The Lion's Den

Rick pulled into his driveway under an ominous full moon followed by Abraham Ford's family van. Every time the static of his cruiser radio crackled through a private channel, a surge of adrenaline made him lightheaded and queasy expecting to hear some news of his beloved.

It wasn't safe to blast an APB for Michonne all over the airwaves. He didn't know how many people in uniform Negan had under his control. The only people he knew for sure could be trusted were the officers that didn't look like him. The big Samoan Jew, Deputy Jerry Samuels, young Noah Wesley, Espinosa and T-Dog were all quietly scouring every lead available.

Rick was normally calm and collected no matter the danger, but not knowing where Michonne was had his nerves frayed like they'd never been before. Was she injured? Was she afraid? Was she just waiting for him to come to her rescue? At the moment, there was no word from anywhere with a sure direction for him to turn.

He'd been in constant supplication, begging a higher power to send angels to her side to watch over her. If she could be covered in the lion's den, just until he could reach her, Rick swore he would save god the trouble and rain fire and brimstone upon those responsible for Michonne's disappearance.

He had once told Gayle that a cool head was the most important part of his uniform. But being forced to resign had him feeling like his sense of purpose was in jeopardy. But he thought, If the world is gonna go wild, maybe it's the best thing to hang up this uniform and just be a man. A man with no loyalty to America's lopsided laws.

Finally, Rick had filled Deputy Ford in on all the madness going on in the shadows of King County. Abraham was trying to remain as steady as Rick had been the night of the riot. His breathing went heavy and his nostrils flared when the only collaborators they could reach were an old second rate reporter and his sidekick, a camera toting blockhead.

"Any luck?" The sheriff asked from the driver's seat after his deputy parked his minivan beside him and rushed to his side.

Abraham looked at Rick through the door window, not wanting to tell him the truth. He held his breath and answered with a tongue dry as cotton, "No. Sorry, boss. Daryl's still M.I.A. What about the feds? Pittman and Rovia?"

"No word from them either." Rick jerked the gear into park with frustration. He nearly broke down, but there was no time with two men exiting an older model Buick sedan ahead of him.

Hugh August and Tyreese Williams walked toward him, meeting the man of the house on his front lawn.

Rick got straight to the point without any greetings or introductions. "They searched the Dixon's residences. There's no sign of them. There was someone on the inside of the Saviors operation who was helpin' us, but we can't find them either. Everyone has gone dark. Somethin' serious is happenin'."

"So you know all of this is happening and you don't warn my daughter?" Hugh snarled.

He was not impressed with his daughter's choice. His wife had barely told him anything about the KC law man, except to stress that Rick would need his help and that she trusted him to do whatever needed to be done to bring her baby home.

It was the first time Rick had ever laid eyes on Michonne's father. When Hugh called him insisting to help and invoking his wife's wishes to twist his arm, the distraught sheriff had no strength or time to argue. But being face to face with the abrasive Marine, Rick witnessed all the things Michonne had told him about her dad.

"There was no reason to believe that Michonne was in any danger." Rick tried to explain in a measured tone. But his eyes, focused on the man before him, spoke his indignation loud and clear.

Mr. August barked and spittle flew, "She is a black woman isn't she? A race war is as dangerous as things can get for her!"

"Hugh, we're not here to attack Rick. We came here to help him." Tyreese stepped around the side of the car to intervene. "To help Michonne."

"Dad?" Rick turned to see his son in the front doorway, hair disheveled and rubbing his eyes. He was awakened by all the commotion outside. "What's going on? Who's that?" The young man tipped his chin to the two strangers on their property. "Where's Michonne?"

"Carl." Rick left all three men standing there to attend to his son. He hesitated in formulating an answer, He didn't want to worry the boy and he didn't want to get caught up in a million questions from him about Michonne's whereabouts.

