Its only gonna keep getting better. Thank you for your comment!
Guest: "Poor everyone", that is a fair assessment of The Walking Dead in general xD hahahaha but yes, Tanner is stuck in quite a bind, isn't he? Only time will tell if he makes it out okay! Thank you for your comment!
Thank you all!
See you with the next chapter!
Later!