eight. all roads lead here

eight˚༺⋆♱⋆༻˚↳ all roads lead here ↲

THE SUN WAS JUST BARELY RISEN, as I sat against the vehicle, my back straight and stiff against the metal exterior. The morning air bore a chill that seeped through my bloodstained skin, etching itself into the most primal parts of me.

I wasn't sure when I'd come back from the woods last night, with the man who'd introduced himself as Daryl. All I knew was that the automatic rifle I'd taken was completely emptied out, and that there wasn't a scratch on me. There was blood—and a lot of it—but not one drop that belonged to me.

Last night, while swallowed whole inside the lightless forest, his crossbow had acted as an extension of his hands. The Angel had used it so effortlessly, making sure nothing happened to me as we relentlessly took on groups of the dead. His weapon released an arrow at any set of snapping teeth that got too close to for comfort.

I didn't understand why he'd decided to protect me, and my mind was far too barren to begin rationalizing it. All I could think about now that wasn't in combat, were my pleads as I was pinned under the claimer. They echoed against my skull like a god-awful migraine.

One of the doors opened. A figure emerged from the other side of the car, and spoke softly to Rick and Daryl who were sitting on the opposite side. The person then rounded the hunk-of-junk to seat themselves on the unoccupied cobblestone beside me. I sat with my legs brought into my chest, arms folded tightly around myself. My forehead rested against my knees, and I couldn't bring myself to lift my head and identify the person.

"We're going to start towards Terminus once Carl wakes up." A woman's voice spoke, and I recognized it to belong to Michonne.

I hugged myself tighter. I wanted to ask about him. I hadn't spoken to him since before we'd been drug from the cars by the claimers. After they were all dead, I'd left with Daryl, and returned when he was already asleep.

"He's fine." She seemed to understand my silence. "Just resting—like you should be."

I couldn't. I couldn't even close my eyes. The type of nightmare we'd been put through was the kind that had the ability to haunt one while they were still wide-awake. Sleep would only make me relive it all again.

For a reason I couldn't explain, I felt such embarrassment. The man had barely done anything to me—yet I felt such shame. It tore into me like one of the dead, but it wasn't quick and gruesome. It was dull, and slow, and unbearable.

"He was asking about you. He woke a few hours ago. Asked if you were alright." She continued, accepting my silence.

"What did you tell him?" I finally spoke, my chin tilting up to look at the woman.

She glanced at my face, her eyes scanning over the splatters on my skin. She pulled a bottled water and a piece of cloth from her bag, pouring some of the fluid the rag.

"The same thing I told you—that you were fine." She said, bringing the wet fabric to my cheek.

She gently scrubbed at the blood. I allowed her to do this, not having enough strength to resist the nurturing action.

"I didn't realize he cared." I whispered out softly as she swiped the cloth against my temple.

Michonne sighed out, tilting her head as she worked to clean me up. "He's good at that; at pretending he doesn't."

"He shouldn't." I stated. "All me and him are good for, is arguing. If he cares, it'll mess everything up."

Her mouth was formed into a tight concentration line, but the corners tilted up. "Would it be so bad if two you were friends?"

I nodded. "Yes. It would be catastrophic."

She lifted my chin to get the side of my face. "More than it already is? No—I don't think it could get any worse."

"It can always get worse."

▬ ▬ ▬

I brought my foot across a wooden board that had fallen to the ground. Dusting away the debris and leaves drained of color with the sole of my shoe, a map was revealed.

It was titled with one word.

TERMINUS.

Our pinpointed location was coming towards the black star that marked the camp—or whatever the hell it was. The train tracks on the map were beginning to swivel together into one, letting us know that we were down to the final stretch.

"We're getting close." Daryl said, approaching the board. "Be there before sundown."

Rick brought his eyes to the trees. "Now we go through the woods. We don't know who they are."

He was admitting it. His apprehension must have grown over the course of today. We had done nothing other than travel, which allowed a lot of time for him to think about this choice of his. And think of last night. However, he must have thought we were too close to give up the possibility now. We truthfully had no other place to go.

Even I felt eager to see the place.

"Alright." Daryl replied, leading us off the railway, and into the wooded area.

I kept my knife—yes, my family knife I had retrieved off of one of the claimers dead bodies—ready as we weaved through the woodland. Carl walking alongside me, gripping his gun as if he were ready for anything.

