Bonds {TWD}

Chapter 2 {ARIZONA}

I have my right hand on the steering wheel, left on my M1903 Springfield rifle that rests on the open window just in case any risen get curious.
My rusty red golden doodle Damian sits in the passenger seat next to me his nose stuffed in the crack of window I opened for him, you can't be to cautious because risen eat anything.
The wind blows through my open window and blows the sweat drops off my face and my dark brown half-shaved hair. I keep my one blue and one grey eyed on the barren asphalt road with heat boiling off of it in waves of steam that alter my vision.
I pass by a man with a large backpack on and he waves at me, odd. I think, but then who would stop a 15 year old girl driving a beaten up, dirty and rusty 2008 Ford Escape?
Not this man, but his buddies would. Guns go off and my car starts to hum funny, I know it's not a good hum so I slam on the breaks and shift it into park.
I whip open my door and suddenly there's a cloth around my eyes and a hand around my stomach.
"Let me go asshole!" I scream defiantly with my low voice and Canadian accent.
"Sorry sunshine, but ai can't do that ye see?" He says in a heavy southern accent.
A gun is bashed against my skull and the world becomes a void of blackness and silence and the taste of blood.
• • •
When I wake up I hear drunken laughing, or so it seems, from the room next to me. My vision is all red with strange black lines and dots distorting it.
I shake my head and the bandana falls off my eyes so I can look at the crappy room I'm being held in. The walls and ceiling are chipping white plaster and the floor is worm and stained cement.
I feel rope tied onto my wrists binding me to the old wooden chair I sit on, I start to slightly wiggle from them.
A cocasian man walks in, about five foot two? Two inches shorter than me, he's mid to late forties but a grey beard offset from his black hair makes him look that much older, plus being under the stress of the apocalypse doesn't help. His grey shirt and jeans are worn and stained with the risen's blood and mud.
His friend a asian man wearing the same clothes but carrying a black rifle.
"Looky here, she's awake." The cocasian man says in another southern accent.
"Let me go basterd." I growl.
"Ooh a feisty one they caught eh?" He cackles.
"Shut up and let me go." I say as my right hand slips free of the restraints.
"Ooh honey, we can't do that." He smiles evilly.
"Why not?" I growl and struggle with my restraints.
"Because you got what we want." He says sickeningly sweetly.
"And what is that?" I ask just as sickeningly sweetly.
He leans in and I see a knife with a black handle tight in his fist, he smiles and draws the knife in a line from my forehead down my jawline to my chin where he flicks it away and spatters my face with my own A+ blood. "Information." He smiles.
"I don't know what you're talking about but I don't have any information that would interest you." I keep my voice even and try not to show my excitement as I get my left hand free and can feel the hilt on my dagger in my right leather coat sleeve.
"Oh yes you do lil one." He grumbles and advances within dagger reach, so I swing my arm out and plunge it into his skull "I don't like being called little" I growl and his body thuds to the floor.
His buddy is arming the rifle with shaky hands, but before he can take the shot it's to late, the dagger is already flying through the air and plunging itself into his eye.
I rush over and grab the dagger which I wipe on his shirt and sling the rifle over my shoulder and I scan the room for a exit they wouldn't be stupid enough to leave the door unguarded so I cancel that out. I look all around and there it is, about four feet off the ground with a foot and a half square hole, that must have once been a window, to squeeze through.
Before I jump through the window I make sure the chain around my neck hasn't snapped of, before I jump up, throw my rifle to the other side of the window and duck through. I stand up on the other end and scream "DAMIAN!" I call out and I hear the little scratchings of his untrimmed nails on the asphalt.
Damian's little rusty head can be seen poking around a corner then he comes running at full speed towards me, I pat him on the head and scan my surroundings, three sides of the 20 by 20 meter square I'm in are cement or brick buildings, the other is a fence that I could climb, but I don't know how I would get Damian over, there is also a alley with something big and metal in it, but I can't see what it is, it looks like a train car of sorts.
"Don't bother little warrior." A voice comes from the roof behind me, I look up to see a man probably early twenties with brown hair and undefinable eyes calls down to me.
"As I told your two buddies down there, I don't like being called little!" I call up furiously, how dare he? He doesn't know me, no one alive anymore knows me!
"Well, then that's sad, what's even more sad is that I'm going to need to ask you to please set your weapons and go inside that train car over there in that ally." he says even more sickeningly sweet than the guy before him, and I plunged a dagger into his skull! Wonder what I'm going to do to this guy?
"Go in that train car or I'll have my snipers snipe the dog." He threatens, but I can't loose Damian, not another family member.
I send a death glare his way that I'm sure you could feel from a mile away as I lay my rifle down and scale my long leg swathed in blue ripped skinny jeans to take one of the many knives out of my boot and walk over to the train car.
