Red River Blue
Chapter 14
Daryl was heading for the gate with the rest of the search party behind him. When the gate swung open, he was relieved at first. Eugene was riding on the bench seat of the wagon next to Merle. But when Daryl saw their somber faces, his anxiety began to rise back up. There was a dead body in the back of the wagon. And next to it, an unfamiliar girl was lying on her side with her hands and feet bound behind her.
"There were people in masks, mixed in with the herd," Merle said, "...they killed Jesus. Mika and Kelly are still missing."
There were times that Daryl hated his brother's habit of just bluntly blurting things out. But this was not one of those times. Daryl didn't want to dance around the facts or be hand held. He just wanted to know what was going on so he could figure out what to do about it. And right he needed to get his daughter back.
"She was part of that other group?," Daryl asked, gesturing to the girl in the wagon. Merle nodded. "Well let's get her outta there, me and her got some things we need ta talk about."
Merle climbed down from the wagon, and between the two brothers, they pulled the girl down out of the wagon. Each gripping her under one arm, they drug her forcibly across the street and down into the area that served as Hilltop's jail. As they entered the area, they passed by the one occupied cell in the place.
"What's going on?," Negan hollered, "...who the hell is that?"
"Shut the fuckin' hell up asshole," Merle hollered back. Not only was Negan inserting his loud unwanted mouth into the situation, Merle could already hear some loud voices coming from outside.
"What the hell are they doing?," Maggie asked. "That looked like a kid they were dragging down there." Glenn pulled his wife against him, needing the comfort of having her safe in his arms after the night he had.
"She was with the group that attacked us and killed Jesus," Glenn explained. "Merle thinks she knows where Mika is."
"What are they about to do to her?," Maggie asked, glancing towards the building where the holding cells were located with some concern. They buried the past a long time ago. But the last time Merle wanted information about a missing family member, he wanted it from her and Glenn. No one wanted a repeat of that situation. Least of all her. Especially with a teenage girl involved. Maggie wasn't going to let that happen. Not under her watch. She repeated her question, asking Glenn again what the Dixons were about to do to the girl they caught.
"Nothing good," Glenn admitted with a shrug. If the girl told them what they wanted to know, Merle and Daryl wouldn't hurt her. But if she refused, all bets were off.
"I've got it," Carol said, passing by them on her way into the building.
"See," Glenn said, "Carol's got it." Glenn put his arm around Maggie, trying to coral her towards their trailer. She hesitated a moment before she reluctantly let her husband lead her away, grumbling under her breath that Carol going down into the holding area was not an improvement. She was more controlled than the brothers. But not necessarily kinder or more gentle. If anything, Carol was more likely to do whatever she felt was necessary to get information from the girl. Especially since her daughter was the one in danger.
Carol headed down the steps. Merle and Daryl still had the girl tied up. But all they were doing so far was yelling at her. Not really the best way to get her talking, in Carol's opinion. She ignored them for the moment, deciding to deal with the other issue first. Carol paused in front of the bars to Negan's cell, narrowing her eyes at him.
"I'll deal with you later," she informed the man. Inserting the key into his cell door, she turned it and pulled the door open. Stepping back, she pointed towards the stairs. "Get out," she ordered. Negan swung himself up off the narrow cot in his cell. He wasn't really in a hurry to go. Whatever tweedle dumb and tweedle dumber were planning to do with the girl they drug in looked like it had the potential to be entertaining. But since he felt up tweedle dumber's teenage daughter, Negan decided he better not press his luck too far. These people weren't Glenn and Maggie. They would shoot him in the face and still be able to sleep at night. He sauntered out of the cell and shuffled causally up the stairs, smiling at the dirty look Carol was throwing his way.
Once she got rid of Negan, Carol pushed past Merle into the small cell. She pulled her knife out and cut the tape off the girl's wrists and ankles. The girl was quick to right herself, sitting up and sliding backwards on her ass until she was positioned in the corner of the cell, hugging her knees to her chest. Carol carefully observed the girl. She was filthy. Her clothes looked like she'd been wearing them for weeks. Everyone got dirty on the road. But this girl looked like she wasn't even making an attempt to keep herself clean.
The girl had long dark hair. If Carol had to guess she would say the girl was about Sam's age. But she was so skinny it was hard to tell. She might be older than she looked. When Carol cut the bindings off her wrist, the girl's shirt rucked up her arm, revealing a lot of scarring in that area. Someone was beating her regularly. Which was going to make it hard for them to intimidate her. She was likely more scared of whoever left the marks than she was of Merle and Daryl.
"Do you know why you're here?," Carol asked. The girl's large frightened eyes darted around the room, finally settling on Carol. Then she shook her head.
"Little bitch knows exactly why she's here!," Merle hollered, pointing the knife on the end of his arm at her. "Yer fuckin' people killed our friend!" Carol turned around, giving Merle the dirtiest look she could muster.
"I think River is looking for you," she told him. They both knew that was Carol's polite way of telling him to get the hell out. Normally, she would appreciate Merle's help. But he'd been up all night, probably with nothing to eat or drink. And he was all keyed up, running on pure adrenaline. Even he seemed to know this. Because he simply nodded and headed up the stairs. Once he was gone, Carol turned her attention back to the girl. Carol crouched down in front of her. Daryl stayed in the cell with them. But after giving her shoulder a gentle squeeze he backed up, leaning against the bars and giving Carol some space.
