Highway To Hell

Chapter 14

I watch Daryl beat the living shit out of Randall with a blank face, knife twirling in my hands. I'm sitting on a plank jutting out from the wall. The kid cries and whimpers and I roll my eyes. He had the nuts to shoot at us from a roof, but not take anything since then? 

   You truly are a pathetic creature, I think to myself. Shit hit the fan when Rick and Shane had left to release him and they'd brought him back. Turns out, he knows Maggie and that means he knows where the farm is.

   "I told you," he says from the ground where he'd fallen after a good hit from Daryl. I turn my gaze on him, contemplating the angry redneck. He on the other hand, can take some shit. 

   Now, you'd be a good hunter, I muse. With a little anger management, of course.

   "You ain't told me shit," Daryl growls, grabbing Randall by the shirt and slamming him into the wall.

   "I barely knew those guys. I met 'em on the road," Randall says.

   "How many?" I ask.

   "Huh?" He glances at me in confusion, but I notice his eyes dip to my chest. I glare, lip curling in distaste.

   "How many in your group, asshole?" Daryl snarls, taking two steps towards Randall, who cowers. The kid doesn't answer.

   "Perhaps he needs a different kind of motivation," I murmur, standing up. I twirl the knife in my hands and give Randall a manic sort of grin. 

   "Oh no no no. Please." He looks to Daryl as I prowl forward. "Please don't let her do this." Daryl ignores him and I crouch over Randall's outstretched legs, running the blade down his face gently.

   "Now, Randall, I don't want to hurt you." Not true and he can see it in my eyes. "My brute of a friend over here? He'd love to keep beating you to a pulp, but I'd much rather get the answers I need and leave. Won't you help me?" I give a little pout as the knife skims down his chest. He whimpers. 

   "How many?" Daryl demands and I spin the knife slightly and push, cutting into Randall's chest. He cries out.

   "About thirty!" he gasps out. "Thirty guys."

   "Where?" Daryl asks and I trail the knife back him to Randall's throat, sliding it across just hard enough for him to feel the threat.

   "Uh . . . " 

   "Too slow," I say cheerily and swipe the knife against his collar bone. He cries out.

   "I don't know! I swear!"

   "I find it hard to believe you don't know where your own camp is," I say. "I don't like being lied to, Randall." I run the knife to his ear. "Maybe I should take this to teach you a lesson." I jerk a thumb to Daryl. "Did you know he has a necklace of walker ears?" Randall's eyes widen. "Maybe we should add a fresh human ear to it. Don't you think, Daryl?" I reach my other hand towards his ear.

   "We were never anyplace more than a night!" he screams. "Please, don't take off my ear!" 

   "Scouting? Planning on staying local?" Daryl asks. 

   "I want the truth, Randall," I say in a sweet voice. "I really don't enjoy hurting you."

   "I don't know," he cries. "They left me behind."

   "That's not the answer we need, Randall," I say regretfully. He screams as the ear comes off. I toss it to Daryl, who actually seems a bit shocked. Randall squalls and screams, tears rolling down his face and blood down his neck. "I really need better answers, Randall. Don't make me take the other off." I've always been better at physical torture than psychological, but I'm hoping he's weak enough in mind and body to break easily. I bring the knife down between us to his crotch and lean close so my lips brush his remaining ear as I speak. "Or maybe I should take something a bit more important."