Chapter 17

Sanctuary was not the prettiest sight on the horizon- a run-down factory that in time would be reclaimed by vengeful nature. Negan sighed happily.
"Home sweet fuckin' home," he said, with a grin towards Rick in the rearview mirror. A vague grunt was the sole reply. "Good thing we found that fuckin' gas. Who woulda thought that my well-fuckin'-trained men wouldn't put enough juice in this baby for a return trip?" Negan chuckled. "Heads'll fuckin' roll, hoo-boy."

He glanced at his next victim: Daryl, scowling out the window. Nothing new. It'd be new if he was sitting there with a bit ol' smile. Scratch that – creepy. "Don't worry Daryl, I will fuckin' raise hell with the dick in charge of this shit-operation."

Silence. Aside from a snore from Kevin that turned into a choking cough.

"Jesus fuckin' Christ. I might as well just drive by myself, you boring fucks."

Negan had…requested in his own special Negan way that both Rick and Daryl accompany him to Sanctuary for the next steps in Operation Fuckin' Rescue (title courtesy of Negan – yeah, yeah, it needed some work. Negan had been a little busy though to work on creative titles).

Rick had not been pleased by the request, big fucking surprise, but maybe it was the nature of the request that was also not so subtly wrapped in threats with a peppering of swearing. The Prick was probably hoping to go back home, change and probably fuck his woman before sleeping and dreaming about whatever it is that smug assholes dream about. Like rescuing a bunch of orphans from a burning building-

Isn't that essentially what you're doing, fuckface? Fuck.

Kevin was still snoring in the backseat – what a useful guard he was. If Negan got a shank to the eye, or strangled somehow from the backseat, at least he could try to kill them all by accelerating and driving headfirst off a ravine. Luckily, for him and them, Rick showed no signs of a prison break, opting only for staring thoughtfully out of the window. Probably plotting heroics. Asshole. At least Daryl looked like he was thinking through Negan's eventual murder.

And the goddamn radio was broken. It had been a much longer trip than anticipated. Negan was irritable, shockingly.

He pulled into Sanctuary, and nodded at all his kneeling minions with the benevolence of Mussolini. Hey, he thought. It's been awhile. Feels good to be shown reverence, especially driving with Asshole 1 and Asshole 2. Daryl shoved Kevin awake, and they began to unload their loot from the school.

Everything looked as it should – little bustling bees going from flower to flower to make food, haul water, and provide resources for the hive. Across the yard, he spotted a cluster of residents – keep an eye out for clusters, especially whispering ones- that kept glancing their way. He have half a mind to go over there himself, but stopped. Better to send Kevin, or some other non-threatening force. They weren't any bees of consequence that he recognized, but he looked at their faces. They noticed him and the cluster broke apart. Yeah, back to fuckin' work.

A confused looking Savior wandered towards him with a face like a slapped ass, calling his name and not using "sir," as explicitly required. Bucky? Benny? Barney?

"Hey, dickwad. They put you on quantum fuckin' physics duties? And say 'sir' or I'll punch your goddamn teeth out."

"Oh! Sorry, uh, sir. No. Radio duty, sir."

No other information. Negan raised his eyebrows, hand outstretched. Jesus, he was going to be here all day. "And?"

"Uh, yeah. Sir. Someone was asking for you. On the radio, I mean. A lady. She's hysterical, sir. Won't talk to me, though. It's been off and on for a few hours now. Sir."

His blood pressure spiked slightly, but he just smiled at Benny/Barney. "A lady, huh? She sound hot?"

He walked, no, it was a stroll first that gradually picked up steam, towards the side entrance to the main building. A lady. Hysterical. Asking for you.

"Says you know her, sir. Her people pulled you out of a jam awhile back at a bar. Sir."

He grabbed him by the collar and slammed him against the wall.

"What else did she fuckin' say?"

Benny/Bucky/Barney's eyes grew big. "Nothing, sir! She wouldn't talk to anyone but you! Said it was an emergency!" He stank like sweat and cigarettes. "Fuck, don't kill me, please! Sir!"

Negan threw open the door and was halfway to the radio room before the asshole could hit the pavement, dazed and shaking his head.