It was the one thing that I appreciated about him. He never let his guard down.

After some time of walking, we approached an overgrown chain link fence that was lined with sharpened wooden dowels. The first sign of civilization—defense. Either to keep things out. . . or to keep things in. All five of us closed in on the fence, avoiding the spikes, and peering past the ivy to get a good look at what lay beyond.

A large complex. It looked to be something of an old automechanic shop, but it was of considerable size. From where we stood, I noted the multiple stories, and high windows that had been covered, and shut. Instead, large letters in each spot was painted, coming together to spell out 'Terminus'.

"I told you." Carl said to me. "I win."

I squinted. The place appeared empty from this side. There were no lively voices, or signs of any sort of homestead. It made me wonder if the entire thing was barren, or worse, internally taken over by the dead.

"Not yet." I said, looking to him fully for the first time today.

Since the incident, his digs at me had stopped. I hadn't tried to antagonize him or take advantage of this. I didn't have it in me, either. All we seemed to be able to give each-other was silence; and that was enough. We had been thrown on opposite sides of the car, unable to see what the other had gone through. But I had heard his screams, and from the way he now glanced at me, I knew he had heard mine too.

"We all spread out, watch for a while. See what we see, and get ready." Rick stated. "We all stay close."

I slowly began south from the fence, heading from the others who were splitting into tiny groups. To my surprise, Carl had started in my direction. He didn't ask to join, or even bother to look at me. He only quietly followed close behind, before Rick stepped in front of him.

"You wanna' stick with me?" His father asked.

Carl stared at his father for a moment. Thats all he did — stare. And past the reflection in his eyes, I noticed something churning deep in the blue. It wasn't fear, but it was something close. He was entirely unsettled by Rick.

I didn't blame him. Blood was dried into his brown beard. He'd ripped a man's throat out with his bare teeth, like a wolf tearing apart prey with its canines. Although the man had deserved every bit of it, it was an incredibly violent act to watch your father commit. One Carl obviously wasn't expecting.

"It's alright, Cyn and I were gonna' go together."

That most definitely was not the plan. I had been expecting to wander the fencing alone and get my own idea of the place without anyone else's input.   However, I didn't stop him from moving past his dad and walking alongside me. For quite some time, we simply stepped along the chain-link and quietly waited for anything to happen.

"Why did you brush him off?" I finally asked, my fingers wrapping around the fence.

He still remained silent, his eyes staying up ahead on the facility to look for any sign of life or death.

"I saw the way you looked at your dad. You shouldn't be scared of him." I said

He looked carefully to me. "I'm not scared."

I nodded. He was afraid. He'd just never admit it to me. "Good. You're lucky to have him, you know?"

"Why?" Carl snapped back, trying to keep his tone from being too harsh.

I pushed away from the fence, and we continued to walk along the sides. "He'd do anything for you. That's why."

"And any other dad wouldn't?" He asked, confused.

That was laughable. But I didn't feel like laughing today. Or even cracking a smile for that matter. Instead, my steps halted. "No."

Speaking with him took so much conscious effort. There were no right words to be shared between us. We would never be able to satisfy the other. The air always hung heavy when we were together—each unspoken syllable adding weight to the pack I carried on my back, and gapping us further apart. It was something we were unable to bridge.

"What was yours like, then?" He questioned, realizing my words were from personal experience.

My throat tightened. He would never understand. . . not when his own father was willing to kill for him. "It doesn't matter. What I'm trying to say is—"

"Yes, it does." He interrupted, stopping our movement all together. "Why don't you ever talk about yourself?"

"I do." I shrugged, thinking to the few things he had picked up about me.

"Yeah, sure." He sarcastically stated. "I know your name is Cyn, and that you fall asleep reading comics. That's about all."

I wished I hadn't tried to dig at him for answers regarding his father. Everything had to cost something to Carl, and I was paying in the form of being hounded about my own life. I'd never wanted to talk to this boy about myself, and I was happy to remain a closed book, on his account.

If he knew anything about my life, he'd know to steer clear of me. Golden-boys like him weren't supposed to get to know people like me.

Most from my past stayed away. It wasn't a secret that the Hargraves were all troubled. The father, of course, who always answered the door when the police were called, with an apologetic smile on his face. Everyone looked past the tossed broken pieces of furniture in the trash-bins, and the marks on his wife. The youngest, Allison, who still peed her pants at six years old when she was anxious. The eldest daughter, Cynthia, whose school record was inked with reports of poor behavior.

