A little less than an hour later, we're standing at the gates surrounding the compound. The rain hasn't stopped though the sun is up, it's chilly out, enough to make us shiver.
The man who we shot says, "It ain't on there right, I can feel it. It ain't stoppin'." As the older woman who held her gun t Maggie wraps his wound.
The woman who's wrapping it grunts, "I'm gettin' it tighter. Jesus, give me a second."
The man winces, "Son of a bitch, you're cuttin' off my circulation."
"Well, sport, it's supposed to." The woman sasses, finishing up.
I scoff quietly and roll my eyes, the woman who held the knife to my throat looks through binoculars at the compound.
"Hell was that?" Another woman asks as machine-gun fire sounds throughout the compound.
The woman with the binoculars says, "It's Primo. Damn it, they've got 'im. Give me the Walkie." She orders the injured man.
"Babe, what's happenin'?" He asks, handing her the walkie-talkie.
The woman doesn't respond, she just turns on the walkie-talkie and stares through the binoculars again, the walkie humming softly.
"Lower your gun, prick." She orders.
I can just imagine their faces, it makes me want to giggle at how confused they must look.
"You, with the Colt Python." She demands after I guess nothing happens.
Rick's Colt Python.
"All of you, lower your weapons right now." Static hisses again, signaling that she's turned off the walkie.
After a tense second, Rick's voice comes through the other hissing walkie-talkie, "Come on out, we'll talk." He says.
"How many we got?" The older, more bitchy woman asks.
My heart pounds quietly in my throat, "Eigt in sight." The binocular woman notes. "Too many."
Hell yeah, asshole.
"No, we can take 'em. We took more." The injured man says.
The woman looks at him then looks through the binoculars again and turns the walkie on again, "We're not coming out, but we will talk." She lowers the binoculars and quickly looks at all three of us as the younger woman continues to hold the gun to our head.
"Names." She orders. We don't respond so she gets louder, "Names!"
"I'm Maggie, she's Carol. That's Adrian." Maggie mutters, reluctantly.
The woman looks back through her binoculars, "We've got a Carol, Adrian, and Maggie." She says into the walkie. "I'm thinking that's something you want to chat about."
I stare at the woman, taking in her features in case I need to recognize her again. She's got shoulder length, ginger hair and a natural pout to her lips. Her eyes are scary big and brown and she's wearing a nice, clean blue jacket over her outfit.
She has the face shape of a wasp, big cheekbones, skinny keeps, pointy features.
The blue jacket I'ma use to fuckin' strangle you with.
I wince as my head throbs from where she hit me.
"Now, we're gonna work this out right now, and it's going to go our way." She finishes.
"You're a fuckin' pegger." I mumble.
"What?" The woman with the black hair, holding the gun to us asks.
YOU ARE READING
Deadland
FanfictionAdrian Walsh is a very stubborn and prideful 27-year-old. She tolerates her group, mainly sticking by her 12-year-old sister's or her father-Shane Walsh's side, up until her father's death. She was a part of a biker gang, the same biker gang as Dary...
