𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐢𝐭𝐫𝐞 𝐝𝐢𝐱-𝐬𝐞𝐩𝐭
𝚌𝚕𝚊𝚒𝚛𝚟𝚘𝚢𝚊𝚗𝚝
╚═══════════════╝
H E R
After some rather thorough pat-downs, a guy named Alex lead us out front. A large courtyard, mostly enclosed with brick walls. I slid my eyes over to where Carl walked along beside me. By the tension hiking up his shoulders and the tight set of his jaw I could tell he's still suspicious.
I, on the other hand, couldn't help but be hopeful. Really hopeful, which was becoming less common place in my once so optimistic personality. So I clung to this aspiration, let myself dream and wish. That Terminus could be our next prison. They take us in and we become part of them. That things would finally just be simple.
"How long's this place been here?" Daryl asked.
Alex turned to him, "Since almost the start." He replied. "When all the camps got overrun, people started finding this place. Think it was instinct, ya know? Follow the path. Some folks are heading to the coast, others out west, or up north. But they all wound up here."
We stopped walking by then and ended up in front of a large outdoor grill. The scent of cooking meat made my hollow insides turn.
A real meal sounded almost too good to be true. Not just a leg of a rabbit or a smooshed granola bar. But a fresh cooked, hmm, maybe beef? I couldn't even remember the last time I'd had steak or a hamburger. Excitement and hunger took over any last doubts I had.
"Heard you came in the back door. Smart. You'll fit right in here." A woman with auburn hair commented as she turned over a piece of meat.
I glanced over my shoulder, looking for a familiar face. There were people, but none recognizable to me.
"Hey Mary, would you fix each of these new folks a plate?" Alex asked the woman behind the grill and I rip my attention away from a blonde girl wearing a printed poncho.
Daryl had a poncho. I remember. He wore it during the winter, back when I had first arrived.
"Why do you do it?" Michonne spoke up. "Why do you let people in?"
"More people become part of us, we become stronger."
Good tactic? Made sense. We did the same thing at the prison.
A man sitting in a chair dug through a burnt orange backpack. Another guy was milling around in riot gear, like the kind they had back at the prison.
Oh, God. I felt it in my stomach. That funny feeling. Where your gut just drops and your skin prickles. Shit.
Something's off. Something's not right.
"That's why we put up the signs. Invite people in. That's how we survive." Alex finished his answer, handing Carl a paper plate who took it without much thought to it. A ray of sunlight caught onto something in Alex's pocket. A watch. Alex went to hand a plate of meat to Rick, to which he lashed his arm out, slam-dunking the paper plate onto the pavement and pulled Alex into a headlock, gripping the pocket watch in one hand and in the other a gun pressed to Alex's temple.
I took two steps back, pulling at the baldric, ready, to swing the shotgun around into firing position. Carl dropped his plate and upholstered his Glock. Michonne unsheathed her katana and Daryl held up his crossbow.
We needed no signal word. It was that silent, unspoken agreement thing, the one I constantly felt with Carl, that had enveloped our group. That if things even looked the slightest bit out of place and Rick went into action, our weapons would be out and ready to defend him.
We definitely caught the attention of everybody in the courtyard. A couple pulled their weapons out from where they had kept them hidden.
"Where the hell'd you get this watch?" Rick asked, tightening his hold on Alex who hardly struggled. If Rick Grimes put the barrel of a gun to my head, I'd probably be scared out of my mind, knowing Rick had a history of his mental state not exactly being at its peak. "Where the hell did you get this watch?" Rick repeated, his tone intensifying and I could tell things were not going to end well.
I guess I did feel a bit devastated. Betrayed. No, no. This wasn't supposed to happen. Terminus wasn't supposed to be a lie.
"You want answers? You want anything else, you get them when you put the gun down."
Oh, bitch please.
"I see your man on the roof." Rick said. "The sniper rifle. How good's his aim?"
My eyes flitted up, only for a second. For sure, there was a guy up there with a rifle pointed down at Rick.
A shadow crossed over my shoulders as Carl stepped before me, his stance entirely protective. He knew I could take care of myself. I didn't need him standing over me.
Move, idiot.
But he was no mind reader, and he held his stance.
"Where'd you get the watch?" Rick yelled, desperately wanting an answer.
"Don't do anything!" Alex called up to his buddy on the roof. What a jackass. He thought he had this under control, huh? Think again. "Now you listen to me, there's a lot of us."
Rick couldn't care less. "Where'd you get this watch?"
"Got it off a dead one." Alex insisted. "Didn't think he'd need it."
"That riot gear, the poncho?" So Rick noticed, too.
A new voice entered the tangle of confusion. "Got the riot gear off a dead cop. Found the poncho on a clothes line." Gareth intruded calmly. Lies. It was too much of a coincidence to be true.