That was what we were. Who my family was, and what I was defined as. Only now, my report list of sins had quadrupled. It wasn't just things like lashing out at teachers, and picking fights with others. It was plagued with murder. Death.

"You'd start lookin' at me, just like how you've been looking your dad." I admitted. "I've done monstrous things. Stuff I don't want to talk with you about."

"If you think I haven't, then I'm not the person you think me to be," He said. "I've done bad things."

"I've killed." I explained to him. "I've ended lives with a smile on my face."

Last night. I'd been smiling then, when firing shot after shot into the claimer.

He looked to upwards to the sky, but was blocked by the large bushel of leaves above our heads. "I have, too."

I shook my head at his inability to understand my words, moving past a gnarled tree with a 'No Trespassing' sign nailed against the bark. The thing stood like an old man who needed a cane, the trunk hunched with branches violently twisting out.

"You wanted to know what happened to my dad, didn't you?" I asked, not knowing how else to solidify my wrongdoings in his mind.

He silently gave me a nod.

"I killed him."

His brows furrowed, before relaxing. "I put my mom down too, before she turned."

"It wasn't a mercy kill." I revealed. "We were scouting a building with him—my sister and I— and a dead one came towards him from the side. My sister opened her mouth to warn him. . .but— I covered her mouth, and let the thing rip into him."

I focused on my own words, trying to prevent the next line, failing. "I watched, and it made me happy."

His eyes rested on mine. I thought they would be filled with fear when I finished my story. . . but they were not. There was a sense of understanding past his pupils. Something that made me feel a little less predatory.

"Back at the prison, when the governor first attacked," He started, "I ran into one of their child soldiers. He was harmless; putting his weapon down. And I shot him. I don't know why. Maybe I just wanted to."

I followed along with his words, listening to the vulnerable side of him; one I hadn't met.

"My dad told me he was proud of me the other day, and that I was a good man. But I don't think he's right. I'm not a man, and I'm not good. I'm just another monster." He told me.

He wasn't a man, that much was true. He had a little time before he'd take that title.

"Maybe being a monster isn't so bad, then. If you are one, it doesn't mean you have to do terrible things. It just means that you're capable. And if you're capable but docile—I'd say that's a pretty good monster."

Without being able to exchange another word, the others had caught up with us, and led the way to a clear side of the fencing. It was pointed directly at the side of an open door, meaning we were going to approach in a quiet manner, unseen.

"I hid a bag of some weapons back there, just incase." Rick told us. "Keep what you have on you, and stay alert."

All of us did just as he said, pulling weapons into our hands. I kept my knife in its usual place, and instead, took out the pistol in my leg holster, flicking the gun off safety. After watching Daryl hop the fence, I brought my shoe into a link to hoist myself up. He helped me down the other side, the others shortly doing the same.

We crouched low, pointing our weapons at the metal door Daryl approached first. It was odd to realize he was a natural leader. After watching him beaten to the ground, I'd assumed him to be different than this. He'd gotten up to follow me through the woods, just minutes after having his face punched in. That was a different type of strength. A silent, but fearsome one.

He waved us in through the door that had already been propped open, and we brought ourselves into the darkened hallway he occupied.

The words, 'Terminus. Those who arrive, survive', echoed through the empty space hauntingly. Inside this building, it lay desolate, the hallway stretching on for what seemed liked eternity. The atmosphere was heavy and tense, our steps leading us closer to the light at the end of the passage.

As the campaign was stated over, I memorized the words, coming to a stop at another open threshold. I took in the extremely large space. There were separate work stations, each person too busy drawing maps, or writing coordinates, to notice our entrance. The woman sitting closest to the door repeated those same lines. She'd been the one we'd heard. She wore headphones, and was repeating the catchphrase flatly into a broadcast channel.

"You will meet at the tracks, where all lines intersect. All roads lead here." She continued.

Without any communication, Rick began to walk in. Without any other choice but to stay in this dark hallway, Carl, Daryl, and I decided to follow from behind as he approached.

"Hello." He spoke, not much of a greeting at all. It was more an announcement of our arrival. A way to show them that we already had the upper hand.

The room fell awfully silent. All the business in the space halted, and heads swiveled to look at us. The broadcast was now static with silence, feedback crunching from the speaker as a man in the middle brought his pencil harshly onto the desk.

