37. The Saviors

'We are the Dead, short days ago
We lived, felt Dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved, and were loved, and now we lie,
in Flanders fields-'
John McCrae

⤐

  The night air crept through the cracked window, cooling the pearls of sweat on her skin until she was cold, pulling her body closer to Daryl's. The heat of his skin against her bare stomach was sweltering, even through his thin shirt. She playfully let one hand trail over his chest and shoulders, tracing the hard bone and muscle.

  "What time do you think it is?" she murmured, though she'd sooner jump out a window than come back to reality right now.

  He stroked her hair absentmindedly, gazing out the window at the rising full moon. "About ten, I'm guessin'," he whispered back.

  She sighed, twisting away from him to lay flat on her back, staring up at the ceiling. Her mind was racing, thinking of every possibility they could encounter at the outpost tonight. Rick's plan seemed solid enough; trick the guards into letting them in with a fake Gregory head, secure any weapons they could find, and take them out while they were sleeping. But she wasn't stupid enough to think it would be as easy as he described. They were going in, guns blazing with zero indication of how many people would be inside, if Negan himself was even there. There were too many paths, too many forks in the road.

  "Come here," Daryl sighed, low and husky, pulling her back to his chest. She knew he could see the questions fumbling around her brain, each one fighting for center stage. He kissed the top of her head and she smiled, melting into him as her worries drifted off into the cool breeze.

  As long as we have each other's back, everything will turn out okay. As long as we stick together

  His hands traveled further, brushing down her spine to the small of her back as he added force, crushing her body against his. Her skin was on fire, goosebumps prickling every inch. God, his hands.

  Those hands had made quick work of her, tracing every line and curve, nimbly circling just the right spots to make her squirm. She had wanted to do the same for him, touch him all over, but he had refused, snaking her wrists around in those beautiful, strong hands. This was all for you, Ace, he breathed, and the nickname sparked new pulses of pleasure deep in her belly.

  He had gotten his fill of pleasure from watching her, and that thought only made her want him more. But she wouldn't push, and curb this new found confidence he had to touch her. Everything before was light, hesitant, as if he did it without thinking but was unsure if it was even allowed. Now, he was firm, intent, owning.

  She wanted to ask him about the women he'd been with before. She had a feeling his story was similar to hers, seeking out a warm body to be with based on natural urges and instinct alone. She wondered if the ones before felt the way she did now. Satisfied, yet hungry for more.

  Sometimes she just thought too damn much.

  She sat up quickly, one particular memory slapping her square in the forehead. "You've met the Saviors before?" she hissed, grabbing her shirt from where it fell carelessly on the floor.

He groaned and closed his eyes, no doubt dreading the moment she'd ask him, pissed as hell that he didn't tell her sooner. He sat up and leaned against the headboard as she faced him, crossing her legs on the bed. "It didn't matter," he mumbled. He wasn't expecting the smack on the side of his thigh, causing him to flinch. 

"If you're in trouble, it matters, Daryl," she snapped, her eyes narrowed, though she knew her face was barely illuminated by the moonlight. He groaned softly again, shaking his head.

"It was.. that day," he trailed off, unable to meet her gaze. "The day the walls fell."

Her heart rate quickened and she forced herself to take a breath, looking down at her lap. Reliving that day, seeing the images in her brain and hearing the screams, it crushed her chest, squeezing her heart in it's icy grip. She wouldn't let herself shut down, not when Daryl was being open with her, vulnerable. She scooted closer to him, waiting patiently for him to carry on.

"When we got the message that the herd was splitting off towards Alexandria, Veronica and I tried to come back first.." his voice was low, just above a whisper. "But later we crashed the bike and came across these people.. this girl and her sister with her boyfriend. I didn't know it at the time, but they were running from the Saviors. They were found and we helped them get away, but once we got back to the bike they snatched it and my bow."

He lifted his arm above his shoulders, resting the forearm against his forehead as if couldn't stand to think of it anymore. She reached out to him, grabbing the arm and pulling it towards her, lacing her fingers into his own. "These people.." he whispered. "They don't fuck around. We need to handle the problem before it comes knocking on our door."

