forty four
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↳ fate ↲

─── ❝ 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐥 ❞ ───
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interlude

I WAS NEVER ONE TO PUT MY HEART IN FATE. It wasn't prevalent in my world — the oh-so-ruined life left of humankind. Ever since the day I'd watched those amber colored bombs rain down on the city of Atlanta like a thunderstorm, I hadn't been able to shake the image.

The way the rows of cars on the freeway stood still, dust already beginning to collect on the windshields. The people, quiet as ever. And my mom, she tried to keep me from it, to hold me tight, and tuck my head away into her firm grasp. But I saw fate as it was, my eyes lit up by the flames coming from our hometown. It was the most dreary and dreadful thing to exist.

It took those city streets. The comic store my dad would take me, after his shifts. The ice cream parlor, and the theater my family would drive down to for Friday movie nights with our neighbors. At the beginning, that was all that I saw fate take. I was a young boy, and it was all I seemed to ever care about at the time. Objects. Places, things. Then, slowly, it started taking people. The ones at our camp, just outside of Atlanta. My friend, Sophia. My mom. The people I cared most about. It took them all, and it gave my wounded soul a harrowing excuse.

'All things that come are just fate.'

That was what a blonde haired girl had told me, back at the prison. Beth. Just after my mom had died, leaving our cell grey and empty, with a crying baby who seemed to never quite be content enough to stop her tear shedding. For obvious reasons, I didn't blame my baby sister. She didn't have a mom. I didn't. And we needed her. We needed our mom. If it was still acceptable for me to cry like she did, I probably would have done the same as her right then. I still remember sitting on the edge of that stiff mattress of mine — my hands placed on my knees. I was leaning forward, blocking out the echoing cries from the room.

Fate. What a twisted, horrible thing it was. I hated it. I hated it so much. I just wanted to wrap my hands around it, and tear it apart. I wanted to hear it say sorry. To undo all it had done, and to rip its insides out, like it had done to me. Leaving its heart strings exposed, and untuned. If it were an object I could hold in my palms, I would crush it and watch it spurt burgundy. That was what I thought of fate.

For the longest time, it was only something that took. It shadowed over all of existence, destroying anything it wished ill upon. I had come to accept it as just this. A destructive property. That was, right up until that very day our prison walls came crashing down. Without the metal chains and the barriers, I saw everything clearer. I looked fate in the eyes, and it had finally stopped for a moment, to look back at me. It stood behind the fences, softly glowing behind the artillery that the governor had brought with him. And as war erupted, I forgot all about the softness. I didn't give it another thought, until the fight was over, and I was staring into a girl's green eyes. It gleamed in the darkness of her pupil, showing me that it was more than death. It was so much more.

I also remember staring at the girl, my gun pointed at her head. I had just knocked her down to the asphalt with no remorse. She was on the governor's side. Part of the reason my home was now destroyed. Even with the glint still shone in the depth of her glare, I chose to look past it. More than anything, I wanted the person in front of me to feel my pain. To suffer like I had been, all this time. But my dad — the same dad who would take me down into the city after his shifts, pardoned her. He showed me that not all good things had to go. Not all of them. The girl, Cyn, was one. As time went further along, I learned so.

Fate wasn't just an ending. It was full of beginnings, and middles. I believed so, after that day.

I watched as it changed me. As it changed her. It had brought the two of us together, to make something out of this life we lived. Not to destroy, but to create. Create connections, and ties. Midst it all; even something we called love.

Beth's words still often rung in the back of my head. All things that come are just fate. It was the one thing that we would never have to fight against, ever.

Nonetheless, when it came that night to take Cyn away while I was sleeping, I had woken up in the morning light, and never wanted to fight something more than fate itself. If it truly controlled everything in our paths, then this was its doing. It wanted this. Had planned for it all along. And for what? Misery, betrayal?

I was back to my instincts. Hating fate. Resisting it, even. When the walkie-talkie placed on my bed stand began crackling and feeding me a soft voice like it had been the past couple days, I resisted. I didn't want to speak with her. Not now, after everything. Reading her note had done me a great deal of damage that may not ever be fixed. Hearing such words written by her hand had carved a deep cavern in my chest. One which had hindered me from getting up from my bed. Instead, I only sat on my empty mattress, my hat positioned down to block  away the unwelcome bits of bright light peeking through the curtains. Under the brown material, my face was carved and my eyes had begun turning bruised. It hurt. It hurt, so badly. I wanted it all to stop.

But the radio just kept talking to me. Speaking quiet words. I had turned it down just enough to which Cyn's voice was barely even there. Still, I refused to click it completely off. Through frequent radial interference, I could make out my own name. Spoken from her lips, begging me to answer back. I had been like this for quite some time now. My hands rested on the pit of my stomach, folding together. I wouldn't respond to her pleas.

