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She wasn't sure if she had passed out from exhaustion or been knocked over the head, but when she woke, her mind was inundated with images of the last thing she could remember: her friends being brutally murdered by Negan. A heavy weight settled over her heaving chest as she whipped her pounding head from side to side. She was in the back of a truck, pitch black other than the small sliver of light coming from the doors.
Fumbling off the ground and onto her feet, she stumbled toward the door and rattled the handles until her palms were too sweaty to get a good grip. With a small cry, she fell back to the floor, with her back pressed against the side of the van. The Saviors weren't stupid enough to keep the door unlocked, but she would be stupid not to try.
She could only assume Negan was going to take her and lock her back up. They couldn't be friends anymore. There was no going back to the way things were before she ran away. Multiple of her friends were murdered by people she thought she could trust. Her mind was so full of what-ifs and regrets that she felt she could explode.
With her back slumped and her eyes hooded, she fought the urge to close them to avoid the images of her friend's bodies. Abraham with his head smashed into so many pieces you couldn't make out his identity. Glenn with an eyeball all the way out of its socket. There were images she could never forget. Something she could never look Negan in the eye for again.
Looking down at her torn, ragged sleeve, the tiny slip from the back doors emitted enough light to see her once white shirt now a deep red. There was so much blood it was still wet.
The screams of the group echoed through the dark, dense woods. Her head got lighter and her breaths shortened.
The blood of Abraham sept into the cracks of the gravel and stained the fabric of Winona's clothing. His head was smashed to pieces. He was gone. Winona couldn't let go of his hand, clenching it right and shutting her eyes. It was a part of his body still intact.
Her trembling palms held her head as she shielded her view. She couldn't bare to see her friend like that, with his head so mangled that she couldn't make out his face anymore. Her stomach churned so intensely she leaned forward to throw up, and then stopped herself. There was no food in her stomach and she had no energy. With one deep breath after the other, she held herself back from doing the one thing she wanted so deeply to do: kill Negan.
She had no way to. No weapon, and they were surrounded. But all she could do in that moment to bring a sense of ease was imagine Negan with a bullet through his brain.
She dug and twisted her knuckles in the dirt, the pain too much to keep her body still. When she finally gained the courage to look up, Negan was standing over Abraham's body. He was laughing. The familiar wide-grinned belly chuckle that came out when he put on a show. She wanted to strangle it off his face.
