Disclaimer: I do not own the world of Walking Dead or its Characters.

A/N: Hello everyone! Thanks for being so patient! Special s/o to new readers: Rea Josette, FriendlyNeighborhoodHufflepuff, Kara315, Eyessettokill92, Lisa Bowen, and Kenzie216.

"When camps got overrun," Alex spoke as he led them through a courtyard, past a garden, "people started finding this place. I think it was instinct you know. Follow a path. Some people were heading to the coast, others out west, or up north. But they all wound up here."

Alex walked towards a picnic table, smiling at an older woman with auburn hair. She returned the smile as she continued to ladle food onto a plate. Ophelia's stomach cried out and she placed her hand over her abdomen. The food, what looked like some kind of meat and vegetables, smelled so good and it had been so long since she had a decent meal.

"Hi," the woman said. "Heard you came in the back door. Smart. You'll fit right in here."

"Hey Mary," Alex spoke up, "would you fix each of these new folks a plate for me?"

Mary nodded and Ophelia turned away, looking around. There were quite a few people, milling about, eating and talking. It seemed so peaceful, like there weren't monsters roaming around outside. How can these people be so calm?

"Why do you do it?" Michonne asked Alex. "Why do you let people in?"

"The more people become a part of us, we get stronger. That's why we put up the signs, invite people in. It's how we survive. Here." Ophelia turned back around, excepting the plate of food that was offered to her. She held it up to her nose, taking a sniff.

Real food.

Rick suddenly walked forward, smacking the plate Alex had been holding the ground. As his arm wrapped around the other man's neck, Daryl, Carl and Michonne all responded, raising their weapons. Ophelia followed suit, dropping her plate and raising the unfamiliar weapon and pointing it in the direction of the people watching them. She glanced over her shoulder at Rick, who was holding a gun to Alex's head, an old pocket watch in his hand. "Where the hell did you get this watch?"

Everyone in the courtyard was watching them apprehensively. Alex was shaking. "You want answers? You want anything else? You get them when you put down the gun."

"I see your man on the roof with a sniper rifle," Rick told him and Ophelia could hear him shuffling around as if he were turning. "How good's his aim? Where'd you get the watch? Where'd you get the watch?!"

"Don't do anything!" Alex shouted, presumably to the man on the roof. "I have this! You just put it down! You put it down. You want to listen to me," Alex said, to Rick this time. "There's a lot of us."

"Where did you get the watch?"

"I got it off a dead one. I didn't think he'd need it."

"What about the riot gear? The poncho?"

Ophelia looked around, noting the people Rick was pointing out. He recognized the clothing and the watch. . . . It was slowly starting to click in her head as to why he did.

"Got the riot gear off a dead cop." Ophelia angled her body slightly, watching as Gareth approached them. "Found the poncho on a clothesline."

"Gareth, we can wait –"

"Shut up Alex."

"You," Rick growled. "Talk to me."

"What's there left to say? You don't trust us anymore."

"Gareth –" Alex tried again.

"Shut up."

"Gareth . . . please –"

"It's okay. It's okay. . . . Rick, what do you want?"

"Where are our people?"

That answered Ophelia's question. That stuff, the poncho, the riot gear, the watch . . . it all belonged to the people they had come here hoping to find. Where were those people? Were they dead? Or had the Terminus group done something to them?

"You didn't answer my question," Gareth responded. "The –"

Someone fired at Rick from behind. The shot missed but chaos ensued. Rick turned and the next couple of shots took out Alex. People were shouting, running to get out of the way. Rick called out for Carl.

Ophelia raised her gun. Lose grip, watch for the kickback.

She fired and the shot grazed a woman's shoulder. Ophelia stumbled back, fighting to keep her balance.

"Get down now!" Rick shouted. "Go!"

"Come on!" Daryl yelled, leading the way as the sprinted out of the open courtyard, back the way they came. They headed towards a building, hopefully an exit, but more gun shots ran out, hitting the ground in front of them. Ophelia felt someone grab her arm and she danced back as the shots kicked up dirt.

"Here." Daryl ran towards a gate, gripping the bar but it rattled, not budging. Locked. Rick spun around and ran in the opposite direction, through a different door as gunfire hit the ground behind them.

The door led through to another part of the complex, putting them back outside. "Come on this way!"

"Get them off B!" a man – Gareth, Ophelia thought – shouted just before more shots hit the ground in front of Daryl, making the group veer off to their right, running for another building.

They were running down another pathway when a loud banging noise drew their attention.

"Help! Help!" a voice cried from a silver container maybe twenty feet away from them.

"What the hell?" Daryl muttered.

"Let us out!" another voice yelled out, the banging continuing.

"Keep going!" Rick yelled and they ran away from the container, from the voices in need, into another building, the clang of the door shutting echoing behind them.

The group found themselves in a large room. There were lit candles all over the ground and on shelves, the only lightening in the dim room. "What the hell is this place?" Daryl muttered.

Ophelia spun in place, her heart thudding against her rib cage. There were words written around the walls, written bold and dark as if whoever put them there needed them to be seen.

