[ xx. can't go back ]

june 29th, 2012

➸➸➸

"THIS SHOULD DO IT," Michonne announced, concentration marked into every line of her face as she secured the final knot of a torn sleeve around Astrid's exposed waist. "If it keeps bleeding, let me know."

"Thanks," The Lancaster woman breathed. She tugged her shirt back down, hurriedly trying to conceal her wounds, though the eyes of every individual in the train car had already witnessed her agony. The very air smelled like her coppery blood.

At least, attention did not hold on to her for long. The train car crackled now with the sound of ripping cloth, splintering wood, and the forging of blunt weapons. Sporadically, the quiet was punctuated by hushed conversations among the battle-hardened survivors.

Currently knelt beside Carl, Astrid turned her gaze towards the newcomers. They had fallen in line with Rick's command, manufacturing weapons of their own out of necessity. Rosita Espinosa, a fiery Latina woman, had transformed her hoop earrings into tiny blades. The other female, a younger girl named Tara Chambler, had begun to unravel one of her bootlaces, and Eugene Porter, a stocky man with an unkempt mullet, aided her efforts by undoing the other.

Elsewhere, in the shadowy corner of the train—concealing the last new face—Abraham Ford stood, sharpening a wooden stake. He had begun to recount the harrowing confrontation at Terminus that had unfolded mere hours ago for his own group that had arrived seeking sanctuary.

"They seemed nice enough," He insisted. "But I was ready to go. We had just gotten here, but, damn . . . it was time to go. When I told them about D.C.—a wink and a nod from the head asshole in charge, they pulled their guns, and it was right back to our regularly scheduled shit storm."

Sasha, who had been sitting across from Astrid, drew her attention. Nervously, she inquired, "Before they locked you in here, did you see Tyreese?"

Astrid shook her head. "No," She answered.

Overhearing, Maggie followed up with her own question. "What about Beth? Did anyone see her?"

Daryl looked at the worried older sister. "I was with her when the prison fell," He informed. "We were stayin' in a funeral home, but it got overrun. She was taken."

Maggie gasped. "Taken?" She repeated.

Daryl nodded solemnly. "A black car with a white cross painted on it," He described. "I tried to follow. I tried."

Tears welled in Maggie's eyes as she processed the news. "But she's alive?"

"She's alive," He confirmed without a shadow of doubt.

"Then that's all that matters," Astrid murmured, bringing the conversation between her hunter and her friend to a close before the all-consuming fear of the unknown could engulf them both. She then looked around at her fellow survivors once more, truly taking in the makeshift weapons being crafted. Rick and others honed wooden stakes, torn up from the floor. Meanwhile, Michonne and Carl continued to tear and fasten fabric from their jackets, and Astrid had just finished twisting and carving the metal of her belt into jagged little knives all their own.

Soon, however, the muffled voices of approaching men sounded from beyond the train car, and Astrid tensed. She shot a quick glance at Daryl, their acting lookout, who cleared his throat. "Got four of 'em pricks comin' our way," He rasped.

Rick hurriedly crossed over to Daryl's side and eyed their chances. His voice was steel as he addressed them. "You all know what to do," He said, confidence in them resonating in his every word. "Go for their eyes first and then their throats."

The group's response was immediate and synchronized; they rose to their feet, weapons poised for attack. Astrid inched closer to Daryl, peering over his shoulder and through a narrow crack in the door. Outside, several large silhouettes gathered. She swallowed hard. Then, a low, foreboding order from the outside called out, "Put your backs to the walls on either side of the car now."

But none among their band heeded the demand. The survivors stood defiant, waiting for the onslaught.

Suddenly, Astrid detected the sound of footsteps from above, and almost immediately, a hatch over their heads slid open. Blinding sunlight poured into the train car from the opening, momentarily disorienting them all. She instinctively retreated, pressed against her hunter's frame, their eyes collectively directed upwards. Before any of them could react, an object fell from the roof of the train car and landed with a muted thud on the floor at their feet.

Before Astrid could even fathom the nature of this mysterious object, an arm seized her waist, and the world around her erupted into a frenzy. Abraham's shout, filled with primal rage, penetrated the clamor, "Move!"

The explosion consumed them all in an instant. Astrid found herself sprawled on the floor. She tried to pry open her eyes, but a searing white light blurred her vision. Desperate, she drew in a shuddering breath, only to be met by the thick stench and taste of acrid smoke. Coughs erupted in discord around her, and her heart raced like a captive beast. In the chaos, she lost all sensation of Daryl beside her. She was alone in the suffocating pandemonium.