"Well, I bet Albert is on perimeter watch." He sighed, moving closer to us. "You here to rob us?"

I came up beside Carl. His father's shoulders relaxed at the question. People who wanted blood didn't typically ask strangers if it would be taken from them. Violence was typically questionless, more of an instinct than an inquiry. Those who feared it didn't have much part in it, from what I'd seen.

"No." Rick took a careful step closer. "We wanted to see you, before you saw us."

The guy turned his head to his side, perhaps looking for Albert, who was supposedly should have seen us before we entered through the back. "Makes sense."

"Usually we do this where the tracks meet, but," He cleared his throat, gesturing his hands in the air as he came closer. "Welcome to Terminus, I'm Gareth. Looks like you've been on the road for a good bit."

"We have." Rick told him, after a moment of silent thought. "Rick. That's Carl, Cyn, Daryl, and Michonne."

Gareth smiled as he looked over our small crowd. We momentarily locked eyes, and as he began lifting a hand, my first urge was to grab my gun. However, I held back, realizing he was only waving to Carl and I. The two of us could only blink in response. No one should be so welcoming—so friendly. There was no room for this kind of trust, and yet, he seemed more than happy to accept us into this place. He must have had more firepower than visible, because he didn't look afraid of the possibility we may attack.

"You're nervous, I get it. We were all the same way." He exclaimed. "We came here for sanctuary, is that why you came?"

Rick nodded. "Yes."

Gareth gave a smile. "Good. You've found it."

He turned, calling the man named Alex to step beside him. A friendly looking man towards the back then walked forward, stopping to Gareth. His smile was warm, and hardship was non-existent on his face.

"This isn't as pretty as the front. We got nothin' to hide, but, the welcome wagon is a whole lot nicer."

The two men each had shaved faces, brushed hair, and clean clothes. Not a speck of grime on them. This getup must have been real nice, considering how put-together they looked.

"Alex will take you, ask you a few questions. But first, we need to see everyones weapons, if you could just lay them down in front of you." Gareth said.

I looked to my hand, which held a must-have of survival. The four others and I looked amongst one another, exchanging glances of uncertainty at the request.

"Alright." Rick agreed, nodding at the rest of us.

Gareth offered a small thankful smile. "I'm sure you understand."

I didn't wish to turn it over, but Ricks short nods in response meant that I would cooperate.

"Yes, I do." Carls father replied.

I carefully placed my gun on the ground, then unsheathed my knife and let it clatter through the echoey space. The two men approached slow, like how one would approach a deer they didn't want to scare away.

Gareth went to Rick, and Alex started on Daryl.

I'd hate to see the other guy." He spoke lightly to the Angel, nodding his chin at the black eye.

"You would," Rick said, a slight indistinct threat attached.

Alex moved to Carl, patting at his pockets. Gareth  came close to me, motioning for me to raise my hands out. I slowly lifted my arms, opposition eating away at me internally. His hands started below my armpits, tapping themselves down to my hips. My face scrunched at this, mind reeling back to the night before.

I never wanted another's touch on me again. If I could become a nun and pledge to forever resist the fingertips of a man, I would. I would cover myself from the top of my head, to the tips of my toes, if it meant never living through physical interaction.

"They deserve it?" Alex now asked Carl about Daryl's wound.

"Yes." Carl was quick to reply.

Gareth finished patting me down, thus backing away and giving us a look of appreciation. "Just so you know, we aren't those kind of people, but, we aren't stupid, either. And you shouldn't be stupid enough to try anything stupid. As long as everyone's clear on that, we won't have any problems, just solutions."

Alex picked up our weapons. I thought he'd stow them away someplace cold and hidden, but he only returned them to our hands. With a smile still strewn across his face. It was bizarre.

I shoved the pistol back into my holster as he began to lead us past the doors, and through an alleyway. I stayed in the back of the group, head twisting and turning to take everything in. And to look for potential exists, if we'd need them. It was too perfect. Too easy to be allowed in. We hadn't been asked any questions about our past. Even Rick had asked me three, and he didn't have a whole community to protect like this.

The main area was thriving with the greenest of plants. Pots of colorful flowers, and gardens growing fresh herbs. Large benches for leisure, and tables with the umbrellas overhead. There weren't many people running about, but there were few who sat in these spaces, and ate hungrily off of paper plates.

