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RHatch89- Happy to hear it!
Maggie and I are marched through a dimly lit hallway at gunpoint, growls and moans of the dead echo down distant passages. This place doesn't seem safe for any of us.
'Chelle pushes us into a room that looks identical to the last, following us in and shutting the door. She forces me into a seat, telling Maggie to sit on a small wooden stool beside me. 'Chelle sits opposite us, a few feet between, her gun in her lap with the barrel pointing at me.
I glance around, realising that the room is a little smaller than the last, maybe. All the windows are boarded up in here.
'Chelle leans forward and reaches out to my face. My gag is finally removed, a trail of drool that makes her drop it.
We all stare at each other for a long time before 'Chelle speaks.
"You've both got nice clothes..." she says. "Time to make babies, too," she nods at Maggie. "You're hold up somewhere good. Tell me where."
Maggie lets a smirk grow across her lips, but it quickly becomes gagging. She puts her head between our seats and unceremoniously vomits on the floor, bringing her head back to face 'Chelle after.
'Chelle rolls her eyes. "Don't draw this out, bitch. Just tell me where."
I'm keeping my eyes on the floor. If there's one thing I know from experience, it's that looking away makes it easier to be ignored. That it's safer this way.
Maggie stays silent.
"Help the kid, yourself, and the baby in your belly," 'Chelle tries to sound friendly. "The way you stay alive is you produce for us." She leans in, the smell of sweat and dirt prominent. "You're not the good guys. You should know that."
"And you are?" Maggie asks.
"We are," 'Chelle nods. "We protect people."
"Didn't do a great job of that last night..."
"You bitch," 'Chelle points her gun at Maggie's face.
"Stop!" I yelp. "Please don't... just... stop."
"He speaks," 'Chelle chuckles at me, lowering the gun. I feel my puffed out chest drop, my insides still burning from whatever Donnie did to them. "Wanna tell me where you live?"
"You guys can walk away from this," I try.
"-Rhys," Maggie growls at me.
"Rhys," 'Chelle nods, flickering a smile at Maggie. "Rhys, why don't you tell me why we should walk? How many people you got?"
Maggie glares at me, so I just sink into the chair.
The gun comes up again, aimed at Maggie's stomach. "Listen, kid. I will pop that baby in its oven unless you tell me where."
I stay quiet, feeling beads of sweat run down my face, my fringe clumped up on my forehead.
'Chelle lets the gun fall to her side, shaking her head. She winces, checking under a bandage wrapped around where her pinky finger is supposed to be. There are deep teeth marks on the finger next to it, dried blood around them.
"What happened?" Maggie asks.
"Little asshole bit me."
I look back at the floor.
"I mean the missing one," Maggie specifies.
'Chelle looks hesitant to answer, but I guess she doesn't see the harm because she does. "I stole something. Got caught."
"-What?"
"-Gas, from this place."
"-Why?"
"-To get a new car. Look for my boyfriend's body."
"-Did you find it?"
"-He was blown up. Not much to find."
In my time looking down, I notice the name tattooed on 'Chelle's wrist in cursive letters.
Frankie
"Was that his name?" I pipe up, my voice breaking. "Frankie?"
'Chelle tenses up. "Hell, no. I barely knew him. He was a dick." She traces her tattoo with the finger I bit. "Frank was my dad... and that's what I was gonna name the baby."
"I'm sorry," Maggie whispers.
The brief smile 'Chelle had on her face disappears. "No. You aren't."
"I'm not planning for my people to die today," Maggie tells 'Chelle.
"Yeah, me neither. Thing is, one of us is wrong."
Maggie glimpses at me for a split second.
"He yours?" 'Chelle asks, picking up on it.
"Yeah," Maggie nods briefly. "He's mine."
"Doesn't sound like you," 'Chelle squints between us. "Australian or somethin'."
"British," I murmur.
"Right."
"I didn't give birth to him," Maggie sits up a little, leaning in. "He's still mine."