She nodded slowly, chewing on her bottom lip. She felt words bubbling in her chest, rising and foaming like churning sea water to her mouth. "I need to tell you something. The day in the woods, when you told me about losing V, I... I said I forgave you." His breath hitched, freezing in his lungs as hurt and confusion flashed across his face. But he didn't understand, didn't know what she was trying to say. Her hand found the hard cut of his cheekbones, trailing into the scraggly hairs at his jaw. "I said it because I knew it was what you needed to hear. But the truth is, there was nothing to forgive."

His face softened then, and he pulled her closer until she was pressed against his chest.

"It wasn't your fault, and it was selfish of me to act like it was. I was just.. angry. Angry at the world, not at you," she added, letting her eyelids droop further and further.

"S'okay, Ace," he murmured against the top of her hair. "I promised I'd get her back to you and I couldn't.. I won't break a promise to you again."

Tears pricked the corners of her eyes and she lifted her head, tilting her neck to look up at him. He wasn't looking at her, choosing to face the window instead. He didn't understand, she needed to make him understand. She rose, swinging one leg over his hip and straddling his lap, one hand on each side of his face.

"You listen to me, Daryl Dixon. It is not your fault. You get that outta your head right now."

He searched her face, his expression calm and warm. Finally, a small smile twisted the corners of his mouth and he applied a delicious amount of pressure to his handle on her hips, pulling her down on top of him. "Yes ma'am," he growled, crushing his lips to hers.

It was gentle and tender, a sweet ending to the possessiveness of earlier, or a subtle beginning to something more. She arched her hips, just a little, enough so she could feel him growing hard again underneath her. He grunted softly against her mouth, shaking his head. "God damn, girl, do you know what you do to me?" His words were listless and quiet, as if he was thinking out loud. She arched her hips again to prove that she did in fact know.

He slowed the kisses, pausing and pulling away from her. He put a hand on either side of her face, cupping her jaw to him, forcing her to stare into his gaze. "Will you stay?" he whispered.

"What?" The question hit her like a train, pummeling her down into the steel tracks. She started to push away from him, but his grip on her was too tight.

"Will you stay behind tonight?" His voice cracked now, so small it would've been imperceptible to anyone else but her.

She shook her head, still locked in his grasp, again feeling the hot sting of tears in her eyes. "No, no way," she mumbled. "I'm not letting you go into that alone." He let her go then, releasing his hold on her face and running a hand through his hair. Even in the dim lighting filtering through the window, she could see his jaw grinding, frustration creeping over his expression.

  "I wouldn't be alone. There's plenty of people coming with us."

  "You know it's not the same," she whispered.

  "If something happens to you," he murmured as he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "I couldn't take it. I'd never forgive myself."

  She shook her head and stood, pacing away from him to lean against the dresser. "And if something happened to you while I was sitting here waiting? I couldn't take it either. So I guess we're at an impasse." They stared at each other for a moment, each standing firm on either side of the line. He was the first to break the silence, sighing deeply and swinging his legs off the bed.

  "And you can't tell me what to do," she added childishly, crossing her arms. "So get over it."

  He shook his head and crossed the short distance to her, trailing his hand down her arm. "I guess I can't."

That hand traveled to her wrist, gripping tightly and pulling her towards him in a warm embrace, wrapping his arms fully around her shoulders. She could hear his heart racing, feel it pounding in his chest like a fist against a door. "But I need you to stay close to me," he whispered, pulling away to hold her gaze, his pupils large and pleading.

"Always."

⤐

⤐

  The massive satellite in the distance was a beacon for their destination, calling them to the outpost where their enemies lay sleeping. The man from hilltop, who she finally learned was named Andy, drove up first, Gregory's head in tow. The moment his car pulled up to the lot, a flood of red lights poured over the asphalt, trickling into the trees where the others quietly waited. Daryl inhaled sharply beside her, ducking his head further into the shadows.

  "It's Andy from Hilltop! It's done!"