The food being cooked by a lady at the grill popped against the heat. A savory smell emitted from the stove; one that reminded me of sizzling burgers turning brown over glowing coal.

Alex continued to talk for a while. The lady welcomed us, and fixed individual plates as we took everything in. Carl handed down the share he'd been given, to me, awaiting another for himself. He nodded at me to go ahead, and I looked down to the food, my mouth dry as I thought about the cereal I'd been eating for days. This meat was supple, and appeared much more filling.

I picked at it with my hand as Michonne questioned Alex about the why for all of this. Why they did it, and why they allowed strangers into their sanctuary. I finally lifted a small torn piece to my mouth, biting into the tough ration.

If it weren't for the fact that it was coated in sauce and spices, I wouldn't have enjoyed it plain. It was a peculiar taste.

Rick suddenly rushed forward, slamming the meat Alex held out for Carl, to the ground. He then took hold of him and twisted him into a head lock, pulling a pistol to his head, and reaching to grab the watch in Alex's pocket.

I tossed my plate as I brought my gun into my hands, pointing it towards the others who were now arming themselves in response.

"Where the hell did you get this watch?" Rick demanded.

He'd noticed something amiss, and taken action immediately. Apparently, the main factor was that Alex had been carrying the watch in his pocket, and Rick recognized it. It didn't belong to Alex, from the looks of it.

Alex squirmed in his grip, panic rising in his chest. "You want answers? You want anything else? You get them when you put down the damn gun."

Rick turned them to face the roof. "I see your man on the roof with a sniper rifle. How goods his aim?"

"Everyone, calm down." He shouted out, looking up to the rifleman on the roof. "Put the gun down!"

"Where did you get the watch?" Rick pushed. "Where?"

Alex began yelling at the sniper to put his gun down. He said he'd handle it himself, and that we'd want to listen carefully to what he said. Rick continued to hold him in a tight lock, unwilling to let go until he knew the truth.

"I got it off a dead one." Alex winced at the gun barrel on his temple.

"Really?" Rick said, pushing him to look towards a man wearing gear, and another woman who was eating. "What about that riot gear, and the poncho?"

I guessed these items all had direct correlation with something he knew, or someone. Whatever the case may be, he wasn't having it, one bit. He was ready to kill them all.

"Got them off a cop." A voice from behind us answered. I quickly turned, pointing my pistol to Gareth. "Found the poncho on the clothesline."

Alex looked to his partner. "Gareth, we can wait."

Gareth smile was gone. "Shut up, Alex."

"You," Rick looked at Gareth now. "Talk to me."

"What's there left to say? You don't trust us anymore." The apparent leader looked completely disheartened.

Alex struggled within Rick's grip, not looking as if he were trying to escape, but like he was pleading with Gareth for a reason unknown.

"Rick," Gareth stepped forward. "What do you want?"

"Where are our people?" Rick breathed out.

Fucking hell. It made a whole lot more sense now: He recognized all of these items because they belonged to his people. His group at the prison. Which, could mean one of two things. They were already dead—or they were here, stripped of their precious belongings. Nothing good would come of this.

"You didn't answer the question." Gareth said, folding his hand to make a sign to the riflemen.

Rick shot his gun after noticing this, erupting the place into complete chaos. Carl and I raised our weapons in unison, aiming at anyone armed, or even remotely close to us. Bullets began pelting against the concrete beneath us.

"Everyone, get down, now!" His father shouted, pushing us back into the alleyway.

Each corner we ended in, gunshots hit at our feet, redirecting us. We could only find brief cover as we ran inside the building, just barely missing the closing garage door, which would have led us back to the tracks if we'd made it. This dead end resulted in us having to run through a door labeled "A", entering a complete new alley.

I could see why we weren't initially taken down this way. There were lines of aged bullet holes coating the brick wall. These tiny circles had planted themselves into all the surrounding objects. This wasn't the first time they'd attacked others, it seemed. Burn marks scorched the upper portion of the windows as if once, this area had been up in flames.

It looked a little bit like how I'd imagine the prison to look, now.

More gunfire pelted the ground, and we were forced to take a detour. The first thing I noticed about this new path was that a horrible stench emitted from it. It had seeped into the surrounding air, making home between the molecules that gave us life. It didn't take much running to see what we were smelling. There was a cage tucked to the side. Past the tarps that blew in the breeze, I could make out the boneyard that was hidden behind. Piled up, and rotting in this space. Entire rib cages—even skulls. Bits of muscle were still stuck to them.