Abruptly, a deadly grip latched onto the back of her shirt and began to drag her backward. Panic swelled within her, and the smoke-induced haze muddled her thoughts. "Help!" Astrid yelped, but her voice emerged as an indistinct, strangled cry. She fought and struggled, her attempts to break free feeble and weak, her very ability to breathe snatched away.

The ground beneath Astrid vanished, and she was flung into the air, suspended for a moment before she slammed onto solid cement. The grayish shroud of smoke dissipated from her vision, and she gasped in gulps of clean air. Disoriented, she blindly turned and locked with the faraway blue sky. Tilting her head further, she noticed a figure sprawled beside her. It was Rick.

Astrid's limbs were brutally wrenched together, and her desperate attempts to pull them apart proved useless. Failing to understand her predicament, she felt the unmistakable sensation of biting restraints binding her wrists and ankles, and her groans of pain were stifled as an intrusive object was wedged into her mouth, cutting off her air supply once more. With a shaky, wide-eyed gaze, she scanned her surroundings, trying to locate Rick, who had vanished once more into the haze.

Then Astrid found him again. He was still lying beside her, a crude gag obstructing his speech. Despite his inability to articulate words, she sensed the urgency in Rick's silent communication as his eyes held hers. Still, her dazed senses struggled to focus, the chemical effects of the smoke bomb casting a fog over her thoughts. But surrender was not an option.

Suddenly, the sun overhead seemingly disappeared. A looming, black shadow cast upon them heralded the arrival of a brutish figure. Astrid glanced upward, her breath hitching, witnessing the man raise his foot before brutally stomping on Rick's face, rendering him unconscious. A small, involuntary yelp escaped her, the only sound her gagged mouth could muster, before the merciless man turned his attention to her.

Swallowing her fear, the Lancaster woman watched as the towering figure raised his foot once more. Before she could even shut her eyes, the abyss of unconsciousness swallowed her whole.

➸➸➸

WHEN ASTRID NEXT CAME to again, it was not long after her beating.

The sound of her boots scuffling against the floor filled her ears as she was forcibly dragged into a warehouse somewhere in the vast Terminus compound. Her head hung limply on her shoulder as her bleary eyes roamed, struggling to make sense of the twisting and fading world.

As her head swam with dizziness, Astrid gradually became aware of a disconcerting sound—the mechanical buzz of a saw. She summoned her remaining strength to lift her head, her vision wavering. Her heart quickened as she locked upon the source of her terror. A man stood over an operating table nearby, where the lifeless body of another man lay. The man above held a buzzing saw, severing the deceased man's flesh.

Astrid's eyes widened in horror as the appalling realization washed over her. These were no ordinary captors. They were cannibals.

She was soon hauled away from the gruesome sight, her surroundings now a blend of gore and darkness. But the nightmare was far from over. Guided to the opposite end of the warehouse, she was unceremoniously forced to her knees before a gleaming metal trough, its cold surface reflecting her bloodied and bruised appearance.

As the blazing colors and crumbling shapes finally began to recede, Astrid's vision steadied. She looked to her left and right, where surprise flooded her. She had not ever truly been alone. To her right, both Rick and Bob knelt bound and helpless. On her left, two more familiar faces — Daryl and Glenn. Five other strangers—other prisoners who had fallen into the same trap—knelt on their other side.

Daryl's stare never faltered from Astrid. She cast a worried glance over him, silently assessing any signs of harm. Her attempt to draw a deep breath through the gag in her mouth was a futile effort to steady her racing lungs. She then shifted her attention back toward the operating table, where now two men, like sadistic surgeons, wielded saws and remorselessly dissected the victim.

Astrid's throat constricted as her eyes darted to two other figures stationed at the far end of the trough. One man swung an aluminum baseball bat, as if warming up for a game, while the other sharpened two large butcher knives with a haunting focus. A shiver snaked down her spine, and an involuntary tear slipped down her cheek. Astrid had believed Terminus to be a sanctuary, a fresh start after the crushing loss of the prison. But now, it was clear that they had unwittingly walked into a macabre façade. A haven of cannibals.

"All right," The man with two knives said to his partner, the one wielding the baseball bat. "Let's get this over with."

Astrid watched the two men as they advanced toward a young man with disheveled blonde hair who had been forced to kneel at the opposite end of the trough. His eyes were pools of terror, his shoulders trembling with the impending doom. As the man with the baseball bat raised his arms, there was no hesitation, no pause for humanity. The cruel blow landed at the base of the young man's skull, sending him crashing into the trough, unconscious.