  "Step out!" A faceless man shouted from the distance. Andy unhurriedly opened his door and grabbed the bloody bag next to him, struggling with the bandaged arm Daryl had snapped in half.

  "Bring it here, shit brain," the guards barked as they finally made themselves visible, one a heavier set man with a thick beard and the other lean and tall, a grimace permanently etched into his face like a jagged scar.

  Andy slowly trekked forward, visibly shaking with fear even at this distance. The men talked amongst themselves for a moment as they pulled the head out of the bag, examining it with scrutiny. She could hear her group start to move forward around her, creeping closer into the tree line and slowly out from behind the men's view. She and Daryl took the point, waiting for the right moment.

  It finally came when the second man went back inside, leaving the other to whistle a merry tune as he waited with Andy. The tune was cut short as Daryl snuck up behind him, slicing his throat quickly and dropping him to the ground. Zepp swiftly stabbed him in the brain while Daryl waved to the others.

Rick and Glenn dragged the fresh corpse into the shadows where the rest of their group waited. Michonne crept out from the tree line, smooth and silent as she slid next Zepp and Daryl against the wall.

  When the other man returned, the Hilltop hostage in shackles next to him, it was over in seconds. Michonne swiftly sliced through his chest with her katana, and he dropped to the grass with hardly a groan. Andy's friend fell into his waiting arms and he pulled him towards the vehicle without a second glance at the Alexandria group.

Daryl held the door as they all filtered inside, their steps hardly making a sound. They split into small groups as they turned down each door and hallway, Rick and Daryl at her side, though Daryl stayed one step ahead of her at all times. Everything was going to plan so far, and she could feel that flicker of hope sputtering inside her chest.

Rick cracked open the first door, the dim yellow light from the hallway washing over the man sleeping on his cot. Daryl and Zepp stood watch in the door, and she turned her gaze to him just as Rick plunged his knife into the man's temple. Blood squelched from the wound, trickling onto the mattress. A sickening feeling twisted her gut.

To kill someone who couldn't defend themselves, it made her skin crawl.

But when she brought her gaze back to Daryl, her heart hardened, like a gargoyle returning to stone when the dawn peeks over the horizon. His face was calm, focused. Like a breath of fresh air, her own focus shifted away from the now fading ache in her chest.

This is for him.

If it could save him, even for one day longer than destiny desired he would live, she would do anything. If she could have one more day, one more sunset, another honey glazed laugh, the press of his palm against her cheek.. then it was worth it.

Rick's face was a hollow echo of himself. He crept back into the hallway, pinching the bridge of nose and shaking his shoulders as if he could shake off the demons sinking their razor sharp claws into him.

Her eyes stung as they continued down the hall, slinking against the concrete walls and tiptoeing into rooms where there was no sound apart from breathing. Three rooms later, she could no longer stand letting Rick take the burden himself, and tapped him on the shoulder as he cracked open another door.

She motioned him back and took his place, walking heel to toe towards the Savior sleeping soundly in their bed, blissfully unaware that she was about to meet her end. Her breath hitched as her eyes adjusted to the darkness, the face below her becoming more clear.

  A woman about Zepp's age slept calmly, her breaths deep and steady. Brown curls, similar to her own, sprawled across the pillow top and freckles dotted her olive skin. Her sharp nose and hard jawline was almost a copy of her own, an image into another world where this could've been Zepp herself, just a girl on the other side.

  She forced her shaky breaths to still as she quietly brought her knife to centimeters above her temple. She gritted her teeth and pushed, the knife sliding easily into the softest part of the skull. She dropped her head when she pulled out the weapon, blood splattering her palms. She forced her mind to close that part of itself, the part that wondered what the woman's life was like. It doesn't matter now, she told herself. You already took it from her.

  Daryl gripped her shoulder with his large, warm hand, silently checking her face before bringing his rifle back to his eye as they moved on.

This is working, she thought. We can do this.

Everything shattered as the alarm rang out.

