The Devil's Details

When In Rome.....

The first place Negan put you in your new role as a prisoner was in the walker yard. It was not going to be a pleasant experience. It was mid summer and the sun baked down on the dusty enclosure. You started sweating immediately and you hadn't even started working yet.
There were other prisoners there too but it didn't take long to realize you were the only woman. They all stared as you were pushed in with them. A wooden pole was shoved in your hand.
"Get to work!" A guard barked at you.
You weren't even sure what you were supposed to do. All you could do was stand there and look around trying to figure out what to do. Your hesitation was met with a violent shove that sent you to the dirt. The raggedy looking guard that yelled was standing over you.
"Are you fucking deaf?" He spat, giving you a light kick to your thigh.
Pulling yourself up, you grab the pole and bring it up directly between his legs. A pained cry comes from him and he collapses. You kick him while he's down. All activity in the yard had stopped and was staring at the scene unfolding. In an instant you were surrounded by a band of Saviors and your makeshift weapon is ripped from your hands. You hadn't planned on doing what you did. It had been instinct.
The group parts and Simon steps up to you. His eyes are flashing and he's wearing a dangerous smile. He contemplates you for a moment and you glare back. You both hate each other so much, you were sure anyone within fifty feet of you could feel it. He grabs the rod from one of the men and gently touches your cheek with his palm. You go to slap his hand away when he draws the end of the pole back and jabs you in the stomach hard enough to double you over. It knocks the wind from you and you can't breathe. Simon brings his face down to yours.
"When you're in this realm?" He hisses. "You don't mean shit. It's live or die in here you stupid bitch. Having a walker stick is an advantage. But because of that little display, you lost that privilege."
He chucks the rod over the fence and pulls you roughly to your feet.
"Daryl!" Simon yells.
A disheveled prisoner comes over. He looks you up and down without much expression. He says nothing as Simon tells him to show you what to do. Daryl doesn't have a walker pole either.
"Check it out." Simon sneers, pushing your face in Daryl's direction.
Free roaming walkers are being herded into the enclosure. Daryl rushes at one, wrapping his hands in its tattered clothing and thrusts it backward till its' back slams into the chain link fence. It's rotting mouth is just inches from his face and you thought for sure he was going to be bitten. He has to hold it there while someone else secures the flailing corpse from the other side of the fence. He repeats the process. It was extremely dangerous. Taking care of one or two of them was one thing but to have to continually do it for hours was another. Their bodies were dead and can't feel fatigue like the living.
"Get to it." Simon orders, pushing you towards a smaller walker.
You repeat what Daryl did, rushing at it and grabbing hold of what little was left of its hair. The chunk pulls loose from the decaying scalp and teeth graze your sleeve. You release and spring back as it lunges towards you, its bony fingers trying to rip at you. This time, you push it by the shoulders and keep pushing with all your might. Finally you have it against the fence and it is secured.
You're winded already and by the fourth one you want to collapse. There was no close calls but the bodies were heavy. You don't know how you were going to do this for hours.
Simon looked on gleefully. You knew that he hoped you would get bitten. And if you had to keep up this pace, you most assuredly would. Exhaustion makes you clumsy.
It was on your seventh walker when it almost happened. You were pushing into one when its putrefying chest cavity caved in. Your body fell into it and you could hear the gnashing teeth in your ear and the smell of rot overwhelms you as your face hits the ragged, hanging flesh of its torso. You scream.
There are strong hands on your shoulders and you're ripped off your feet, away from the grasping corpse. Hitting the ground with a thud, you see Daryl finishing your job and you breathe a sigh of relief. After that, your fellow prisoners seemed to take care of you. They would help you wrestle your undead to the fence and you were grateful. Negan's stupid training program was working already.
You see Simon again. He's staring intently at you from outside the fence. His mouth is a taught line under his overgrown mustache and an angry muscle was pulsing in his jaw. But he hadn't restricted them from aiding you and you were grateful for that too.
Finally after six long hours in the baking heat your work detail is over. There were very few water breaks and you were starving. The time in the relentless sun had left your skin red and hot to the touch. You are a miserable mess.
You are thrust back into your cell and the little blanket on the floor never looked so good. Plopping down, you press your face to the cooling cement floor. Despite your hunger and your thirst, you can't keep your eyes open and you drift off.