Here's the Story of a Lovely Lady

by dragoness0420

The apocalypse from a back-woods girl's point of view.

When the outbreak started, I wasn't worried. When the radio transmissions stopped, I still didn't worry. When the cities were taken over by the dead, and our armed forces failed, it made me more than a bit nervous. This was it. The Apocalypse has finally arrived.

Through my squirrel-like food stashing behavior, I have unknowingly prepared myself for the end of the world. My pantry is well-stocked, I have a good stash of ammo for my 9mm and .357. I know how to hunt and field-dress my kills, as well as how to preserve the meat without a freezer handy: a generous amount of brine and good smoker. Top all that off with a working knowledge of cars, and I am damn well-prepared.

Right?

As I sit, alone, in my one-room shack, smack dab in the middle of nowhere, I ponder the fact that I didn't prepare, at all. Sure, I have the necessities, but damn if this existence isn't going to make me crack. And soon. The loneliness of knowing that you are quite possibly the only human being left for miles and miles is, to be honest, scaring the shit out of me.

Thankfully, I managed to keep my dog around, or I probably would have already snapped. She has been my companion since I found her abandoned in the woods when she was just a pup. That was ten years ago. I dread the fact that she won't be around many more years, and pray that by the time she passes, the world will be settled. If I have a choice, I'll see her go out of this world, peacefully; not at the hands of some stumbling idiot.

I've never been a social person, always preferring to sit back and watch people, rather than participate. It was just me and my dad for a long time, and he died many years ago, when I was still a teenager. Thankfully, I got a damn good stash of knowledge out of the old man before he was taken from me. Thankfully, he left this world before the shit hit the fan.

Despite my reclusive behavior, I found myself missing the human race more and more as the months passed. Especially after the gas ran out, and I was forced to hole-up in my shack for fear of needing what fuel I had in my old truck if an emergency should arise...Such as a mob of those dead bastards finding me and Harley out here.

I've been "lucky," so far, that none of them seem to have ventured very far outside of Atlanta. I ran into a few of them on a trip to town to stock-up on food for the dog, but that was months ago. My shooting skills were put to the test that day. I still don't know how I managed to make it out of there, alive. About ten of the bastards managed to corner me in the store. My best guess is that the sound of the truck alerted them to my presence.

When I turned and saw an ugly, stumbling, drooling "man" not ten feet in front of me, I nearly screamed. My heart stopped, but I still managed to get a shot off before he took another step. It was rapid-firing and quick feet that saved my life that day. I haven't had the desire to return to Atlanta since. Even if the fuel-shortage hadn't come, I wouldn't have left my property, again.

As far as I can tell, it's been nearly a year since the first report of a "flu-like" epidemic. The media was full of shit. This is nothing like any flu I've ever seen. It's not going away, either. There's no cure, no medicine that will make those people well again. Whatever this is, it's not something to be fooled with. The radio station gave it very little attention at first, but that changed a couple months later, when it became obvious that this "disease" was spreading, quickly and globally.

I remember the last transmission. I was sitting on my couch. My left hand was stroking Harley's neck, calmly. My right hand had a death-grip on the pillow. I cried when it was over.

"... to remain indoors and not to approach an infected person... spread through bodily fluids, such as saliva... yourself bit, don't panic. Go to... CDC refuge and seek help... curfew has been set... found on the street after dusk... will be shot on sight... military has been deployed to help contain the situation..."

That was all that came through the static. It was dead air from that day forward.

I repeat that message, and the dejected tone of the announcer, over in my head multiple times, everyday. The tone of her voice caught me off guard more than the words she spoke. She sounded like a person speaking her last words. She sounded like a death-row inmate about ready to face the needle. No panic, just a calm resign that she was about to die.

The military bombed the city that night. Their idea of containment was to kill every living, and undead, creature in the city. I watched the planes fly over the hills. I saw the gun-flares. I watched the bombs fall from the planes. I saw and felt the explosions as Atlanta fell. If I lived a few miles closer, the screams would have rang in my ears. It shocked me, but at the same time I wasn't really surprised. Our government seemed to always take the easy way out.

I find myself wondering what that day was like for that announcer. How did she react when she read the message before she was on-air? Was she able to keep her composure after the transmission was cut off? Did she have a family? Was she allowed to spend her last hours with them before they killed everybody? Finally, did she die by bullet, or did those creatures turn her?

My thoughts are interrupted by Harley's low growl. I pat her, stopping the growl before it turns into a bark, and grab my gun. Rolling off the couch, I slowly make my way to the window, listening for what spooked the dog. Harley watches me cross the room, the hair on her scruff standing on end, but she stays in place, and doesn't utter another sound. I still my breathing when I hear a rustling noise too close to the house. I push my body against the wall under the window, hoping to conceal myself.

Taking a deep breath, I slowly cock my gun, careful to not make a sound. The house is completely still and silent. Even Harley seems to be holding her breath as we wait. The rustling sound gets louder, and I am able to pick out two distinct sets of foot-falls. Men, if the weight of the steps is any indication. The steps slow just outside the closed window and I hear a hand on the glass above my head. Harley's ears lay flat against her head as she looks at the intruder, and she releases a menacing growl.

I hear a voice and my heart leaps to my throat. They're alive, but my instincts tell me to stay where I am. Just because they aren't dead, doesn't mean they're not an enemy. People tend to split into two groups in the face of adversity: the "let's-work-together-to-solve-this" type, and the assholes. I'm not planning to move until I figure out which category these men fit into.

The footsteps move away from the window, toward the door, and I take that as my opportunity to scramble behind the couch. I grab Harley's collar and pull her back with me. I put her in a stay, and load the rifle, quietly. Putting the pistol in my waist-band, I kneel behind the couch and point the barrel of my rifle at the door.

The door handle turns, and I cock the gun. Two men appear in the doorway, back-lit by the sun, casting shadows across the floor. The smaller of the two appears to be carrying a crossbow as he steps into the room. Neither have noticed me, yet but I'm not comfortable letting them venture any further. I deliberately shift my weight on the creaky wood, snapping their attention to me. They freeze and raise their weapons.

"Now that I have your attention, I'm going to have to insist that you leave." I stand slowly, the .357 pressed firmly against my shoulder, my finger resting over the trigger.

"You got supplies, lady?" The smaller man asks. His crossbow is aimed at my head, but it doesn't threaten me. I step out from behind the couch, bringing Harley with me. I whisper her command and she immediately lowers her stance, snarling at the two men.

"I'll only say it one more time. Get out." I gesture to Harley. The big man steps around Mr. Crossbow and toward me. Harley snaps her jaws, and he stops.

"Call off the dog, bitch." He points his rifle at her, and my resolve falters. He cocks his gun and I swing my rifle to his head, stretching my arm to get the tip of the barrel closer to him.

"I wouldn't do that, honey." The younger man steps closer to me and I pull my pistol from my waist-band, pointing it at his head. His steps falter, and he stops.

"Alright. Let's just calm down, shall we?" I keep my voice steady, not letting these men notice my unease. "Put the weapons down and kick 'em my way." I shift my eyes between the two men trying to pick up out the Alpha male. Mr. Crossbow looks to the other man, seeking advice, and I smile. Gotcha.

"That's not going to happen, bitch." The rifleman says with a snarl.

