Alone Together

Again

“Come on!” Sasha yelled at Val, the girl running as fast as she could in the direction of their vehicle.

“Go Max!” She ordered and the dog ran faster, jumping to the bed of the truck.

Abraham stepped on the gas pedal, just as Val took Daryl’s outstretched arm and climbed up the truck.

Shit, shit, shit. Val threw her large backpack against the bed's floor. Sitting on her knees, she grabbed one of the rifles next to Daryl. One deep breath in and then out. Firm grip against the shoulder. Cheek against the rifle and aim.

The sound of empty casings falling on the metallic bed of the truck almost overpowered the exchanged gunfire. Daryl had joined Val in her attempt to stop the two cars from following them.

Daryl kept shooting while she grabbed the last magazine. “We’re running out of ammo.” The black car swerved and capsized, leaving the green one alone. A smirk escaped from her lips, her focus now solely on the driver’s side of the car.

Not even a minute later the car stopped. Daryl’s eyes moved from the road ahead of them to Val and she did the same. As they drove further on, the car disappeared from sight.

“Are they gone?” Abraham shouted, taking the ceasing of fire as the hint.

Val stood up and carefully surveyed their surroundings. “It seems like it.”

The truck slowed down and came into a stop a few moments later. Val felt frustration take over her. This could have been the perfect opportunity to leave, but without ammo and food, and facing the risk of running into the people who were after them, Val knew she and Max were safer with that group.

As she jumped out of the truck, Val considered the idea of asking for a gun and some ammo. After all, she had helped them and the least they could do was help her too. One thing was sure. She didn’t want to go back to Alexandria. She didn’t want to go back and have to fight all those corpses, she had helped Rick and his people more than enough. Rick. If she hadn’t helped him she wouldn’t be in this trouble.

Val sighed. If she hadn’t met Morgan, two months ago, she wouldn’t have helped Rick. But if she hadn’t met Morgan, Max wouldn’t have survived.
*2 months ago*

Val ran across the next intersection. Every time she looked back, the number o people chasing her increased, and a few of them had already stood out from the rest of the slower ones. If she didn’t change her trajectory soon, thirty seconds would be enough for them to catch her. Her only other option was to turn right on the next street, and it wasn’t even a street - just an alley that opened to the back of a row of buildings.

The alley ended in a single story garage and the corner of the building would interrupt their line of sight for a couple of seconds. If she didn’t have other people waiting to kill her on the alley, those seconds could be enough.

Val had been running in the middle of the street, but now it was time to make her move. She turned right and jumped into the alley. From concrete to dirt. Darker. Fog impregnated with the smell of the dead. She didn’t see anyone in there, dead or living. She threw her feet together to the side, stopping her body’s impulse to go forward so abruptly that the gravity almost made her fall head on.

A few steps ahead the wall ended and there was a door. A dumpster next to it. She walked ten steps and didn’t even hesitate go for the door.

Someone, or something, grabbed her shoulder. Val turned around, pulling her fist back.
“Wait!”

Her fist hit the air. The man holding her released her from his grasp, to lift his hands in a sign of defeat.

“I don’t want to hurt you!” He looked back, expecting any time for the army of flashlights to flood the alley. “We need to hide, they’ll be here soon!”

He squatted next to the dumpster, pulling her along with him, just as someone appeared in the alley, accompanied by the sound of gravel behind crushed.

The man crawled, slipping between the metal and the brick wall. Val couldn’t hear anything besides her heartbeat and her fast breathing. Sweat clamped her clothes to her skin, she was freezing and her muscles burned with lactic acid like if she had just run a marathon.

Crawling underneath the dumpster, she glued her face to the ground, dirt and pieces of glass and gravel buried against her cheek. Footsteps got closer and then stopped. When the sound got weaker her heartbeat finally slowed down. Val was so tired of running that she could have stayed there the whole night, until dawn. But she couldn’t, she had a job to do.

She got out from beneath the dumpster and waited. Distant voices. Distant steps. Nothing dangerously close.

“Thank you,” she finally whispered to the man, outstretching her hand to help him get up. “I’m Val.”