Before Astrid could even cry out, the man with the dual knives yanked the hapless boy back to a semi-conscious state and slashed a blade across his throat. The crimson spray erupted in a nasty arc, painting the slippery side of the trough as it cascaded into a growing pool at the bottom. Gasps and screams burst from the mouths of the other men around her, their collective shock mirrored in every horrified face. But that was not even the worst part.

The true horror lay in the knowledge that these ruthless cannibals were not content with a single slaughter. They intended to kill them all, one by one. One down, nine more to go. Astrid's stomach roiled with sickness as she watched the killers systematically move toward their next victim.

The executioners approached the next man in line, viciously striking him on the head before jaggedly slitting his throat. More blood pooled and thickened at the trough's bottom.

The Terminans advanced slowly, closing in on the Lancaster woman. Her shoulders shook uncontrollably as she witnessed the crimson tide inching closer along the trough. The procession of the slaughter continued rapidly, already claiming four innocent lives, and now moving on to the fifth. They brutally dispatched the next unfortunate soul, dealing fatal blows before watching the life drain away.

Then the killers stood behind Glenn, and tears filled Astrid's eyes. It was an agony to see Glenn, of all people, face such an ending. Someone so pure did not deserve a death so cruel. His goodness, his kindness, his unwavering dedication to the safety of others had defined him.

Astrid owed her very life to Glenn Rhee. If he had not stopped that fateful day on the highway in Atlanta, offering her a ride in his little red sports car, she might have perished long ago. That chance encounter had ultimately led to the formation of her chosen family and brought her the love of her own life. Her existence had truly begun with Glenn, and she knew that losing him would be akin to losing a part of herself.

Overwhelmed, Astrid closed her eyes, unable to witness the murder of one of her dearest friends. But then, amidst such gut-wrenching final moments, a familiar voice shouted out. "Hey, guys?" Gareth called as he entered the warehouse. He was holding a small, leather-bound notebook. "What were your shot counts?"

"Thirty-eight," The man with the baseball bat answered.

Gareth quickly noted the response in his notebook, and the two cannibals resumed their positions behind Glenn, ready to complete their task. Astrid's breaths were shallow beneath the stifling gag, as she strained against her bonds in an attempt to free herself. But it was clear that there was no escape, no chance to save Glenn. It was over.

And then it was not. As if by some miraculous intervention, Gareth continued to speak, momentarily halting the executioner in the midst of his grand swing. "Hey! What was your shot count?"

The room fell into a stifled silence, the only sound being the slow drip of blood from the lifeless bodies. Astrid, driven by curiosity, turned her head to the left, casting her attention back at the two strangers. The man with the knives appeared caught off guard, resembling a deer caught in the glare of headlights. "Crap, man, I'm sorry," He stammered in apology. "It was my first roundup."

Gareth, exasperated, sighed and delivered a curt order. "After you're done here, go back to your post and count the shells. Kaylee won't be gathering them until tomorrow."

As he then turned to depart, a muffled cry sounded from Bob, his impassioned shouts breaking through the confines of his gag. "Hey!" He bellowed, distorted. "Let me talk to you!"

Gareth seemed impervious to Bob's pleas, his gaze sweeping over the line of captives along the trough. "Five from A, five from D?" He queried, scribbling notes in his ledger.

Bob, however, refused to be ignored. "Hey, let me talk to you for a minute!" He shouted. "Please!"

Reluctantly, Gareth heaved a sigh, knelt before the trough, and removed the gag from Bob's mouth. His patience appeared to be wearing thin as he snapped, "What?"

Desperation colored Bob's words as he begged, "Don't do this. We can fix this."

Gareth responded with chilling resolve. "No, you can't." He moved to replace the gag in Bob's mouth, but he persisted.

"You don't have to do this," Bob claimed. "We told you there's a way out of all this. You just have to take that chance. We have a man who knows how to stop it. He has a cure. We just have to get him to Washington. We can put the world back to how it was!"

Astrid's surprise mirrored that of Rick and Daryl. How had this crucial information been concealed from them until now? The man with the cure had been among them, unnoticed and unmentioned? It had to be Eugene, the only logical possibility. The revelation tied Astrid's stomach into knots. The lives of Eugene and the others still hung in the balance. If they killed Eugene, all hope would vanish once more.

Gareth was dismissive as he casually shrugged and reinserted the gag into Bob's mouth, remarking, "Can't go back, Bob." Gareth then shifted one step along the trough and kneeled in front of Rick now. He removed the gag from Rick's mouth, and there was a glint of defiance in their leader's cold eyes. Gareth licked his lips. "We saw you go into the woods with a bag and come out without it," He informed. "Had to pull my spotters back before we could go look for it. What was in it?"

