Patricia, the woman with the towels, gently lifted Randall's leg so she could slide one of the folded towels under him. It was probably the kindest he'd been treated all week, but then he was used to being thrashed around after the many months he had been with our camp.
"Is everything set?" Hershel asked the woman. He seemed red in the face and very flustered from his conversation with Shane.
"Should be," She said quietly, fiddling with the box of painkillers.
I wasn't prepared to listen to them operate on Randall, so I turned my head forward and tried to block out their voices.
Randall was panicking, I could hear him panting loudly from where I was sitting.
I didn't want to be in the room. I hated blood, and I hated people being in pain.
"Now just calm down, son." Hershel's deep voice was calming, or at least attempting to be, as Randall became more and more frightened.
"No, no," He croaked, clearly exhausted just like me. I didn't have the guts to look over at him, as his groans became shouts, and those shouts quickly morphed into petrified screams.
"Hold him down, Patricia!"
I could feel my stomach lurching, my hands shaking, my body aching. I just wanted to put my hands up to my ears and tune out the world, but because of those cuffs, I couldn't even do that.
So I sat there, my eyes clenched closed, my nose burning with the stench of fresh blood and sweat.
To add to that, Randall's screams were intensifying, and I swear almost every roamer in the state must've heard him.
"Patricia, hand me the bandages."
I kept my back to the situation at all times, not even daring myself to sneak a peek at what was happening. I kept my head down, and imagined anything but the scene unfolding behind me.
There was one last yelp from Randall, before the barn went silent again.
I turned my head towards them hesitantly, half-expecting Randall to be dead in a pool of his own blood. Instead, he was laying back against the wall, face dripping with sweat. He was alive, and his leg intact.
"I thought he would've passed out at least once." Hershel sighed, beginning to pick up his tools. To my disgust, some of them still had blood on them.
I felt myself slump back from my original stiff position; finally, there was another moment of silence.
"We'll be back with food in a while," Patricia said to Randall softly, before turning back to Hershel. "Let's go."
I was glad to be alone for the first time in what felt like ages. Randall was now sleeping, I imagine those painkillers Patricia had given him sent him straight to sleep.
The one thing I couldn't handle about being alone is that my brother Dave began to creep back into my thoughts. I had tried to keep him out of my mind, for the purpose of focusing on survival.
There was no time for grief in a world like this.
It would have been the perfect time for a small sleep, but as hard as I tried, my eyes wouldn't close.
What had I gotten myself into?
If I'd just stayed in my tent at camp, I wouldn't be in this position. Jane, my brother's wife, wouldn't be alone.
It wouldn't change the fact that my brother was gone, but I would be safe, and there for the last remaining member of my family.
I turned over, so that I was facing towards the door. My arm was killing me, already numb from the pressure of the cold metal. I gingerly readjusted my arm, so that the cuff wasn't pressing so hard into my skin.
When I took a look at my wrist, I could already see the formations of a bruise. It ran all the way around my wrist, the skin red and swollen.
There was a rustling, just ahead of me. Instantly, my head snapped up towards the sound. It was the sound of shoes scuffing against the grass outside.
I thought we were alone.
There was a thin gap in some of the planks that made up the door. I could faintly see the outline of a person, standing guard outside.
For a minute I wondered whether or not I should ask someone to loosen my cuffs, it didn't seem like too much to ask in my head, but I figured they were all out there anyway, discussing whether or not to kill us. Asking for them to loosen the handcuffs would seem very suspicious.
I tossed and turned for what felt like hours, looking around the room to avoid the ever-threatening tears that would occasionally gather in my eyes. It was a lonely feeling, sitting in the silent shed, Randall breathing heavily from the opposite side of the room.
I sat there, my forehead pressed against my knees, eyes clenched shut, as I tried to block out the overwhelming sorrow.
A quiet sob escaped my lips, which only brought more tears that trailed down my cheeks. It was hard for me to take in the fact that Dave was dead.
Dave is dead.
I kept chanting this over and over in my head, thinking if I repeated it enough times, it would ease the pain.
It didn't.
There is no way to escape the loss of a loved one, nothing to hide behind. I had thought that in this world, there would be a way to get used to the pain, to bury it, but there isn't. There was no way I would ever see my brother again, even if I did make it out of this shed alive.
I sat there, my face buried in the torn denim of my jeans, attempting to calm my breathing.
When the door burst open, I quickly swiped at my eyes, and looked down at my sneakers. I knew my eyes were puffy again, so I hid them as best I could from whoever had entered. I could hear the sound of shoes against the hollow wooden floor, as someone made their way towards me.
"Brought you some food," The man said quietly, almost gentle in his tone. He knelt down beside me, one knee on the ground, the other in front of him.
I could smell the meal before I saw it.
My stomach instantly grumbled loudly, every instinct in my body was screaming at me to reach out and grab the plate that was placed on the floor beside my foot.