"She went to meet her mom, son. This is Michonne's friend, Tyreese," Rick explained as the man gave a humble smile and nod to the boy. Hugh just stood there stoic and impatient. "And this is her father, Mr. August. They're here to help me do somethin' for Michonne."

Carl lit up. "What is it? I wanna help, too."

"Uh, okay. Sure," Rick stammered. "You can, umm..."

Abraham saw his boss struggling and spoke up. "Carl, this is just phase one of your dad's big surprise for Michonne. Her dad and her friend are gonna help him with that. You and me are gonna help with phase two."

The stocky redhead cocked a convincing smile. "So I need you to grab a couple things and come spend the night at my house so we'll be ready when your dad gives us the word. Come on."

There was no one he'd trust more with the life of his son. Deputy Ford was not only one of the best in his squad, he was also a father. A damn good one at that. He knew Carl would be comfortable and safe with him.

Carl's eyes left Abraham's convincing jovial smile and looked to the others. Their faces told a different story. He couldn't quite read his father but something was definitely off.

"Go on now, son," Rick urged. "I'll give you more details in the mornin'."

It was obvious no one was going to tell him anything so Carl headed inside, asking no further questions. But since it was all for Michonne he decided he would keep his eyes peeled and ears open for clues to be ready when he got the word.

Rick's phone buzzed in his pocket. He swiped the screen announcing, "It's Horvath," in Abraham's direction.

"Change of plans Rick." Dale's voice came out clearly through the speaker for everyone to hear. Rick immediately lowered the volume to keep whatever was said between the men with him, who were also eagerly anticipating news.

"What's goin' on? You hear from your source?"

"No. But we're heading to a crime scene as we speak."

"A crime scene! What the hell? You're supposed to be on your way here!"

"Sorry, pal. Before you go ballistic, I know why you couldn't get in touch with Rovia and Pittman."

"Why?"

"They're dead."

"What?!" Rick's head was reeling. "They're dead?"

"They haven't been ID'd yet, but paramedics are headed to their hotel. I just heard them request the coroner. Someone spray painted something homophobic on their room door, kicked it in and emptied a clip in both of them."

Rick was speechless for a moment. "Okay, well," he sighed, still in shock, "they can't help us now and we can't help them." He tried not to sound cold but two dead FBI agents were not his focus at the moment. "Right now Michonne is still out there. She's the priority. I need whoever you have feeding you information from the Saviors to tell us where she is!"

"I'm sorry Sheriff Grimes. I don't have any new info. Terminus is the only piece of the puzzle that doesn't fit and my source still doesn't know what or where that is."

Rick's eyes narrowed. He looked away, again intensely trying to conjure up some helpful speculation on the context of the word.

"Whatever spooked my source is serious." Horvath shook his head ruefully. "I think there are more chess pieces at play here. I think this shooting is Savior-related. Those agents weren't in town in their official capacity, but someone knew why they were here. And somebody had been watching them… long enough to know they were more than partners. Someone smart enough to know that a story about gay feds murdered under mysterious circumstances would get more attention than a single missing black woman."

"Fuck did you just say," Rick cocked his head as he waited for the reporter to repeat himself.

Simultaneously, Abraham exhaled a perturbed "shit".

Hugh wrinkled his brow and asked the deputy, "Are we sure this guy is really on our side?" He took the opportunity to question the commitment of his daughter's boyfriend again. "This is the kind of person helping you? No wonder my daughter is god knows where right now!"

"I'm sorry, but it's true." Dale shrugged, relieved he was not face to face with the sheriff when he said it.

"And who decides what makes the news? Who tells America what to care about? Reporters like you. Who run to something salacious instead of helping the ones who really need it," Abraham asked and answered, annoyed. "You know the FBI will use their best people to investigate the murder of two of their own…"

Rick talked over Abraham, "Meanwhile Pittman and Rovia were here at their own risk and expense because they knew the case would have to be practically solved and prosecuted with irrefutable evidence before anyone with real power would give a damn!"

