Gasping for breath, Simon pressed his sweaty face against the toilet bowl, gripping it so tightly that the bones in his knuckles cracked. He grudgingly raised his head to spit into the vile mixture of diarrhea and vomit. What the hell did they feed him last night? Someone was going to die for this, he swore.
He reached for the toilet handle, but of course, it didn't flush. No running water, obviously. He glared at the bucket of water beside the toilet. Fuck that, he thought, scowling. Let the idiots running this place deal with the mess.
Simon's knees creaked as he stumbled back to his feet, moving with all the grace of one of the living dead. Christ, the last time he'd felt this sick was after his ex-girlfriend, Mary Lou, had convinced him to try that counterfeit blue meth on their trip to Reno, costing him a damn fortune. God, she was such a bitch. Always whining about something, always dragging him down with her.
Why was he thinking about Mary Lou now?
Simon scowled at his reflection in the ornate mirror above the sink. He looked like a walking quarantine zone and probably smelled worse. His face was drawn, the dark circles under his eyes prominent. Beads of sweat dotted his forehead. Damn it, why did he have to get sick now? This was the worst possible timing.
He couldn't afford another screw-up.
Simon had worked his ass off to lock down his spot as Negan's Number Two. Lately, however, it felt like it was all slipping through his fingers. It wasn't just those two slippery bastards he'd been chasing; it was also that new crew Negan had been cozying up with. What did they call themselves again – Hunters? Dumb pricks. They were feeding into Negan's bad habits, just like Simon used to do with Mary Lou's.
Simon wasn't just Negan's second; he was also his friend. His best friend, some would say. And as a friend, he didn't begrudge Negan his quirks or little superstitions. But lately, with these new people around – especially that one-legged English freak, Victor – Negan had started pushing things too far.
For Christ's sake, there were two assholes taking out their outposts, some crazy broad calling herself The Widow stirring up trouble among their people – and Negan had them running around exhuming bodies and hunting for fucking crystals and herbs! It pained Simon, truly it did, but the man had lost his damn marbles, becoming a liability to the Saviors and to himself. It was all spiraling out of hand, jeopardizing everything they'd worked so hard to build.
Not on Simon's watch.
First, he'd catch those two idiots and get back in Negan's good graces. Maybe Gregory was right, and that big floofy-haired bastard was still inside the Hilltop Colony. If not, it didn't matter. Simon had already dispatched more of his men to secure the area, blocking off any and all access routes. Nobody was coming through without Simon's explicit say so.
Once those two were dealt with, Simon would handle the rest. And if Negan didn't want to play ball – so be it. Simon would take care of him too.
For the sake of the Saviors, of course.
He plastered a wide grin onto his face. "Pucker up, handsome," he told the disheveled man in the mirror. "We've got work to do."
Not long after, Simon stepped into the Hilltop courtyard, wearing a broad smile and a fresh pair of underwear. He paused on the stone steps leading up to the mansion, inhaling the crisp air and feeling surprisingly energized. Anxious faces gazed up at him, their quiet murmurs fading into an uneasy silence.
"Evening, folks. Appreciate you all showing up on such short notice." He clasped his hands and indicated to the crowd. "I'm sure you're all wondering why your esteemed leader asked me to come today."
Simon's smile widened as a few reproachful glares turned toward Gregory, who stood nervously off to the side, wringing his hands. Simon gestured for him to come forward. "Gregory, if you could step up and handle the details?"
Gregory stumbled forward, muttering, "Ah, um, yes, well, let me just – uh – find my reading glasses." He fumbled through his pockets before finally retrieving the glasses from the top of his head. With a sigh, he pulled out a notepad and began flipping through the pages, his hands visibly shaking. The crowd exchanged uneasy glances.
"At your earliest convenience," Simon said, his smile widening into an exaggeratedly polite grin.
Gregory cleared his throat, his voice wavering as he called out names from his notepad. "Bertie, Wesley, Bill, Stephanie, and Rory, could you please step forward?"
A murmur rose from the crowd, but no one moved. Gregory's nervousness quickly gave way to irritation. "Come on, people – step up!"
"Bertie and Wesley took off," a stout man in the crowd said, his tone dripping with barely concealed disgust. Simon vaguely recognized him from his previous visits to the Hilltop Colony. "And Rory's dead."
Gregory's face went pale. He stammered, eyes darting around, "Dead? What – what happened?"
The man's expression hardened into one of deep disgust. "Are you serious?"
A young woman whispered urgently, tugging on the man's arm. "Andy."
"You were right there – you saw it happen!" Andy shook the young woman off, staring at Gregory with incredulous rage. "Those bastards killed him!"
Annoyance mounting, Simon rolled his eyes and drew his pistol. The gunshot echoed through the courtyard as the crowd erupted into anguished screams, Andy's body dropping like a sack of rocks. No one fled, however. Not with the Saviors holding a tight perimeter, weapons drawn and ready.
"Look at this mess," Simon admonished, turning an icy glare on Gregory while keeping his pistol trained on the crowd. "How do you expect to keep this place together if you can't even keep track of who's here and who's not?"
Gregory, trembling and sweating, held up his hands. "I wasn't informed!" His eyes darted around in panic. "You– you can't expect me to–"
A sudden, pulsing headache seared through Simon's head. Clutching at his temple, he gritted his teeth, his vision swimming and the world spinning around him.
