Chapter One
Jo's initial apprehension solidified into a stark realization. In hindsight, she felt rather like a moth drawn to a deadly flame. She vividly remembered, from her childhood in Georgia, the buzzing, frantic dance of moths around the porch light. She would often watch, with a morbid fascination, as the moths willingly, almost desperately, flew right into the electric zapper her mother had installed. The sharp, crackling zap and the faint smell of singed wings always followed. The moths, driven by an unseen force, were always killing themselves instantly. Without thought or hesitation, they plunged towards their demise. Jo had always thought, with the naive judgment of a child, that moths were rather stupid creatures to be led directly towards something so obviously lethal. Now, trapped in this freight car, she could have laughed bitterly at the irony, but the weight of her current predicament pressed down too heavily, leaving no room for even a flicker of humor in her heart.
She replayed the events leading to their capture in her mind, each detail a sharp sting of self-reproach. She had walked right into this one, like a naive lamb to the slaughter, and she was now figuratively kicking herself for it, the mental sting almost as painful as a physical blow. It felt as though her entire life had been a series of close calls, of navigating treacherous waters teeming with bad people and even worse situations. Perhaps, in a moment of rare vulnerability, she had let her optimism, a fragile thing she usually kept tightly leashed, get the best of her. Or maybe, more likely, she was simply bone-deep exhausted from the constant, relentless moving, the perpetual state of high alert. In her weariness, she had overlooked the glaring possibility that Terminus, this so-called sanctuary, was nothing more than an elaborate trap. A sinking feeling settled in her stomach; Jo should have known better. She always prided herself on her instincts, her ability to read people and situations, but this time, she had failed.
At that point, however, excuses didn't matter anymore, and neither did blame. Ruminating on her mistakes wouldn't magically unlock the freight car door. What was done was done, a heavy, unchangeable fact, and it wouldn't help her out of this increasingly perilous situation. Jo and her little sister, Diana, were now well and truly locked into this stifling, metal box. They had followed the deceptive train tracks, lured by the promise of safety and community, to this alleged sanctuary, Terminus. The name itself, once a beacon of hope, now felt like a cruel joke. Other than the occasional, unsettling commotion outside, the muffled shouts and the distant clang of metal, they hadn't heard a peep from their captors in over a day. The silence was thick and heavy, more menacing than any threat. The sun was beginning to dip below the horizon on the second day of their captivity, casting long, distorted shadows within the car, when the door of their freight car creaked ominously, as if it were slowly, agonizingly, about to open.
Instinctively, her protective instincts flaring, Jo shoved Diana behind her, shielding her with her own body. The sudden movement was a reflex, ingrained from years of keeping her sister safe. A harsh, blinding light flooded the car as the door was finally pulled open. One by one, strangers began to file in, their faces etched with a mixture of confusion and fear, but none of them were the familiar, menacing faces of the people Jo recognized as their captors. She never forgot a face, especially those who had wronged her. It was a survival skill she had honed to a razor's edge.
These people, Jo quickly realized, had also been captured. Lured in, just as they had been, by the same false promise, and forced into this makeshift, rolling prison. A perverse sense of relief washed over her. At least, they hadn't been the only ones stupid enough, or desperate enough, to fall for the ruse. It didn't solve a thing; they were still trapped, still in danger. But it did make Jo feel a bit less stupid, a bit less alone in her blunder.
Jo met the eyes of her sister, her gaze sharp and direct. Silently, she communicated a message: Stay close. Follow my lead. Be ready for anything. Diana, despite her fear, nodded slightly, her green eyes mirroring Jo's own vigilance.
She watched carefully, her senses on high alert, as eight more people were forced inside, their bodies bumping and jostling in the confined space. It was a rather large group, in Jo's opinion, further complicating their already dire situation. All of them were visibly stunned to see that they were not alone in their capture. All of them were also visibly pissed, their faces tight with anger and resentment. Especially the big, redheaded army guy, whose broad shoulders and furious scowl took up a considerable amount of space. Besides him, there were four women, each with their own distinct expression of apprehension and defiance, and three other men, their eyes darting around the car, assessing their surroundings. Jo could bet that none of them were related, just a ragtag group of random adults, brought together by misfortune. The amount of women with them made Jo relax a fraction. Usually, in her experience, that meant the men weren't total creeps, but even then, she couldn't be too sure. Trust was a luxury she could no longer afford. She tried to find an even balance between staying vigilant, her hand hovering near the makeshift weapon she had fashioned, and giving them the barest benefit of doubt. For her, after all she had been through, that wasn't easy.
The heavy clang of the freight car door slamming shut echoed in the sudden silence, amplifying Jo's already heightened apprehension. The air inside was thick and close, carrying the metallic tang of rust and the faint, stale odor of something she couldn't quite place—perhaps old grain, or something far more sinister. "So, we are not the first mice to fall into the trap," a gruff voice rumbled, breaking the silence. Jo turned her head, observing the speaker: a burly man with fiery red hair and a set jaw. He stood with his arms crossed, his gaze sweeping over her and Diana with a dismissive air. He clearly saw them as little threat, two females huddled in the corner. It wasn't as if the small woman and her even smaller sister were much to fear in terms of size.
