Unbreakable threads

Chapter Seventy Three: Trapped in terminus.

But Rick wasn't buying it. He reached for the gun tucked into the waistband of the man he was holding, pulling it free in a flash. Without hesitation, he raised it and fired, the shot echoing through the courtyard. The bullet struck near Gareth's feet, sending dust and gravel flying. The entire area erupted into chaos.

Alyssa shoved her captive to the ground, reaching for another weapon, but before she could fire, the guards of Terminus retaliated. Shots rang out, and Gareth shouted orders as more men poured into the courtyard. Smoke bombs exploded, disorienting the group, and within moments, they were overwhelmed. Michonne and Daryl tried to fight back, but the odds were against them. Carl's shout of defiance was drowned out by the chaos as he was grabbed and restrained.

Alyssa struggled fiercely, kicking and clawing as two men dragged her back, but even her ferocity wasn't enough. She caught a glimpse of Rick, also being restrained, his face twisted in rage, before they were all subdued and thrown to the ground. One by one, the group was bound and forced to their feet, weapons stripped away as they were marched toward the large train cart in the corner of the yard.

The metal door screeched open, and one by one, they were shoved inside. The door slammed shut behind them, the darkness swallowing them whole. For a moment, all Alyssa could hear was the sound of her own ragged breathing and the pounding of her heart.

Then, a familiar voice broke through the silence. "Rick? Alyssa?"

Alyssa's head snapped up, her eyes wide as she strained to see in the dim light. "Glenn?" she called, her voice cracking.

"Yeah, it's us," Glenn replied, relief and exhaustion laced in his voice. "We're here. Maggie, too. And..." He trailed off as a few other voices murmured in the dark.

As their eyes adjusted, they began to make out shapes in the gloom. Glenn, Maggie, Bob, and Sasha sat huddled together in one corner, their faces pale and weary. But they weren't alone. Four other figures sat nearby—strangers they'd never seen before. One of them, a stocky man with a red mustache, spoke first.

"Looks like the cavalry's arrived," he said dryly, his tone tinged with sarcasm. "Name's Abraham. And you all just walked into the same mess we did." He gestured toward the others. "That's Rosita, Eugene, and Tara."

Alyssa pushed herself up from the ground, her eyes adjusting to the dim light as they landed on Maggie. The look on Maggie's face was enough to break Alyssa's heart—it was a mixture of hope and dread, a silent question hanging in the air. Maggie had half-expected Alyssa to have Beth with her, and the absence of her younger sister spoke volumes.

Alyssa didn't wait for Maggie to speak. She rushed to her, enveloping her in a tight hug, her arms wrapped protectively around her. "I'm so sorry," Alyssa whispered, her voice trembling with guilt and fury. "I should've—" She stopped herself, pulling back just enough to meet Maggie's eyes. "I'll find her. When we get out of here, I swear, I'll find Beth."

Before Maggie could respond, Alyssa turned sharply, pointing a finger at Daryl, her voice rising with anger. "Tell her, Daryl," she demanded, her tone venomous. "Tell her what happened. How you let Beth get taken!"

Daryl flinched, his head lowering as guilt flashed across his face. He didn't argue, didn't try to defend himself, which only seemed to fuel Alyssa's fury. Maggie's eyes widened, darting between Alyssa and Daryl, the weight of the revelation hitting her hard.

"She was taken?" Maggie's voice cracked, barely a whisper.

"Yes," Alyssa said firmly, turning back to Maggie, her hands gripping her shoulders. "But I'll find her. I will. No matter what it takes."

In the corner, Abraham sat with his back against the metal wall, his sharp eyes scanning the group as the tension unfolded. His gaze lingered on Alyssa, taking in her torn plaid shirt, the dark smudges of dirt and blood on her skin, her jeans clinging to her like armor. The dark hair falling over her shoulders framed her face, a younger, fiercer version of the man standing across the cart—Rick. She was his clone in more ways than one, and the fire in her eyes reminded Abraham of someone who'd seen too much and survived it anyway.