Chapter Text
Fuck.
It was Iris' favourite word lately. Repeated like a mantra, over and over. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. The repetition gave her a little bit of comfort, but not enough. Nothing was ever enough. During trying times such as these, Iris took comfort in whatever she could. But it was hard to feel comfortable with blood on your hands. And face. Neck. Clothes. The butchered end of what was once a sledgehammer. The actual hammer part had been gone for a while, but a big stick covered in blood was as best as you could do these days.
Iris sat panting against the door to the bar, trying to ignore the smell of rotting human flesh that seemed to follow her around. A few hungry fists beat against the wood at her back, but the door held strong.
The bar was once a cheerful place, as cheerful as it could be when it smelled like stale beer and the old velour barstools it was soaked into. The wall to her left was decorated in frames filled with leather vests, the biker gang logos on the back dating back a few decades. The most recent one matching a small patch Iris kept in her pocket.
A few months ago, there were still people milling about the bar. Stu, the bartender, kept the place as tidy as he could while people took shelter from the infection. Now Stu was laid out all pretty behind the counter with his throat in shreds and a bullet hole between his eyebrows.
Corpses, memories infested the bar. Ted's reanimated body was impaled on a chair, his wiry, blood-covered arms reaching out toward Iris as she scanned everything. He was too weak to lift a pint when he was alive, nevermind pry his lifeless body up off the broken furniture. Iris used to be the only one to ever beat him at darts.
As the dead gave up with the door behind her, Iris stood up, pushing the jukebox in front of it. Her footsteps were too loud on the creaky wood, following beer and blood stains up to her little camp. Other sleeping bags were left abandoned around the small apartment over the bar, hers the only one left who's occupant had a heartbeat. She was the last one.
Carefully, and sparingly, Iris poured a bottle of water onto her hands, washing them clean of their daily sins. She never was religious, but extinction events such as this were too often associated with the wrath of God.
There had been a bag of guns out there today. Iris had made a habit of hopping rooftops across Atlanta. It was the only real way to get around when the dead flooded the street below, mindlessly wandering. She remembered the day the tanks came in, blowing up cars, shops, banks filled with people, living people dying, dead people getting back up.
There was one tank in particular that she ran past every time she went out. But someone living had been there on that roof. She'd climbed the ladder, eyes immediately drawn to the pool of blood and a pair of handcuffs. One cuff was locked to a steel bar, which had been welded to the roof, and the other was covered in fresh gore.
The door was open, but Iris had no intention of entering the department store building, not when a severed hand lay halfway between her and the door. He'd been living when he cut his hand off. But he did it well, considering the little amount of blood and flesh covering the hacksaw a few feet away.
In addition to the severed hand, there was a dead horse on the road. That was unusual only for the fact that they were in the city, and the horse was wearing a saddle. Someone had ridden it in, expecting... not this, probably. Making the point to a triangle involving the horse and the tank was a black Sheriff's duffel bag with a few gun barrels poking out of the top.
That was what she really needed, even though she appreciated the few cans of food she'd taken out of a food bank box. The city was good for scavenging, but dangerous, and unsustainable. There was a part of Iris that didn't want to leave, despite every nagging instinct telling her the opposite. The bar she inhabited had been home to her for a long time, way before the dead started walking. She didn't want to leave it behind.
But self-preservation overruled the internal argument, and Iris wrote out a small plan in her mind. Tomorrow, she'd go and get the bag of guns. She didn't need a whole lot, given she was alone, but one could never be too prepared. At least, that was what she thought to convince herself.
-
After another restless night's sleep and a mediocre breakfast of canned pineapple, Iris gathered her things. The small collection consisted of her lucky patch, a bandana that she wore over her face, a leather jacket three sizes too big, a .22 she'd snagged from a dead cop, and her prized possession: a set of knives.
While it was completely impractical prior to the world's destruction, Iris had stumbled upon a very fancy set of knives post-apocalypse and had finally found a use for her deadly aim. Knives were not the same as darts, but they worked a hell of a lot better. She'd used Ted's hands for target practice.
The bag was the priority. Other scavenge-able items could be obtained later. Iris began her trek into the city. She made it by the afternoon on foot. It would have been faster if she'd driven one of the bikes from the auto shop beside the bar, but they were loud.