He gave her a short nod. “Morgan.”

Val’s eyes turned to the door. Maybe she could find what she needed inside that building.

“That door is locked.” Morgan spoke, as if reading her mind. “I was trying to open it when you showed up. We should leave, we’re not safe here.”

Val gritted her teeth while the hold against her machete grew stronger. “I can’t leave; I need to find bandages, a suture kit and -”

“Are you hurt?” Morgan interrupted.

Val shook his head. “My dog is.”

“I can help, I know where to find some medical supplies.” The confused look on her face made him smile. “I want to help.”

The sound of steps made them both stare at where the alley connected with the street. A man with a hood covering his head appeared. He stopped and turned to face the alley. An axe and a flashlight were held in his hands.

“Who’s there?” He turned the flashlight on and walked towards them.

Morgan could see the steam from his breathing in the cold air. “It’s me,” he said, trying to sound calm. “Have you found her yet?”

“Me, who?” The hooded man pointed the flashlight to Morgan’s face and his eyes widened as he saw two strangers instead. His reaction, however – to raise the axe and get ready to use it – came a second later than it should.

Val’s machete drew a circle, parallel to the ground, with enough strength for the blade to cut his body in half. The man fell on his knees and she struck a devastating blow on his head.

“Let’s go!” She started to run.

“And do you have a name?” Abraham asked, making Val snap back to present. He was a tall, burly man, who wore an army service uniform jacket. She didn’t know if that jacket was his, it seemed to be a bit too tight for his large shoulders, but still she felt somewhat comforted by being with someone who could possibly be military as well.

“Sergeant Rowe,” she spoke and noticed the big grin forming on his lips. “But you can call me Val. And that’s Max.” She pointed at the dog that was now walking away from the group, ears prickled and nose sniffing the road.
“So the walkers are there now?” Sasha asked Val. They had decided to stop for a few minutes and Val had been explaining exactly how things were back at Alexandria.

“Yeah, we got out using the sewer’s tunnels and still it wasn’t easy.”

“Okay, so we’re gonna do what Rick expects us to,” Sasha started and Val knew she was not going to like what she was about to hear. “We’ll go to Alexandria and drive the rest of the herd away. With cars and flares, we can do it.”

“Besides, we’ve got our friend here.” Abraham showed the RPG launcher with an amused look on his face.

Daryl looked at Val, noticing her discontent expression as Sasha explained the plan.

“You guys are crazy,” she spoke. “It will be dark in about an hour and in case you’ve forgotten, just a while ago there were people after us. What makes you think they won’t find us when you drive the dead away again?”

“That’s a risk we’ve gotta take,” Daryl spoke. “We’re not gonna wait outside the walls and do nothing.”

Val was about to protest when a low growl caught her attention. She looked at Max. His body had tensed up, his eyes scanning the road they were supposed to follow, teeth starting to show.

She followed his stare. The roaring sound of a motorcycle revving stunned her. No. Motorcycles.

“What in the holly shit?” Abraham mumbled.

The motorcycles approached and stopped. Val counted eight of them, each one with a biker. They all stared at each other.

“Wait Max,” Val whispered. “Just wait.”

Sasha’s fingers twitched, as she tried to go for her gun as covertly as possible.

“You know, if you wanna resist, try something,” a man with black hair and gray beard yelled. “It’s a choice, I guess. But we will end you asses.” All the other men behind him nodded. “Split you right in two – straight through to the sinuses.”

Daryl studied each and every single one of the men standing in front them. They all had rifles or shotguns and extra ammunition.

“Hand over your weapons,” the same man spoke.

“Why should we?” Daryl asked.

“Because they’re not yours. Your weapons, your truck, the fuel in your truck, if you got mints in your glove compartment, if you got porn underneath the seat, change in the seats, hell, the seats themselves, the floor mats, your maps, little stash of emergency napkins you got there in the console. None of those things are yours anymore.” He took one step forward.

“Whose are they?” Sasha almost snarled. Val slowly looked around, her brain already trying to come up with an escape plan.

The man took another step in their direction. “Your property now belongs to Negan.”