"I'll shoot your brother, so help me God, if you don't drop that rifle, right now!" I smile at the shocked look that passes across his face for a split-second.

We stand there, weapons drawn, staring at each other, waiting for somebody to surrender. I know my arm won't be able to hold the rifle at that angle forever, but I am hoping they don't catch on to that fact. The younger man steps back and slowly lowers the crossbow, setting it on the ground by his feet. I keep the pistol poised on him, and look to Big Brother.

"Come on, big man. Be reasonable, here." My voice drops to a soothing tone. "Nobody has to get hurt."

He shifts his eyes to me and then to his brother, his shoulders falling, just slightly, as he lowers the rifle. I call Harley to me, sitting her at my left side. The big man uncocks the gun, but doesn't drop it. Figuring that was about as surrendered as he's going to get, I lean my rifle against the arm of the couch. I keep my pistol pointed at them, though.

"Now, if you please," I gesture toward the door. "Get out."

"Hey, lady. We-" the younger man starts to protest, but his brother stops him with a hand on his shoulder. He looks my direction and my heart damn near jumps out of my chest. Damn, this man is intimidating.

"What's your name, darlin'?" He smirks a little, and I wonder if he can see my fear.

"Lady works just fine." My voice falters just slightly, and I pray they didn't notice.

"Ok, then Lady. This here's my brother, Daryl." He pats his brother's shoulder. "My name's Merle. Tell me, what the hell a little girl like you doin out here by yourself, huh?"

"Survivin'" Is my simple reply. I scowl at the chuckle Merle releases, but say nothing. I know his game, and I'm not playing. I'm not going to let my guard down around this man.

"If you say so. Not much of an existence out here by yourself." Daryl chimes in. "Why don't you come back to camp with us and we'll introduce you to the others."

My breath leaves my chest in a whoosh and I step back from the shock of the word "others." My guard is shot all to hell, now, but I can't seem to get a grip. My breaths come in gasps, and I grip the side of the couch for support. The gun falls to my side. For more than three seasons, I've been living alone, thinking I was one of only a few people left in the great state of Georgia. To hear that there's a whole camp of survivors, within hiking distance is more than a little shocking. Merle takes a step toward me, his foot landing heavily on the old wood floor.

I snap back to reality, pointing the gun at his head. He's close enough to me that I can see the color of his eyes. Too close. He puts the hand that isn't holding his gun up in surrender and steps back. I keep my eyes locked on his, not willing to back down again. My eyes follow him all the way out the door. Daryl gives me one last appraising look before he grabs his crossbow from the floor and follows his brother out.

The pistol remains pointed at the door until I can no longer hear their footsteps. I run to the door and slam it shut, pulling the bolt across the lock and throwing my body against it. My breaths come in short gasps and I slide down the door. Harley whines at me and walks over, putting her big head on my lap. I stroke her fur, calming down little-by-little. After my tremors have subsided, I slowly peel myself off the floor and barricade the windows.

There's still plenty of daylight left, but my nerves are so frazzled that I decide just to call a can of fruit dinner. I light the lantern and grab a worn book off the shelf for a distraction. Harley climbs onto the couch next to me and lays her head back in my lap, sensing my unease. I rub her ears and drift into my thoughts, again. His eyes haunt me. So easy to read. His hard exterior is betrayed by the truth behind his eyes.

That man and his brother have been through hell, probably before this shit started. My over-active imagination puts the men in the backwoods, growing up together; having to rely on each other more than their parents. I think about them growing up fast and hard, and my heart aches for them. Snapping myself out of my fantasy world, I scoff. Hell, for all I know, they lived a posh life somewhere, silver spoon in their mouths.

I open the book, willing that man from my thoughts. As I read, my nerves settle back to normal and Harley moves off the couch to take her place by the door. I quickly lose myself in the story, and night falls before I realize it. I put the book aside and grab my gun to venture outside for a quick perimeter check, Harley by my side. She does her business as I block up the windows from the outside. I make a mental list of the things that need my attention the next day and turn to head inside.

A shadow in the treeline catches my eye as I turn, just as Harley starts growling again. My heart leaps and I cock the gun. I call Harley off when she moves to charge the shadow, and quickly put her inside. When I turn back, the figure has moved closer, and I quickly duck inside. I yank the bolt lock and pull the plank across the door. Settling behind the couch, I wait. I didn't get a good enough look at it to see if it was human or creature, but it was too close for my comfort, either way.

My nerves are beyond frayed, and my hands start to shake as a sob builds up in my throat. I force the sound back, and close my eyes, concentrating on the noises outside. The wind starts kicking up howls through the old shack, bringing an eerie edge to the already tense moment. I stay still for a long while, listening for anything out of the ordinary. Eventually, my eyes begin to drift closed. I settle myself against more comfortably, and drift off.

I wake with a start a few hours later. Heart beating fast, I listen for what woke me. I reach for Harley, but only grab floor. I look around for her, and sigh in relief when I see her sleeping soundly on the couch. Pulling myself off the floor with a quiet groan, I put the lantern out and join the dog on the soft cushions with a sigh. Harley wags her stub of a tail and groans as she snuggles into me. I laugh a little at her, and pat her side, once again drifting off to sleep.

Time passes by slowly when you're the only one around to keep yourself entertained. I stay busy with repairs to my home, stewing the squirrels and rabbits Harley manages to catch and preserving it in the few canning jars I have left. Weeks pass and the memory of the encounter with the men slowly fades away.

The heat of the Georgia summer moves in, keeping me indoors during the middle of the day. I manage to get a few gallons of water captured during the evening rains, but even that is starting to run low. I have foregone bathing and clean clothes for fear that I won't have enough water to drink later in the season. I decide to venture out to the creek, about a mile away, on the chance that it's still running.

Loading up my duffle-bag with dirty clothes and an extra box of ammo, I head out before the sun has fully crested the horizon. Harley walks ahead of me, seeming to enjoy getting away from the house for a little while. The walk is easy, normal. I've walked this same trail thousands of times in my 25 years of life. Dad taught my to fish at the creek. I lost my virginity on the bank of that creek. I laugh lightly at the memory Bobby and I.

As we crest the hell, I hear the creek running through the clearing and smile. Reliable old thing. Harley stops to wait for me and we walk the last few yards together. She jumps in the water with a light yip as soon as she sees it. I laugh at her and begin unloading the clothes into the slow-moving water. It's exceptionally clear and I strip out of my filthy clothes and sink into the water with the laundry. I grab my shampoo bottle and bar of soap and place them on the log with my pistol.

I start scrubbing the clothes, trying to be as thorough as possible. Getting as much dirt and grime out of the fabric as I can manage, I lay the clothes over the log to dry and start getting myself cleaned up. After a few weeks without being able to bathe, just having clean hair feels like heaven. I sigh as the current rinses my body clean.

A few hours later, just as the sun hits the center of the sky, I am loaded up and ready to head back home. Harley and I start walking up the path at a quick pace, hoping to make it home before it gets much hotter. Suddenly, Harley darts, and before I can get words out of my mouth to stop her, she disappears into the underbrush.