⤐

Zeppelin had been in her fair share of fights in her life. When she was five, Bobby Munsee tugged her braid while she struggled on the monkey bars and she lost her concentration, tumbling to the mulch below. She got up and punched him in the stomach, and her arm felt like a limp spaghetti noodle. Then as a freshman, Madisen Singer spread a rumor that Veronica had slept with the entire football team. Zepp earned two weeks detention for slamming her into a locker. The night she ran from home, she managed to land a few blows to that asshole's face before relying on the crack of his whiskey bottle to knock him out. When customers at the bar got too handsy, she never hesitated to throw a punch and kick them out.

  She could fight, and she could defend herself.

Bullets whistling past her were a completely different level.

As soon as the alarm sounded, a shrill ringing that echoed into every corner of the outpost, their little group was moving, circling back to the previously agreed upon spot. The sound of boots thundering into the concrete floors echoed behind them, and Zepp turned just as the Saviors rounded the top of the stairs. Before she could think, Rick was in front of her, showering the men with bullets, the gunfire illuminating the dimly lit hallway.

  They dropped like flies, piling onto the staircase as blood splattered the walls behind them. She was faintly aware of Daryl tugging on her arm, begging for her to turn around and follow him. Her brain ordered her body to move, yet she had no recollection of how she put her feet one in front of the other until they were flying in a full sprint down the hallway.

  Stars clouded her vision as a warm body slammed into her, colliding limbs flailing and twisting together onto the floor. She shook the stars away as she registered that the body belonged to a stranger, scrambling away from him and forcing herself to stand up. He was an average built man with a salt and pepper beard, and that was all she had time to remember before he swung out an arm, reaching for her neck.

  She twisted away from him, letting his hand reach past her and shoved her dagger deep into his side, feeling the sickening pop of his kidney against the sharp tip. He cried out, dropping his gun and she found her chance to shove the knife hard into his temple. It was over in seconds, she knew that. By the time Daryl had turned to look for her, the man was already crumpled to the floor. But every step felt like when she tried to run away in her dreams, but an invisible weight was tied to every limb. Everything was moving in slow motion, fuzzy and unfocused.

  She could hear the sound of gunshots echoing through the outpost, her family no doubt facing foes of their own. Daryl's voice rang out through the buzzing in her ears, her vision snapping back into focus on his face. He brought a hand to her chin, searching her hollow gaze before lacing that hand through hers, pulling her along with him the way he did the day they ran from the herd. A few more men popped around corners or skidded out of bedrooms, Zepp's shots taking them out before she could allow herself to see their face enough to really remember them.

  They skirted around the corner of the hallway, tripping over the bodies scattered across the floor. The smell of death filtered into her nostrils, different from the stench of the walkers she had grown used to. These bodies were new, the salty iron of the blood still fresh. Blood smeared the walls and floor like a child slinging red paint at a canvas.

  She wished her brain would just shut the fuck up already.

  She could see the door they needed to escape, their section of the outpost cleared of all living beings. They were close, so close. She willed her feet to move faster, hurtling herself in front of Rick and Daryl.

  "Daryl!" Rick's harsh shout followed by the pop of a rifle stopped her dead in her tracks, twisting back to face them. A new body lay at their feet, a clean shot between his eyes. Her gaze traveled to the bloody knife still clutched in the meaty palm, her breath freezing in her throat.

  Daryl winced, covering the slashed wound below his chest and shook his head, silently pleading for her to ignore it as he grabbed her wrist and jogged towards the storage area where Rosita, Aaron, Glenn and Heath were waiting for them, four rifles pointed to their heads as the trio hurtled through the doorway. Abraham, Sasha, and Michonne were just behind them. Rick pulled Michonne close for a quick embrace, visually assessing each of his people before sliding open the garage door.

  Early morning sunlight streamed through the clouds and fresh air blanketed her skin like fresh cotton. She felt as though she'd just emerged from living underground for ten years.

  They surveyed their surroundings quickly, nothing but trees and lined up cars. The others went about scavenging through the cars, pulling out anything they deemed a necessity and tossing it into the camper where Tara and Gabriel waited. Zepp couldn't be bothered with looking for supplies right now.

