Self Inflicted

32

The gates screech open, revealing a few people standing and staring back at us with an expression of intimidation and disgust. Aaron helps an injured Eric walk in the gates. A opossum runs out from behind a trash can, Daryl quickly shoots it and picks it up by its tail. "We brought dinner," he mutters. Aaron turns to his people inside the gates.

"It's okay. Come on in, guys." We walk forward; huge houses out of a movie scene sit practically untouched. People are walking the streets; some are gardening, and some are just standing around chatting. 

"Before we take this any further, I need you all to turn over your weapons," a skinny man with curly hair says. "Stay, you hand them over."

"We don't know if we want to stay," Rick challenges.

"It's fine, Nicholas," Aaron assures him, but he still seems wary, as he should be. 

"If we were gonna use them, we would have started already."

"Let them talk to Deanna first."

"Who's Deanna?" Abraham calls.

"She knows everything you'd want to know about this place. Rick, why don't you start?" From behind us a little way on the road, near our cars, a walker snarls and stumbles toward us. 

"Sasha." Rick doesn't have to even watch. She turns, aims quickly, and drops the walker in one swift gunshot to the head. "It's a good thing we're here." 

-

It is my turn to talk to Deanna, so she can see what I'm all about. I was lead to a house, her house I've come to find out. It's a very cute and simple, white house with a room set up like a therapist's office. Or at least that's what it looks like to me. She ushers me to a couch across from an old videocamera. "You're recording this?" my voice sounds dryer and harsher than I even meant for it to sound. 

This is the first I look at the small, older woman. She has light red hair, cut into a perfectly straightened bob around her face. She flashes me a big, fake smile with wrinkles caressing every movement. "We're all about transparency here."

She presses the camera on to record and shuffles around the black leather couch, sitting directly in front of me and over her right shoulder the camera stares back at me. "I'm Deanna Monroe."

"Luna Perez."  

"How long have you been out there?" straightforward and to the point, I can appreciate that much. 

"Since it started."

"How did you all find each other? Did you know each other before?" 

"I met Michonne at a camp early on. When it got overrun we left," I shrug and turn my head from her, looking around the room. Some bookshelves sit against the walls and windows fill the room with daylight. 

"Just the two of you?" I shake my head in response. "And what did you do before?"

"I was an EMT." 

"Oh, well that will surely come in hand now," she huffs as if she's excited. "We have a brilliant surgeon here who I'm sure would appreciate a skilled hand."

"You have a lot of surgeries happening here?" I scoff. 

"Few, we try to keep our injuries minimal as I'm sure you can imagine," my face must show my shock because she gives me a brief smile. "I think you'll learn to like it here."

"You don't know anything about me," I shake my head. 

"I can read people well, it was my job before all this. I was a congressperson, Ohio, 15th district."