The survivor crawled with all her might up the crinkle cut metal walls, scrambling desperately like a flea on a dogs back up the huge wooden supports, the rusting edges tearing into her hands and slicing her sweat slick palms.

And straddling the thin wall, her eyes darted rapidly for any signs of the residents.

The hillbilly's silhouette was still facing north, and the pretty Hispanic was looking through the scope of her rifle towards the East, clueless as they chattered.

Once she was sure she hadn't been spotted, she swung her legs around, using the little slits in the gates to climb down, hissing at the cuts and splinters.

"Ooftt." Her feet hit the grass with a loud thunk, and she immediately crouched low, thighs burning with strain and keeping close to the outskirts, moving with the grace only a starving girl in enemy territory can.

Hardly any lights were on, everyone probably tucked into their comfy beds, but it was a short walk to their makeshift surgery after she blitzed across the wide street.

Her boots were a feather light, pitter patter on the cold tile while she expertly avoided the windows, and thankfully, the surgical room was empty,
free for the plundering.

Ali tossed off her gym bag, furiously hunting through the cabinets, her heart racing lightspeed at the number of antibiotics, gauze, bandages and morphine she was cramming in.

It took her three minutes to ransack the place. Barley anything left, the doctors kit emptied and even the lime green sheets torn from the bed.

But her stomach growled, remorseless in it's spasm.

Aaliyah doubled over, trying to silence the churning, balling her fists and leaning left under the sheer weight of her bag.

Hurtling from the medbay, she darted in the direction of their pantry, the huge garage with dozens of shelves lined with such delicious food.
And when she arrived there, she couldn't believe her eyes, rocking side to side on her toes, the mud on her face streaking with tears and sweat.

Tinned peaches, carrots, potatoes, fish and salted meats.
Everything her heart desired.
Her lips literally watered, a brooke of saliva trickling down her chin, the thrashing death metal in her chest causing her head to nod.

Her hands trembled like leaves in a thunderstorm as she filled up her spare bag to the brim, to the point it was overflowing and difficult to zip up, juicy red apple's crushing the little bottles of Tylenol.

But it was the brightly colored packet of skittles that made her jaw flap, every sinew and tendon twanging.
With all the excitement and disbelief in the world, she immediately stood on the bottom shelf, her frame making it so hard to reach the few feet higher.

She was so lost she didn't even notice the shaggy, black haired figure stalking up behind her with his predators steps, snarling at her scrambling legs and urgent snorts as he loaded a green feathered arrow into his compound bow. "Wha' the hell do ya think yer doin'?"

Ali locked into place at the booming voice, her muscles stiffening and fear exploding with the force of a wildfire, eyes frozen wide in shock and the bag dropping with a heavy thud onto the floor.

With a brutal swing, she gripped her spear, twisting on her toes like an infuriated ballerina with the sole aim of puncturing this country bumpkins stomach.

But he was fast.

His finger added the perfect amount of pressure to his hair trigger, jumping back at the last moment to evade her thrust, and the bolt soared through the air with an audible swoosh, penetrating the thieves pale and goosebumped flesh underneath her shoulder.

She screamed in pain, and like a typhoon of human limbs, she lashed out, her fist connecting with his stubbled jaw, sending Daryl three steps backward and dazing him for a precious few seconds.

And she used the time to flee, clutching the bag tight against her chest, storming with her short little legs back to the gate as blood streamed through her fingers, the arrow kissing bone with every step.

-"Get back! I'll shoot yer again!"

And the fucker wasn't lying, an arrow, then two ricocheted off the metal only an inch away from her neck.
Click—

"Freeze!"

Aaliyah blanched at the sound of a gun's hammer, stopping her climb to hold her hands up, her lips trembling and chin dimpled. No, no, no, no.

—"Turn 'round. Slowly!"