  "Daryl," she breathed, slinging her rifle over her shoulder and pressing a hand to his back. He flinched momentarily and then relaxed, turning to face her. She could see the blood pooling even on his dark shirt, a gash in the fabric just below his chest. She reached out to examine but he grabbed her fingers, halting their journey to his skin.

  "I'm okay, Ace," he grunted, failing to hide the tone of his voice. He shied away from her touch, focusing on the group saying their goodbyes to Tara and Heath. They were headed out for a long run, it would be at least two weeks before they would return, Heath said.

  Tara made her way over to her, awkward tension radiating from her bones. The women had barely spoken to each other since Tara joined their group, and even less so after Veronica's death. But they were a family, and the thought of never seeing Tara again made her uncomfortable.

  "Be careful out there," she murmured, resting her hand on Tara's arm. The woman smiled and pulled her close.

  "Take care of them," she whispered in Zepp's ear. And with that, she pulled away, bumping her fist against Zepp's with a grin, and headed towards her camper.

  Zepp found herself gravitating towards Rick, Michonne at his side. "Just wanna know which one of them was Negan," she heard Michonne whisper softly.

  The growl of a motorcycle sliced through the quiet, all of them whipping around to find the source of the noise. A balding man in a leather jacket peeled out of the garage, not just any bike, and the realization made her blood boil. Daryl's bike.

  The group sprinted towards him, and Rosita's aim was quick and true, popping the tires. He only had a moment to flee before Daryl was on him, hurtling his entire weight onto him and tackling him to the ground. He threw a fist in the man's face, over and over, snatching his shirt collar and pulling him up to meet his gaze.

  "Where'd you get the bike?" Blood poured from the man's nose and mouth, staining his bared teeth.

  "Just do it," the man snarled. "Like you did everyone else, right?" Zepp aimed her rifle at his forehead, planting her feet firmly in the soft earth. Rick's pistol clicked in place, the same moment static crackled on the man's walkie.

"Lower your gun, prick," a feminine voice came through. "You, with the Colt Python and the bitch with the rifle." Rick cocked his head to the side, his narrow gaze scanning the trees.

"All of you, lower your weapons now," the faceless stranger demanded. They refused, keeping their weapons trained on the man or the woods as Rick bent down to grab the walkie.

"Come on out," he drawled, a calm rage rippling in his voice. "Let's talk." Zepp trailed her gaze over the dense tree line, the mysterious voice hidden in the thick canopy of foggy green. Daryl silently moved closer to her, placing his body between her and the trees.

"We're not coming out, but we will talk." Static crackled over the walkie, every second of silence was like the slamming of a hammer into her chest. Finally, the woman spoke again. "We've got a Carol and a Maggie. I'm thinking that's something you wanna chat about."

Her heart dropped, pummeling down to her stomach where it iced over and cracked. She looked to Glenn, his face paling and his eyes pricked with tears. "Now we're gonna work this out, and it's gonna go our way," the voice was dripping with confidence, and Zepp could almost hear her smirk. She wanted to wipe that smirk off that bitch's face.

  Rick shook his head, spitting on the ground as he clutched the walkie with shaking, white-knuckled hands. "Grab him," he snarled. Daryl yanked the man off the ground, gripping the back of his shirt with enough force that it pulled against his neck. Glenn aimed his rifle directly on the side of the man's head.

  "You can see we have one of yours," Rick seethed. "We'll trade."

  The static hissed quietly.

  "I'm listening," she mused.

  "First I want to talk to Maggie and Carol, make sure they're alright," Rick argued. Zepp focused on the trees, searching any trace of movement in the shadows.

"Rick," a soft voice crackled. "It's Carol. I'm- I'm fine but.."

She was cut short, and Zepp caught Daryl's eye, noted the way his face dropped. She turned away from him, concentrating on inching toward the tree line without being noticed by the faceless woman.

"Rick, it's Maggie. We're both okay, we'll figure this out."

"You have your proof," the first voice returned. "Now let's talk."