NEVER AGAIN.

NEVER TRUST.

WE FIRST, ALWAYS.

"These people," Michonne mumbled. "I don't think they're trying to kill us."

"No," Rick agreed. "They were aiming at our feet."

"So if they aren't trying to kill us, what are they doing?" Ophelia whispered.

"We don't have time to figure that out. There." Rick jogged towards a door, but it closed just before they reached it, locking.

"There," Carl called out, heading towards another door that, just like the last was closed.

Ophelia backed away, watching her step as to not knock over any of the candles. "It's a trap."

"Go!" Rick yelled, going through the last door that remained open, unguarded.

"Rick!" Ophelia called but the man was already sprinting off, the rest of them following and forcing her to do the same as to not lose them. More gun shots rang out behind them, propelling the forward in a new direction. They weren't trying to kill them. They were aiming at their feet. They were sending them where they wanted her group to go.

Sure enough, the five of them ended up in another open area, a fence in front of them, a building behind. The click of at least six guns alerted them to the armed guards just outside of the fence, all aimed at them. Up on the roof, another set of people aimed their sniper rifles down at them.

Just like flies, they were caught in the spiders web.

"Drop your weapons." They all turned around, facing Gareth who stood on a makeshift platform, watching them. "Now."

None of them moved, though Ophelia knew they didn't have much of a choice. There was no getting out of this, not alive, anyway.

"Now!"

Ophelia flinched at his yell but did as she was instructed. She set her gun down on the ground, pulling her knife from her belt and setting that next to it. Around her, Rick, Michonne, Daryl, and Carl were doing the same, moving slowly and carefully. Once all their weapons were visible, Gareth spoke again. "Ringleader, go to your left. The train car, go. . . . You do what we say," Gareth continued when Rick didn't move fast enough, "the boy goes with you. Anything else, he dies."

With a glare that should have been able to melt ice, Rick turned, walking slowly towards the red train car Gareth had pointed out. "Now the archer."

Ophelia met Daryl's eye as he moved to follow Rick. He nodded again and she was starting to recognize that as his signal to her that everything was going to be okay, that they were going to be okay.

Though she honestly didn't see how.

"Now the samurai." Michonne moved slowly and deliberately, walking almost sideways so that her eyes never left Carl.

"Now you, gunslinger." Ophelia looked up at Gareth, taking note of that cocky grin on his face. That had been sarcasm, she knew; she hadn't fired her gun again during their mad dash through Terminus, her finger not even close to the trigger as she gripped the handle. She didn't know how to use this thing. It showed, and he knew it. Before she moved, she reached over to Carl, whom she had been closest to, and squeezed his hand. She tried to smile, though she was sure that it looked more like a grimace, then her hand slid from his as she followed after Michonne. "Stand at the door, ring leader, archer, samurai, gunslinger, in that order."

Ophelia stood behind Michonne, her eyes dragging across the ominous looking train car before she turned her head to look at Carl. He was trying to be brave, but there was fear in his eyes.

"My son!" Rick called out.

Gareth must have given Carl the okay because the young boy began to move, walking over with slow, calm steps. "Ring leader," their captor instructed, "open the door and go in."

"I'll go in with him!"

"Don't make us kill him now!"

Rick paused just a moment longer before he made his way up the stairs leading to the train car, sliding the heavy door open. The four of them walked in, Ophelia keeping a close eye on Carl, since she was the last one and that was the least she could do.

Rick looked at her. "He's still –?"

"He's coming," she assured him.

A minute later, the boy finally appeared at the doorway, climbing up the stairs. As soon as he was in arms reached, Rick grabbed him, pulling Carl close. Someone must have been right there behind Carl because the door slid close again, leaving them in darkness save a few shimmers of light through cracks. Ophelia turned, squinting into the darkness.

Something moved.

She reached back and grabbed someone's shirt (something that felt like leather, so it must have been Daryl). Everyone was suddenly on high alert. They wouldn't lock them in here with walkers . . . would they?

One of the bodies moved forward, slowly, coming into the light. The sun showed them another man, young, Asian with dark hair and a dirty face. "Rick?"

"You're here," Rick breathed out, sounding relieved. "You're all here."

More and more faces came into view as their eyes came accustomed to the dark, though Ophelia obviously didn't know any of them. Eight new faces, more people. Ophelia had wanted to find a group but she never would have imagined this when she met Daryl.

"They're our friends," a tall, pretty, brunette, said to Rick, gesturing behind her to four of the people. "They helped save us."

"Yeah, we found some help to," Daryl responded, and Ophelia saw him gesture to her out the corner of her eye. "Now they're all friends of ours."

A burly, red-headed man scoffed. "For however long that'll be."

"No." Everyone watched Rick as he walked to the door, the sun illuminating his face, the anger. "They're gonna feel pretty stupid when they find out."

"Find out what."

Rick met the red-head's gaze. "They're screwing with the wrong people."

A/N: I think I'm going to leave this here! This is going to become pretty canon for a while, folks, though I may skip over some things before we get to Alexandria. You'll be able to know what's happening though! Thanks again for reading.