"Grab the handle and slide open the door to the right." He instructs.
"I know how to open a damn door." I mutter but slide the door aside with ease and step in, then the door slowly closes behind me and my dog, I whip around and slam my arms on the hard wood door.
"You assholes let me out of this damn box right now and I might not smash your skulls in when I get out!" I scream through the door.
Someone clears their throat behind me. I turn around to see, with the little light flowing in from the gaps in the door, a man in his early to mid forties, I would guess, with longish brown hair, a grey/brown beard and blue eyes wearing muddy jeans, a tattered white shirt and muddy cowboy boots.
"I didn't notice that I wasn't alone." I said sassily trying to cover up my embarrassment.
"Who are you?" He demands in a gruff voice with a heavy Georgian accent.
"Well since you asked so nicely-" I smile sarcastically "-Arizona Peircey." I say and stick out my hand.
"Rick Grimes." He shakes my hand.
A woman appears at his shoulder and whispers something to him, he nods and disappears into the shadows. I hear a quiet discussion and a kid, about my age appears in the strip of light.
The kid wears muddy jeans, a unbuttoned blue plaid button up shirt with a grey t-shirt underneath, mud plastered hiking boots and a brown sheriff's hat. He has long brown hair, freckles and big innocent yet somehow cold blue eyes and a patch of scratches on his right cheek.
The kid stares at me and I stare back at him lazily, like I don't give a crap what you think. Rick reappears after the muttering stops and pushes the kid back "Carl I'll deal with this." He scolds.
The kid, Carl, just rolls his eyes and backs up. Deal with what? I think.
"How many walkers have you killed?" He asks.
"Walkers?" The word is foreign to me.
"The dead things." Carl is back in the light, Rick glares at him, but does nothing to restrain him this time, I would venture a guess that they're father and son, and that Carl is a handful.
"Oh, that's so much better than risen." I unintentionally veer from the question.
"Answer him." The african American woman from before with dark brown dreadlocks held back by a dirty headband, to show brown eyes wearing a dirty and mangled white button up shirt, dirty tight cackies and leather boots appears.
"To many to count, I'd venture a guess around 128?" I shrug.
"How many people have you killed?" He asks, I look at him in disbelief then manage to change it to a fake grief.
Another woman, with brown hair and big green eyes, a blood spattered face appears.
"Rick-" she has a heavy southern accent "-she's just a kid, she's Carl's age you don't need to ask that one." she persuades.
"Dad, Maggie's right." Carl looks up at his dad from under his hat.
"Fine." Rick grumbles.
I sigh and smile "why do you ask?" I ask.
"We need to make sure you're safe." The black woman to Rick's right says.
"To add on to what Michonne said." A Korean man steps from the shadows and entwines his fingers with the second woman's, Maggie's. "So we won't see you as a threat" I just nod comprehensively.
"Please join us." Maggie smiles to me and I follow them to a circle of people in the dark.
I sit between Carl and Maggie, Carl sits with Michonne to his right, who sits next to Rick, who has a muscular guy with long dark hair and a leather jacket named Daryl to his right. Daryl sits next to a african American man in a dirty orange shirt and manpris who is introduced to me as Bob, he sits to the left of a African American woman with her hair in a bun wearing a long sleeve shirt so covered in mud the color isn't distinguishable anymore and tight pants, who I'm told is Sasha. "We need a way out of this" Sasha states the obvious and looks to her right at a man in army gear with red hair in a messy buzz cut and a handlebar mustache who is introduced as Sergeant Abraham Ford, for reassurance. Sergeant.Abraham says nothing.
Next to him a man wearing heavy duty gear with a dark brown mullet called Dr.Porter nods his head. The girl next to him named Rosita wearing army gear speaks "We could pry the door open." The girl next to her is dressed in baggy clothes her dark hair in a ponytail called Tara nods in approval. The Korean is beside her wearing a green long sleeve shirt and pants, his name is Glenn who is next to Maggie who I now notice is wearing a tank top and capris.
"We have nothing to pry it open with, they took our weapons." Daryl points out.
"Oh wait." I say and reach into my boot with everyone staring at me, I pull out two knives from one, one from the other and I slip my dagger from my sleeve.
Everyone stares at me in awe and I look around at the astonished faces. Then notice Rick looks smug, why does he look smug? I want him to stop looking smug! I want to slap the smugness off his face!
"Wow." Carl gasps next to me.
"You carry all that in your boots?" Darrel asks.
"And I had another in my boot, but I had to lay it down for it to look believable." I sigh at the weapons infront of me.
"It'll definitely do." Glenn gulps, possibly afraid of me now.
"Good, because it's all I've got." I purse my lips and cross my arms.
I could possibly just have saved these people's asses.