"Shut the fuck up!" Simon snapped at Gregory, his voice taut with pain. He waved his pistol wildly at the crowd. "Pick five people to come forward. Now!"
"F-five? Don't you mean four?" Gregory stammered. "Doesn't Andy count as–"
Eyes watering in pain, Simon bared his teeth. "Five," he growled, before coughing into his shoulder, keeping his gun trained on the crowd.
Nodding, Gregory hurriedly flipped through his notepad, his reading glasses slipping to the tip of his nose. After a few moments of frustrated fumbling, he released a growl and abandoned the notepad entirely. Gregory began to point people out at random. "You, you, you, you, and – " he scanned the crowd desperately– "you! Step forward, please." He swallowed hard. "I'm sorry."
They hesitated, casting nervous glances at one another, but when Simon's men closed in, their weapons prodding and pressing, they had no choice but to come forward.
"Tammy!" an old man bellowed in rage as his wife was wrenched from his arms. He then dropped to his knees, clutching his bleeding face where the back of a rifle had struck him.
Fired up with adrenaline, Simon grinned through the sharp pain pulsing in his brain. He stepped forward and pressed the muzzle of his pistol between Tammy's brows. The old girl met his gaze with remarkable composure, trembling but resolute, her mouth set in a tight line. Simon's grin widened, feeling a flicker of genuine respect.
"One of you can save Tammy's life," Simon announced, addressing the crowd. He sneered at the other volunteers and corrected himself. "And then some." He paused, scanning the sea of anxious faces. "A visitor came by earlier. Someone who doesn't belong. If you know where he is, if you're hiding him–"
A commanding voice broke in. "Let her go."
A murmur rose in the crowd as both Saviors and Hilltop residents turned to stare at the man. His arms were raised, yet his posture was defiant, eyes narrowed into a piercing, furious glare. Easily a head taller than everyone else present, this was the very figure who had haunted Simon's thoughts for weeks.
How the hell did this slippery bastard manage to slip in unnoticed?
It didn't matter now. A slow smile spread across Simon's face. "Sam, right?" he purred.
The tension was palpable. Sam's jaw was clenched tight, his shoulders squared. "No one's been hiding me," he said firmly, chin raised high. "Let these people go."
Oh, how he'd waited to see this worm squirm. Simon licked his lips, a shiver of excitement running down his spine. If only he'd known this guy had such a hero complex – he would've caught the bastard weeks ago!
Instead of lowering his pistol, Simon pressed the muzzle more firmly against Tammy's forehead, eliciting a gasp. "Oh, Sammy, we're just getting started." The old girl would have quite a bruise tomorrow, if she managed to survive the night. Simon hadn't quite made up his mind yet.
"This is between us," Sam said, his eyes as cold as ice.
Simon couldn't believe he'd fallen for that bumbling coward act during their first encounter. Oh well, live and learn. He clicked his tongue, and his men sprang into action, patting Sam down for weapons before forcing him to his knees, generous with their violence. This asshole had cost the Saviors too many good men, and their friends were all too eager to repay the debt.
"Where's your friend?" Simon wondered, tilting his head. The other one couldn't be far.
Sam looked – unimpressed. "Killing more of your men, probably," he said with a smirk, flinging his hair back. "Come on, Simon. This is embarrassing. You've got these clowns patting me down like they're auditioning for a role in a bad movie."
The crowd, already tense and nervous, exchanged uneasy glances. The young woman still holding Andy's body was shaking with a mix of anger and horror, her eyes darting between them.
Simon let out a low chuckle. "Oh, Negan's going to love you."
The defiant, mildly-amused look on Sam's face melted away, turning puzzled. "What the hell's wrong with you?" Sam asked, eyebrows clinched.
Simon paused, taken aback. He frowned when he realized that something was dripping down onto his shirt. He raised a hand to his face, confused.
"You're bleeding," Tammy whispered hoarsely.
Simon's eyes widened in shock as a sharp, burning pain erupted in his mouth. He stumbled backwards, the woman completely forgotten as he cried out in agony, clutching his mouth. "Wha– wha–"
Simon froze, staring into his hand.
He spat out a tooth. He spat out a tooth.
Below, the courtyard erupted into violence. Tammy and many of the other townspeople scrambled for cover, taking advantage of the Saviors' distraction. Many others withdrew their firearms, taking down a few of Simon's men in quick succession.
But Simon barely registered any of this as he stumbled back into the mansion, narrowly avoiding a hail of bullets.
"Boss…?" one of his men asked fearfully.
He stared at his bloody palm in horror, running his tongue over the gap in his front teeth, his mind reeling.
What the fuck was going on?
"Boss, were you bit?"
Furious, Simon turned to his men. They stood back, as if afraid to catch whatever the hell was wrong with him – Ebola or Aids whatever the fuck this was.
"Does it look like it, assholes?" Simon growled, his speech slurred. Blood poured down the front of his shirt. "Do the dead ones lose their goddamn teeth?"
They shuffled uncomfortably, protected by the mansion's walls while the firefight raged outside, where more of his men were likely dying, because Simon and these assholes were here instead of out there –
"What are you all staring at?" he growled, eyes darting about madly. He snatched up a shotgun, acutely aware of how insane he must look right now. "Go get the bastard before he escapes," he snarled. "And find me that damn doctor!"
They had some goddamn work to do.
Hi folks - is anyone reading on exclusively? This story is also on AO3. I am considering closing my account here since the traffic is so low.