"Hello? Hello?" A tinny voice cut through the radio. Negan barreled into the radio room, and raised an eyebrow at an acne-pocked young man tinkering with some wiring.

"Oh hello, sir, she's been-"

"Get the fuck out." He didn't have the patience to be nicer. The young man obliged.

Negan took the speaking piece to the radio and pressed down.

"Negan here." Best keep it simple.

"Negan?" The voice squawked on the other line. Her. "Prove it."

He chuckled, and leaned back into his chair, putting his boots up on the desk. Mud and flecks of gravel sprinkled onto some important-looking paperwork, but he couldn't give two shits now.

"Let's see – how about your little goddamn cowboy nearly blew my balls off? Your chef cooks a helluva meal, and although I should have been worried for my life, I couldn't help but notice you have a very nice ass."

Silence.

"Ugh, I don't know what I expected. It's Lucy." The radio cut in and out. "You're lucky there aren't any kids in here right now."

"Well, well, well. I've been fuckin' scouring high and low for you, Miss Lucy. You aren't an easy woman to track down." He burst into laughter. "Fuck, I just went to some shitty school to find out where you are, and you were probably on the radio just after we left. Isn't that the shits?"

"That's kind of the point – listen, I'd love to chat and catch up on old times. Or old time, since there really just was the one time we met. But we're in a serious jam. We need help. And believe it or not, you're the only asshole I could think of to call. THAT'S the shits."

Negan couldn't help but smile. He took his feet down and leaned forward onto the desk. "Alright, what kind of jam?"

"We're being… attacked. I refused- no. This group here… ugh. It's a long story, actually. I pissed off the wrong people for the right reasons and now they very likely want to kill me, any of the kids who fight, and kidnap the rest to indoctrinate them into their creepy group. Or they might just take over Littlechapel, hell I don't know. I don't know how much time we have-"

The radio cut out suddenly.

"Lucy? You there?"

He banged the radio a few times. "No, no, no, shit, shit, shit-"

"Sorry, here," her voice finally crackled through the static. "They're coming- bbzzzt- at our gates, at our fences. They brought biters from w- bbzzzt- We need - bbzzzt- you got. Part of the wall is weakening, we have to go - bbzzzt-"

Static. Only static. Negan swore up a storm, slapping the radio a few times for good measure, but nothing else came through. He snatched a piece of paper and pen, and began scribbling notes quickly – a plan. Adapt to the situation, get ahead of it. Get it down on paper. Get a plan.

Usually so careful, he didn't notice that through the light at the bottom of the door- a shadow. Then, after a moment it quietly moved away.

/ / / / /

"Angle it a bit more this way – that's right." Lucy hammered in the final nail to secure an additional post to the looming fence that cradled Littlechapel. It had been one of her first priorities several years ago, and was the pride and joy of the children. It kept them safe, a security blanket. Panels of scavenged wood and metal, posts dug deep into the earth and reinforced with concrete when they could spare it. It kept them busy in those early years where uncertainty clung to them each day like a specter.

Smoke hung heavy in the air, though no fires seemed to glow anywhere. It had been several hours since she spotted the Coven using biter herds as cover, and now the herds tripled in size, battering at the walls and leaving smears of blood and fluid. The sharp smell of pine was drowned out now by death and decay.

The kids patrolled the fence with large poles with makeshift bayonets, or sharpened sticks, taking out the biters slowly. The implements were awkward, and sometimes got caught or fell. They'd decided to buddy up, one would stab down while their buddy held onto them, just in case someone yanked on the stick. So far, it seemed to be keeping them at bay, although the biters were building up somehow. Shambling out of the woods, sometimes they came in clusters, sometimes just a few strays.

Rotting corpses piled up along the fence, though no Coven identified amongst them – which worried Lucy more. The biters were distraction, this she knew.

Some of them had been thwarted by the early defenses, caught up in wire traps or impaled on the half-built spiked trenches. But it wasn't enough – they hadn't enough time.

And the black plumes of smoke on the horizon only seemed to grow in size. No flames- just smoke. The morning sky, usually pleasantly blue and crisp, was instead overcast and grey. The sun was a raging ball of orange-red blazing through the smokey sky.