As she spun in a dizzy circle, she locked gazes with the deputy, his face as cold as snow in December, eyes blazing,
if it wasn't such a shit situation, she would have laughed at his shirt matched up with the wrong buttons, hair tousled and colt aimed right between her eyes.

"Hands above your head!" He snapped, head cocked and flinging his weapon upwards, taking dangerous steps closer.
He looked so angry.

And the hillbilly began to circle her, his heavy bow not diverting for even a moment.

The streets suddenly became hives of activity, residents rolling out of their houses with weapons drawn, golden light streaming through the pristine windows.

The warrior woman was at the leader's side in seconds, her long legs not missing a beat, her long, glimmering sword shining in the when she unsheathed it.

The young boy was loading his pistol on the porch, half a bandage wrapped around his face, jumping down three steps at a time towards her.

Mullethead was looking out his window, his eyes narrowed to slits, mouth in a ruler straight line.

And the short, black haired girl with the perfect eyebrows dressed in a comfy hoody and loose sweatpants cut off Aaliyah's exit through the front gate with her Latina friend,
who looked just as enraged, gagging for the order to blow the thieves head off.

She was surrounded, cut off, facing nothing but lead showers and—
vengeance.

—"What in the fuckin' fuck is goin' on, Prick!? Don't start the action without me!''

Aliyah whipped back her head at the voice, a tall, lithe figure jogged up the street—the outcast.

Just like Colton.
-"Hand's up! Now!" Rick roared, thrusting his weapon forward, increasing the pressure and slicking back his hair, his people closing the gap.

Her hands flung vertical as she watched the outcast run up to Rick's side, readjusting his pants and zipping up his jacket, yanking his Louisville from his belt loop,
and she didn't miss the excitement wafting off him like he was fixing for a fight.

"She was stealin' from us." Daryl murmured, emphasizing stealing so harshly it could have smoked his tongue, now he was only five feet away, ready to pierce her with arrows.

But Rick and Michonne were on the girl first, working together in perfect motion, moving so fast Aaliyah could barely react.

The cowboy gripped her stick thin wrists, wrenching them behind her back mercilessly, and the tall samurai attempted to sweep her feet from under her, kicking her legs apart, balancing her sword near the young girl's throat.

Aliyah swallowed her bile. Flashbacks pounding through her mind. Colton. The meat hooks. The handcuffs. The screaming.
The meat full of wedding rings.
Not again.

Erupting like Vesuvius, not giving a fuck about the blade, she whacked her head to the right, the solid helmet of her skull connecting with the leader's nose, and her teeth sunk into the firm meat of Michonne's bicep until the tang of blood flowed between her teeth.

She struggled like a million frenzied piranas, wiggling ferociously from their temporarily loosened grasps and unleashing an ear splitting wail from her cracked lips.

Then she scuttled.

Negan was motionless, unblinking as the thief ran at him, one slow swallow bobbing his Adam's apple and Lucille hovering in the air, his jaw gaping and sparks exploding in his gut.
He'd not taken his eyes off her.

—"Negan, watch out! Get her!"

He readied his weapon at the scurrying shadow, a second away from slamming the barbed wire across her head, muscles in his arms twitching.

But his world stopped when she threw herself down at his feet, nuzzling her nose deep into his stomach, clinging onto him for dear life.
She looked like a worshipper at the feet of a prophet.

And her salty tears soaked through the material of his loose cargo pants, her little fingers grasping the glossy leather of his jacket.

For a singular frozen second, their gazes connected, cold steel meeting fiery autumn.

And his gut dropped, hitting the pavement, Lucille hanging down to his side as she slowly blinked at him through her long, dark lashes.

What a mess this girl was, skin so filthy he couldn't tell what actual color she was, so small she could have fit under his shoes, trembling so hard she swayed his body.
She was a hot mess, begging him with her watery eyes from the bottom of her soul.

