Chapter 2
"Well, well, well. Aren't we lucky ducks that you kids showed up?"
The Kid's face could have stepped off a Clint Eastwood western, all scowls and squinted eyes. No emotions betrayed, just a stern face. He looked over the Saviors with a withering look, then spat on the ground near their feet. "Wouldn't call it luck, mister. Haven't decided whether to kill you or not yet."
Simon grunted, clutching at his arm. "Listen, you little shit-"
The Kid cocked his pistol and shoved the barrel straight into Simon's nuts. "You sure you wanna finish that sentence, mister?"
Simon's mouth slammed shut. Negan chuckled. Already put Simon in his goddamn place, and his balls haven't even fucking dropped. Somewhere in the distance, a bird cried out, breaking the deafening silence of the aftermath that settled from the shootout. Pine needles rustled softly, and sap oozed from a few trees that had gotten shot, filling the air with sweet pine tar.
The Kid looked at Negan for a moment, then Lucille slung over his shoulder with a cocked eyebrow. The two held one another's gaze, steady and solemn. Two wolves from rival packs, searching the other for dominance.
A small voice called from behind him. A curly-haired girl called out. "Bring 'em to Mamma, Billy." She had innocent doe eyes, big brown ones framed by long lashes, that upon closer inspection more resembled a predator watching prey then any deer Negan saw.
Billy. Billy the Kid. Negan bit back a smile. The Kid's scowl, Billy's scowl, grew deeper at the girl's words. "Ain't Mamma's call when we're out. I'm in charge, it's my call."
The girl slung her rifle over her shoulder and put a hand on her hip. "'Isn't', not 'ain't.'"
The Kid just stared back at her, until she rolled her eyes and took a few steps back. "Whatever," she said, masking boredom on her face. "You're such a jerk."
Negan glanced around. He could have easily decked the Kid, knocked him out cold. Whether or not the other pint-sized pirates would shoot him was another story. "Listen, kid, we got two injured men. One dead inside, we already took care of him so he won't turn. No ammo left, save a few bullets. Nothing to trouble yourselves with."
The kid wasn't swayed. "So, I should just put y'all out of your misery?"
Negan laughed. "You're a fuckin' ball-buster, aren't you?"
"Been accused of worse."
Negan laughed. "No, I'm suggesting an alternative, kid. We'll go on our way, you crazy kids take whatever you want from this shitshow. All we need is a car, and we'll get out of your prepubescent hair."
Simon was leaning more and more on Kevin for support. His face was drawn and pale. "I need the doctor," he said weakly. Blood seeped onto Kevin's shirt, but he didn't seem to notice as he wrapped his arm tighter around Simon for support.
"You'll need a preacher soon, if you don't shut up." The Kid motioned to an overturned log. "Go set on that log over there. Abby, watch 'em. If anyone so much as scratches their nose, shoot 'em."
The curly-haired girl stomped out from behind the tree once more, gun trained on the Saviors. Strong but small little hands yanked at their wrists, cuffing them with zip-ties behind their backs.
"Well aren't you all little goddamn boy scouts, prepared for any situation," Negan said.
Abby barely looked over at him, more interested in the scattering of blown out cars and dead bodies. "If you don't shut up, I'll show you how I won my crotch-kicking badge."
Negan complied, content in watching the curious group. Simon slumped down off the log, instead using it to keep himself sat upright. Smoke and gasoline began to overwhelm the smell of pine. Somewhere around the front of a building, a walker's groan was halted midway, followed by a thump.
The forest here was reclaiming back the asphalt and concrete. Long weeds jutted from cracks in the road, and tiny saplings burst through the gravel parking lot. Pretty soon, maybe ten years or so, the bar would be enveloped by brush and new saplings. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.
The Saviors waited on the logs patiently, Negan very much amused by the interesting turn of events. He counted seven kids that came from the woods, some sliding down trees and others seemingly appearing out of nowhere behind trees or overgrown bramble bushes. They'd strategically surrounded the bar, picking off the attackers easily. Fish in a barrel.
Some of the bodies nearby were turning. They twitched a few moments, and some began raising their heads, dragging themselves along the cracked asphalt with bloody fingers. A ginger-haired kid in a filthy, too-small astronaut costume dispatched the dead, making pew-pew sounds as he moved along the corpses. The other kids dragged the bodies away from the carnage, picking through pockets and pulling off some of the clothes that were still usable, and trying them on for size.