Rick brought his mouth close to the walkie, pacing back and forth as he stared down their hostage. "Here's the deal. Let 'em go, and you can have your guy back and live." He waited for a response, each moment ticking by.

"Two for one, not much of a trade."

"You don't have another choice," he hissed. "Or you would've done something about it already." The only answer was silence, stacking crackling every few moments. "Look, I know you're talking it over," Rick continued. "It's a fair trade. Just come out, we do this, and we all walk away. Do we have a deal?"

Zepp was close to the trees now, only a few feet away. Daryl whistled faintly at her but she ignored him. She thought she could see a faint shake of the bushes in the distance, but it was too far still to tell.

"I'll get back to you," the voice clipped, the walkie talkie disconnected.

"Fuck!" Rick shouted, wiping a hand over his mouth. "Glenn, Daryl, watch this prick," he pointed to the man slumped against the painted stone wall behind them. "Rosita, Michonne, take watch over the gates. Everyone else... stay on your guard."

⤐

  The next hour dragged on with no word from the mystery woman. Zepp sat with her back against the wall, tapping her boot against the ground and chewing nervously on her nail. The man refused to tell them his name, which was all he would say other than spitting profanities at them. He sneered at their group and shook his head, staring up at the clouds.

Rick paced back and forth across the clearing, muttering to himself and tapping the walkie against his palm. The time was taking a toll on everyone, each minute passing by adding more and more pressure. Finally, Rick broke the silence.

"Have you thought about it?" he muttered into the walkie. "Talk to me."

Daryl wandered closer, one eye on the Savior at all times. Zepp pushed herself up against the wall and stretched her back, the satisfying pop easing some of the tension in her shoulders.

"You weren't listening," the voice hissed in return. "I said I'd contact you."

"Would it make a difference if I said I'm sorry about that?"

"What do you think?"

Daryl brushed his fingers against Zepp's elbow as she walked over to them, though his gaze never left Rick.

"I think we're gonna make the trade," Rick continued. "So tell me where."

"We haven't agreed to that."

Rick shook his head, glancing up at the sky, as though he could find some shred of patience in the clouds. "You will."

"You know what? I'm not so sure," the voice crackled through. "We'd be taking most of the risk, not getting much in the way of a reward."

Rick paused and met Zepp's narrowed gaze. "The other option won't work out for you."

"We'll take our chances."

Zepp exhaled deeply and turned away, strolling over to the chain link fence that separated them from the forest. She laced her fingers through the metal and focused on slowing her breathing. She could sense Daryl getting closer, every hair on her skin standing up straight as she felt the warmth of his skin. Every nerve in her body reached out for him, ached to touch him.

"Hey," he grunted, looking back every few moments to Glenn standing over the stranger. "What are you thinkin'?"

"I'm thinkin' I should find their tracks and see if I can find out where they are," she mumbled, her gaze still scanning the trees.

"Hell no. Ain't no way you're going out there alone."

  She finally turned to look at him, worry creasing his brows. "I need your help," she whispered. "Rick would never let me go." She hoped her expression conveyed what she was feeling. The way her heart begged him to trust her. "I need you to distract him while I slip out. I'll be back in an hour, tops."

Daryl shook his head and scoffed, looking away towards Rick and the others huddled in the field. His shoulders relaxed, placing his hand over hers where it linked through the chain metal. Everything faded apart from them, her grip on the fence the only thing keeping her from floating away.

"Nah," he whispered and her hand dropped, tensing away from him. "Let's talk to Rick, convince him we should just bounce. We'll follow the tracks and take that dick with us. No sense is standing around with our thumbs up our asses, waiting for her to tell us where to go." He placed a finger under her chin, tilting her head up to look at him.

"Come on."

⤐

"Hey asshole, you there?"

The crackle of the walkie made her jump in her skin. Rick agreed to their plan surprisingly easy, though he kept one eye on their prisoner the ten or so miles they followed the tracks through the woods. They reached a small building in the center of an overgrown field, a large billboard reading 'God is dead' a few miles off to the side. They waited in the thick of the forest, crouching down below the overgrown brush as they surveyed the building.