"Gareth, we can wait." Alex tried but was silenced.
"Shut up, Alex." Gareth replied, stepping in closer to us.
"You talk to me," Rick demanded.
Gareth looked us over a second. "What's left to say? You don't trust us anymore."
"Gareth," Alex wheezed.
"Alex, shut up."
"Gareth, please."
Gareth turned his palms toward us, almost as if he were surrendering and trying to assure us at the same time. "It's okay. It's okay. Rick what do you want?"
"Where are our people?"
"You didn't answer the question." Gareth said plainly.
This was not going to end well. Damn it.
I heard a gunshot and then something dropping heavy on the concrete. Alex was down. Another one of Rick's casualties.
Then, in the most graceful way possible, all Hell broke loose in that cement enclosure of a courtyard.
Bullets rained down from the sky, narrowly missing me. Shots were being fired and I was in the middle of it all. We all were.
I fired back, not really aiming but I watched through the scope as a man dropped to the ground followed by a puddle of black blood. Bile rose in my throat but I knew then was no time to freak over a kill.
It was him or you.
Maybe. I don't know anymore.
I tried settling my breathing and scoping out who would have to be my next victim, so many of the Terminians begun dropping and with the ratio of us against them I wondered how in the world none of us had been hit by their bullets.
Rick yelled something and Carl got a firm grip on my forearm, hauling me after him and the rest of the group down an alley of sorts.
The boy said something but I couldn't make out his words over the gunfire that roared relentlessly behind me and I felt a rush of blood to my head.
Where'd these guys learn to shoot? Stormtrooper school?
The bullets hit the ground all around us.
I focused on keeping up with the crunching of gravel beneath my group's boots as we slung around corners, gunfire at out heels. Carl kept his fingers around my wrist, not letting me out of his grasp as we desperately searched for a way out.
And suddenly, we come to a stop and I glanced up. A large room. We're inside again. Lanterns and candles filled the space with a buttery, dream-like light. There was a design on the floor and it took me a moment to realize that they were names in a large circle.
The place gave off a weird vibe and I took an involuntary step towards Carl who slipped his hand down to mine. I looked over at him to see his eyes were locked on something else. I followed his gaze.
On the walls:
NEVER AGAIN
NEVER TRUST
WE FIRST, ALWAYS
"The hell is this place?" Daryl asked as we surveyed the room, catching our breath.
"These people," Michonne began. "I don't think they are trying to kill us."
I paused, feeling my stomach plummet. "...They weren't?"
"No," Rick agreed. "They were aiming at our feet."
Shit.
The man I just killed. The man who was dead. Did he even have a weapon? Did I even look? Apparently these people were not trying to kill us, but I killed one anyway. Like the little monster I was.
I had to swallow down more vomit. Blink back burning eyes. Wanting to turn back to just a mere minute before to when my kill count was only one person. So much can change in sixty seconds. That man lost his life because I pulled the trigger. Two people are dead because of me.
"There," Rick pointed to a door which shut seconds before we got to it. We took the other door and we're running, outside again.
The gunshots were back, kicking up dirt and dust. We jumped off a ledge and our feet hit pavement. A couple meters in, we came to an abrupt stop.
I turned in a full circle, sharp shooters in every direction.
We were surrounded. We were trapped.
What the hell?
Rick turned and he looked at Carl. Then at me. Then back at Carl.
So much for making there be a way out of a problem. I guess there would be a time when my theory would prove faulty. And here we were, stuck in a dead end. I couldn't help but feel guilty. Like somehow it was my fault. Maybe it was. Because I had let myself hope. I don't know.
"Drop your weapons." Gareth's voice echoed through the air with finality. "Now."
Carl fixed his gaze on his father, a determined glint shining in his eyes and a resolute expression on his face. It was as though he harbored an unspoken conviction that he possessed the capability to overcome any obstacle before him. I recognized that look; it conveyed an unwavering resolve, silently declaring, 'I can take out every single one of those rooftop gunners.'
But he couldn't.
Even if that's his intent, he'd scarcely eliminate more than two of the rooftop snipers before succumbing to a hail of bullets. While he's skilled with a firearm, the odds are stacked against him, outnumbered and outgunned as he is.
"Now!" Gareth shouted.
Reluctantly, we let our weapons hit the concrete at our feet, a collective tension palpable in the air. I clenched my jaw, seeking some semblance of composure amidst the uncertainty. What fate awaited us? What had befell our friends?
"Ringleader, go to your left."
I looked over at the direction Gareth spoke of. A red rusty train car sat unused on sets of cinderblocks, a large 'A' painted on the side facing toward us.
"The train car. Go."
Rick stood unmoving and Gareth seemed to catch onto the man's hesitance.