Jo, however, knew better. She had learned her strengths, not just physical, but the art of observation, of reading people, of using their underestimation to her advantage. She knew how to turn perceived weakness into a weapon. "This is bullshit!" he then said, his frustration bubbling over. With a sudden, violent kick, he sent a jolt through the entire car, the metal groaning in protest. The sound vibrated through Jo's boots, and she felt a flicker of anger mixed with her unease. This man's display of bravado was likely a cover for his own fear, but it wouldn't help anyone get out of this situation.
Jo didn't know what to say or do, not yet. She needed to assess, to gather information. She glanced back at Diana, who, to Jo's surprise, didn't seem remotely frightened. Instead, her green eyes sparkled with a curious intrigue. Diana liked meeting new people, even in the most precarious of circumstances. It was a trait that both endeared and worried Jo. Her sister had an almost naive optimism, a belief in the inherent goodness of people that Jo had long since lost. However, like clockwork, Jo heard one of them say it. It never really took long for people to notice.
"Jesus, don't I know you?" a voice drawled, laced with a note of surprised recognition. Jo's spine stiffened. She turned to see a man with a shaved head and dark skin, his eyes crinkling at the corners, giving them a deceptively kind appearance. Kind eyes were easy to imitate. They could be a mask, a tool. She would know better than most, having worn many masks herself, both on screen and in the harsh reality of this new world.
Jo's face hardened immediately, the muscles in her jaw tightening. This was it, the moment she dreaded. She was used to the type of question, the inevitable flicker of recognition, the whispers that followed. "Stand back, or you'll wish you've never met me," she warned, her voice low and steady, a clear edge of menace in her tone. She neither denied nor confirmed his accusation. She didn't give people a chance to think she would make it easy, to assume they knew her, to use that knowledge against her.
"You're Jo Mercer," a smooth, confident voice declared, cutting through the tension. A woman with striking features and dark skin stepped forward, her gaze unwavering. "The movie star." The words hung in the air, heavy with implication.
Jo's eyes analyzed them painstakingly, moving from face to face, as if calculating the way in which this interaction was headed. In her experience, being famous before only brought her trouble. It was a beacon, drawing unwanted attention, dangerous expectations, and envious eyes. It was not a topic she liked to visit, not anymore. Especially with strangers. It had been well over three years since she lived that life, since she walked red carpets and smiled for cameras. That life felt like a distant, fading dream, replaced by the harsh, gritty reality of survival. "Well, I quit," she spat out, her voice laced with bitterness. "Not that lucrative anymore."
The redhead snorted, a sound of amusement escaping him. His eyebrows quirked up at her in interest, as if he was seeing her in a new light. "No shit."
A skinny, but tall white woman with brown hair stepped forward, her green eyes holding a surprising amount of sincerity. "We won't hurt you," she claimed, her tone gentle. "If that's what you're worried about."
Jo didn't relent, her guard remaining firmly in place. "Last strangers I met locked me in a freight car," she retorted, her voice sharp. "Kind of got trust issues after that."
"Then we have something in common," the woman pointed out, her expression softening slightly. She was trying to connect, to find common ground. "We're in the same boat." She extended a hand. "I'm Maggie."
"Diana," her sister piped up from behind her, her voice clear and friendly. Jo sighed, a small, almost imperceptible movement, but enough to convey her exasperation. The gesture seemingly broke the tension without much effort. Even now, her sister was the friendly one, the one who saw the best in people. Jo sometimes wondered where she stored her optimism, how she managed to hold onto it in this broken world. Diana ignored her sister's look of protest. "They seem alright. Besides, we can't get out of here alone, now, can we?"
Her eyes bore into Jo, a silent plea in their depths. She knew that Diana was right. Jo knew, on a purely logical level, that they needed allies, that they couldn't face this alone. She let up a bit, the rigid set of her shoulders easing slightly, but her eyes remained vigilant, scanning the faces around her for any sign of deception. She wanted to trust people, she craved connection, but she just wasn't sure if she could. After three or so years of surviving, one thing was clear. People complicated things, but on the other hand could also make things easier. Jo felt unsure, torn between her ingrained caution and the desperate need for help. She had no power at her disposal to choose other than to collaborate and share knowledge. Maybe come together and figure out a way out of the mess they got themselves in. Jo could only pray, a silent, almost forgotten act, that they weren't walking into another trap. She knew whatever waited for them at the end of this would not be good.