She wanted forgiveness. Forgiveness was not possible, right now.

Crackle. "—I thought—" Click. Crackle.

My head twisted towards the radio. Her voice was now filled with something different. Remorse. Without thinking, I turned the volume knob on the top. I took the radio into my hands, and held it closer.

"I thought I could do it." I heard her finish her sentence. Her voice was shaky. "I thought I could be strong. Strong enough to do it."

My finger went to the side button, and I held the object close to my mouth. "Strong enough to do what?"

I heard a choked sigh come from her side. Relief. "Carl? Is that you? Are you there?"

I clicked the button on again. "Yeah, It's me. Cyn, why are you talking to me? After — just, why?"

"Because," She began, the radio crackling with her breath. "I thought I could kill him."

"Who?" I sat up slightly.

Her next words came more like a cry, than anything. "Negan."

Static. Click. "That's the reason you left, isn't it?"

I heard a hum of response. Possibly, it was just radio interference. Still, I knew the answer.

I began, "Everything you told me— "

"Was a lie, Carl." She finished. "Because I thought I could be strong enough to finish it. I'm not. I wasn't ever, and I wasn't then."

The deep, empty caverns in my body had begun filling itself with rock, building higher until my chest was mended once again. My head tilted back in a type of solace. Because, fate had not deceived me after all.

"You shouldn't have done this. Cyn, you shouldn't have."

"I knew you'd say that." She replied, a sputtering line of interference sounding for a few long moments.

"Are you okay? Did he do something to you?"

"No, I'm okay." She told me. "Negan — he doesn't know that my loyalties still lie with you."

She continued on. "That being said, there's something else you need to know. I overheard him, talking to a savior. In a few hours, three trucks with at least twenty saviors will be pulling up to your gates. Me included."

My face drained of blood. "No, you can't go. We have the bombs being set up. Once those trucks get close enough, those people inside them are going to die."

"I know." She was calm. "That's not all I overheard, Carl. I don't know which group it will be, but one is going to double-cross you. The bombs aren't going to go off. You have to warn them. Come up with a plan B."

I stood from my bed, lifting a singular blind panel upwards. I looked outwards, watching the group of people prepare for an attack, below.

What Cyn said, changed everything.

She didn't like my silence. "Carl? Did you hear me? You have to warn the others. If you don't, I'm going to have to do something, myself."

I put the blind down. "I hear you. I'll go find my dad, and make this right."

"Good. That's good." She replied.

Static. Click. "Cyn?"

"Yeah?" She responded with a crackle.

I pressed the pad of my finger harshly into the side panel. "Will you come back to me?"

"Back to you?" She questioned, her voice hesitant. "You mean it?"

"Please." I nodded, despite the fact she could not see me.

There were a few seconds of prolonged silence, before the radio let through her shaky response.

"Always."

This was our last exchange before I was forced to rush down the steps, out of our home. I straightened out my hat, my heavy boots stamping against the ground as I approached the bustling gathering of groups getting our plan in order. However, it seemed, nothing they did mattered. Whatever our original plan was, wasn't going to end this.

I pulled my dad to the side, moving him away from the scavengers leader, Jadis, into a remote location with not one ear to hear but his.

"Carl, what's the meaning of this? We've got things to do, before Negan gets here." He remarked, looking over my shoulder as if I was only a bother.

I sighed out. "Dad, the explosives are defects."

His head cocked sideways. "How do you know?"

"Cyn. She told me." I explained.

"You've been in contact with her?" A half-crescent shape appeared between the middle of his brow space.

I nodded at my father. "Just today. She's not working with Negan. She's still with us, all the way."

"We keep the plan." He shook his head. "Son, she's lying to you."

"Dad, you have to believe me. Tell the others. She isn't with them. I know how it looks, but — "

"Cyn isn't with us. Not anymore. You don't see it, but I do. It's only a lie to throw us off guard." He corrected, placing a thumb in his front belt loop.

I grew angry at this. "No, it's not. She wouldn't lie, okay?"

"Carl—" He tried reaching a hand out to my shoulder, but I took a step back.

"Why won't you listen to me? If not her, then me. Dad, please."

A man-made bird whistle came from behind the gates. The signal that trucks were now close to approaching. Another flute sound came from the closest inside guard post, alerting everyone to get in their rightful positions which had been earlier established. I glanced back, looking up to the empty spot on the wall I'd been instructed to set my sights on. My dad gave me a short look, starting to walk towards the posts.

"We keep the plan." He told me again, climbing up the ladder.