"Crap." I drop the bag and quickly check my gun for ammo before heading into the trees after the Rottweiler/Mastiff. I keep my steps quiet and slow as follow her path through the ferns. Thankfully, she's a big dog. I'd hate to have to track a Chihuahua through this shit. A few minutes later, I hear her whine and run toward the sound. Zombies be damned, I'm not going to leave my dog defenseless. I burst through the small clearing, and skid to a stop at the sight.

Harley is slowly circling around a body. I creep forward, slowly and quietly call her over to me. She stays where I tell her to, allowing me to investigate closer. I move around the look at his face and gasp. I stumble backwards, and trip over a felled tree, landing on my back with an oomph! The last time I saw this man, he scared me. Looking at him now, all I can feel is pity. I crawl back over to him and notice his chest slowly rising and falling.

I kneel next to his prone figure, placing a hand lightly on his arm, trying to stir him without seeming like a threat.

"Merle?" I whisper, quietly. No response. I gently shake his shoulder and he groans long and painfully. I quietly wonder how long the man had been laying here. I shake him again, more firmly and he whimpers quietly. I quickly assess the situation and decide that my only option is to head back to the house, and fashion a stretcher to move him.

I consider the last time I saw this man and my resolve to help him falters, slightly. He pointed a gun at me and my dog, threatening our lives. My anger flares and dissolves just as quickly at the thought of letting another human being starve to death, or die of heat exhaustion. By the looks of things, he may be on his last legs, anyway, but I can't not try to help him.

I reluctantly tell Harley to guard him and run back through the woods. I leave my bag lying on the ground where I dropped it, figuring I could easily grab it when I got Merle secured. My legs are burning from the strain of sprinting nearly ¾ of a mile. I burst through the door of my sanctuary and quickly rifle through my storage closet for my canvas tarp. After throwing it in the back of the truck, I grab the ax and throw it on top.

I throw my old truck in 4-wheel-drive and make the short trip back to Merle. I back the truck as close as I can to the treeline and kill the engine. If there are dead around, they're sure to be headed my way, so I chop two of the thinner trees down as quickly as possible. After they are felled, I strip the limbs from them. I grab the tarp and a bundle of bungee cords from the truck and put together a stretcher. I whistle for Harley, and a few moments later, she is at my side, waiting for her next order. The professional training classes are definitely paying for themselves, now.

I strap the stretcher to her back with a make-shift bungee harness, grab the ax to clear the brush and start back toward Merle's clearing. We make slow, but steady, progress as I cut through the under brush, just enough that Harley and her load can get through without any real problems. When we finally reach Merle, sweat is dripping off my chin and I am utterly exhausted. I grab the canteen and take a long pull as I catch my breath. I offer Harley water as well and she laps it gratefully.

I maneuver the homemade gurney next to Merle, and detach it from Harley so I can roll the unconscious man onto it. A few grunts and a pulled lower-back muscle later, I manage to get him situated. I cross his arms over his chest and nearly fall over, again, from the shock of seeing his right hand...gone. The rag wrapped around the stub is blood encrusted. The wound is ragged and most-likely septic. I groan at the thought of having to clean and redress it, silently thanking my dad for giving me a steel-plated stomach.

Harley pulls Merle back to the truck at a quicker pace. She must notice my urgency to get him to shelter before dusk falls. The sheen of sweat on Merle's brow and his painful grunts worry me, but I urge Harley to pick up the pace, nonetheless. We reach the truck shortly, and I unhook the mutt from her load, putting her in the truck. I latch the gurney to the bumper and start driving.

The drive back to the house is slow and the big motor in the old beast complains about the low RPMs, but I don't want to hurt the man any worse than he already is by going over the bumpy terrain too fast. I coax the old truck up to the door, kill the engine and scramble out, grabbing my bag and heading inside. I quickly get my first-aid supplies together on the little table and run back outside. Harley is sitting by Merle, already knowing what her job is going to be. I latch her harness to Merle, again and she pulls him inside without a command to do so. I smile at her intuition and park the truck back beside the house.

The sun is starting to set over the hills when I finally get the man situated on the floor. I sit, debating where to start, and whether or not I should give him one of the three vials of morphine I hijacked from a pharmacy during one of my city escapades. Nodding to myself, I pull out the syringe and pull 10ccs from the little vial; about a third of the total amount, and hopefully just enough to take the edge off the pain and allow him to get some rest.

The wound is infected, like I'd predicted, when I am finally able to peel the bandage off. I look at the blackened and blistered skin and a realization hits me. This crazy bastard had the wound cauterized! He didn't die of blood-loss, but the infection from the burn might kill him. I sigh as I cut away the dead skin. He lets out a painful whimper, and I decide that he's probably had enough for one day. I rub on a generous amount of antiseptic and apply a clean bandage.

As I sit, watching him later that night, I can't help but wonder about the circumstances behind the amputation. A person would have to be pretty desperate to agree to having their limb sawed-off. My imagination, once again, runs wild with various scenarios. Some time during my daydreaming, I fall asleep. I wake to a cold nose nudging me. I open my eyes and sit up, startled when I realize I had left the door open.

I light the lantern, setting it on the table, and quickly run outside to barricade the house in the moonlight. When the house is secure, I head back inside and check on Merle. He's sweating, again, and seems restless, so I give him another 10 ccs of morphine before I lay down. Harley looks between the two of us, her discomfort apparent, before she settles down in her usual spot and falls asleep.

Nearly a week later, Merle's condition starts to improve. The wound is finally clear enough of infection and dying flesh for me to sew it up, yet another thing my dad left me with. I cleaned and stitched his wounds for him, because he didn't trust hospitals. He always told me that people go to hospitals to die, and those words came true for him. The only trip he ever made to the hospital was his last trip anywhere.

Merle groans as I finish the last stitch. I look up at his face and see his eyes staring to flutter. I quickly wrap the wound and grab some penicillin, pain pills and water. His eyes open slowly and he groans, again. I let his eyes adjust before approaching him. He looks at me, the confusion written on his face and opens his mouth to speak.

"Ah-ah" I put my hand up to stop him as I kneel next to his head. I help him sit up and lean against the side of the couch before handing him the water and pills. "Take these. It'll help the pain, and cut the infection out of your blood."

He takes my offering without hesitation, drinking the canteen dry and handing it back to me. I feel him watching me as I walk back to the table and throw the old dressings into the aluminum bin, lighting it ablaze. I hadn't had any problems with the dead out here, so far, but I don't want to attract any other predators with the smell of blood, either. I take the small can to the front of the house so it can burn outside.

I head back inside and stand in the doorway, appraising him. He looks a lot less dead than he did when I found him in the woods. I smile slightly, trying to get him to relax a little. The corners of his mouth lower even further. I sigh lightly.

"You think you can stand?" I ask him as I approach. He nods, but still doesn't say anything. I help him stand and he sways a little. I keep my arm around his waist until he steadies himself, then step back.

He stands for a minute, trying to get his bearings, and then starts slowly pacing the shack. I sit down on the couch with Harley, and we watch him loosen up his joints. After a few minutes, he sits on the chair across from me and looks down at his arm. He inspects the bandage, then looks at me. I give him another small smile and he looks away, scowl firmly set in place.

"I've got some rabbit stew preserved if you think you can handle food. Those pills are going to mess up your stomach if you don't eat something." I wait for his response, a nod, and get off the couch to retrieve a jar from the pantry. I pop the lid off, grab a spoon, and hand it to him. "Sorry, you'll have to eat it cold."