Their organization was… fantastic. A well-oiled machine, like they'd been doing this their whole lives as a unit. Negan could only dream of getting his men to organize so well. One took out the dead who were beginning to turn, two rummaged through the bodies, another one went through the motorcycles and vehicles. Anything remotely useful was placed into piles based on what the item was: clothes, ammo, weapons, food, and a pile of miscellaneous items. A girl with a notebook and an archery bow on her back went through the supply piles, tallying up what was found and placing it into bins. Another kid was hotwiring any of the salvageable cars and moving them in an orderly line away from the smoke and pools of iridescent gas.
Watching them was fascinating and amusing, but Simon slumped lower and lower down the log until he lapsed into unconsciousness with a loud thump. Face-first. Negan hoped he broke his nose from the impact.
Abby, their pint-sized guard, sighed and waved over Billy the Kid. They muttered back and forth, eyeing their adult captives. Finally, the kid spat on the ground after some sort of agreement was made, and walked over to the Saviors.
"Get in the van. Don't try nothin'."
"ANYthing," Abby corrected. Billy swore.
One of the kids had fashioned a crude tourniquet on Simon and then the Saviors loaded awkwardly into the van, still zip-tied, and carefully placed Simon in the back on a blanket with some crates of scavenged goods shoved behind him. Lucille was unceremoniously tossed in the back. Negan sat in the middle next to Daryl, Kevin and Snake shoved in the back, bickering under their breath.
Negan began to slide from being amused to worried, an unusual sensation for him. Simon dying wasn't a big deal- he was expendable. Negan could comb through his Saviors and find at least ten good people to replace him. But what was going to happen with them? This whole Kindergarten Kidnap was rather amusing in many ways, but how primal had they gotten?
He shifted in his seat, watching outside as the kids decided who would take them to wherever the hell they were going. "What the fuck was that book where the kids crash on a fuckin' island? Worship a pig or some shit?" Negan laughed. "Goddammit, I never finished the stupid thing."
"Lord of the Flies." The ginger-haired kid popped up from the front seat, evidently still fiddling with wires.
"Jesus!" Negan jumped. "Where the fu- uh, heck did you come from?"
The boy pushed his glasses up and grinned. "Been here the whole time. Name's Stark. You know, like Ironman? 'Cause I'm good with inventing and stuff. Technology, too. Well, what we've been able to find."
"Where are you takin' us?" Daryl asked in a low voice. Negan smiled – cool as a cucumber, that guy was.
"Home, I guess," Stark said with a smile. "Don't worry, if you don't mess around, you'll be fine!"
With that, he jumped out and left the door hanging open. Abby hopped into the driver's side in his place, and a silent boy with a handgun and an eyepatch loaded into the passenger side. He leaned his back against the dashboard and faced the Saviors with his gun trained on them.
Abby tossed something into Daryl's lap. "Put 'em on."
"My hands are behind my back."
Abby sighed, and went around the side of the van. She cut his zip-tie with a switchblade, but still left it pointing at him.
Daryl glanced uneasily at Negan and lifted up a thick, dark pillowcase. Negan gave him a slight nod, and was soon plunged into darkness. Daryl covered the rest of the Saviors, and slipped the last one over his head. Negan heard the swoosh of another zip-tie, then the doors slammed shut.
Kidnapped by fuckin' kids. There's got to be some fuckin' irony in there.
The van sputtered to life after a few false starts, and off they went. Negan couldn't tell if it was their prepubescent driver or the roads themselves, but he rattled against Daryl as the van zoomed through the twists and turns of what felt like a mountain road, or maybe they were just jettisoning through the forest. Either way, it was a bumpy, jerky ride.
Simon woke a few times, kicking crates and swearing before passing out again. Otherwise, the ride was quiet. Negan took the time to contemplate, try to assess their direction by the faint orb of light he could barely make out through his head covering.
After what could have been thirty minutes or two hours, the van rolled to a stop. Negan was hungry, thirsty, his hands were sore from the recoil of the pistol. Lucille was rolling around somewhere, and it made his hands itchy not knowing where exactly. A rusty gate creaked noisily, and the van rolled through before sputtering to a stop. Abby leapt out after a minute, some heated words were exchanged with another small voice, like angry squirrels chattering at one another.
Finally, the van door creaked open. Negan felt Daryl dragged out next to him, and several pairs of small, bony hands then dug into his arm, yanking him out as well. He could have fought and resisted, but if these kids wanted them dead, they would have shot them at the bar. Might as well see where this landed them. Curiosity was both a weakness and a strength in him, and he just wanted to see what the hell this was all about. So, he complied, stumbling out of the van and going wherever the gun in his back demanded, biting back hysterical chuckles and the urge to slap away the gun and lay out anyone who resisted.
From the gurgling noises and rusty squeaks, he gathered Simon had been dragged into some sort of wheelbarrow or wagon, as several little voices grunted with exertion. It was still light out, but fading – the pinpricks that peeked through the hood earlier were lighter now, faded. The soft dirt gave way to gravel when Negan heard footsteps coming- fast.