"Do what we say and the kids go with you. Anything else, they die and you end up in there anyway."
My eyes met Carl's widened ones.
They'll kill him.
They'll kill us.
Rick gave into Gareth's threats and began making his way over.
"Now the Archer." That was Daryl, obviously.
'The Archer' glared at Gareth who watched us from the rooftop like some sort of dictator before following Rick's lead.
"Now the Samurai."
Michonne went in suit, with silent footsteps.
"Ringleader, Archer, Samurai, in that order." It was quiet for a couple moments as if Gareth enjoyed creating suspense.
Then, Gareth ordered Rick to open the door.
"The kids!" Rick shouted after the pause grew too long for anyone's comfort. "My kids."
Despite the heaviness of our situation, I felt some warmth return to me with Rick's declaration. Accepted, I guess, was the word for it. Rick saw me as one of his own.
From the high ground, Gareth looked between Carl and I, the amount of time he was taking to make his decision was concerning. I glanced at Carl, the boy's face hard. Why was it taking so long?
"Alright. Sweetheart, your turn."
That's me?
I looked up at Gareth, ignoring the sun's glare. He was looking right back, an eyebrow raised as he waited.
That's me.
Sweetheart. A nickname that once had been my calling, now hangs deafly on my ears. I was no sweetheart. I had killed two men, two complete strangers, the man from Joe's group and one of the Terminus residents. I was stupid for even thinking we had a chance here. Maybe that's why it was all my fault, why I felt so guilty. I didn't deserve good things to happen to me, and I had endangered everyone else with my own karma. A little pathetic monster might have been a better thing to call me.
Sweetheart? Bullshit.
I began moving forward, remembering how to walk.
Finding my place in line behind Michonne, I casted a wary glance back at Carl who now stood alone.
He's alone. Carl's alone. Weaponless. Unarmed. Do you know how easy it would be to take him out? They could take him out right now.
I shook my head slightly, trying to think about anything but that.
He'll be fine. He's Carl Grimes, for God's sake. He'll be fine. He has to be.
And if he's not?
Several seconds had passed and Carl stood unmoving, rifles pointed at him. He met my eyes, even from the distance, I could see the dread and fear in his gaze
It was still silent for a couple more seconds. And finally Gareth broke the silence, "Go, Kid."
Air rushed into my body and I realized I had been holding my breath until the second Carl began taking steps in our direction.
I waited for it. For the bullets to rip through him. I didn't blink, couldn't. Not until he was right behind me, his chest nearly pressed against my shoulder, and even then I was uncertain.
"Open the door and step inside." Gareth ordered Rick who complied.
We followed his lead into the boxcar, taking our steps slow and steady. Upon intruding, it was dark and musty, the door slamming shut behind us. I squinted and glanced around, trying to adjust my eyes to the murky lighting. I felt Carl take my hand once more, perhaps out of fear.
Strips of light fell through the cracked wood of the roof, allowing us sight of several humanoid figures at the other end of the oblong structure.
"Rick?" One of the voices asked.
"You're here." Rick stated, relieved. "You're here."
The box car filled with murmurs as our group and the group that was here before us began recognizing each other. Glenn's face was the first I saw, though he had lost the happy-go-lucky glow that usually tinted his youthful features. At his side was the beautiful Maggie. She looked me over, as if though she had mistaken my blonde curls for Beth, before disappointment fell across her face and she glanced away. It's okay, Maggie. I'm disappointed she's not here, too. Sasha appeared and reached out for me, a familiar face I had known for longer than any of the others here. Aside from Bob, I didn't recognize the few strangers that stayed back from our small reunion.
"They're our friends." Maggie told us. "They helped save us."
"Yeah," Daryl quickly responded, nodding in ascent. "Now they're friends of ours."
"For however long that'll be." One of the strangers said, a man with a matching set of red hair and handlebar mustache, as he slightly turned away.
"No." Rick's chin was high, he was sure. "They're gonna feel pretty stupid when they found out."
Glenn stepped forward, eyebrows pulled together. "Find out what?"
It was a defining moment, the kind that shapes a person, imbues them with purpose. A moment that fosters a sense of belonging, of pride in being part of this group of formidable individuals.
Rick, ever so eloquently silhouetted himself against the light creeping through the door, answered with precision:
"They're fucking with the wrong people."
≫ ──── ≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫ ──── ≪
hey you yes you go read the social media counterparts
youre gonna regret it if u don't idk
what if i shaved my head
jk i wouldn't do that
sometimes though i do wonder what it would be like to have my britney moment and shave off all my hair and then break someone's car windows with an umbrella
if that's wrong i don't want to be right
LOTS OF LOVE,
YOUR AUTHOR
edit: more ai :)