He takes it from me without a word, tucking in. His ravenous hunger kicks in after the first bite. I watch, amazed as he finished the pint jar of stew in less than two minutes. I wonder to myself when his last good meal was. I considered myself lucky. I haven't gone a day without eating since this shit happened. I know that isn't the case for most of the other survivors. Only having to provide food for myself has definitely helped. Harley is more than capable of providing for herself, so long as the rodent population holds out.

He sets the empty jar on the table and stands there, watching me. I move away from his critical gaze, going to rifle through the closet, hoping to find a clean set of my dad's old clothes. Merle is about the same size as my father, possibly even a bit smaller. I grab a pair of jeans and a random tshirt, along with a clean set of underwear and a sponge. I set the items on the couch, grab my pistol and then walk outside with Harley at my side. I grab the bucket of rainwater collected, and set it inside the doorway. I decide to start work on the water-collection rig I have, to occupy my time and my mind.

Merle steps out a while later, taking a deep breath of fresh air. I look down at him from the ladder and my breath catches. This redneck doesn't look half-bad bathed. I take in the size of his hands, his arms and shoulder muscles, and grin a little as I turn back to tightening the screws that hold the gutter to the roof. My thoughts wander, filled with images of those hands traveling across my skin...

"I am headin out in the mornin." His voice makes me jump and my foot slips off the wrung of the ladder. I slide down three steps before I am able to catch myself. I chide myself for letting him catch me off-guard, and gracefully climb down the rest of the way. I look over at him, flustered at myself and notice the grin on his face.

"Oh, I don't think so." I gather the tools together and call the dog in as he laughs at my statement.

"You don't have a say in the matta, honey." His grin is full-blown as he turns mocking eyes my way.

"That's where your wrong." I carry the tools inside, an angry, injured bear of a man, hot on my heels. His silence intrigues me. I figured him for a screamer. "I am not going to tell you that you can't leave. But I think I have an opinion, here."

"How d'ya figure?" He sits on the chair, an amused expression on his face.

"I dragged your half-dead ass here. I patched you up." I point to his right arm. "That back-alley surgery was septic. You wouldn't have made it another couple days if it weren't for me."

His expression changes, and he looks away. I feel a lump form in my throat. Whatever he went through was obviously tragic. I swallow back my emotions, and sit on the couch, ready to wait for him to speak. I quietly watch the emotions flit across his face, finally settling back into that cocky scowl. He looks at me, his eyes full of anger. I wait a minute before I speak again.

"Where's your brother?" I ask softly.

"Don't know." Merle says, just as softly. " I left him back at camp when we went into the city for supplies. I got..." His voice trails off, and I suck in an audible breath, awaiting his next words. "...Left behind and ran into trouble before I could get back to camp."

My anger flares, surprising me. I clench and unclench my fist. How could these people leave part of their group behind to fend for themselves? How cold-hearted must somebody be to do something like that? My anger is kicked by the rational side of my brain as the memory of my first meeting with this man emerges. He was hostile, angry and intimidating. Maybe they thought he deserved it. Hell, maybe he did deserve it.

"Look. Let's just get that wound healed-up, and I won't fight you when you leave." I smile at him and he returns my gesture with another nod.

We sit in silence for hours, me reading and him shuffling around and snooping. I light the lantern as night begins to fall, and go about the nightly routine of securing the house. Merle follows me out the door and around the house. It makes me a bit uncomfortable having another human being following me around on my nightly routine. We head back in the house and I barricade the door. Merle gets comfortable on the couch rubbing his arm with a grimace, and I roll my eyes.

I grab the first-aid kit off the table and head his direction. He looks up at me with a weary expression and I laugh despite myself. Could this bad boy be afraid of doctors? My laughter continues as I pull the supplies out and he seems to push himself further into the couch with a scowl directed at me.

"OK, you big baby, let me see the arm." I say through my laughter. His scowl deepens, reminding me of a pouting child. I snicker once more before I get to work on unwrapping the bandage. His muscles tighten as I pull the bandage off the tender flesh, but he doesn't whine or complain. I quickly clean out the wound with alcohol and re-bandage it.

"How long, Doc?" I hear an edge in his voice that's hard to decipher. I move away from him, still too intimidated by him to stay near him any longer than necessary.

"I'd say at least another couple weeks. I want to give it time for the infection to clear, then leave it un-wrapped so new skin will develop." I smile at him. "The longer we wait, the cleaner it will be. Less scarring."

I grab another book off the shelf and start reading. He eventually gets up off the couch and makes his way to his bunk on the floor. A few minutes later, I hear his snore and smile to myself. I almost feel bad for not offering him the couch for a night or two, but I'm betting he wouldn't accept the invitation. He's an asshole, but most backwoods men are taught at a young age to respect women. Southern women don't put up with shit from their boys. I smile to myself, turn out the lantern and go to sleep.

Living with Merle is a chore. The better he feels, the more of a pain in my ass he becomes. The phrase "stubborn as a mule" doesn't come close to describing him. He refuses to let me do the repairs on the house, which was nice at first, but it's quickly starting to grate on my nerves. He was, apparently, taught that women aren't cut-out for hard labor. He speaks very little, but when he does, it's usually along the lines of "Git yer ass in that house and let me handle this."

I have spent the last eight days trying to find ways to get rid of the man. Yet, when I think about him leaving, I get a strange feeling in the pit of my stomach. I have been walking around with a scowl on my face for days, and Merle seems to know it's because of him. When ever we see each other, which is too often, in my opinion, he lets loose a cocky smirk or a wink. It's almost endearing to think that this man considers himself a charmer.

Currently, he is on my roof, repairing some loose shingles, one-handed, mind you! I tried to convince him to let me help. He didn't listen. Now, I'm inside, fuming and cleaning my guns...and his rifle. Somehow, I got roped into doing his damn laundry, too. Gun-cleaning is usually a sure-fire way to calm my nerves, but it's only serving to fuel the fire this time. My jerky movements and clouded head make doing a thorough job almost impossible, and that could get dangerous.

I slam the cleaning kit onto the table, grab my pistol and head out the door. Merle yells for me as I walk away, but I flip him the bird and don't stop. Harley soon catches up to me, and I reach down to pat her side. I walk about 50 yards away from the house and sit in the tall grass. The dog lays down beside me. I keep my eyes and ears peeled, but for the most part, I let my mind wander to simpler times, a thing I do whenever I get too stressed.

After about 30 minutes, my mind is in a better place and I head back to the house. I notice Merle, shirtless, in front of the house. He's cleaning up after being on the roof for hours, running a wet rag down his arms and across his torso. As I get closer, I notice his back muscles as they ripple and flex with every move and my heart flutters a little. I force my eyes away from him, fresh annoyance flooding my body, this time directed at myself. Why is it that the most irritating person on the planet also happens to be in excellent shape?

I quickly duck inside, ignoring Merle when he tries to talk to me. I sit back at the table and finish cleaning the gun. My mind wanders again to the sight of his arms and bare chest and I groan, putting my face in my hands. That man should not be attractive! I am half his age, for goodness sake! I chalk it up to my lack of physical contact from a man for nearly three years. My last man did a bit of a number on my self-esteem, and I find myself suddenly hoping he got infected.

