Z-Nation Imagines

Bo

I watched them take the group, yanking sacks over their heads and binding their hands before dragging them to the caravan of trucks. A couple of them thrashed, throwing wild kicks in any direction they thought their assailants may be. These fighters got a stiff knee in the gut. I flinched, remembering how I was often on the receiving end of those knees. The movement loosened a part of my bangs from my braid, and I quickly tucked them back, shifting my weight back to my heels. I was ducked behind a small stretch of brush in the trendline, watching through a cheap pair of binoculars.

It wasn't my first time sneaking out after the men from our compound. I hated that place so much it put a fire in the pit of my stomach to stay for too long, so naturally, I would sneak out as often as I was able. I wasn't always allied with the men and women at the compound. I was by myself since the zombpocalypse all started that first year, after some thieves shot my mom over our car and a few rusty cans of food. I managed to get away, and learned to take care of myself at just thirteen years old. It was just easier that way, anyway, without a group. I could move more freely, scavenge enough food for only myself easily.

I didn't go with this particular group willingly...they took me when I had my guard down. Tortured me until they thought my will had broken. I lost count of the bones they snapped, and I had scars striping my body and a nasty one on my right cheek from when they got especially bored. This happened for months, the torture. That was how they got the unwilling to join their little group...power in numbers, and all that.

The group they captured had numbers, skill, and supplies, so they were more valuable than half the compound put together. I followed them the couple miles back to the camp on foot, sticking to the treeline, before slipping under the fence behind what served as the chow hall. I had burrowed a little hole underneath the fence, just big enough for my small frame to fit through, after I healed up and they deemed me safe enough to roam freely around the area. I wasn't stupid enough to stay gone for too long from the encampment...they had taken a particular liking to my "spunk", as one man called it, and planted a chip deep in the muscle of my forearm that alerted them if I went out of their range. That was one of the times I hadn't had the privilege of passing out, so I got to watch the whole thing, helpless to stop it.

I wasn't allowed to have any weapons, even after being stuck with these monsters for almost two years...they still didn't trust me with even a butter knife. I guess that's the price to be paid for trying to gain loyalty through pain and fear. The occasional attempts I made on the leader's life may also have kept them from giving me access to weapons, but I digress. I still managed keep a decent machete under the loose floorboards of the cabin I shared with two guards.

Dahlia, the leader of our compound, sent groups out often for ammo, food, and other supplies. On the rare occasion, they found a few victims to bring back and force into our ranks. When they didn't buy into the peaceful way of life that was pitched to them, they were beaten and tortured into submission. My cabin was always close enough that I could hear their screams. Sometimes, I managed to sabotage their missions of capture just enough that the people escaped. They never knew it was me, somehow. They weren't the brightest baddies in the evil crayon box. Still, I hated every last one of them with every cell in my starved body.

In spite of the monsters that ran that place and the aspirations of murder I had toward Dahlia, I never saw a real reason to leave. I had water, enough food to keep from starvation, and safety, so I didn't mind being miserable for a little while so much. Something changed, though, when I saw them take that particular group. I wasn't sure if it was the fact that I saw my mother in their leader's eyes, or how I saw them communicate and act like a family, or even the strange attraction I felt toward the lanky, dark-haired boy, but I knew they were different, and I had to help them.