Lucy paced along the fence with a few others, keeping an eye out for buckling braces or signs of tunneling. She scanned the fences to check on the children occasionally, and noted the hunched shoulders, sweat pouring down their backs. They were exhausted, they all were. It had been two solid days of no sleep for some of them, only little breaks and rests when they could snatch it. The youngest children were in hiding in the kitchens with Cupcake, barricaded against whatever storm was about to come.

Tears stung at her eyes, though whether it was emotion or smoke, she couldn't say. Both, maybe. Probably.

It's not enough. They were getting bested. The Coven had settled in for a siege, and would literally smoke them out, if the biters didn't do the trick first. The living didn't even need to breach the walls, just wait for the dead to do it, or for Littlechapel to break.

Billy was commanding a small group of kids on the wall, quietly dispatching walkers as best they could with long, sharp-ended sticks. He loosened his stick from a particularly tricky biter skull as Lucy gave a low whistle. He turned, and the face she saw wasn't quite the scrappy little boy she remembered. His hat was missing, brown hair stuck up in pieces and others flattened against his head from sweat. When he looked at her, his eyes were dull and tired, though a fierceness still shone through. He slid down from the walkway and lumbered towards her.

"We need to stop," she said.

Billy shook his head. "Hell no, are you kidding me? We can do this."

"We need to rest – if we keep at this pace, we'll all collapse. Some of the kids are brand new to fence patrol, no one's had a real meal. We're all dehydrated-"

He held a hand up. "We know what the hell we're capable of. Look around at this shit." He spread his arms around, and they both glanced around again. "Do you see anyone quittin'? Anyone else sayin' we can't do this? Hell no. Mebbe some of them littler ones need to take more breaks, I give you that."

Lucy's heart was racing, and she felt faint. Maybe it was those caffeine pills. Maybe she was overdoing it herself. Maybe they were fine. Maybe, maybe, maybe.

"Come on, Big Mama," Billy almost betrayed a smile. A weary one, but a smile nonetheless. "Go get a few winks of shut-eye in the old garage, then you can mother hen us to death by making sure everyone's fed and watered. Abby's on that particular duty and driving everyone batty already, she could use a break, but you look like you need one more."

Lucy allowed herself to be led to the old garage, strangely dazed by the boy- no, she corrected herself- the young man's reasoning. He led her like a worn-down workhorse, coaxing her in a soft voice punctuated by the occasional swear and awkwardly patting her shoulder from as far a distance he could manage.

"You're getting taller than me." Lucy yawned. Her bones ached. "You'll be taller than the twins too, I think."

"Well mebbe there is a God after all."

He set her up a cot in the dusty old garage, the ones that the Saviors had slept in not too long ago. She laid her head down and wondered if that hint of leathery musk was from Negan or one of his men. It smelled nice, and Negan looked like the nicest smelling of the bunch, so maybe it was. She felt hot and sweaty, and yet her feet were freezing. Her eyes darted around, unable to relax, and then she realized there was a cool water bottle placed at the foot of the cot. How long had Billy been gone? It felt like he had just left, but she couldn't remember a thing. Everything was disjointed. Did she even fall asleep yet? She just set her head down a minute ago.

You need to get it together.

She gulped down half the bottle and set it aside for later, then put her head back down again.

Here in the old garage, only the dim light from the dirt smudged windows managed to peek through. It was dusty and full of old, unusable equipment. The old boards and sheet metal cracked and moaned, as if the building itself was telling her of complaints and maladies. Though all she wanted to do was sleep, the caffeine pills still buzzed, so she listened for a bit. Smelled the old leather scent on the cot. Buzzing and listening.

And peered at the odd face in the darkest corner. No, not a face, just some bright eyes in the dim light. Was that always there? She didn't remember a mannequin, but there might have been some in the gift shop with ugly sweatshirts with ugly designs. The kids now wore most of the gift shop clothes, so at least they were all ugly together. She almost began to laugh, but she was too exhausted. The eyes became a face, and the face drew a little closer, a soft scuffle on the ground.

Buzzing and listening. Not seeing too well though, her eyes were hard to control, maybe from the pills. They twitched a bit, almost felt like they were shaking. The face – it was there though. In her head or in reality, it was there.

"Who are you?" Lucy whispered, her eyelids heavy finally. Her belly went into fits and tumbles as exhaustion dug claws in and dragged her downwards.

