the time between terminus and alexandria in vignettes.
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"ｄｉｘｉｅｌａｎｄ ｄｅｌｉｇｈｔ．"
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H E R
My reflection, muted and distorted in the sheen of the stainless steel trough I was knelt before. There was a ringing in my ears, breath tight in my lungs. I blinked, trying to come to my senses, as rough hands zip-tied my wrists and ankles. I was gagged with a harsh piece of cloth, pulling at the edges of my lips, cutting into the raw edges of my mouth. I struggled against it weakly, still disoriented, nothing much more than a whimper could I muster helplessly.
There was an electric saw, it's unmistakable whir echoing somewhere in the room, the warehouse, wherever we were. I blinked again, like maybe it would get my eyes to better focus. There was a body. Pale and prostrate and out on a metal table like a science experiment... There was an electric saw.
I turned my chin right and my eyes met a familiar dark set. Glenn, equally bound, skin damp with sweat and tears. He was shaking his head at me, and through the muffle of the rag wrapped taut around his mouth, stark against his teeth. I realized he was saying something to me.
Don't look. Close your eyes. Don't look.
I heard the whiffle of a bat swinging through open air and then the unmistakable collision of the wood cracking against something. Like when Jody would hit a home run and the stands would cheer. But there was no clapping audience. There was a quick, sharp sound, blade on raw skin, ripping through. Then something heavy falling against the metal ledge before us. Then nothing.
Except the trough was no longer empty.
A stream of thick, crimson liquid ran towards the drain, moving like it was in a hurry. Blood. Unmistakable. Its metallic clang met my nose. I felt bile in my throat.
Don't look!
Too late.
I turned back to see Glenn, then Daryl, then Rick, then Bob. I did not dare glance over my shoulder the other direction.