"What's your name?," Carol asked. The girl shook her head, refusing to admit she even had a name. Which was ridiculous. Everyone had a name. Carol sighed and tried a different tactic.
"I have a daughter your age," she said. "She's missing. We think your people have her." Carol let that sink in. Then she added, "...I'm really worried about her, do you have any idea where she might be?"
"I don't know anything," the girl insisted. "They killed all my people on the bridge." Carol gave the girl her biggest fake smile. Lying wasn't going to get her anywhere.
"Now we know that's not true," Carol told her. "My people saw at least a dozen more of yours mixed in with the dead." The girl's eyes widened.
"Can I have some water?," the girl asked, hoping to change the subject or at least postpone the conversation as long as she could. Carol glanced back at Daryl and nodded. He left the cell, reappearing with a metal ladle of water. Carol waited for the girl's arm to snake out as she reached for the water. Then Carol snagged her by the wrist and yanked her shirt sleeve up. She heard Daryl's sharp intake of breath when he saw the marks. The water ladle slipped from his hand, clattering to the ground and splashing water across his boots.
"Who did this to you?," Carol asked. The girl pulled and struggled, trying to yank her arm back. Carol held on for just a little longer, looking at the girl's arm. The marks went up much further than she saw at first. And they were layered. Scars on top of scars on top of scars. Carol felt a small pang of pity for the girl, wondering if the rest of her body looked the same as her arm. Then she let go. The girl scrambled to pull her sleeve back down, tucking her arms in close to her body. "Who did that to your arm?," Carol asked again.
"No one," the girl said. Daryl retrieved the water ladle, refilling it and making sure the girl got a drink of water this time. He knelt down, whispering to Carol. After he put the water ladle back, he took Carol's spot, lowering himself down in front of the girl. Carol moved back, standing in the open doorway of the cell.
"How'd you like to not go back to no one?," Daryl asked. "You tell us what we wanna know and you can stay. You don't hafta go back to whoever did that to ya." The girl didn't answer, but Daryl could see her shocked reaction to what he said. She didn't trust or believe him yet. But he could tell she wanted to. She wanted to believe that what he was saying was true.
Daryl stood up, pulling Carol with him and shutting the cell door behind him.
"Let's give 'er a minute to think about that," he suggested. He could tell Carol didn't agree, but she let him walk her up the steps and out of the small enclosed space. When they got outside, her facade crumbled. She gripped his shirt, her body shaking as the tears welled up in her eyes.
"I can't lose Mika," Carol sobbed. "I can't lose another child."
"That ain't gonna happen," Daryl assured her, holding her tight against his chest. He spoke with certainty. But his mind was swirling. The people that had his daughter were the same ones that left the marks on the girl they locked up downstairs. She was tortured and beaten. It made him sick to think of what those same people might be doing to Mika.
"Did she tell you where Mika was?," Sam asked. Daryl shook his head.
"Not yet," he lamented. Daryl looked at Sam, noticing the boy had a tray of food balanced in his hands. "Whatcha doin' with that?," he asked.
"I thought maybe if we were nice to her, she might help us," he admitted. Sam felt like he had to do something. Because he heard Merle hollering that he was only giving Daryl and Carol an hour before he went back down and beat the information out of the girl. Bringing her lunch was all he could think of.
Carol glanced at the food, smiling sadly at her sweet son. They taught Sam how to survive. How to fight and hunt and clean a gun. And he learned. But his gentle trusting nature remained intact. Though she worried that someday it might be his undoing, at the moment she was grateful for it. She glanced at Daryl to make sure he was on board with sending Sam in.
"Couldn't hurt," he said, ticking his chin towards the door to indicate Sam had their permission to try and talk to the prisoner.
The girl watched the man and woman walk away. She was grateful to be alone. Even if she was locked in a cell. Her mind was a raging swirl. She was so young when the turn happened that she could barely remember life before the dead. Her mother told her places like this didn't exist anymore. But it was clear from what she saw today, that they did. Towns and villages. Places with gardens and schools and farms and apple trees. They weren't supposed to be here. The girl hugged her legs tighter against her chest when she heard footsteps on the stairs. But it wasn't the man or the woman that appeared. It was the boy. She saw him on the bridge. That's why she surrendered.
His eyes were blue and he had a shaggy crop of blonde hair. He was the first boy her age she had ever seen. He had a crossbow on his back when she saw him on the bridge. It wasn't there now. And neither was the leather jacket he was wearing before. Instead, he was clad in a plaid shirt with the sleeves removed. The muscles in his arms were defined, something she never saw before since everyone at her camp was thin and half starved. They flexed when he lowered the tray of food, setting it down on the floor near the door of her cell. He backed away from the tray, sitting down and leaned against the bars of the empty cell opposite from hers. He leaned back and closed his eyes, rubbing at them like he was tired.
"I'm Sam," he said. "You got a name?"
The girl scrambled forward, reaching through the bars and snatching up the leftover slice of apple pie that River made for the barn party. She crammed it into her face, almost inhaling it whole. Sam chuckled a little. And he thought his dad had bad table manners. The girl reached for the sandwich next. But before she crammed that down her throat, she glanced over at him and finally spoke.
"Lydia. Sometimes, my mother calls me Lydia."