I manage to get the guns cleaned to my standards before Merle comes back inside. I avoid looking at him, fearing my own reaction, as I get up from the table and head for the couch. I decide to pull out the CB radio, just for a distraction. I scan through the active channels, listening for breaks in the static that may indicate life. I used to spend hours on this thing, talking to nobody. It was my way of venting, and I think it's what kept me sane.

"Nobody's within range," Merle says as he sits down next to me.

"I'm aware of that," I snap at him. "Now, if you don't mind shutting up."

I turn the knob again and catch a faint sound that definitely isn't static. Merle and I both sit up straighter and lean toward the radio, holding our breaths. I adjust the frequency slightly and the sound comes in a little clearer. I look over at Merle with wide eyes when I realize what the sound is. I turn up the volume on the unit and the faint, choppy sound of a piano floats through the room.

"Well, I'll be damned!" Merle laughs. "I was wrong, Lady! Somebody's out there, pretty close-by, too."

"The radio has a five-mile range." I look over at Merle again, after re-adjusting the frequency to try and clear it up a little bit. "The signal's weak, so I'm betting they're not too close. What a thing to broadcast, though!"

I am unable to contain my excitement over hearing music for the first time in a year. I stand up and start dancing to the music. It's an old Jazz song, and the beat is just right. I laugh and twirl around like a little kid, just enjoying the tune. Harley starts running circles around me, barking and I can hear Merle laughing from the couch. I look over at him, catching his eye, and wink at him. His smile falters a little, apparently a little surprised.

I dance my way back to the cabinet, grabbing a well-hidden bottle of whiskey, and saunter back. Merle's eyes follow me. I grin at him when he jumps up to grab the bottle away from me. I move away on a spin and he lunges for it again. I laugh as I dodge him a few more times. I end up cornered against the door, with one of Merle's arms on either side of me. My laughter dies in my throat when I look up at him. The intensity of his gaze takes my breath away. He suddenly pushes off the door and walks away, bottle in hand.

"Hey!" I step toward him as he cracks it open and takes a drink. "That's cheating!"

He grins at me and hands me the whiskey. We pass the bottle back and forth, both enjoying the night. The music fades in and out, but manages to keep playing for hours. It's the kind of night that makes me forget about the encroaching end of days and just relax. Late into the night, Merle and I actually start talking and I find myself completely entranced by his stories.

Our bodies are turned toward each other as we relive our childhoods. I have my legs curled under me just inches away from his left leg. His left arm is stretched across the back of the couch. My drunk mind quickly takes stock of how close we are, but dismisses it.

"You never have told me yer name, Lady." He says after a lull in the conversation. I smile at him, and shake my head. "Why not?"

The look on his face is adorable. He looks so confused and I can't help but laugh at him. He grins at me, and before I know exactly what happened, I'm pinned beneath him. I let out a squeal and start laughing again. His face is hovering just inches above mine, and I pretend not to notice the effect this predicament is having on my body.

"I didn't like you the first time you asked." I say after I catch my breath. "And you haven't asked since."

"So, you like me now, huh?" There's a glint in his eyes as he looks down at me.

"Not really, no." I giggle at the crest-fallen look on his face and continue. "But you're much more useful now, and a lot less scary."

He throws his head back and lets out a laugh. I watch his adam's apple bobble and have the sudden urge to bite it. I wiggle a little, trying to get free while he's distracted, and his laughter stops almost instantly.

"Where do ya think yer goin?" He glares down at me, playfully.

"Away?" I give him a sheepish smile.

"Just as soon as ya tell me yer name." The alcohol thickens his accent. I give him a mischievous smile and run my fingers up his arm. He looks down at my hand with a guarded expression, then back to my face.

"Why?" I smile at him. "You planning on screaming it later?"

He looks at me, shocked at first, and starts laughing. It's not a mocking laugh, but I can't help but take a bit of a blow to my ego. I smack his chest lightly and try to wiggle free, again. He lets me up this time, still laughing and I huff. I turn my back to him, absently playing with the radio, trying to clear up the music again. I can feel the couch shaking from his silent laughter and can't help but laugh, too.

I turn back toward him and he gives me a look that almost makes my heart stop. I do my best to not let him see the effect he has on me, because he'd probably just laugh again if he thought I was serious about that question. I reach over and smack his arm and he looks at me.

"It wasn't that damn funny, you ass." I grin at him and he laughs a little harder.

"Shit! Yes, it was!" He gives me a wink. "An' here I thought I was just being a dirty ol man when I watched ya storm out of the house today."

Not sure how to respond to that, I simply grab the bottle and take another pull. We sit in comfortable silence, passing the bottle back and forth until we are both thoroughly inebriated. I grin at him and offer him the last of the bottle with a wave of my hand as my head falls back on the arm-rest of the couch. He reaches over and pulls my legs across his lap and I sigh, quietly.

"Don' fall asleep on me darlin'" To my amazement, his voice is still steady, even with the amount of alcohol he's consumed.

Not trusting my own voice to not be slurred, I give him a thumbs up, but close my eyes anyway as his hand works across my ankle and down the arch of my foot. I let out a sigh and settle deeper into the cushions. He lets out a sexy chuckle and continues. I feel myself starting to drift into dreamland and snap myself awake. I slowly stand and offer Merle my hand. He looks at me quizzically but places his large hand over mine and stands. He intentionally brushes against me as he passes on his way outside to secure the windows.

I pull the cushions off the couch and toss them on the floor. I grab the handle of the pull-out bed and lift. I get it half-way out and have to stop for a breath. The thing hasn't been used in nearly six months. I give it another strong tug and it releases. I manage to get it out and set up before Merle is finished securing the windows. I head to the closet for clean sheets and pillows and make the bed. I am just getting the blanket tucked in when he walks back in the door.

"Were ya plannin on makin me sleep on the floor the entire time?" He gives me a curious smile.

"Nah. I figured it was only a matter of time before you got in my bed." I wink at him and lower the lantern light so we can see while getting into bed.

I turn my back to him as I pull my shirt off, suddenly shy. I quickly pull my dad's old Led Zepplin shirt over my head before taking off the rest of my clothes. I usually sleep fully-dressed, but the idea of crawling into the clean bed with my dirty jeans doesn't appeal to me. I crawl under the covers and turn my back to Merle. I feel the bed shift behind me and I reach over to turn the lantern off. The music is still playing quietly through the static.

"You gonna turn that off?" The proximity of his voice doesn't startle me as much as his hand on my hip.

"Want me to?" I keep my voice low and steady.

"Nah." His hand moves under the over-sized shirt, gliding across my skin and I close my eyes.

He pulls my back against his chest and I giggle a little at the force. I can feel him grin against my hair as his hand continues on its upward journey. He pauses at my ribcage. He pulls his hand out from under the fabric, placing it back on my hip. I open my eyes and turn over in his arms.

"Not tonight, darlin'," is all he says, his warm breath fluttering across my face. He pulls me with him as he rolls over onto his back.

I lay my head on his shoulder and we drift off to sleep. Harley jumps up on the bed and plops at our feet making Merle grumble something about "damn dogs" before he starts snoring. I lay awake for a while, thinking about the interesting turn the night took, and smile. It should make for an interesting morning.