She tried to crank her eyes open and got one more flash of the round face. It was a young one, younger than her but not a child. She too looked tired, worn out.

"You should get some sleep too," Lucy said. "You look like shit."

"Willow," said the face. The voice was low, a little hoarse. "My name is Willow. I won't harm you. Sleep now."

"Hmm."

A rough hand smoothed the hair from her face. Handsome Negan. Maybe it was him, come to save them all. She did radio, after all, even if it died shortly after. Stark would fix it, he was a good kid. Maybe Negan would come.

Girl, you better get a grip. Yeah, you haven't seen a man outside of the Coven creeps in years, but Negan was a blip, the Saviors a blink of an eye.

"Sleep now."

"You…should drink some… water too."

It was nice to hear his voice again, even though they'd only met that brief, fleeting day. It felt good, that hand on her forehead. Her hair being stroked. It felt good.

So did sleep. She was so tired.

/ / / / /

Willow watched the woman sleep. She had slept too, woke up in this building with no recollection of how she got here. Vague images of crawling, crawling, crawling. Darkness. Dirt caked in her fingernails, her hair, everywhere. Pain everywhere, too. Her throat was sore, she had fleeting memories of fingers wrapped around her neck. Pain subsided to ache in most places, but not all. She woke up feeling a little better. She had snuck outside the building to peek around, and found herself in the very settlement her people – no, not her people anymore- wanted to destroy. She stepped on a broken lock outside, the jagged metal dug into her heel but drew no blood. Did she do that? Did she break in, or was it already broken into?

Everyone was busy, and it had been dark. It startled her every time to see mostly children here, although some of them were teetering into those teenage years. She remembered learning in school, before all hell broke loose, that the concept of teenagers was more of a modern phenomenon. A transition period between childhood and adulthood. In olden times it was a narrower trajectory from child to marriage, work, children, labor, whatever. It never felt like a luxury before, raging hormones and raging music and rolling her eyes at her mother and slamming doors. But maybe it was. Maybe it wasn't.

Her thoughts were jumbled, a herd of walkers stumbling over one another to grasp at something slightly out of reach. She stroked the woman's hair some more, and tried to remember again how she got here – nothing. Only after she woke up.

Last night, no one saw Willow creep to a spigot to fill a bucket. A little worrying she was moving around without much alarm, but it worked out for her at least in the moment. Then, with much effort and pain to keep quiet, she hauled it back inside to clean herself off. There were clothes in here too, men's clothes that were far too big, but one pair of pants, worn at the knees and cuffs practically in frays, managed to fit. She'd be winning no beauty contest, but at least she was decent.

She refilled the bottle of water next to the cot, and sipped at it, tired and in pain. Clean, at least. Or close to clean. It had been hours, or maybe minutes, since the door banged open and she heard soft voices. Willow had been poking around on the shelves, looking for things, but quietly backed into the shadows and remained invisible, her handiest skill.

Now she sat next to the sleeping woman, the one who caused her people – no, not her people- so much trouble these past few weeks.

The woman snored softly, almost a purr, and Willow patted her hand.

"I'll help you," she whispered. "I will help you destroy them, before they destroy you."

/ / / /

AN:

I don't normally post long notes as to not break the pace/flow for those of you that read this later. But for those of you who read as chapters are posting, I just wanted to reach out to you in case you are curious about the delay in between chapters. If you don't care, feel free to move along :), I don't blame you!

Thank you all for sticking around for this story – I have no plans yet to abandon and still committed to finishing, even if it may be at a snail's pace. I love and appreciate all the comments, likes, etc. and hope you are enjoying the story whether it's an escape for you, exciting, compelling, interesting, or whatever it is that draws you in and keeps you coming back. It's been a tough few years for everyone, no matter where you are at, and I hope you are all safe and well.

Since I started posting this story, a lot has happened in my life and in the world, the two often intersect despite best efforts. I work in a field highly impacted by the COVID-19 pandemic and went through some major personal changes as well that knocked me down a bit. No excuses, just trying to provide a little context behind why the progress is so slow, when I was a lot more timely with "Don't Try to Wake Me in the Morning."

So stick around, we've still got quite a journey ahead of us. As always, take care and stay safe, my lovelies 33