Hugh too, screamed at Horvath's name on Rick's cell screen. "And it's not just a single missing black woman! My wife was left for dead with a bullet in her gut on the side of the road and the people responsible are going to pay for that, dammit!"

"Hey, wait." Tyreese tried to get everyone's attention. But tempers continued to flare over the timid man's voice.

"I pay the same taxes as everyone else in this country! My wife and daughter should be entitled to the same help that your family would get!" Hugh doubled down, assuming correctly that the man on the phone was white.

Tyreese tried again, "Hugh, listen."

But Mr. August turned to Rick, hostile and unyielding. "You want to satisfy a damn fantasy with a black woman's body and a black woman's strength and her capacity to love! But you don't give a damn about a black woman's life!"

Rick could no longer hold his tongue. "A black woman's life?" He could hardly believe the gaul. "I'm not the one who abandoned her when she needed me most! I'm not the one who's smothering the woman I love, keeping her boxed in and secluded. I'm building a life with Michonne, not using her strength and capacity to love as fuel for my own ego!"

"Rick, I think…" Tyreese was cut off again by Hugh as he raged.

"You don't know what it's like to be boxed in and secluded until you're a black man in America! Ain't no mother crueler than the streets. But I made it out and made something of myself when white men like you tried to keep me beneath them!" Mr. August's skinned scalp came alive with pronounced veins and rolling sweat. His pointed finger whipped through the air with fury. "You think they place a pin or ribbon or rank on my chest and congratulate me? No! They put it there and call me nigger through a smile for the cameras. You don't know a damn thing about boxed in and secluded, or me and my wife!"

"And you don't know a damn thing about me or your daughter! I don't know what it's like to be a black man. But I know what it's like trying to be a good man in a world of bigotry and misogyny. I know what it's like to have the world against me just because I wanna do what's right. I know what it's like to really love a black woman. In fact, the only thing you could tell me that I don't know is how it feels to hit one!"

Hugh rammed his daughter's boyfriend with an antagonizing chest bump. "What did you just say to me, you son of a bitch!"

Abraham grabbed his boss and Tyreese stood between the two angry men. "Everybody calm the fuck down," he shouted as Rick and Hugh struggled to get their hands on one another. "I think I know what Terminus is."

The heavy breaths of the combatants rose in the frosty air but their blow up subsided as they looked to Tyreese to explain. "When I first started my landscaping business I put a bid on a contract for a large cattle ranch way out in the middle of nowhere. I remember it because when I showed up another contractor was leaving his interview. He took one look at me and said I might as well turn around and go home because there was no way a black guy was getting a job at the old Terminus ranch."

"A ranch? But Pittman and Rovia checked and there're no businesses or anything else associated with Negan Jeffries or any of his lackeys using the name Terminus." Rick shook his head, confused.

Tyreese went on, "The ranch isn't called Terminus today. Apparently, that's an old name going back to slavery. Terminus was originally an auction house for slaves being imported from the Caribbean and Africa during the Atlantic slave trade. They called it that because, after coming ashore in Savannah, it was the last leg of the journey before slaves were sold to the highest bidder. Today it's called the O'day Ranch."

Rick looked at Abraham with wide eyes and the redhead immediately jogged to the cruiser to gather intel on the place. Hugh spoke up, his memory equally jogged.

"I know that name, O'day. A family of white folk known for its ties to the KKK. Everybody was scared of them when I was a boy. But I thought they all died out or moved away and all their properties were abandoned?"

Tyreese shrugged. "When I went there years ago, it belonged to a lady named Karen O'day. But I met with her daughter Lucille for the interview. And that guy was right. She didn't waste any time even pretending I was in the running. She just thanked me for coming all that way, smiled and directed me off the property. She was so smug about it. Everything about her interaction with me said she thought she was better than me."

