1 - Waystation
Daphne was sick of the apocalypse fucking her up the proverbial ass.
She’d been all over the continental US, doing what she had to to survive. Due to her small stature and affliction of being a lone female, she’d become jaded to other human beings.
But the idea of a place to build a home called to her. A settlement to call her own.
The problem was, she hadn’t yet found a place that wasn’t full of dipshits.
She was currently spending a few days working at a settlement in return for food to continue her travels, and this place was no different. The people were meek little squirrels, and she had no idea how they’d survived this long.
But they had a full pantry and a vegetable garden, so she’d offered to help fix up one of their houses in exchange for supplies.
Daphne clipped on a tool belt and hefted a ladder up on her shoulder. She moved through the early morning light towards the house in question.
“Hey, Daphne,” Mark greeted her from his porch, trotting down the steps. He was the organizer of the settlement, or at least she’d assumed as much. He seemed to be the one everyone deferred to, but he was so often asking everyone else’s opinion that she was amazed he knew to wipe front to back.
“Morning,” she replied with a warm smile. She was good at acting friendly when it benefitted her. The short blue eyed girl with long blonde hair had a knack for putting people at ease.
“I need your help this morning before we start on the house.” He scratched the back of his head nervously, and she raised an eyebrow. “We have a shipment going out.”
A shipment? “To who?” Daphne asked, setting the ladder against the porch railing. She wasn’t aware that these people were affiliated with other settlements.
“They call themselves the Saviors.” Mark pursed his lips, and she didn’t miss the flicker of fear that ran across his soft features. “We give them supplies every week.”
She waited for him to continue, but he didn’t. “Why?” she prompted. Surely they would get something in return.
“Because they’ll kill us otherwise.” His voice was gruff.
“Christ,” she let out a whoosh of breath. “I guess you guys aren’t exactly in a position to fight them, huh?” She looked around the meager subdivision, mostly populated with middle aged people that looked like they had never done hard labour in their lives. Barely any of them even carried weapons.
“They rolled in here a few months ago.” Mark started walking towards the pantry, and she strode next to him. “Told us we could give them weekly supplies or they’d just take everything we had.”
“Not a very good deal,” Daphne said.
“No.” He paused and swallowed. “I didn’t agree right away, and he had his men beat Justin until I said we’d do it.” She assumed Justin was the cook with the misshapen nose.
“So there was a leader, then?” She opened the door of the garage that was the makeshift pantry.
“Simon, he called himself.” Mark shook his head. “But he’s just the liaison. Their leader’s name is Negan.”