She made it to the right street, ducking from alley to alley instead of her usual comfortable path along the rooftops. The bag was on the ground, and the walkers were surrounding it, but not on top of it.
Her heartbeat was pounding in her ears as she sprinted past the dead, the bandana stifling the stench as much as it could. They growled in her direction as she brushed past them, gurgling in interest.
Her fingers wrapped around the handles of the bag, but quick-paced footsteps halted her movements. Iris' head snapped up as she met the gaze of a young man, his eyes panicked. He was unarmed. She took the opportunity and ran, leaving him to keep running.
"Wait!" He hissed, running after her.
-
Glenn swore under his breath as the woman took the bag and ran. He grabbed Rick's hat, strewn across the road, and ran after her.
"Ayúdame! Ayúdame!" Someone yelled, their voice echoing off the walls of the city. He ran after the girl, who was running toward the alley where Daryl waited.
-
"Fuck." Iris mumbled, stumbling into the nearest alley. Only, instead of a clear escape route, she found four guys with violent looks in their eyes. Well, three. The fourth was lying on the ground, fighting against a man with a crossbow pointed between his eyes. The other two started beating the crossbow guy with pipes, looking up as they noticed her. The kid from before skidded into the alley behind her, only for his eyes to blow wide at the sight.
Iris shoved the kid forward, retreating. She'd find another goddamn alley. He yelped as one of the other guys grabbed him by the shirt collar.
"That's it! That's the bag, Vato! Take it!" He yelled. Iris made it only a few steps before she was tackled to the ground. She wrestled with the guy on top of her, the bag of guns digging into her spine.
"Let go of me! Let go! Daryl! Daryl!" The boy from before screamed as one of the guys dragged him from the alley. A rusty car pulled up quickly as the walkers started to close in. The man on top of her and the guy holding the kid got into the car, tires squealing as they retreated to wherever they came from.
"Fuck." Iris repeated as she pulled a knife from the sheath at her waist, killing the nearest walker with a grunt. She made to kill the next but a coloured arrow speared through its skull, the corpse collapsing in front of her. The man from before, albeit bloodied and bruised, grabbed the bag, still strapped to Iris' back, and hauled them both behind the chain link fence blocking off the alleyway.
"Where'd they go?" He spat, pointing the crossbow in her face as he pinned her against the wall. The fourth man, less of a man than a kid, saw his chance and ran down the other end of the alley, only to come face to face with the barrel of a pistol. Two men, the one with the gun in a sheriff's uniform and the other unarmed, marched the kid back to the mouth of the alley, where the crossbow was held to Iris' forehead. "Where are they?" He repeated.
"I'm not with them." Iris hissed, pushing the crossbow away and taking a defensive stance. Daryl grunted and made to attack her, but the sheriff grabbed him, pulling him away.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa! Stop it!" He urged, holding him back. Iris was clearly trapped between the fence and the rest of them, but the ladder to the rooftop was close. The other guy, holding the kid, saw her eyes shift and moved to guard it. The guy with the crossbow snapped like a rabid dog, going for the kid, who was now closer.
"I'm gonna kick your nuts up into your throat! They took Glenn. This little bastard and his little bastard homie friends! I'm gonna stomp your ass!"
"Guys, guys! We're cut off!" The guy holding the kid yelled, gesturing to the fence behind Iris. She glanced back at it, the chain links wavering against the growing mob. Iris narrowed her eyes at the obstacle between her and her freedom.
"Get to the lab, go!" The sheriff instructed, the unarmed guy taking the kid to wherever this lab was. He picked up his revolver, pointing it at Iris. "Come on."
"Damn, let's go!" Crossbow guy snarled. The sheriff grabbed his hat from the ground, nodding his head at Iris when she didn't move. It was between them, and the army of dead things behind her. If she was honest, she might've preferred the latter. She started after the man with the crossbow, flanked by the sheriff, regretting this little adventure with each step.
They rushed into the back door of a building, the inside torn to shit. Iris followed to one room in particular before she was shoved toward a wall. She whipped out her knife with a flash, angling it toward the hunter's neck. He grimaced, backing up a step. The sheriff walked in, an air of dominance in his step. It was clear he didn't know what he was getting into.
