Sweet and Salty ~ Carl Grimes

Wish Upon a Walker's Head -106

For the trigger warnings summary, go to the bottom of the chapter!! 

The method of transport to get Brooks to Alexandria could be seen as cruel and unusual punishment. She was locked in the trunk of some red hatchback five door car, which didn't allow for a lot of room. There was a cloth bag over her head (which made it difficult to breathe), while her wrists were chained behind her back. Brooks couldn't fall asleep because every few minutes a large stick would come through the overhead and hit her relentlessly. It didn't take Brooks too long to establish the stick was bamboo, as it had been one of Will's favourite to whip her with back in the day. When she was a child she didn't understand the racist comments he made while doing it, but with the benefit of hindsight, she did now.

She knew that her car was travelling separate to those of the others heading to Alexandria. They all left in one hour intervals to minimise the risk of being caught by the saviours. Brooks' car was the one to leave last, so everyone else could be at Alexandria and prepare for her execution, and deliver the good news to the residents of Alexandria who would be relieved to hear of her death. 

Tara had been driving the car, with Rhea in passenger. Abraham and Beth were squeezed into the back, and from the different forces she was hit with, she realised they were taking in turns to poke her awake. In the bag which was over her head, Brooks sobbed silently. Over the years the girl had mastered the art of silent sobbing, found the perfect way to control her breathing and bite down on her lower lip. The way she dug her sharp nails into the soft skin on her wrist helped to keep her in control as well, because physical pain helped to overshadow the emotional shit running through her brain.

Brooks lost track of time rather quickly, but she knew they were not yet at Alexandria, even when the breaks screeched and the car jolted to a begrudging stop. "They're everywhere!" Tara's voice yelled.

"We can handle 'em!" Abraham's followed with.

Brooks listened as the car doors opened, and only then was she able to make out the moaning and groaning of walkers, and the shuffling of dozens of feet. Over the sound of the dead, Brooks was unable to make out who's voice was whose. While yelling, terrified, killing the walkers, and moving quickly, everyone sounded the same.

"There's too many!"

"We have to go!"

"What about Brooks?"

"She'll be dead soon anyways!"

"Merle and Daryl'll kill us!"

"Not if the walkers do first!"

"Aah, it nearly bit me!"

"Run!"

There were four loud slams, and the sound of the walkers became muffled, but there was no more yelling from the people. And, there it was. Brooks Dixon had been abandoned. Again. She heard the shuffling of walker feet, their groans and their moans slipping through the cracks in the car's security system. Brooks sat up in the boot, and shimmied her hands under her legs, and over her feet to get her chained hands in front of her, before she pulled the bag from over her head.

The fifteen year old gasped when she realised how many walkers she was surrounded by, and climbed into the backseat, somehow it just felt safer. Unfortunately, during her panic, the car moved and attracted the walkers. Now, the dead was clawing and banging on the windows, staring at tiny Brooks Dixon who was shaking in the backseat, her wrists still restrained in front of her form.

She was starting to get sick and tired of crying, but a sob still bubbled up from her throat. Brooks sunk in her seat, and cried as she stared out of the window and into the walker's faces. Their open mouths drooling, some covered in blood as they tried eating her through the glass window. A part of Brooks wanted to believe that the people she had been with closed the doors in an attempt to preserve the teenager's life... But, really, Brooks knew it was because they wanted to torture her. Slowly dying in a car surrounded by walkers, or being torn apart trying to escape seemed a sweeter punishment than a quick death by hanging to those who had hated her for years.

The teenage girl cried, and she cried, and she cried. She hugged herself as she sobbed, stared at like nothing more than prey by the animals outside. During her body-shaking sobs, she wondered if the people who became animals would've felt pity for her, if they knew her story... But, then she realised nobody else does, so why would they?

The dead were starting to feel like better friends than the living. The dead were clear, and honest, they wanted her for food, for nature's purposes... The living wanted to torment her, punish her, abuse her, use her, judge her, hate her, blame her. Though neither species were her friend, the dead were feeling like the better of two evils, and so the thought of opening one of the doors and just letting them take her crossed her mind.

Brooks would be respected more if she was dead. Nobody would try abusing her body, nobody would send her into the lion's den to do their dirty work, nobody would take joy in her crying, nobody would intend to hurt her feelings; they would just kill her and be done with it. Although the living wanted to kill her and be done with it, they wanted to make sure they destroyed her in everyway a person can be destroyed before they relieve her of life.

/----------\

After an hour of sobbing, the numbness kicked in. Her body felt weak, she had nothing left. Brooks had been trapped like this before, but with Daryl and Aaron. This time she was alone. Brooks was staring at one particular walker, her form was so rotted it was hard to make anything out, so Brooks assumed she'd been turned from the start. From her small size, and what seemed to be pyjamas, seemingly with some sort of furry animal on, Brooks guessed the girl was somewhere between eight and twelve when she lost her life to the disease all those years ago.

She wished Daryl never saved her life at their old house. She wished Cam never saved her life in the Atlanta camp. She wished Sophia had never saved her life in the CDC. She wished Merle never saved her life after the highway. She wished Shane had killed her. She wished the Governor had killed her. She wished Will had killed her. She wished Lizzie killed her instead of Mika. She wished Hershel gave up her location, and lived a long life, no doubt those men would've killed her after being done with her. She wished she died in Terminus. She wished she died instead of Tyreese. She wished Michonne never stopped her from taking her own life. She wished she died on the road to Alexandria. She wished Marliya just aborted her. She wished to swap lives with that walker girl.

So, Brooks decided to stop wishing. She decided to take her life back. She decided to stop manipulating Negan and the saviours. She decided to stop killing to save people who would abandon her at the drop of a hat. She decided to stop killing herself for people who would pass her the gun. She decided she was done.

Done with the lies.
Done with abuse.
Done with trauma.
Done with pain.
Done with people.
Done with the hard road.

Her hands weren't shaking when she reached for the car door's handle. Dread didn't enter her chest when it easily pushed down. Her heart didn't drop when the groans and moans of walkers became clearer. She didn't frown when the first walker pushed its way into the car.

Most importantly, she smiled when that first small walker sunk its teeth down. At least Brooks Dixon would finally be good for something, a source of food for those who had never done her wrong.

-Trigger warnings!
Heavy mentions of suicide.