He scoffed as he remembered. "She was shaped like a baseball bat. Top heavy with knobby knees. Which I remember because she was dressed in a miniskirt and a low cut blouse. She had a ugly faded barbed wire tattoo around her upper arm. She just looked trashy. Completely unprofessional. A black woman could never be the face of a company looking that way. But we all know white ladies who come from old southern slave money can do as they please." Tyreese rolled his eyes.

Just then everyone's attention returned to Abraham as he urgently made his way back to the huddle. He repeated what he'd just learned from a friend in the public record office. "O'day Ranch was inherited by Lucille O'day. She died 13 years ago in childbirth and the place went to her son, a kid named Lucien O'day."

"Lucien O'day Jeffries," Rick recognized, recalling the full names on the complaint against Carl in the incident at Woodbury School. "O'day isn't just a middle name. It's a family name. Negan kept the ranch under his son's name so it wouldn't be connected to him." Rick was disgusted. "We got you now, you son of a bitch," he said under his breath and his eyes nearly glowed in anticipation of retribution.

Dale's voice revisited the conversation to everyone's surprise. In all the commotion and revelations, they'd forgotten he was still on the phone. "You remember what my source told me about what goes on at Terminus, don't you Rick?"

"Yeah." Rick didn't repeat it, deciding riling up Hugh August again with the mention of sex trafficking wouldn't be wise.

Dale had something else to add. "Don't forget the Saviors were scoping out Rovia and Pittman, we gotta assume that they may know that you know what they're planning. I still don't know why they have her, but if you go in there to save your girlfriend, they could be ready and waiting."

…

Michonne held her father's hand. His might as well have been a baseball mitt compared to her little six year old palm pressed against it. They were heading into the woods again and she didn't want to go. But she had no choice.

Her father insisted on these trips. Her mother would tell people they were going camping, but camping is recreational. Hugh August would never do anything so frivolous. The trips they took to the Blue Ridge were strictly for survival training.

Twice a year they went in the harshest conditions Georgia could create. In the dead of winter and in the heat of summer. She always prayed that god would keep the snow from falling. Just for the week they were there. Sometimes god listened. Sometimes he didn't.

The fingers of her right hand were numb as she gripped the small .22 caliber handgun. She was shaking uncontrollably and though her tear ducts seemed to dry up in terror, her pants were wet from losing control of her bladder when the large black bear roared on its hind legs. He seemed as tall as the white pine trees around them.

In a second, he was charging. And in the same second, her daddy dropped to one knee and pushed her clear of danger. Her tiny body slid across the forest floor, a coat of snow on a blanket of leaves. Hugh brought his rifle to his cheek and fired a single shot. Every movement fluid. Every breath measured and sure.

The black beast dropped to the ground mid stride with a groan more awful than it's roar. The scene was not as gruesome as she'd imagined it would be when she opened her eyes. The blood from the bullet wound between his eyes disappeared into the black of his fur. If she hadn't heard the bang and the thud, it would've been easy enough to pretend he was sleeping.

"Never hesitate, Michonne! You think what wants to kill you will wait until you get your courage up? Hesitation breeds fear!" Her father growled like a lion sending a shiver through her back. As she shrank from his words, she decided she would have rather felt the bear's claws than hear the lion's roar.

"Stick to your training! What the hell are we doing out here if you're gonna stand there like a damned deer in the headlights?! I won't always be there! I'm teaching you how to survive it all. Because, believe me, life will throw everything at a little black girl. And you're going to be ready or you won't make it."

Her father took a deep breath composing himself from his burst of anger. He checked her for scrapes and bruises. Although she was afraid he'd see her accident down the front of her jeans, she was fine. Until she heard the husky whimpers coming from the base of a nearby tree stump.

Something sickening wormed around in her gut when she realized the bear was female. A mother. She had never seen or heard bear cubs before, but she immediately knew the plaintive cry she heard were babies calling for their mama.

Michonne was entranced as she watched the cute little squirming newborns muddle, crawl and fall over each other. She cracked a second of a smile before she realized their mother was dead a few feet away.