"Those are our guns." He said, looking to the bag pointedly. The hunter tried again to grab the bag from Iris, but she angled the knife toward him again.
"Haven't you heard of 'finders keepers?'" She asked tauntingly. "Or are you gonna arrest me for stealing?" The sheriff didn't react, just looking between her and the kid.
"Those men you were with. We need to know where they went." He stated.
"Like I said before, I'm not with them." Iris grumbled.
"I ain't telling you nothing." The kid said through his split lip. He had a weed tattoo on the side of his neck, a silver chain hanging beside it. It looked stupid.
"Jesus, man, what the hell happened back there?" The strong guy asked, shaking his head.
"I told you. This little turd and his douchebag friends came out of nowhere and jumped me." The hunter replied. "Then she comes out of nowhere with our guns."
"You're the one who jumped me, puto." The kid drawled. "Screaming about trying to find his brother like it's my damn fault."
"They took Glenn. Could've taken Merle too."
"Merle? What kind of hick name is that? I wouldn't name my dog Merle." The kid muttered, the hunter lunging at him. The sheriff stepped in, hauling his ass back.
"Damn it, Daryl. Back off!" He huffed. The hunter, Daryl, huffed in frustration, going to his bag and grabbing something wrapped in a bandana. Iris watched the exchange carefully.
"Wanna see what happened to the last guy that pissed me off?" He asked, unwrapping the bundle and throwing a severed hand into the kid's lap. Iris' eyes narrowed in recognition. The kid screamed, stumbling away from the hand as Daryl unsheathed a pocket knife, pointing it toward the kid. "We'll start with the feet this time."
"Would your brother happen to have been handcuffed to a roof?" Iris asked, drawing his attention away from the stupid kid. Daryl spun on his heel, nothing behind his eyes but rage.
"You fucking--"
"He was gone when I saw the handcuffs. The hand." She explained, nodding to the hand as he aimed his knife at her.
"You know where he is?" Daryl asked, a small tweak of sadness cutting through his voice. Iris shook her head slowly. The sheriff sighed, kneeling down to the kid.
"The men you were with took our friend. All we wanna do is talk to them, see if we can work something out." He explained. The kid looked down at his feet before he opened his mouth and told them everything.
Iris watched the trio argue amongst one another when deciding what to do. The sheriff sighed, turning toward her and approaching slowly.
"You alone?" He asked.
"No." She lied.
"Those guns belong to us." He insisted, gesturing to the large 'SHERIFF' label on the side of the bag.
"I don't know which cop you skinned to get the uniform, Officer--" She glanced at his metal name tag. "Grimes."
"I'm Rick. Alright? We need those guns to get our friend back." He explained.
"Yeah, I know. I'm standing right here, I heard you. Your little negotiation idea won't work." She replied, narrowing her eyes. "Gangbangers don't really do diplomacy."
"Hey, shut up, bitch! We're not gangbangers!" The kid protested, only to shrink back at the sight of a crossbow in his face.
"Don't look that way to me." Daryl murmured.
"What's your name?" Rick asked Iris, drawing back her attention. She regarded him closely for a moment before pulling down her bandana.
"Iris." She replied. Rick put his hands on his hips as he nodded.
"Well, Iris, if you really are alone, as I suspect you are, then we might be able to cut a deal." He offered slowly.
"Alright..." She nodded for him to continue.
"You don't need all those guns yourself. Take a look inside the bag, see for yourself. You give the bag to us, we give you a cut, them a cut, and we get a cut. And we can all go exchange our people."
"Got anything to sweeten the deal?" Iris asked after a moment, raising an eyebrow. Rick nodded in understanding, glancing nervously back at his two companions.
"Well, you could come back with us to our group." He reasoned. The two others exchanged a small look of protest, but said nothing. Iris looked back to Rick.
"What makes you think I want that?"
"Strength in numbers? Self preservation? Get out of the city? Safe place to eat, sleep..." He trailed off, analyzing her reactions.
Iris considered. She really did. And Rick was right, for the most part. Being alone in this was hard, but making friends was harder. And living was impossible without guns. So, she agreed.
"I'll go with you." She said quietly. "I got your back. But I won't promise to stay with your people."
"Alright." Rick nodded, content with her answer.