Too Far Gone // D. Dixon

chapter three

Maren's eyes fluttered open, the remnants of the gas that had enveloped the train car still lingering in the air. Confusion and disorientation washed over her as she tried to make sense of her surroundings. It took a few moments for the fog to clear, and when it did, the reality of the situation hit her like a punch to the gut.

Maren stirred awake, her hands behind her back and her feet laced together. Her feet had been ziptied, her hands were wrapped tightly behind her back with rope, and her mouth was overtaken by cloth. Her head was pounding, her vision still adjusting to the light in the room.

Maren looked around at her surroundings, hearing the sounds of what resembled a saw filling her ears. She searched for the source of the sound, spotting two men chopping away at something. She wasn't sure what it was exactly, but the crimson red blood that appeared beneath the men had made her nervous enough.

The room was bright, as she sat in front of a long steel tub. Finally, she started connecting the dots. They were the animals, they were the ones going to be slaughtered.

A loud bang was heard, just as the boy on the end fell forward. Just as quickly, the man behind him had slit his throat open. Maren gasped, watching the blood slip its way towards her on the opposite end of the tub. Then another man...and another man...

Maren looked at the others next to her, noting that it was Rick, Daryl, Glenn and Bob, all of which were sitting just beside of her. Rick's eyes went wide at the circumstance before him, but he looked focused. Maren watched him closely as he grabbed something from his boot. Understanding, Maren looked away, not wanting to give him away, in hopes that he'd do something that could get them out of this hell.

Gareth entered the room, holding a notebook, "What were your shot counts?"

The two men looked at Gareth and thought for a moment before speaking, "38."

There was a silence. Just as the second man was about to hit Glenn, Gareth stopped them, "Hello? Your shot count?"

"Crap, man. I'm sorry..." The man stuttered nervously, "It was my first roundup."

Gareth sighed loudly, clearly annoyed with him, "After you're done here, you go back to your point and count the shells. Kaylee won't be gathering them until tomorrow."

Bob was quick to take this moment to try to talk them out of killing them, "Hey! Hey, let me talk to you." His gag made his voice muffled, so Gareth moved it down.

"What?" Gareth spat angrily, he was clearly not in the mood for such behavior.

"Don't do this. We can fix this-" Bob started, trying to plead with Gareth and these men. However, they had different plans for them.

"No, you can't." Gareth spat.

"YOU DON'T HAVE TO DO THIS!" Bob shouted, "We told you there's a way out of all this. You just have to take a 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."

"We can't go back, Bob," Gareth scoffed, as he glanced at each person kneeled before the steel tub. When his eyes met Maren's, he paused, letting a smile smear across his face, "Not now...I remember you."

Gareth walked dangerously close to Maren, sending a shiver down her spine. Maren gulped, glancing at the others with fear in her eyes, "You're the girl that put up quite a fight. Our people said it was almost like you knew we were coming...either that or you were running from something else."  

That very look plastered on Maren's face was once that Rick had seen before. He'd seen his own son given him that very look that wretched night at their camp, the same look that had burned its way into Rick's mind.