I could do nothing but follow.

▬ ▬ ▬

INTERLUDE

Cynthia sighed out a thankful breath when the dark corridors finally ended, and she was hugged by a warm glistening light outside. Following Eugene closely behind, she tried to hide the uncertainty on her face as the two of them walked closer and closer to a truck. A truck with a bound coffin in the bed of it.

She knew what was going to happen. Carl had radioed her, letting her know that there would be no second plan. Because Rick didn't trust her. Nobody did, but the boy. She understood. She was not new to being perceived as a traitor. However, she was still extremely frightened to be taking matters into her own hands. There was nothing left for the girl to do, besides this last hurrah. If it did not work, it would be the end of all things she cared deeply for.

Negan would take it all.

Before getting too close to the automobile, Eugene stopped Cyn. He pulled out a small, first generation Ipod. The headphones were neatly wrapped around the white exterior. As she took the item into her hands, she smiled. Not because of the kind gesture, but because she recognized this.

She and Carl had found it, once upon a time. She remembered it.

"Picked it up back at that church. Didn't know it belonged to you, until recently. I've been greedy to keep it for myself. Hope you don't mind that I borrowed it." He explained, watching as her face lit up. "Doubt conversation will be on tap for the hour commute. Please take it with my compliments. I truly wish I measured up."

Cyn gripped the music player a bit tighter. "You still can, Eugene."

She meant it. Somehow, she knew how it felt. She believed in the man to do what was right, when his time came.

Then, she waved the player. "And, thanks for giving this back. It would have been nice to have it sooner, but I guess I can't complain. I thought it was long gone."

He nodded at the girl, watching her depart. She lifted herself up the platform, stopping beside Negan. Folding her arms, she glanced at the man.

"Well, Jesus. I hope it's comfy." He signaled to the coffin. "Don't breathe too deep, or shit, you might be turnin' blue by the time we hit the main road."

She walked forward, not caring to glance back before she approached the wooden box. Willingly, she was blocking out any other conversations going on behind her. Instead, she only thought about the fact that she never guessed she would ever end up in a coffin. All her life, she had proudly told her family that she wanted to be cremated. Turned to ash, if you will. She said it wasted space to be buried under six feet of soil, only to decay in a short while. But this, it felt like it was the end. Staring back at her warped expression in the glossed reflection, she ran her finger along her now-barren middle finger — a motion of comfort she had always taken pleasure in.

"Listen, I know how tough this is. And I appreciate it." Negan remarked, coming to a stop near her side.

She didn't look at him. No, instead, she lifted her chin to gaze at the sun setting behind the line of shadowed trees in front of her. She seemed to spend forever just simply viewing the way that the sun had been dipped in gold, liquefying itself into colors of warmth. There was a sense of eternity within it. And it was crawling into her.

Eventually, she did climb down into the coffin. At that exact moment, the universe seemed to whisper at the stars in dismay. There was still a knife tucked away in her jeans, burning to claim just one life. And as the darkness closed her in, leaving her to place the earbuds in, and melt into the cushion below at the sound of a song, the stars finally spoke back. They did not write about this. She was meant to be great. To end the war, last night. But the night was gone, and Negan was still alive.

The stars wondered if the blade which was now clamped in her fist was for herself, since she had failed to see through to her own fate.

▬ ▬ ▬

I lifted my head from my scope as the first truck's brake in front of our home came to a squeaking stop. The other two followed behind, their rubber tires smashing grains of fine rock as they pulled up beside the black truck. The air brakes hissed, and I watched as Eugene turned himself towards us.

I wanted nothing more than to believe he, too, was on our side.

"Hello." He spoke into the speaker he was tightly gripping onto, the sounds echoing harshly back at us. "I come salved with the hope that it is my dropped knowledge the you heed. Options are zero-to-none. Compliance and fealty are your only escape. Bottom lining it, you may thrive, or you may die. I sincerely wish for the former for everyone's sake. The jig is up, and in full effect. Will you comply, Rick?"

My dad was never going to comply. I knew this, as did everyone else. I scanned past Eugene, looking to my side. Our citizens were carrying automatic rifles, lined up across the gates. None of them were going down without a fight. Still, I couldn't help but feel deep down, that this was the wrong fight. That there had to have been something more.

I caught my fathers gaze, before he turned back ahead and breathed out. "Where's Negan?"

Eugene lowered his speaker. "I'm Negan."

That was as far as we allowed the man to push. Rosita had connected a button to the bombs my father swore would go off, when the time was right. That time was now. I lowered further to shield myself, in case Cyn had possibly heard the conversation wrong. Just in case. I prayed with all my might that whatever truck she might be in, was heavily protected. That maybe, she wasn't here at all. God, I had tried everything to stop this. But it was all in fate's hands, now. There was nothing I could do anymore. My dad nodded at the woman, and I watched as her thumb reigned down on the switch. Everyone ducked down, protecting their face.