Screams came from within stacked boxcars, forcing all of our heads to turn toward the red rectangles stacked high upon each other. Unnamed survivors thrashed against the metal, shouting as loud as they could, in hopes to be released.

"What the hell?" Daryl said, looking back and forth between the many rows.

"Keep moving!" Rick shouted, taking us through the archway labeled 'A'.

We finally made way into another building. Upon entering the dimly lit space, bunches of lit candles greeted us. The hundreds of glowing flames radiated warmth as we closed in on the space, familiarizing ourselves with these unexpected surroundings.

This was a memorial.

Seven words were written in thick black paint against the back wall.

N E V E R A G A I N

N E V E R T R U S T

W E F I R S T , A L W A Y S.

What. The. Hell. I was growing so tired of people who had lost their minds. Why couldn't we all be sane, and friends, and live happily ever after? The dead were supposed to be the real threat. . . but I found myself, more times than often, fretting the living an entirely larger amount.

"What the hell is this place?" Daryl asked, looking to the floor.

At the bottoms of our feet, names were written in circles on the ground, these identities covering the entirety of the floor. Flowers and crosses were placed in remembrance of them, just like how you'd see on the highway in a spot that someone had perished.

Were these the names of the deceased beings in the boneyard, or had these been put here long before, after something had driven them to this point of insanity?

"These people," Michonne huffed out, "I don't think they're trynna' kill us."

Rick shook his head. "No. They were aiming at out feet."

I struggled for air. "Why would they do that? Why wouldn't they just kill us?"

"They need us alive." Carl suddenly realized.

For what, exactly, was the true concern. What had those people been locked away in cargo containers for? Why was Terminus holding people captive, and had those bodies been walkers they'd stripped clean? Why would they do that?

"There!" Michonne shouted, leading us to an exit.

We all followed, but swiftly came to a stop as it slammed shut. Daryl led us to another door, this time, the exit being unobstructed. The moment I reached past the door, I felt the beams of sun scorch into my back. More gunshots sounded out, and I came the realization of where we were.

We were still in the sanctuary, deeper than before.

The others ahead halted, causing me to slow to a stop and notice the strangers lined against the fencing. Multiple guns were raised to our heads. I turned back, looking to the many others armed on the roof.

I'd been right about them having more firepower than they let on. More people, too. What first appeared to be a welcoming community had turned into a labyrinth of bullets and corpses. Their entire motto was a lie. This was not a sanctuary for all. This appeared to be a graveyard for most.

I found myself looking to Carl, who's eyes were already on me. I finally noticed the roadburn across the side of his face. The skin itself was rubbed red, the scabs just barely beginning to heal from the previous night. He too had been violated. I would never let myself forget this woe.

What would these people do to us? What else would I be forced to remember?

"Drop your weapons, now!" A voice yelled. Without any movement from us, they repeated themselves, but more forceful. "Now!"

I shielded my eyes from the boiling light, looking to the roof. Gareth held a rifle, watching as we all tossed our weapons to the gravel. After giving up my gun, I took my time pulling out my metal blade. I let them wait on me as I obnoxiously took extra time sliding the thing from my waist. If Gareth was going to be so demanding, he would get the worst version of compliance that I could offer.

"Ringleader, go to your left. The train car."

The train car. What irony to be brought here by a message strewn across a train on a railway, only to be sentenced indefinitely to one, when we arrived. The only noticeable difference between the two, was that this one had that same letter 'A' painted across the back.

Gareth raised his gun in the general direction of Carl and I. "You do as I say, the kids go with you. Anything else, they die, and you end up in there anyway."

Rick looked to us, before taking the first step. He walked to the metal structure reluctantly, his head twisting to try and find a way out of this. When he stopped near the steps of the train, I understood he'd deemed no options were left for us, but to listen, and do as we were told.

"Now the archer."

Daryl spared me a glance. He'd seen it last night—the anger. The fear that secretly lied underneath, and the intense longing I'd developed to never be left in the hands of an enemy again. I only offered him a curt nod, and this was all it took for him to follow Rick's path.

"Now the samurai." Gareth instructed.

This was the first time I'd seen Michonne look so provoked. She kept her eyes on us, even as she walked further away. I had a feeling she wouldn't look away until we were within reach from her.

"Stand at the door. Ringleader, archer, samurai. In that order." The leader yelled.