"I'm here," Rick grimaced and placed a hand on his bent knee.

"We've thought about it. We want to make the trade."

She felt Glenn tense beside her, tapping his finger against his rifle aimed at the Savior.

"There's a large field with a sign that says 'God is dead' on it about two miles down I-66. Good visibility in all directions." Zepp glanced at the sign, a wicked smirk cracking her lips.

"We'll meet you there," Rick nodded. "Ten minutes?"

"Ten minutes," the voice agreed.

Rick nodded, whistling low and pointing to Zepp, Daryl, Glenn, and Rosita. They agreed they would go up first, scoping out all entries and paths while the others quietly stayed back a few feet behind them. Daryl and Glenn took the point while Rosita stayed close beside her, the tall wisps of wheat brushing their thighs.

  They started slow, careful. Then the echo of gunshots in the building lit a new fire in them, speeding up their pace until they were just outside, slinking against the wall to an alley with multiple rusted sliding metal doors.

She pressed her ear against each one, listening for any signs of life but heard nothing. As they crept to the last one, it slid open with a loud screech. Maggie and Carol stood in the doorway, bloody, sweating, shaky breaths racking their shoulders.

"Maggie," Glenn gasped, dropping his gun to his side and wrapping an arm around her shoulders to squeeze her tight into his chest. Daryl whistled loudly behind them, waving a hand for Rick and the others to follow. Then, he ran to Carol, gripping her shoulders with his large hands.

"Hey, you okay? We got your trail." He bent to meet her eye level, his face so close to hers. Zepp felt a tightness in her chest, an unexpected gnawing in the pit of her stomach. "You start a fire?" He asked the other woman, glancing behind her to the smoky hallway littered with bodies.

"Yeah," Carol nodded, and her eyes were dazed and listless, tear stained. Her breathing was fast and shallow, shaking slightly.

"Hey, you good?" Daryl whispered low, and brought his hand to her chin, cupping it with one finger in the same way he did to Zepp.

  "No," Carol timid response had Daryl sighing, and he buried his head in her shoulder, wrapping his arm around her neck to pull her to him tightly and rock back and forth.

Zepp looked away, anxiety creeping through her. She recognized the feeling in her chest as jealousy, and she mentally kicked herself for it. She had no claim to Daryl, they had never said the words. Her heart sank when her brain started whispering little devious thoughts into her. This is why he didn't want to sleep with you. His heart belongs to someone else. You're just a way to release his tension, nothing more. You're just for fun until Carol wants him.

She shook her head, willing the thoughts to tumble out of her brain. She focused instead on the others, unable to look towards Daryl again. "Your friends are dead," Rick growled to the man with his wrists bound together, standing in the center of them all. "No one's coming for ya. So you might as well talk."

"Let 'em burn," Daryl murmured.

"I'm gonna ask you one last time," Rick continued. "How'd you get the bike?"

"We found it," the man shivered, all the confidence from earlier fading away with the death of his group.

"Like hell you did," Daryl growled.

"We found it," he repeated, staring hopelessly at the bodies on the ground.

"Was Negan in that building last night or was he here?" Rick shook his head, growing more and more impatient. The man finally turned away from the graveyard before them, slowly meeting Rick's gaze.

"Both," he stuttered and tensed his muscles, lifting his head to full meet Rick's. "I'm Negan, shithead." Rick backed away, placing a hand on the gun at his hip. "There's a whole world of fun we can talk about, so let's have a chat."

Rick ignored him, sweat pooling on his forehead and dripping down. "I'm sorry it had to come to this." Without another thought, he lifted the python and shot Negan directly in the forehead.

  Carol flinched as the shot echoed through the metal and concrete walls. Zepp noted the blood dripping from her palm as she squeezed a rosary, and had the good grace not to make it obvious she saw.

"Come on," Daryl whispered as he pulled Carol away into the morning sun. "Let's go home."

Zepp waited for them to pass her before she released a breath she didn't realize she was holding. She followed slowly, gravitating towards the end of the line with Rosita, and tried not to watch Daryl and Carol's back the whole way.

  She was not successful.