Afraid of Being Alive (Shane Walsh Love Story)

Chapter 8: Civilian

Chapter 8: Civilian

Word had gotten out to Guillermo that I was lying, restricted of leaving, on the roof top of the building. Not too long after the incident with Rick and him, Guillermo jogged up the stairs and to the roof top to free me from my bindings.

“Sorry about that.” He murmured as he cut the rope that tied my hands together behind my back. “We just needed something to provoke them with.”

I rolled my eyes as I peeled the grey duct tape from my mouth, “so I was your weapon of choice?”

“Well, seeing as they cared enough about you to come back, I’d say you would be the perfect option.” smirked Guillermo as he helped me to my feet.

I brushed the dirt and dust off from my body and followed him to the opposite side of the rooftop and down the stairs.

“What do you want from us?” I said, shaking my head as soon as we reached the bottom of the stairs.

“I think you know exactly what we want.” Said Guillermo as he raised an eyebrow at me.

“Rick ain’t gonna give you them guns you know,” I smirked.

“Well then he ain’t gonna get his bitch back.” Spat Guillermo as he grabbed me by the collar of my freshly washed Blink-182 t-shirt and shoved me into Jorge.

I was thrown at him with full-force, Jorge stumbling back a little before gripping my wrist so tight I thought at first it would cut off my circulation.

“You know what to do with her.” Said Guillermo, a smug look upon his face.

Jorge nodded and tugged me along behind him .

I wasn’t too sure where exactly Jorge was taking me, but I prayed to a god I don’t believe in, that wherever I was going wouldn’t end up getting me killed. He opened a rusty old door at the back of the room by the stairs and led me through, the fresh outside air astonishing me. It was so stuffy back inside the building, this cool breeze was relief. There were more stairs at this point; old, grey, cement stairs with red railing, the paint chipping off from the timeworn metal.

We didn’t go up these stairs though, for we took a turn left and went through a bit of greenery that clung to a chain-link fence. The claustrophobic path of shrubbery didn’t last for long though as with a turn right we arrived at what appeared to be a garden. There were trees and plants everywhere, neat little wooden seats with pillows placed in an organized manner in the clearance. There were cute steel chairs and low tables littered with books and empty cups of tea. It was impressive how a tough Grand Theft Auto type gang could keep a place so tidy and pretty. A tough looking, tattooed man with a fedora and a baseball bat in hand was keeping watch in the yard, showing that these people took pride in their community and kept things controlled.

Across the yard there were a set of wooden double doors with crystal clear windows that we went through and into yet another building. The place was astonishingly huge and surprisingly well cared for. Jorge’s grip on my wrist loosened as we walked through the long corridor, doors all down the hall. I took a sneak peek into the rooms that we passed and was shocked at was within. This was no prison; this was a hospital. There were old, frail, elderly people in each room. They were either lying in beds or sitting on chairs with somebody tending to them. The nurses were helping the seniors drink their water, giving them medication or just having a chat with them. This was not what I had expected when I was first brought here.