I don't understand why she's saying these things. Is it an angle? A trick?
"I get that," 'Chelle nods. "You want your boy to die here?"
Maggie keeps quiet.
'Chelle smirks, then gets up. "Wait here," 'Chelle grunts, leaving the room. The door locks.
Maggie turns to me. She can see and I can feel that I'm crying. I feel like an idiot.
"Honey," Maggie says, nudging me with tied hands.
I glimpse at her out the corner of my eye. My forehead is hot and itchy. My hair is plastered to it by sweat and dried blood from where I hit it in the car. My whole body is shaking.
"This isn't going to be like what you went through before, okay?"
I shake my head, desperately trying to get a part of myself to believe her.
"It won't be," she says again.
"My chest," I croak, "it really hurts."
She's nodding, crying a little too. "Just ignore it, okay? You need to. Be strong, okay?"
I think about how Jessie said that to Sam.
She told him she needed him to pretend he was brave.
He begged her.
She told him he could do it.
He cried.
She told him she needed him to be strong.
He died.
"Did you mean what you said?" I ask Maggie. I have to clear my throat, my voice barely audible.
"We're going to be fine," she coos.
Maggie waits for me to calm down. She waits for me to nod at her, and to say I believe her. When I do all that, she looks around for something to free us, but footsteps are already returning.
Molly barges in.
"Alright," she wheezes at us with smokey lungs. "Kid's comin' back with me."
"Why?" Maggie growls.
"None of your damn business! Now, c'mon, kid."
I stay sitting. Stay staring at the ground.
Molly yanks me by the collar, hauling me to my feet.
"I would drag you by your damn ear if I weren't worried about pullin' off the only one you got left," she cackles.
"Where are you taking him?" Maggie yells after us.
"Just stay here, Magnolia."
The door slams shut.
I'm dragged back into the room from before, slumped down where Maggie had been sitting. Donnie is still unconscious in the far corner, slumped out on the floor. 'Chelle grabs a pair of plyers from a bag and leaves in the direction of Maggie's room.
I try not to think about what she's going to do with them.
The sun must be shifting because the room is lit up in an orange glow from the window now.
Paula's looking at me, the cut on her cheek stitched up. I look away and she laughs to herself.
Molly strolls over to the door beside Carol, lighting a new cigarette with the butt of her last, coughing her lungs up the whole time.
"Can I have one?" Carol asks her.
"Well, look at you, little bird," Molly grumbles, dropping the used cigarette to the floor and squishing it under her boot. "I didn't think you approved."
"I don't," Carol says.
Molly chuckles, pulling the red box from her pocket and giving Carol one of the cigarettes inside, igniting it for her with a golden lighter adorned with an ornate skull.
With the burning smoke held between her lips, Carol leans her head back against a pipe, blowing smoke out her nose.
Paula grimaces down at her. "You are weak."
Carol doesn't look at her.
"What are you so afraid of?" Paula asks, putting her hands on her hips. Her tone makes it sound like she's been stumped by a crossword. "So scared, you can't even stick to your own principles."
"You don't want me to stick to my own principles," Carol says quietly, eyes flickering up to her for a second.
"I was a secretary before," Paula says then. "I fetched coffee for my boss and made him feel good about himself. I spent most of my days reading stupid inspirational emails to try and feel good about myself. There was this one that kept going around. A young woman was having a hard time and told her mom she wanted to give up, so her mom went to the kitchen and started boiling three pots of water. She put a carrot in one, an egg in another, and ground coffee beans in the last one. After they boiled a while, her mom said, 'Look, all three went through the same boiling water. The carrot went in strong and came out soft. The egg was fragile and came out hard. But the coffee beans changed the water itself.'"
When Carol looks confused by the story, Paula looks to me, rolling her eyes when I give her the same glazed look.
"You're supposed to want to be the coffee beans," she says like it's obvious.
I think to myself that the egg sounded like a better option.