"What on Earth is going on here? Jesus, Abby, prisoners?" A woman's voice, full of worry and concern and anger. Young, but not youthful. Tired.
"No Mamma! Not really prisoners, anyways. We're helping- this one's hurt, see? We saved them-"
"Jesus, zipties? Did they attack you?"
"Well, no. We didn't really give 'em a chance, at least. They were the ones under attack-"
"Uncuff them and take off those hoods! NOW!"
"Alright, alright, jeez. We just didn't want them to find out where-"
"Now, Abby!"
Negan's hands were freed and the hood lifted. He blinked rapidly as his eyes adjusted to the light of day. Negan looked around for a moment, stunned, then burst into laughter.
"Hol-lee shit!"
They were in the middle of a settlement, forest and mountains stretched around them. A wall of reclaimed boards and sheet metal stretched around them, tall and as far as he could see. To his left, a small house sat up on an embankment with rows and rows of crops, some in raised beds, some in the ground. To his right, an expansive log-cabin style building stated they were at Littlechapel Caverns' Gift Shoppe. Next to it, a small trail led to a yawning cavern opening. Neat fences penned in some goats and nervous chickens.
What amazed Negan wasn't the caverns or the settlement itself, but the fact that everywhere he looked, there were children. No adults, just kids. Tending crops, mending fences, boiling water over a big campfire, washing clothes in large basins, or, as most of them already were, glaring at the newcomers. There must have been forty or so of them, each clearly armed with at least a knife of some sort, holstered in an ankle or hip strap. The bigger kids all had guns of some sort, rifles slung over their shoulder or pistols hugging their hip.
He heard a moan and turned around. Simon was laying on a picnic table converted to a makeshift surgery table. A woman, the only adult Negan had seen thus far, bent over him, inspecting his wound tenderly with her fingers. Her hair, brown as earth but streaked with sun-goldened streaks, was pulled into a braid, little pieces flying this way and that. As she gently prodded Simon's wound, her face was set in hard lines, but had a softness in certain light. The woman barely seemed to register anyone else besides Simon.
"Tully, grab my medkit," she hollered to a nearby kid in a Braves' jersey, who immediately went sprinting off towards the house. To another kid, she barked, "Go get a bottle of vodka- no, gin, if you can find it." Off they went, quick as startled jackrabbits.
"I'm sorry for the rude introduction," she said to no one in particular, not bothering to look up. She moved with expert precision, cutting away cloth from the wound and inspecting Simon for further hidden injuries. Clearly, he was not the first wounded to lay in front of her.
The woman extracted nitrile gloves from a small pouch strapped to her left hip and slipped them on. She spoke again, flicking her eyes quickly to each Savior without really seeing them before settling back on Simon.
"The kids don't often get to meet others in the wild. I think it goes without saying, but I'll say it anyways: if you try anything, these kids will shoot you dead. If they miss, for some godforsaken reason, I'll finish the job. What happened out there?"
She glanced up finally to scan for the kids she sent off on errands, then took a good look at the Saviors. She had a striking face, although weariness haunted her eyes. Snake eyed Negan, who found himself, for the first time in a long time, speechless.
"Did I grow a horn in my forehead? What happened out there?" she said impatiently. Tully returned with a small helper, around the age of five, who helped him lug a large bag with a Red Cross symbol embroidered on the side.
"Shootout," Daryl finally offered with a shrug.
"No shit." Tully eyed the woman with raised eyebrows, but she just waved him away. "Yeah, yeah, I know I swore. Extenuating circumstances, alright? Go take Molly and scram, it's going to get messy here. Love you."
"Love you too," the little boy said. He grabbed the other child by the hand, gape-mouthed at the blood leaking from Simon, and half-dragged her back towards the gift shop.
Negan finally found his voice. "We heard tell about some abandoned shit-town, but as per fuckin' usual, that didn't pan out. Instead, we found a bar out scavenging, untouched as a goddamn devout nun, and were about to take all the shit home when a group of fuckin' Hell's Angels-looking bastards rolled up on us. We were doing okay until their reinforcements showed up. Then your kids here took 'em out like it's the goddamn OK Corral."
The woman exhaled and shook her head. "Probably the Diamondback Gang. Named after the rattlesnake. They're holed up in some armory somewhere, getting drunk and stoned and raiding people. It's weird, they don't usually get up this far. Too rural, too risky. Supplies must be thinning out." She dabbed at some blood and looked thoughtful. "Abandoned town, huh? I wonder which one…"
Negan snorted. "Well, we didn't find shit. Bar became a goddamn moot point too, we either drank or set fire to the bar's supplies, the rest got shot to hell. How the hell do you do all this?" He gestured vaguely around him at the settlement. It was quiet here, the air was good and clean. Children chattered like birds in the distance, but there was no walker moans. Laughter punctured the air occasionally, and it felt light here, almost dizzyingly so.
