CONQUEST • Negan

Saviour

The women were in bad shape, starved, dehydrated and majorly, thoroughly, unbelievably traumatised. A few of them had fell into a fugue-like state, staring off at walls with a thousand-yard stare, not registering when they were spoken to or what was going on around them. If I had ever believed in God, this situation would have been the kicker, killing off what faith I might've managed to maintain in this hellhole. Not the apocalypse, or the billions of people who had been unceremoniously wiped out, I would have called this cataclysmic event the rapture, had I been a bible thumper like Mom, God rest her soul, but this, this was pure and utter depravity of the cruelest levels. How horrifically must they have been treated for their minds to resort to a literal shut down in order to cope with this shit?

One of the women, Clodagh, seemed to be the most with it mentally, eyes still hollow but edged with awareness. Body still littered with brutal handprints and bruises, but she rose herself up, taller than the rest, almost as if trying to shield them with her body by throwing her shoulders back and holding herself wider.

It was Clodagh who Negan chose to speak with, all theatrics and dramatics gone. If he could convince Clodagh to return to the sanctuary and find safety, the rest would likely follow. And they did, shaken and broken and damaged beyond comprehension, but strong enough to choose survival over more pain and sorrow. It was almost baffling, to witness the indomitable human spirit in real time. Those women each pieced themselves together enough to take the leap of faith, finding truth in Negan's promises through the evidence of me and Arat and the other female saviours who stood beside the men, healthy and whole. Well, as whole as anyone really could be, at least. They stood on tired, thin legs and put one foot in front of the other, walking themselves out of that fridge and to freedom.

Negan had prepared for the caravan of women he would be bringing back to the sanctuary, having already planned ahead by bringing a bus to the resort. I made sure to walk by the women, helping each of them climb into the vehicle and get seated.

I made sure not to touch any of them, slapping away one of the saviours hands as he reached out to console one of the ladies who hadn't ceased her tears since the fridge had cracked open.

He glared at me. I flipped him off. He could go take his hurt feelings somewhere else.

Negan wanted to hit the road once they were all seated, but I refused. This group likely hadn't had a proper meal or drink in days, maybe weeks by the looks of some.

He gave me a long look, debating whether to reprimand me for speaking against his orders so openly infront of his men. I wouldn't blame him if he did, getting spoken to like a dumb child by a woman who was your prisoner cast a bit of a shadow over his leadership skills and weakened the faith of the people. But he dipped his chin, and agreed, telling me I was right. I stood a little taller after that.

I took my time handing out water bottles and dried meats gathered from the Remmington stores, apathetic to the grumbling saviours who wanted to get back on the road before dusk. They could take their disgruntlement and ram it. I didn't give a fuck about what they wanted, these ladies had to feel safe and cared for, it was the bare minimum and the top priority.

Some of the girls were too scared to eat or drink. I didn't force them, only assuring them that the food and water were there when ready to take another leap of faith.

Offering a bottle to Clodagh, who was sitting at the front of the bus, keeping a watchful, weary eye on all of the ladies in the back, ready to pounce if she saw something amiss, she broke her attention to take a long glance at me.

Accepting the bottle, she didn't smile, didn't thank me. "Yer second in command here?" A thick Scottish accent danced over her words and I had to take a moment to process what she had asked me.