Enemies

Chapter 2

Dad was right it wasn't long before we tracked them down.  I dressed in an outfit similar to my dad's, but true to me.  My motorcycle jacket had a large iconic Harley Davidson back patch, and I left it open to expose a red tank top paired with black skinny jeans and combat boots. 

While I was cleaning my pistol, Dwight pulled dad aside, thinking I wouldn't be able to hear him.

"Negan, I don't think it's a good idea to bring the kid along, these people..."

"The kid has a name Dwight."  I jumped off the back of the truck, holstered my gun, and walked over.  "Say it with me now; Har-lee" I slowly pronounced my name, enunciating each syllable "I mean come on, it's on my jacket" I turned around and pointed to my back patch with both thumbs.  When I turned to face them again, my dad was laughing. 

"Dwight." The laughter in his tone dropped.

"Yes sir?"

"Don't ever fucking question me.  And if she comes home with so much as a scratch." He chuckled, the sound visibly shook Dwight, as it would've anyone "well, you'd best not come home at all.  Because what would happen to you out there, is nothing compared to what I'll do to you if you don't bring my kid back, unharmed."

"Calm down dad, I'll be fine." I jumped into the bed of the truck "stay here, shoot if things get too bad, and stay down.  I know Dad."  He smiled and we drove off.

I didn't see much of the initial action; until a guy, maybe mid to late 30's with a dark mullet was thrown into the bed of the truck with me, blubbering like a child.

"Watch him." Dwight ordered before slamming the truck door and driving off.  The Ford lurched forward and the man fell on his face, unable to catch himself, as his hands were bound behind him.  I holstered my pistol, that had since then been aimed at him, realizing he was of no threat, and helped him back to his knees to regain balance.

"If you move over to the corner there, with your back to the cab, you'd probably have some more stability."  He didn't move; he didn't even look up.  I crouched down to his level.  "Hey, can you move?" My voice showed genuine concern.

"Yes" He spoke, although he still made no eye contact.

"Come on." I helped him shuffle over to the corner and re-tied his hands in front of him, so he could catch himself were he to fall again.

"Why did you help me?"  His voice was a thick syrup of southern twang, mixed with an undertone of high intelligence and tainted with residual tears.  It melted together and formed an accent I couldn't place.

"Why would I not? I've got the upper hand, and quite frankly, watching you faceplant was more sad that amusing" I paused briefly "it was still kinda funny though, but mostly sad."  I sat stretching my legs across the truck bed.

"I easily could've grabbed your firearm while you were untying me."

"And done what? I could tell by the way the threw you in here crying you're not a fighter, much less a killer.  Plus one yell from me and the boys in the cab would've had your head, and you seem smart enough to have figured that out already." My words may have been harsh, but my tone was kind, level, as if merely talking about the weather.

"Judging by your approximated age, gender, and rather inactive role, I had previously come to that conclusion."

"Exactly, so why wouldn't I help?"

"Your current company wouldn't have helped."

"They're assholes, I'm not.  Simple."

"But I don't-"

"Look if it's that big a deal I can move you back over there and tie your hands behind you again."

"I prefer my current position.  Thanks."

I chuckled slightly to myself, shook my head, and jumped when Dwight hit the glass window leading from the cab to the bed, signaling we had reached our destination.

"Why aren't his hands ties behind him?" Dwight paced in front of me, pointing at our prisoner.

"Because I got tired of watching him fall on his face because you can't drive."

"Goddamn it Harley!" He pounded his fist on the tailgate he had let down moments before, making jump again.  I wasn't a huge fan of sudden loud noises.  "I told your dad you'd get home safe!"

"Jesus Dwight, would you calm down? I'm fine.  He didn't do anything and I knew he wouldnt." I went to jump out of the back of the truck and Dwight stopped me.

"You stay here, don't do a damn thing." I rolled my eyes and groaned, but obeyed, and watched as my dad's right hand man jerked our captor out of the truck and drug him around to the front of the cars.

Peeking over the roof of the Ford I came face to face with what we were up against.  Steel walls with a heavy, metal gate and what looked like houses inside.  You know, the home owners association type houses. These people had a nice thing going, and something told me they weren't the type to submit easily.  And in front of all this? Dwight. Holding the hostage by his 'party in the back' and brandishing a semi automatic that didn't belong to us.  Rounds shot off into the air, too many to count.

"Wake up you lazy fucks!" Dwight's voice rang through the air, just as loud as the shots before it, and summoned a huge mass of people.  A man with disheveled reddish gray hair and a five o'clock shadow was the next to speak.

"Who are you and what do you want?"

"Who I am is not important.  What is important is that you treat me and mine with far more respect than you showed my friends on the road.  Understand? I want you to us in... all of us."  I had to hand it to him, Dwight could be one intimidating sonofabitch when the need presented itself.  But something told me his intended audience wasn't nearly as impressed.

"I take it Negan didn't get the message last time? Is that it?"

So this asshole must've been Rick.  I looked through the binoculars Dad had given me earlier today, scouting the area.  The two continued to talk, and just as I spotted the sniper in the gaurded tower, the various other armed men along the wall, one of which, a boy, who looked to be around my age with a bandaged eye, Dwight let out a shrill cry and the area surrounding me erupted in gunfire.  Men were dropping left and right.  My dad's men.  My men. 

Blinding pain shot from my heart throughout my body and the echoing gunfire continued as I fell over the side of the truck.  My vision was blurry, my hearing fading in and out. 

"Fall back!" I heard someone shout.  Dwight.  I tried to move, tried to call out to him, but more pain jolted through my body.  I couldn't breathe and everything hurt.  Out of the corner of my eye I saw Dwight running off.  Coward.

I felt a wet warmth spread out on the ground behind my back.  The gravel crunched as Footsteps grew near.  The sound echoing through my mind.  Walkers.

"She's still alive!" Walkers don't talk.

"Shit Rick, shes just a kid"  Rick? Wasn't that?

"Carl stay back! Glen, Daryl, help me get her to Denise!" I knew that voice.  I had heard it moments before the pops of death assaulted my ears.  I was being touched.  Lifted.  Dropped.  I screamed.  I think.

"Dad let me help." A different voice.  A young voice.  The boy?

"No Carl, get back inside!"

"Dad" ... "let"... "help"...  The voice was fading in and out as pain clouded all my senses.  I felt another set of hands touch me as I was lifted once more. 

There was a blur of faces.  Noise.  The ear-splitting sound of metal creaking and groaning as it scraped against... something.  Gut wrenching sobs.  Curses, shouts.  So much noise.  And then?

Nothing.