It grew still as the four neared the steps. They all watched Carl and I, waiting for us to be called forward. But he didn't. We only stood in place, unarmed, and stripped of any group protection.

The only thing the two of us had left, was each other. I suddenly wished I was friends with the boy. That I could tug at his jacket sleeve so he would know how afraid I really was, and he could whisper that we'd make it out of this.

"The kids, my kids." Rick shouted at him.

My head was down in defeat. Carl's snapped up to glare at Gareth. A small smirk took form on the leaders face as he finally opened his mouth. "Go on."

My legs started moving. It wasn't my own exertion, however. I was being pulled forward. Carl had taken hold of my wrist, and was bringing me alongside him. I wasn't sure if I hadn't been moving, or if he'd simply taken it upon himself to get the both of us to the others.

"Ringleader, open the door and go in."

Rick shook his head. "I'll go in with them."

"Don't make us kill them now." Gareth snapped.

Now— he said 'now' like the initial plan was to do it later. As if we were livestock, and the train would be a slaughterhouse. It didn't really matter where or when, because he was expecting us to die at some point. He only threatened to end it sooner for us.

We continued walking the long track as the door was opened, and they entered the structure. Once  the last of them had gone in, it took Carl and I at least fifteen more seconds before we were at the steps.

Before we entered, I looked behind us, and sent a long glare at Gareth. He only offered a small wave goodbye in return, before we were forced into the space.

It was like a cloak of blindness, leaving me to blink away at the darkness while the doors slid shut. As the latch finally clicked into place, subtle movement had me turning, looking into a speckled void of nothing. I couldn't tell if my eyes were closed, or if it was really that pitch-black.

They adjusted to form a figure closely approaching, who had previously been pressed against the other side of the car.

"Rick?" The person questioned.

The loss of light was quickly becoming familiar.

"You're here." Rick stated, watching as others slowly moved out from behind the man in the front.

There were about seven of them. My eyes struggled to scan over them, heart failing to keep its rhythm as I thought of the faces looked familiar. It did. . . she did. I could recognize Tara even in the dark. The corner of my mouth tilted up. It was a terrible situation to be smiling in, but there didn't seem many occasions the action was appropriate, anymore.

"These people are our friends. They helped save us." One woman said, a heavy southern accent coating her voice.

"Her too." Carl motioned to me.

I didn't have time to think about this as the strangers offered nods, and quiet greetings. The only girl I knew finally stepped forward once noticing my presence, eyes wide as she rushed to bring me into a hug. Her arms wrapped across my neck, hand moving to the back of my head to pull me into her.

"Hey, kid." She choked out.

I breathed out a small laugh. It felt odd, being in someone's grasp like this. I hadn't been comforted for a long while now. The action was almost foreign to me, but I didn't protest it completely.

"Yeah. Now they're friends of ours." Daryl said to the southern woman, Tara and I now breaking apart.

The others nodded, looking closely at one another, becoming familiar with each face. It took me the longest, as I knew only a fraction of them all. There were more left than I'd ever imagined. The prison attack hadn't proved to be as catastrophic as I'd thought.

"For however long that will be." A tall redhead piped in.

It was harsh, but it was the truth. It didn't seem like we should be making friends in this place. It would lead to more devastation than anything. More responsibility, yet— we still had more numbers, which helped flatten the ratio. This reunion, from my point of view, was neither good nor bad.

"No," Rick replied. "There gonna' feel pretty stupid when they find out."

His voice was calm. So, extremely calm. As if he knew how this would end, and he could see that we'd come out on top.

"Find out what?"

Rick looked through the cracks in the doors, the dimming light from outside casting lines of shadow against his relaxed face. He turned to the crowd of us, an energy almost sinister twisting in the air.

"They're fucking with the wrong people."

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·6,643 words.

it's the way cynthia probably ate a piece of someone's left arm. i'm sorry, I know it's so foul, but realistically I know they'd be MUNCHING on that meat before even looking around to notice Glenn's watch and all the other belongings. i know I'd be smacking my lips and licking my fingers CLEAN before the thought even crossed my mind.

cannon comic panel for chapter 8:

(this one is so incredibly foul and also not cannon bc she wasn't digging in with a fork and knife 😭 or sitting down 😭 but THIS WAS TOO FUNNY NOT TO POST)

sincerely yours,𝓜 ᥫ᭡.