I awaken to an empty bed and groan as I sit up. I look around for Harley and notice she's gone as well. As I get up I hear a faint pop echoing in the distance. I still and hold my breath as I listen for any other sounds. I look around the shack and notice that Merle's rifle is also missing. I groan, again, and decide to make my way outside.

After getting dressed, I step out into to the too-bright sunlight. Placing my hand against my brow, I squint up at the sun, noticing its position in the sky. I slept far later than I should have, but am grateful that Merle left me be. Another gun-shot sounds in the distance, and I jump. Judging by the echo, he's about a mile South of the shack. I sit on the step listening and fiddling with my pistol.

The heat eventually gets to me and I am forced inside. I tear-down the bed, folding the sheets and putting them away. After I get everything straightened up, I decide to take a walk around the house to check on things. I stop and take a few long drinks of water from the collection tank. I keep my eyes sweeping the horizon as I walk around the house, slowly.

About an hour later, I see a figure slowly moving closer to the house. I keep my eyes on it, making sure it's Merle, until I see Harley bounding along-side him. I hop in the truck and drive the half-mile to pick them both up. As I get closer, I notice why Merle is walking so slowly and gasp. When I reach him, I quickly stop the truck and scramble out to help him.

Merle looks at me with a grin and winks. Instead of getting annoyed, I simply ignore it and rush around to his side, grabbing the antlers of the deer and swinging the front-half of the carcass over my shoulders. Merle gives me an appraising look, apparently impressed at my ability to lift the weight. I roll my eyes and we head the few yards to the truck. After it's loaded, I point the truck East.

"The house's up there." Merle looks at me and points North.

"No shit, Sherlock." I grin. "But the smoke-pits are over here."

Merle lets out a laugh and shakes his head, turning his attention back to the scenery. I pull the truck as close as I can get to the pits, and help Merle unload the animal. I check on each of the pits and repair the "racks" in the ones that need it. After I have re-set the sticks meant to hold the meat, I return to Merle.

"I've got knives and such back at the house. Try not to tear-up the hide too bad." I say as I climb back into the truck with Harley. "I need a new rug."

Merle waves me off as he starts cutting into the carcass. I give him a weary look, silently wondering if it'd have anything left to it by the time he was done skinning it. When I get to the house, I run inside, grabbing a full clip for the 9mm, my knives and the cleaver. I fill a couple canteens and put some water down for the dog. I shut her inside the cabin, and quickly make my way back to Merle. Hopefully, most of the meat is still good enough to smoke. We might have to feed some of it to the dog, though.

I toss the knives over to Merle, and grab the ax out of the truck. I work my way into the forest, searching out young Oak and Maple trees to fall. I cut down several 5 and 6 foot trees, and soon have enough to start the smoking process. I walk out of the forest, catching Merle's attention and motion for him to follow me.

Once we get the trees dragged out, I begin chopping them to smaller pieces while he slices the meat thin and begins loading the pits. It takes hours of hard work, but we are able to get the fires started and the five, 6x6x6 foot pits filled with meat and covered with canvas. The sun had long set, and we were both exhausted, hungry and thirsty. I throw the deer hide and the tarp filled with entrails in the back of the truck and climb into the cab. Merle lays his head against the back of the bench seat as we drive away.

"One of us will have to come out every few hours and add more wood." I say through a yawn. "I'll probably have to chop some more trees tomorrow."

He grunts but says nothing in response.

"I need a damn shower." I laugh.

Another grunt.

Fine, then. I stay quiet through the rest of the ride back to the cabin. Merle groans when I park the truck and climbs out, heading straight into the cabin. Harley rushes out the door, nearly knocking him down, and I chuckle to myself. She hops into the back of the truck, going for her dinner and I climb out. I grab the almost-perfect hide and roll it up. Slinging it over my shoulder, I climb the ladder and begin tacking it, fur-side-down, to the roof so it will dry in tomorrow's sun.

"What the hell are ya doin'?" Merle yells up to me. "Stop pounding on the roof."

"Annoying the shit out of you, what else?" I grin at his disgruntled expression as I peer over the roof at him.

He walks back into the house without another word and I laugh. It's so easy to get under his skin when he's in this mood. I hear the door open again, and I still, listening for his footsteps. I hear him closing up the shutters and go back to hammering the tacks in. He heads back into the house whistling, and suddenly I'm nervous. I turn around to see what he was up to and notice the ladder missing. I chuckle and shake my head. I slowly crawl across to the edge, judging the distance to the roof of the truck. It's less than six feet, so I jump down.

I check on Harley's progress on her dinner. Deciding to leave her to her meal, I walk into the shack smiling, and immediately stop and turn around, turning a nice shade of red in the process. I sigh and laugh slightly at myself. Merle chuckles and my blush deepens. I glance over my shoulder at his naked form and grin. I take a deep breath and make a decision. I straighten my shoulders and turn around, stripping my shirt off in the process. Grabbing a rag, I walk over to where Merle is bathing and toss it into the bucket of soapy water. I finish stripping out of my filthy clothes and bend to grab the rag.

I can feel Merle's stare but ignore it as I scrub my arms and legs, getting the deer blood and dirt out of my pores. He groans quietly when I put my foot on the edge of the bucket and I smile. I finish washing my front and turn to him. I forcefully keep my eyes on his face.

"Do my back and I'll do yours?" I smile at the look I get from him, but he recovers well-enough and lets loose that cocky grin, again. I pull my hair over my shoulder to give him better access as I turn around. He works the rag over my shoulders and back. He is rougher than I would have been, but the impromptu massage is welcomed. He reaches his hand over my shoulder and drops the rag into the bucket, effectively splashing my feet, and I chuckle as I turn around. His eyes are dark, but I play coy and motion for him to turn around.

I take a shaky breath to calm the heat in my body and begin scrubbing his back. He groans as I move the rag across his back. I finish as quickly as I can while still being thorough, not trusting my ability to keep the upper-hand in this little game. It's been far too long since I've touched a man so intimately. After I finish, I get a devious idea. I wring the excess water from the rag, twist it, and snap him on the ass.

I quickly dodge him as he turns to me, his eyes heated. He lunges at me but I giggle and dodge him. I hop over the couch and start for the door, but he catches me from behind with his left arm. He's far faster than I had anticipated. He says nothing, but his breath on my neck stops me in my tracks and sends chills across my skin when he pulls be tight against him.

"That wasn't very smart." He says, menacingly, and I am suddenly nervous. "Get dressed and get the dog."

He lets me go and I quickly move away from him, grabbing clean clothes. I quickly dry off and dress, then head out the door to get Harley. She's sitting at the door, staring at me and licking her chops. I motion her inside, grabbing one of the rags and heading back out. I scrub down the tarp, getting rid of as much blood as I can see in the moonlight, fold it up and stick it in the cab of the truck. I take a deep breath, and head inside.

"I noticed that generator." Merle points at the wall. "It got fuel?"

I falter at the change in his mood. Not five minutes ago, he seemed like he wanted to kill me, and now he's making conversation?

"Yes." I eye him, warily. "Saving it for this winter. Gonna need the heat."

"No ya won't." He states, confidently. I tilt my head at him. "Yer comin with me as soon as that deer smokes-up."