"You can eat it, you know." The guy urged, watching me cautiously.
I raised my head slightly, so I could see the plate. Two slices of bread, a slice of red meat. I wasn't sure what kind of meat, but after months of eating cold baked beans and stale biscuits, I didn't care. There was a small pile of lettuce leaves on the side; the fresh green colour was something I hadn't seen in a long time.
That would be one reason why living in an open farm would be logical, they could easily grow their own food.
I silently leaned over, and pulled the plate over to me, which was tricky with one hand. The fork and knife clattered to the ground but I saw no point in having them anyway.
I hungrily lifted a single piece of bread to my lips, before taking a bite. I tried to savour it, as they if you want to fill up, you should eat slowly. However, the urge to eat was too strong, and I wolfed down another slice of bread.
It felt like my plate was empty too soon. I wiped my lips, but the empty feeling inside my gut just wasn't fulfilled.
"Thank you," I said, my voice sounding a lot stronger than it was five minutes ago. There was a silence, and I lifted my head lightly to see the man.
He was old, looking to be aged around his fifties. He had a scratchy beard, and a strange looking fisherman's hat.
"That's quite alright," He replied, looking serious as he turned to another person I hadn't noticed before.
"We ain't here to play picnic with 'er." The man must've been standing there the whole time, and I hadn't even noticed.
There stood a tall man, a crossbow slung over his shoulder, with his built arms crossed impatiently. They were bare, and I noticed the sleeves of his aged red plaid shirt had been ripped off.
He was tall, but not as giant as Shane, or as scrawny as Glenn. The man had messy, short brown hair and angry green-blue eyes. Facial hair painted his chin and jawline, only adding to the sharp look on his face as his eyes focused down at me from a distance.
"Amy, is it?" The man with the funny hat asked, looking down at me. I tried to forget that I must've been staring at the other man.
I attempted to keep myself calm, but the man with the crossbow was still glaring at me.
"Yes," I said quietly, looking from crossbow man to the guy with the fisherman's hat.
"My name is Dale." He paused, before turning to the crossbow man. "This is Daryl. We are just going to ask you some questions."
"I-uh..." My head was aching already, the familiar throbbing of exhaustion sending waves of dizziness through me.
"How many people were in your group?" Dale pressed.
"I don't really..." I was hesitant to hand out this information, knowing that Jane was still at that camp.
"We need your cooperation. We are just trying to protect ourselves." He reasoned, still awaiting my answer.
"This is stupid," Spat the man with the crossbow. "You really think she's gonna answer your dumbass questions?"
There was a silence, as Dale looked at me expectantly.
"Thirty," I reluctantly answered. A part of me was afraid of what could happen if I didn't answer, but the other part of me just wanted to prove this rude character wrong. "Around thirty. We recently ... lost people," I said quietly, fiddling with the frayed fabric of my jeans.
"I know. And I'm very sorry for your loss," Dale said. His eyes were solemn, watching my face for any kind of reaction.
He didn't mean it. He couldn't. It was the leader of his group that killed Sean, the leader of his group that killed my brother.
"I truly am," He said again, sounding sincere. That fact was, you could never tell who the liars were those days. "We don't usually kill the living."
The guy with the crossbow shuffled on his feet from behind Dale, remaining silent.
I cautiously looked over at Randall, to see if he was still sleeping. His breathing was steady, and he looked asleep to me, so I quietly turned back to the two men.
"You need to stay away from that group," I whispered to Dale.
"Is she threatening us?" The other man demanded, stepping towards me angrily. I instantly shied away from him, too accustomed to being hit at that point.
"You don't... You don't understand." I shook my head, pressing my heated forehead against the cool of my hand. "They do horrible things to people. And not just random people, but they do horrible things to their own group."
"Then why were ya with them?" He demanded.
"My brother was with them." I shrugged. Both of the men stared down at me. "B-But he wasn't like them! He, he kept us safe. My sister-in-law and me."
"What did they do? If you don't mind me asking," Dale requested politely. I stared down at the scuffed wooden floor again, deciding on whether or not to say anything.
"I don't know for sure, because Dave never let me know this stuff," I paused, before my eyes flickered back to Dale, who was beginning to stand up. "You should ask Randall. He would know."
I knew Randall had been involved with the bad things that had happened. He always wanted to be "in" with the older men, volunteering to go on trips almost every time. God knows what they did on those trips, but they always came back with the strangest of things. Like hiker's backpacks, still full to the brim with food, weapons.
But they never brought back any people.
"You should get some rest," Dale said quietly, before patting my arm and stepping away. "I'll go get someone to switch places with you, Daryl. You've been here all day."
All day?
The colour drained from my face, and I looked down at the ground in embarrassment as the two men left the shed. Daryl must've been the person standing outside the door.