Nothing came. One. . two. . three counts. I spared a glance at my dad. I could sense a fiery burning in my eye, scorching him. He hadn't trusted Cyn. The girl who had gone to save us all. At this time, I could feel nothing but hatred for my father. He hadn't just doubted her, but me as well. And we had been double crossed, after all. Everything was going just as Cyn had revealed.

I attempted to lift my weapon, but multiple guns could instantly be heard cocking. I felt two on my own head, looking down the line to watch as the scavengers stood up, pointing their weapons at the lot of us.

One of the scavengers hopped from the platform, and unlocked the gates. Pulling it open on their own, our home was now open to the saviors. I could sense it didn't matter, however. Traitors were already standing above us, guns pointed. Their fingers were on the trigger, as if ready, and completely and utterly willing to fire.

Negan hopped from his truck, a few of his loyal saviors close beside him. I watched carefully for Cyn, then choked down a breath of relief as I could not see her with them, or past any of the lightly tinted car windows. She had said that if we failed, she would have to take matters into her own hands. I couldn't grasp whatever this meant, as the threat was already directly in front of us.

We couldn't be saved.

As Eugene was guided off the platform, Negan stepped forward.

"You ever hear about the stupid little prick named Rick who thought he knew shit, but didn't know shit, and got everyone that he gave a shit about killed?"

He pointed at my dad. "It's about you. Now, y'all are going to wanna' put your guns down."

"No one drops anything." Rick retorted.

This caused Negan to stifle a laugh, grinning widely. "You push me, and you push me. And you push me, Rick. You just tried to blow us up, right? I mean, I get me. My people. But Eugene? He's one of yours. And after what he did — he stepped up. You people . . . are animals."

"Universe gives you a sign, and you just—" He threw his middle finger up. "Shove your finger right up its ass."

Negan now looked to his group of saviors, beckoning them to a box tied over by a thick woven sheet. "Dwight, Simon, chop-cop."

The two hopped up, carefully unhooking its clips and layers, tearing the cover from the top to reveal a coffin pushed against the cars back end. Wheeling it out like it was made of glass, they used all of their muscle to prop it upright. Negan joined them on the platform, tilting his head back to momentarily enjoy the warm virginian sunset.

He shrugged. "So, you don't like Eugene anymore? You guys gotta like Cyn."

I came to a stand, finally. My head, jumbled with thoughts, instantly felt emptier than ever. I didn't know what to think. What to feel — or even how. I had been looking in the wrong place, this entire time. She was in the coffin. Cyn.

Stepping towards the coffin, he lightly tapped Lucille against the shell of it. "I do too. Bad-ass; this kid. Got her right here, packaged for your convenience. Alive and well. Now, I brought her so I wouldn't have to kill all of you, and not killing all of you could get complicated —"

I felt all else fade, as seconds passed. If it really was her enclosed in that box of death, she was mere feet from me. Only a small aluminum wall separated the two of us. I could almost feel her, from here. Imagine her, standing there, without the coffin. Looking into her eyes, as she would glance back at mine. I could picture her. All I wanted was for it to be real. For her to come out of there, and truly be alright.

Only then, this nightmare would end. I wanted to wake up.

Negan was making demands. I listened in, close again. "—And I want it now, or Cyn dies. And then all of you. Probably. C'mon, Rick. Just because I brought her in a casket doesn't mean she has to leave in it."

"You know what? You suck ass, Rick. You really do. I don't want to have to kill her, but that's exactly what you're gonna' to make me do."

My face scrunched in spite of the man. I turned to my father, my voice demanding and angry. "Dad, just do what he fucking says."

My dad looked from me, to Negan again, stepping up. "Let me see her."

Negan smiled at this. "Oh! Alright, just give me a second. I might have to get her up to speed. You can't hear shit inside this thing."

He tapped Lucille against the coffin, again. Stepping close, he reeled inwards. "Cyn. You're not going to believe this shit. Come on out, darlin'."

It seemed suddenly, those hands that reached out from the darkness of the coffin would bring absolute death upon all. I felt as it's presence gripped around my own heart, turning the raw, natural organ into a blackening entity which was capable of instantly putting my mind in overdrive, turning me around, and wrapping my finger around my rifle's trigger. Casings clinked to the ground, bullets lodging themselves into the traitorous ones behind myself.

Those hands I had been witness to? They were very much alive.

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·
4076 words • 11:16 pm

sincerely yours,
nika.