"Is that a fact?" I respond on a chuckle.

"Yes." He looks at me seriously, and I just shake my head. "Ya think I'm gonna let a gal who can survive like you outta my sights?"

"Why'd you want to know about the generator?" I ask him, avoiding the subject of him leaving.

"Thought we could use some more music after today." He tilts his head toward the old record player.

"Don't have any records, any more." I suddenly regret selling all my dad's old music. Some Coltrane would be great right about now.

"I found a couple in the back of that closet." I jerk my head up at him and hold my hand out for them. I though I had gotten rid of everything.

Apparently I missed a couple. I flip the Frank Sinatra record over in my hands with a smile. I hand the other two back to Merle and head over to the record player. He heads out the door, most-likely to start up the generator. It hums lowly when it starts. Dad was always a stickler for silence, so when Honda released the supposed "quietest generator on the market" he bought one. We didn't see store-bought food for nearly a year. Dad had to work nearly round-the-clock at the mill, for a while, to cover the expense, but he had his generator.

I set the vinyl into place, and lift the needle, smiling as the record starts to spin. I slowly place the needle in the groove, closing my eyes as the music flows through the speakers. I hear Merle walk across the floor toward me. He spins me around, slightly shocking me and pulls me to the couch with him, handing me a book. I raise an eyebrow and he grins at me while he pulls my feet into his lap and lays his head back.

I stare at him a little while longer before I start reading. After a little while, he taps my foot, and I lift my legs, allowing him to stand. My eyes follow him as he heads toward the closet. He comes back with a bottle of whiskey. I shake my head at him and smile. He twists the bottle open and hands it to me.

"Trying to get me drunk, again?" I take a long pull of the dark liquor and hand the bottle back to him.

"Thought I'd take advantage this time." He winks at me. "Been a long time since I've had a good young lay."

I scoff at his ever-so-charming demeanor. I can't stop the laughter, though. If he had said anything else, I would have been worried.

"You laugh, now." He smiles and looks away. I raise an eyebrow at him and go back to my book.

Every few minutes, he hands me the bottle and I take a pull. Eventually, he takes the book away from me, despite my protests to finish that chapter. He tosses it across the room. I cross my arms and pull my legs up to my chest. My head is starting to feel light from the alcohol and I smile as he hands me the bottle again. I take two gulps, nearly choking on the burning liquid and hand the bottle back to him.

"How long you lived out here?" He looks at me, gauging my reaction.

"Most of my life." I sit up a little higher on the couch. "Moved up here with Dad when I was eight. He wasn't much of nurturer, but he taught me how to fend for myself. Been on my own for ten years. This is home. I was born in the city, though and I visited Mom pretty often for a few years. Eventually, though, Dad's attitude rubbed off on me and I stopped going to Atlanta. Too many people. I like the peace and quiet." I duck my head, a little embarrassed at delving so much into my past. He didn't ask for any of that.

"Sounds like me and Daryl." I look up at him, careful to keep my expression neutral. I know how much talking about his little brother must hurt, even though he'd never admit it. "Dad was a mean fucker. He raised us hard after Momma died. We lived off the land. Went into town once or twice a year for ammo and whatever else we needed. Daryl managed to get a bit of a book education from the neighbors, but I never cared for that."

We listen to the music for a while, each digesting what the other had shared. The conversation turns from family, a touchy subject, to Merle telling me stories of the war. The record plays through the first side and I stand to flip it over. The alcohol hits me quite suddenly and I giggle a little. Merle chuckles when I swerve a little on my way back to the couch. He stands and stops me from sitting.

He pulls out the bed, and I can't help but stare as the muscles in his arm flex under his skin. I think about what he had said earlier about taking advantage and I grin a little. He turns around and looks at me, returning my grin.

We get settled into the bed, once again leaving the music on. I briefly worry about wasting gas in the generator, but those thoughts fleet away when Merle's hand rests on my upper thigh. I look up at him and my breath catches. He leans over me and turns out the lantern, his hand sliding dangerously close to my center and lighting me on fire. It takes every bit of control I have not to gasp.

When the lantern is out, Merle climbs between my legs and leans down. I groan as he kisses me, his tongue dominating my own. His hand roughly kneads each of my breasts and I dig my nails into his arm. I gasp for breath when he pulls back. I sit up and remove my shirt, making him lick his lips before pushing me back against the mattress.

His mouth travels down my neck, teeth scratching my skin, and I groan. The fire in my belly roars when his teeth enclose over my nipple. I arch my back with a loud sigh, my head swimming. He pays equal attention to my other breast and I cry out in ecstasy. This is definitely worth the three years of no sex. His hand works its way down my side to my hip.

He lifts my hips and removes my underwear. I am jelly in this mans presence. Slowly, he slides his hand back up my leg, coming dangerously close to my center, but never touching it. I growl in frustration on the third pass and he chuckles. I grab the bottom of his shirt and tug at it. He gets the hint and crawls off the bed to undress. When he is fully naked, I take in the sight of his manhood, long and thick, and groan.

I move to the floor in front of him and kneel. My tongue circles the head, teasing before taking his length inside my mouth. His breath catches as I find my rhythm. I alternate between fast, light movements and slow long sucks. Merle digs his hand into my hair and pulls. "Gentle Lover" is not a title I would use to describe this man.

"Dirty little bitch." He growls as he pulls me up and kisses me hard.

He tosses me on the bed and climbs between my legs, pulling them around his waist. He enters me roughly, making me whimper in both pain and pleasure. He grinds his hips, rubbing that sensitive area deep inside me, causing me to cry out. Every nerve-ending in my body is burning for release. I nearly scream as he pulls out and slowly slides back in. The slow rhythm is driving me mad.

"That's good pussy, baby." He groans and starts to pick up the rhythm. The way this man talks in bed makes me that much more wanton.

He increases the rhythm little-by-little until I am practically screaming. Suddenly, he pulls out and flips me onto my stomach, pulling my hips back as he enters me again. His fingers dig into my hip bones and I bury my face in the pillow to muffle the screams this man is driving from me. He pounds into me and I feel my orgasm building furiously. A few minutes later, I cascade over the edge on a long scream. Black spots dance before my eyes at the intensity.

His growl breaks through my half-conscious mind. I feel him spill his seed deep within me and whimper at the sensation. He pulls out slowly and flops onto the bed beside me. I roll to my side, facing him and grin. He reaches over and smacks my ass, making it sting. I gasp and he winks at me before climbing under the covers and getting comfortable.

"You ain't goin nowhere." He says as he pulls me against his right side. "Unless it's with me."

I don't say anything in response, just settle down and drift off to sleep. I feel his lips on my hair just before I am out and smile.

Just before dawn, I wake to Merle getting out of bed and groan. I sit up and he whispers that he's going to go check on the smokers. I accept a light kiss and lay back down. As soon as my head hits the pillow, I am out again.

Footsteps wake me as the sun starts to crest over the horizon. The humidity is high, making the sheets stick to my bare skin as I crawl out of bed. I look around the room confused. It seems like there's stuff missing. I shake the sleep from my head as I dress.

"Mmhmm..." Merle walks over to me, spins me around, slaps my ass and walks away. I can't help but giggle at the man. He seems absolutely twitterpated. It's too ridiculous not to be funny. I stretch and walk outside to greet the morning. A smile is plastered to my face until I look at my truck. Immediately, my mood changes and I see red.