"See, to me, coffee was just a thing my boss would drink up. No matter how many times I would refill his damn cup. It was just never enough," Paula says, chuckling with this empty hum.
I'm still trying to see the point of her story, trying to ignore the smell of smoke filling up the room, too.
Paula goes on.
"I was at work when the Army took over DC. We weren't allowed to leave. They had to evacuate all the important people first... members of Congress, government employees. So I was stuck with my boss. Not my family... my husband, my four girls..."
Paula stares at me when she mentions her kids. I catch her lip quivering the smallest bit before she snaps her head in the other direction, taking a deep breath.
"My boss was weak and stupid. He was going to die, and he was going to take me down, too. He was the first person I killed so that I could live. I stopped counting when I hit double digits. That's right about the time I stopped feeling bad about it."
She glares down at Carol, who's staring at the floor. Smoke pours from the stick gripped between her fingers that are peaking out of the duct tape.
"I'm not like you," Paula spits the words at her like she's proud of them. "I'm still me, but better. I lost everything, and it made me stronger."
"You sure about that?" Carol asks.
"I'm alive."
"With those people, those killers."
"Your people are killers, Carol," Paula tells her evidently. "That makes you a killer."
"Why'd you stop counting?" I ask her, terrified when I do. But the question keeps burning in my head.
"You say something?" Paula turns on her heels to look at me.
I clear my throat, sitting up a little and ignoring my burning chest, trying not to look so pathetic. "Why did you stop counting the people you killed?"
"Because," Paula rolls her shoulder uncomfortably, "what would be the point?"
"To stay human," I say.
She smirks something evil. "They were all weak... weaker than me. Remembering them? That would make me weak, not human."
I look away.
"You disagree?" Paula sounds interested.
I shrug.
"You ever kill anyone, Rhys?" Paula asks. Molly looks too, seeming to find the question amusing as she strolls over to stand beside me.
Sick of them all underestimating me, I nod.
Paula looks relatively surprised by the revelation. "Why did you kill them?"
Carol looks at me through her disguise. I can see her through it, but she doesn't look that different.
Again, I'm sick of being treated like a broken boy, so I ask her, "Which one?"
Molly chuckles.
Paula stares, waiting.
"One was a mistake," I decide to tell them. "The other tried to kill me and my friend."
"That how you ended up looking like a putrid little freak?" Molly looks at my ear, disgust on her face as grimaces.
The pain in my gut seems to be getting worse. Maybe that's what makes me snap, or maybe it's just her. I swing my foot out, kicking Molly's shin as hard as I can.
"Damn it," she howls, hopping a few steps back. "You stupid little shit!"
I'm lifted off the floor by my hair again. I'm expecting a smack or for her to throw me against a wall. But I'm taken off guard when Molly punches me in my face. The same sickening crack I heard in my chest happens again somewhere in my nose. Molly does it over and again. Blood starts dripping off her fist after she reels it back for the fourth time. Everything goes black for a second.
"Hey!" Carol's screaming at her.
"Fucking hell, Molls!" Paula tears us apart, tossing me back to the floor where I slump into the concrete. She pushes Molly back.
"Kid needs to learn some goddamn manners!"
"Fucking cunt!" I choke, holding my nose and all the blood spewing from it.
"What the hell'd you call me!?"
Paula jumps between us again, stopping the bulldozing witch from reaching me.
"We need them intact!" Paula yells.
Molly huffs at her, staring up a storm of icy knives in my direction. I scowl back at her, debating on throwing more swear words.
"That makes you strong, Rhys," Paula nods at me, a weird look on her face like she's impressed. "You took those lives, but you won."
"You," Carol interrupts abruptly, "you're the one."
"Excuse me?" Paula turns.
"You're the one that's afraid to die," Carol tells her. "And you're going to." Carol stares her down with indifference. "You will die. It's what's going to happen if you don't work this out."
"Are you going to kill me?" Paula asks her on one flat note.