Jo wasn't in the mood for all the sudden pleasantries and immediately wrapped up the introductions after their group went around and shared their names, each one a fleeting sound in the echoing metal box. Part of her feared they wouldn't be alive long enough for her to remember, so she didn't want to dwell on it, to form any attachments that could be ripped away. "How'd they get you?" she questioned, her eyebrows raised, but her arms relaxed finally, if only slightly. She wanted answers to questions that could help her get out of this, concrete details, anything that could give her an edge.
"Same as you, I can guess," Glenn, the Asian man, sighed, his gaze drifting towards the grimy walls of the freight car. "Followed the signs." He ran a hand through his hair, a gesture of frustration and perhaps a hint of self-reproach. The bright, optimistic glint that Jo had briefly noticed in his eyes earlier seemed to have dimmed, replaced by a weary resignation. It was a look she had seen countless times on the faces of survivors, a testament to the world's ability to grind down even the most hopeful spirits.
She hated the predatory nature of these so-called sanctuaries, the way they exploited the desperation of those clinging to the faintest hope of safety. These people preyed on the fundamental human desire for connection, for community, for a place to rest their weary souls. It made her stomach churn. She knew the world was a brutal, unforgiving place, a cesspool of violence and depravity, but it still managed to surprise her with the innovative ways in which people could sink to new lows. "Think I read something somewhere about a false advertisement," Jo muttered, more to herself than anyone else. Her jaw tightened, the muscles clenching as she fought back a surge of anger. It was always the same story: promises whispered like sweet poison, a gilded cage masquerading as a haven. No longer as concerned about their presence as before, she recognized a familiar pattern. Her problems, she knew, would soon be bigger, more complex, more dangerous. They would only have to wait, trapped and vulnerable, to find out what their captors intended for them. The waiting was the hardest part, the anticipation gnawing at the edges of her sanity. Jo tried to consciously shut down the darker corridors of her mind, to avoid opening herself up to the endless, terrifying possibilities that lurked within. She refused to fall down that rabbit hole of fear and paranoia. "Those who arrive, survive. I should have fucking known," she quipped, her voice dry and edged with bitterness. It was a mantra she had heard before, a hollow promise that echoed in the ruins of countless failed safe havens.
Her humor was a rather ineffective defense mechanism, a flimsy shield against the encroaching darkness. It was a reflex, an almost involuntary response to stress, and she couldn't seem to break the habit. It brought her a modicum of comfort, a fleeting sense of control in a situation that was rapidly spiraling beyond her grasp, but it also had a tendency to get her into trouble from time to time. Her sharp tongue and sarcastic wit often rubbed people the wrong way, especially in high-pressure situations. They all kind of stared at her, their expressions a mixture of confusion and apprehension, perhaps taken back that she switched to humor so soon after threatening them with violence. They likely saw her as unpredictable, unstable. She didn't care.
"They want us alive," Abraham, the redhead with the gruff voice and military bearing, pointed out, his eyes scanning the group with a practiced intensity. "We know that." His tone was pragmatic, almost clinical, as if they were discussing a military strategy rather than their potential fate.
"For now," Jo countered, her gaze sharp and unwavering. "I've been to many places like this one before." She spoke with a weary authority, the weight of her experiences evident in her voice. Each word was a chipped and weathered stone in the mosaic of her survival. "Something is very wrong here. Something rotten. We can't just sit around and wait for them to decide what to do with us. First, we gather info. We observe. We listen. Then, we find our opening." Her eyes flicked from face to face, assessing their reactions, looking for any sign of weakness or dissent. She needed them all on the same page, unified in their purpose.
Glenn, she then remembered his name, nodded with her, a flicker of determination in his eyes. "That could work for now. It's better than nothing. We need to know what's going on here, what kind of game they're playing." He leaned forward slightly, his voice low and urgent. "We need to figure out how to get out of this before it's too late."
The woman found herself grateful, a rare and unexpected feeling. She had fought her way out of many traps like this, but always it had been her and Diana, a duo against the world. It was nice, almost jarring, to have back up. To not have to shoulder the entire burden of their survival alone. Jo didn't know what to make of these strangers yet, whether they were trustworthy or simply desperate, but she did know that she could benefit from the sheer force of their numbers in that moment. There was power in a united front, strength in a shared purpose.
Of all the things she's been through, all the horrors she had witnessed, all the compromises she had been forced to make, Jo was adamant about one thing. She wouldn't let this fight be her last. Not with Diana's life on the line. Her sister was her anchor, her reason for pushing forward, and she would do anything, anything, to keep her safe. This situation was just another obstacle, another challenge she was going to have to brutally claw her way out of. They were getting out of this freight car, out of Terminus, and she didn't care what she'd have to do, what lines she'd have to cross, to see that happen. The thought hardened her resolve, turning her fear into a cold, unwavering determination. She was a survivor, and she would survive this too.
Welcome! This story has been one that has flowed out so easily. It's really for my own joy, but I hope someone else can enjoy it too. Thank you for reading. I can only claim my OC's as my own intellectual property, everything TWD belongs to AMC.
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