"We can't leave them here," Hugh said as he roughly picked up one by the scruff of the neck and held it high for inspection. "They'll freeze to death."

Michonne's heart swelled at the thought of taking the cubs home to care for them. She would name them, wrap them in blankets and feed them with a bottle. She would be a hero and make up for them being orphans.

Her father crashed through her childish daydream and asked, "Bullet or blade?" He held out his serrated hunting knife, handle first.

"No, daddy." Fat teardrops finally fell from her thick black lashes. Her big eyes went wide and her brow tightened in pain.

"My name is Hugh," he reminded her coldly. "You don't have a daddy when we're training. You don't have anyone to protect you." Her father made a chilling comparison, "You're as vulnerable as these cubs and this is what happens when you're vulnerable."

She didn't want to hear what he was saying. She didn't want to do what he was telling her." Michonne whispered a frightened "please" even though she knew there was no bargaining with the lion.

Hugh repeated sternly, "Bullet or blade?"

Anger blazed inside her like a wind-whipped inferno. That was the moment she felt hatred for the first time. Hatred for the man who provided for her and protected her and caused her to be. As much as he tried to make her like himself, in that moment, she swore she would never subscribe to the harsh cruelty he endorsed.

She would be a better parent. Loving. She would be a better neighbor. Kind. She would be a better person. Compassionate.

Little Michonne pushed away the offered weapon with disdain. She stood back, disabled the safety on her handgun and aimed. She murmured a request of forgiveness to the innocent cubs and obeyed her father.

It happened so quickly and easily, the blind baby bears hardly reacted. No wailing. No panic. No slamming to the ground like their mother had. There was only stillness and quiet

She snatched the wool hat off her press and curl ponytail thinking of every bad word her parents forbid her to say. Rolling her eyes in revulsion, she turned to where her father stood. Even though she had carried it out, she was fortifying herself to buck against his order the only way she could: the silent treatment.

But he was gone. She was alone in the woods and he was nowhere to be found. The cubs had disappeared too.

But down in their hollowed out den, something familiar caught her eye. Something her six year old self would not have recognized. But, to the woman the six year old grew to be, it was precious. A new element of trauma intertwined with this childhood memory.

Michonne pulled back her hair, locs now, leaning over to inspect the red man-made material peeking out from the leaves and moss. She pulled it out.

Her son's Atlanta Braves cap.

His innocent, cheerful voice called to her from the rooty burrow. "Mama!"

Startled, she dropped the hat at her feet. The impact was so forceful, the ground gave way. Michonne scrambled for a grip on one of the tree roots. She held on for dear life as the bottoms of her bare feet struggled against plastic sheeting from the car trunk floating in the dark gulf below her.

A glaring bright light snatched her out of her dream back to the present with a massive headache. Slaps to her face and a horrifyingly familiar musky smell revived her.

"Well, I can't wait for her to wake up." There were two glowing figures in front of her. One spoke to the other. "He'll be here soon and I don't want to hear any shit from him because this charmless asshole put a dent in her."

"Mrs. August, can you hear me," the other figure asked in a much more civil tone. She tried to focus but she was still a little foggy. "I can't examine her with these restraints. This is ridiculous. She's barely conscious."

As soon as she heard the word restraints, she felt the tight bind around her wrists behind her back.

"I can't check her motor skills like this," the unknown man continued.

"Okay, okay." Jared Collins came into focus and immediately his attack the night of the fire sent alarm bells off in her head. She attempted a weak protest, but it was useless. She couldn't move.

Jared stepped behind her and she felt her wrists go free. She tried to push herself up off the cot where she'd been apparently knocked out cold. She promptly collapsed back to the pallet. Taking in her limited view of her surroundings, she knew she was in a place she'd never been in before.

Some kind of basement or cellar, Michonne scanned the room for exits but there were none she could see. There was the sound of crying off to her left. She dragged her head across the linenless cot and saw a cell, a cage, where about 20 women were scattered across the cement floor.