Blood dripped from a cut on Rick's forehead, but he wore the pain with stoic indifference. His steely, burning glare revealed a man methodically formulating a plan to dismantle this sadistic leader and his followers. That same fire flickered within Astrid. The Lancaster woman knew she would follow him, no matter how deadly the path ahead.

Gareth pressed further, "You hid it, right? In case things went bad? Smart. Still, we'll find it."

And I'm going to find a stick and shove it up his ass, Astrid thought coldly to herself.

Her quivering shoulders were no longer a sign of fear but rather an embodiment of smoldering fury. She looked to her left, noting that Daryl's own glare was a cauldron of loathing, his imagination no doubt running wild with visions of his hands closing around the pathetic man's throat, extinguishing his life before a scream could escape.

"But it's too dangerous to go out there right now." Gareth leaned back on his heels, his eyes lingering on the blood-filled trough. "So . . ."

Sharply, the man produced a knife from his belt and lunged forward, grabbing Astrid's left shoulder. He yanked her forward and positioned her just inches from the gleaming blade's tip. Rick, Bob, and Glenn reacted with instant tension, but Daryl's response was the most visceral. He cursed beneath his gag and strained wildly against his restraints, desperately trying to pull her back, their shoulders colliding repeatedly.

Gareth, the cruel puppeteer, found amusement in the couple's torment. "Careful, archer," He taunted with a smirk. "A little too much push and this knife goes right through her eye."

Astrid's gaze remained locked on the blade. It was so close that it blurred. Despite the gag between her teeth, she now chewed on it, trying to distract herself, and with a slow exhale, she sensed Daryl retreating.

Dark thoughts clouded her mind as she contemplated again whether facing death here and now might be a preferable fate. She almost wished for a swift impalement through the brain, rather than losing consciousness only to have her throat slit, leaving her to wither away. She refused to meet her end in such a manner. She was determined to go out on her own terms, unbowed by someone else's will.

Gareth's calloused fingers stroked her sweat-soaked hair absently before he turned back to Rick. "So, what was in it?" He probed. "I'm curious. I mean, it was a big bag." Rick remained obstinately silent, and Gareth tightened his grip on the knife, drawing Astrid even closer. Her heart pounded painfully in her chest as Gareth sighed, his words laden with a sinister implication. "Are you really going to let me do this?" He mused. "I thought you cared for this woman."

Finally, the interrogated spoke. Rick, his voice hoarse yet still carrying an undertone of menace, offered an alternative, "Let me take you out there. I'll show you."

Gareth dismissed the offer with a shake of his head, a sardonic grin playing on his lips. "Not going to happen," He replied before giving Astrid's shoulder a little shake. Daryl lurched forward again. "But this might."

"There are guns in it," Rick relented—but he still did not sound worried. "AK-47. .44 Magnum. Automatic weapons. Nightscope . . . There's a compound bow and . . . a machete with a red handle . . ." He tilted his head to the side, daringly. "That's what I'm going to use to kill you."

A nerve in Gareth's cheek twitched, but his devilish smile remained. He withdrew the knife, shoving Astrid back, and she instinctively moved closer to her hunter, exhaling a short, relieved breath. Gareth then restored the gag to Rick's mouth and stood upright. "Thanks," He replied, patting the man's shoulders. In an afterthought, he turned to the men with baseball bats and knives and issued a final order. "You have two hours to get them on the driers before we go back to the public face. Now's the time we can get messy, but we need to dial it all in by sundown."

"Got it," The man with the baseball bat acknowledged, while the one with the knives nodded in understanding.

Gareth made to leave the warehouse when a loud, sharp sound suddenly cleaved the air. Astrid froze, tensing at the unmistakable report of gunfire. Gunshots rippled in her ears as if she were standing beside a fireworks display. The echoes of ricocheting bullets extended for a seemingly endless minute, and Astrid frantically scanned the shadows of the room beyond for the source.

Meanwhile, Gareth's expression transformed from its usual indifference to one of alarm. He pulled his walkie-talkie from his belt and pressed it to his lips. "Hey, Chuck?" He called. His tone was heavy with confusion as if this event was not part of their plan.

No response was answered from the walkie-talkie. The leader of the cannibals steadily grew paler.

Astrid swallowed cautiously. Every nerve in her being throbbed with a sense of impending danger. The gunfire had ceased, yet her body remained rigid. Had their chance of escape already been snatched away? Had the mysterious shooter vanished into thin air, leaving them condemned to their fate?

Astrid glanced hesitantly at Daryl, whose eyes were filled with fury. He attempted to speak to her now through his gag, but his words remained muffled.

And then, in the heart-stopping silence, the stillness of the warehouse was torn in two by a violent explosion.

~~~~~~~~~~