"I hope not."
Paula pulls out the radio, still staring at Carol. I can't see Paula's face, but she sounded shaken.
I've never seen Carol the way she is- afraid. Only, I don't think she's afraid for us.
I swallow uncomfortably, still holding my nose as blood swells and leaks out between my fingers.
"Asshole," Paula says into the radio, holding out an arm to block Molly when she notices her trying to get closer to me. "Are you there?"
I guess she's going to work this out.
The radio clicks a few seconds after. "I'm here."
It's good to hear Rick's voice.
Paula responds. "We've thought about it. We want to make the trade."
"That's good."
"There's a large field with a sign that says 'God is dead' about two miles down I-66. Good visibility in all directions."
"We'll meet you there. Ten minutes?"
"Ten minutes."
She turns the radio off, tensing her jaw and shaking her head.
She starts mumbling to herself. "Now, that was too easy."
Molly shrugs, lighting what must be her fourth cigarette since we arrived. "Maybe they're just itching to get their people back."
"No..." Paula starts pacing the length of the room, her hand on her chin in thought. "There was no static. There should've been static. They're close. They're probably already here. We were careful, but there were tracks. There had to be."
"No..." Carol mutters hopelessly. She's crying again, silently now.
Paula keeps walking us through her racing mind. "They killed everybody back home. They have the weapons. They know what they're doing. They're probably waiting to kill us as soon as we walk out those doors."
"No..." Carol speaks louder.
Paula fixes down at her, chewing anxiously on her fingernails.
"You have to listen to me, please," Carol sobs. "Rick is a man of his word. He wouldn't put me, Rhys, and Maggie at risk to attack."
"Then he's just as stupid as you are," Paula shouts at her, pulling the walkie out again.
She changes the channel.
"What's your ETA?"
"A few minutes away, but the car is running on fumes."
"We have gas. We'll fill you up, and then we move. Radio when you're back in the perimeter."
"Copy that."
Paula puts on her pack, going for the door and barking over her shoulder to Molly. "We gotta go get ready. Pull 'Chelle out so she doesn't get stuck in a fight. We have to be ready to move at any second."
"What about these two?" Molly points at us.
"Leave them for now. If we leave, we travel light. And if the pricks are here, we pick 'em off at the door."
Molly stops by me on her way to the door, ash and smoke coming off her.
"Damn," she grumbles. "Forgot my ashtray."
Then I'm screaming. Carol and Paula are both shouting at Molly as she stuffs her cigarette against my cheek, keeping it there until it's out. I try to pull back, only to crack my head against the tiles behind me. I scream so hard my voice runs out and I bite my tongue hard from the pain.
"Thanks, Darlin'," Molly cackles, patting my burnt cheek and making it hurt a million times worse before pocketing the stubbed smoke.
Paula swings open the door, killing two walkers that have been bashing against the other side for a while.
"Molly, leave the kid the fuck alone and clear the hallways!"
Then they're both gone. Carol and I, alone in the slaughter room.
"You okay?" Carol asks quietly.
"Yeah," I splutter, blood filling my mouth, my words barely coming out.
Carol's eyes look sympathetic for a moment, but then they quickly snap to the wall Maggie had tried to free herself on. She nods at me. "Can you free yourself on that?"
I try to get up but end up flat on my face, gasping as my chest screams at me to give up. Whatever adrenaline that kept me going before is gone.
I hear scratching on the floor. I lift my head enough to see Carol rubbing her crucifix on the rough ground.
"What-?" I strain, my voice hoarse.
"Sharpening it," Carol says. "I'll cut myself free, then you."
I try to take this moment to rest, but Carol is out in seconds, crossing the room and pulling me to sit up straight, leaning me against the wall as she cuts my hands from the bandage tied around them.
"Can you stand?" She asks.
I nod. My hand slides along the wall as I stagger to my feet.
"We find Maggie, then we go," Carol tells me. "We go."