Some were stretched out lying under blankets. Some sat up on the cement floor in a hopeless posture, elbows hung on knees, heads down. Some comforted others with mournful embraces, while some looked curiously at her through the bars.

"Mrs. August, my name is Pete Anderson. I'm a doctor." He was a tall white man with a dirty blonde five o'clock shadow and nicotine breath. "Can you sit up," he gently guided her with his hands on her shoulders.

"Where am I?"

Doctor Anderson ignored her question, "Can you follow my finger?" He held up his index finger and passed it in front of her face as he spoke to someone out of her view, "Did you have to hit her so hard?"

Jared spoke up. "You see all those pretty girls behind you, Merle? I got them all here simply with the power of persuasion. You ever heard of that," he challenged. "Smile… be polite… tell them they're pretty. Damn cops! All you know how to do is bust shit up. I told Negan I could get her here, but he said you had a connection and now look at her."

When Michonne heard Merle's name, she started to remember how she'd been tossed into his trunk. She looked up and saw him sitting just out of her view, looking as guilty as he was. The picture of her mother falling to the ground was on replay in her mind and hysteria nullified any pain she felt.

"Where's my mother?! Where's my mother? He fucking shot her! He fucking shot my mother! Where is she?"

Disturbed by her shrieking, Merle tuck-tailed and left the room without a word.

"What the fuck? Get back here, Dixon and help us with this bitch!" Jared went to grab her arm and was propelled into the wall behind him with an elbow to the face. His eye still wasn't one hundred percent from the beating he took at Rick's hands and now the force of her blow left him stunned and enraged.

He quickly rebounded and snatched her by a handful of her hair and attempted to put her in a chokehold while the doctor tried to wrestle her kicking legs still. Both men were stronger than her and she was still dazed from being pistol whipped by Deputy Dixon, but she heard her father's voice echo in her aching head.

Stick to your training! Life will throw everything at a little black girl. And you're going to be ready or you won't make it.

She sank her teeth into Jared's forearm and the man let out a banshee's scream that made the women across the room jump back in fear, then peer forward with silent delight at his pain. He let her hair loose and applied pressure to the reddening bite. Doctor Anderson reared back trying to decide if he should attend Jared or subdue the woman.

He took too long to weigh which action he should take next and Michonne shot up, flipped the cot back with her foot onto Jared's shins. He stumbled and it gave her just enough time to grab the rolling chair the doctor had been sitting in and crash it over the left side of his body dislocating his shoulder. Pete held his arm, flipped to his back and used his feet to slide himself across the concrete floor, out of her warpath.

"You bitch!" Jared forgot his dripping wound and lunged at her. A swift kick to his balls sent him to his knees with a strained, vein popping groan and she took off for the door.

The women being held cried out in unison begging her to help them. "Let us out! Please! Don't leave us! Let us out!"

Michonne looked back at them and despite her father's order to never hesitate, she ran back to try and find a way to open their cell. It would be harder for their captors to round them all up, she thought.

A piercing sting brought her eyes to her hip as her thigh went numb. She dropped to one knee and looked towards the exit. Three men stood in the doorway.

One was tall, dark and misleadingly handsome with the most menacing full toothed smile she'd ever seen. Another man, covered in tattoos, with a wide handlebar mustache and balding crown brandished a small tranq gun. The younger man behind them both looked familiar to her but somehow seemed different. He was wearing a leather vest over a white t-shirt and wranglers. Just as her muscles stiffened, all three surrounded her, leaning over her and reaching to grab her. The young man's face came closer.

She gasped. "I know you." She'd seen the young guy with Rick when he'd come to her in the hospital. She remembered the young deputy had kind eyes. Now, he looked surprised to see her there. He was someone she knew Rick trusted but seeing that he was on the wrong side, she stopped trying to fight. The situation seemed hopeless. She slowly put her hands in the air and surrendered.