The woman smiled, but offered nothing. The gin arrived and the bringer waved away again. It was a half-full bottle so cheap it would be better used as polish remover than to drink. She poured the gin over the mess of blood on Simon's shoulder, and revealed the bullet hole bubbling freely. Simon swore weakly, but didn't move. The woman took out tools: small pliers, scissors, needle and thread.
"Take a limb," she ordered the Saviors, so they did. Negan held down Simon's left leg, Daryl his right. Kevin and Snake each took an arm. Kevin was closest to the wound, and the color began to drain out of his face as he watched the wound with a morbid fascination.
The woman snapped her fingers at him. "Hey! You pass out, I'll break your nose."
"Y-y-yes, ma'am."
I like this chick, Negan thought.
"Good boy," she said. "Take off your belt."
"Uhhh. Ma'am?"
"Jesus, I ain't flirting with you! It's for your friend to bite on. This is going to hurt like a bitch."
"OH!" Kevin complied, and once removed, gently put his belt in between Simon's straight white teeth. They are a beautiful set of teeth, Negan thought. Pity to be wasted on such a scumbag.
It wasn't difficult to get a small amount of enjoyment watching Simon's eyes grow wide in pain and fear, as the woman dug around the wound for the bullet. They pressed down hard to secure his limbs from flailing, but even then he was still able to wriggle a little. Mainly, he screamed, biting on the leather and saliva and tears rolling down his cheeks. The woman did not apologize, nor scold, just quietly and determinedly worked. She found the biggest piece, but noted, with a twinge of disappointment that the bullet had broken into pieces. It wasn't long before Simon passed out from the pain, but as the woman muttered under her breath, it was probably for the better that he remained unconscious. She worked on, the Saviors loosening their grip but remaining alert should Simon snap awake.
The Saviors, before they were called that, had originally been under Simon before Negan came along. They were a small group of asshole bikers, stealing and killing indiscriminately, if a group had a coveted thing. Usually guns, sometimes food, sometimes women. There was no organization, no finesse with the group, just a bunch of hungry, horny men with too much time and too little to keep them occupied.
Until Negan came in. Simon had been easy to dethrone, almost laughably so to Negan. His only true power was charisma, which the group lacked overall, but Negan had it practically coming out of his ears. Simon wasn't particularly strong, and certainly not as clever as he thought he was. Negan ran across them raiding a neighborhood, but stayed in the shadows, watching them. It took two days of following before he had them all figured out, and took less than an hour to convince them all to follow him instead of Simon. That, and Simon had the holy hell beat out of him by Lucille, pre-barbed wire. Negan didn't want to necessarily, but you had to kind of beat down the old guard to bring in the new, right?
They were all sweating bullets by the time the woman pulled out the last piece. She inspected all the pieces together, and seemed satisfied. "That looks like the last of it. Any more digging and we might lose him."
She stitched him up in neat little lines, even and perfect. She was no stranger to sewing or stitches, and Simon was lucky as fuck and didn't even know it. The bloodied gloves were discarded, and the woman whistled a high, shrill note. An oddly clean boy in a button-up shirt and crisp navy pants, perhaps around eight or nine, ferociously pumped water into a bucket, then hauled it over to them all. His arms bulged through the shirt, and Negan made a mental note not to cross this little one. He could punch a horse out with those arms. He looked suspiciously at the Saviors, but said nothing. After he left the bucket, he scurried back to the water pump. Someone else whistled from across the settlement, and the boy quickly filled another bucket and dashed away, not a drop of water spilled.
The woman dipped a cup into the bucket, then rinsed her hands and arms off with the cool water. She scanned the sky; the sun was starting to dip low now. The forest around them earlier seemed clean and refreshing, but now the shadows were stretching long. Sinister, almost. Sometimes a group of trees would swish their needles as if a wind blew through, but none could be felt. Negan felt a tug to be indoors, to be sheltered, but shook it off. Man the fuck up. None of the kids looked too concerned.
"Now," the woman said, breaking the silence. "I think we could all use a stiff drink, well all of us adults anyways, and a more thorough explanation." She stuck her now clean hand out to Negan. "You're the leader, I assume. You've got that… air of authority. I'm Lucy."
Negan smiled, his warmest smile he could possibly muster. "Negan. It's a pleasure to meet you, doll."
It was. It really was.