Her freezing cold digits coiled like snakes underneath his leather jacket, and he suddenly remembered he wasn't even wearing a t—shirt, her nails snagging his rough spattering of hair.
His stomach tightened at her touch, igniting in his toes and even tingled the roots of his hair, goosebumps sprouting like summer weeds.

There was a girl at his feet, on her knees, silently pleading for his help, pressing her cheek against the inside of his thighs.

For a second, he was his old self.
With someone to feed, someone to nourish, someone to protect.
God, it felt good having someone look up at him, not down their noses like they always did.

The heat of blood flushing to his every extremity and redenning his lips was intrusive, but now her fingers clutched the waistband of his jeans, how her head shook with her sobs worsening the ache beginning between his legs.

In the old days, he'd of made her his, and his alone so fast no one else could even sniff her, take his sweet time in washing off all that filth in a hot bath and wrap her up in silk. He quickly wondered what she'd be like in bed, wild and untameable, a battle to who'd be on top, the type that sinks her teeth in deep and growls, someone who he'd take pleasure in taming.

There was a raw, heady intensity in how he wanted to scoop her up and take her back inside his house, warm her up with his body and sleep next to her.

And the ignitions of sparking ribbons fluttered in his stomach when her dainty arms wrapped around one of his legs.
God, the temptation.

But that's when he saw the cuff marks around her wrists, deep scars gouged in like silver burns, and his heart skipped a beat, those licks of desire freezing solid, especially with how her arm wept with blood black in the moonlight, now he only felt disgusted with himself.

It seemed to last a lifetime, emotions spinning like a Rolodex, but it was so short it fit between the deputy's sentences.

"Grab her, Negan. Now!" Rick hollered, pinching the bridge of his streaming nose as Michonne snarled through her teeth, looking worried as all hell this girl could be infected.

But Negan stalled, unwilling to catch the sad creature, and she whispered one word while gripping his hips, so faint and mousey he could have been hearing things. Her mouth only moving a fraction. "Help."

It crippled him, there was no way he could hurt her.

Daryl shook his head in exasperation, lowering his weapon and flinging it over his back, "screw this," and he raced towards her to grab her tatty shirt, flinging her on the floor and standing on her back.

The ex—savior could only watch idly as Michonne attached the zip ties and Rick picked her up by her feet.

"Let's put her in the cell till we figure it out." Rick nodded to his girlfriend, grunting under her wriggling strain, teeth bared as she scratched and hissed like an alley cat.

And at the words that flew so blasé off the Sheriffs tongue, Aaliyah scuffled with everything she had, screaming at the top of her lungs and thrashing her head, pumping her limbs like a piston and her feet kicking out wildly in the world's biggest tantrum, stretching her fingers open and closed and wrestling like she was being tortured.

Daryl had to help Rick and Michonne when she fell from their clutches, crawling frantically on her belly like a worm. "Christ, get her under control! Don't let her bite you!"

"Check her for bites!" The hillbilly and the Samurai gripped each of her legs, then Tara and Rosita joined the scuffle, each person holding one of Aaliyah's spasming limbs, four arms wrapped around her stomach.
And Carl had his pistol cocked at her head.

"What's the hell's wrong with ya?!" Daryl barked at the ex Savior while grunting, prying Aaliyah's fingers from his hair.

Negan opened his mouth to speak, only to find he didn't have an answer, Lucille sleeping on the floor where he'd dropped her.

There was something heart piercing about those screams for him, his feet glued to the ground, brows arched up to the heavens, wincing to her long wails of pure terror. They were worse than the screams of pain that came from those who had their faces melted off.

And he watched her, unable wrench his eyes away to the sight of her begging and hollering, crying out her heart as she was dragged into the prison.

The man with the amber eyes was left alone, the Alexandrians traipsing back to bed with shakes of their head after their ogling.

His shoulders drooped, idly touching his cold face, sucking on his whole bottom lip.

She was one of the most animalistically beautiful things he had seen in...how long was he locked away for? And she was desperate, alone, terrified. She needed a savior. "Fuck."