The truck is loaded with every last ounce of food I had in the pantry, my tools... As I list off the things that are loaded, my temper increases. By the time I finish the inventory, I am ready to chew nails. Merle walks out of the house with the ammo case and I nearly scream. He loads it in the cab, behind the seat and then winks at me. I take a calm breath and grab his arm as he walks by.

"What are you doing?" I say through gritted teeth, trying to keep my tone even.

"Movin ya out." He smiles and kisses my forehead, walking away. I stare after him, shocked and even more angry. I stomp after him and block his exit from the cabin.

"You're what?" Again, I keep my tone low, but am unable to hide the anger in my eyes.

"Moving. You. Out." Merle enunciates each word with a smile. "I told you yesterday that you were comin with me when I took off."

"I didn't agree to that! Merle, I like it here!" My voice raises and I take a deep breath before I start full-on yelling at the the man. If he's like my Daddy, at all, he won't take too kindly to a woman raising her voice at him. "This is my home."

"This was yer home." Merle looks me dead in the eye. "Now, yer home's with me."

"Then stay here with me." I look into his eyes and immediately notice the change.

"I'm goin to find Daryl. And I ain't leavin' you here." His tone is firm, almost Dad-like.

He walks around me, effectively ending the conversation. I look down at Harley and she whines. Instead of being stubborn and fighting him on it, I decide to let it go and accept defeat. Fear bubbles up in my stomach at the idea of traveling out, but somehow I think I'll be safe with Merle. I kneel down next to Harley and give her a pat on her side.

"What do you say, girl? You ready to move on?" She answers me by whining again. "I'm scared, too." I scratch her head and stand up.

I head inside to load up my clothes. After my duffle is full I grab the pistol and start heading toward the creek. If we're going to be on the road, we should at least be clean for a couple days. I get about 300 yards from the cabin when I hear the truck fire-up. I stop in my tracks and turn around. Merle drives up next to me and motions for me to get in. Harley jumps up into the cab and Merle drives us to the creek.

"I could use a bath, too." He looks over at me with a devilish grin. "Had a run-in with a dirty girl last night."

I smile at him, but say nothing. Hopping out of the truck, I head over to the creek and start in on the laundry as Merle strips down. He tosses his clothes in the little pond with the rest of them and wades out into the water. I make fairly quick work of the dirty clothes this time and start-in on getting myself clean. Once my hair is rinsed, Merle grabs me and pulls me into deeper water. We drift a little ways down-stream until he grabs onto a low-hanging branch and stops us. He swings his lower arm under me and I wrap my legs around his waist.

I sigh as he enters me. The anticipation of this moment had been building since he walked into the creek. I shift myself to take him in deeper, causing him to groan. I roll my hips and his eyes close in pleasure. I grin at the effect I have on him and set the pace to slow and steady. I end up driving myself mad along with him, and am forced to pick up the pace. He uses his right arm to guide me and soon we're both panting. He finishes before me, but I don't let up until I get mine, too, causing his eyes to roll back in his head.

I smile when I lift off of him and he groans. I swim back to shore and climb out, all modesty flying right out the window. When I get back to the truck, I put on clean clothes and whistle for Harley. She comes running back from the field and jumps into the truck, wagging her tail.

Gathering all the dry clothes, I fold them and pack them back into the bag. Merle comes up to me with that cocky smirk and swats my ass he passes. I simply shake my head, throw the bag over my shoulder and follow him. I toss the bag behind the seat and we head off to the the smoke-pits to check on the venison.

We decide that it's done enough to make it last about a week-and-a-half, and go about collecting the meat. The fires are down far enough to allow us to get to the meat without burning ourselves. Merle hops into the pits, hands me up the sticks and is able to climb out without burning the soles off his boots.

We pull up to the house about the hottest part of the day, forcing us inside. I decide to oil the deer-hide before I go in. I grab the last of the baby oil and my horse-hair brush and head up the ladder. I scrub the hide, getting the excess tissue off of it, and rub the oil into it with my hands. I look at it and smile. It'll end up nice and soft if all goes well.

I walk back into the cabin and look at Merle and Harley, who are currently having a staring contest. I chuckle, causing them both to look over at me.

"I don't think that damn dog likes me." Merle says on a laugh.

"She doesn't" I smile at him. "You've been nothing but a pain in her ass from the day she met you." I straddle his lap on the couch.

"Is that so?" He kisses my neck. "Maybe we should just leave 'er here, then."

"Like hell we will." I smack his arm. "Harley pulled your ass from the brush. She saved your life as much as I did. You owe her."

"Shit." he scoffs and pinches my ass as I crawl off his lap. "I gave her a whole mess of deer intestines to eat last night. We're even. Just like me and you are even." He winks at me.

I laugh and look over at Harley who is watching out interaction closely. I call her over and she lays her head on Merle's knee. He stares at her, then looks up at me. I roll my eyes, taking his hand in mine and placing in on top of Harley's head.

"She just doesn't want to be left-out, that's all." I smile at the two as Merle begins scratching her behind the ears.

The early-morning sun brings with it warmth, light and a sense of calm. At least I can see the would-be attackers in the daylight. It's been nearly a month since we struck out from the cabin to find Daryl. Merle and I have been fighting tooth-and-nail for our lives we left my home. The bright-side to all this is that my shooting skills are near perfect, now.

We decided to head to the rock quarry, where Merle and Daryl were camped. As we got close, the smell of death was strong, and I remember the look on his face. He was adamant that Daryl survived the attack, on the grounds that his truck and motorcycle were both gone. We pointed our noses to the ground, looking for any indication of where they went, and found a note, taped to the red car, indicating their intention of heading to the CDC.

We pulled up a few hours later, finding the CDC in rubble. Merle's mood hasn't improved since. I tried to used his same reasoning on him: Daryl's truck wasn't there, so there's a good chance that he got out safely, but he won't hear it. I'm seeing more of the man I first met, the asshole, rather than the one I started this trip with.

Unable to travel very far on the gas in the truck, Merle decided to drive into the city to find shelter, and attempt to siphon off enough fuel to get us to Fort Benning, the supposed safe-zone. It's most likely taken the same turn as Atlanta, and gone to the dead, but there's surely ammunition and fuel there. Until we have enough gas to get us there, though, Benning is merely a pipe dream.

We ended up securing a dentist office just inside the city. It's single-level so it is easy to defend, but it also leaves us stuck if the walkers manage to break in. That thought, alone, has kept me on-edge since we stopped here. I miss home. I miss the vantage point that the clearing allowed. In the city, I can't even see what's around the next corner.

I stretch as I stand and Harley looks up at me with nervous eyes. Even the dog has had a hard time adjusting to this new life. I have been plotting ways of getting back to the cabin, but none of them are plausible. Merle keeps the keys to the truck with him, somehow knowing that I'll run the first chance I get. He keeps me within his sights most of the day. I feel like I've become a prisoner. I pat Harley on the head and walk out to search for him.

"There you are." I smile as I walk up to him, the first of my many daily attempts to bring him out of himself. I put my arm around his waist and he surprises me by not walking away like he has every other time. Instead, he pulls me in closer. I sigh quietly in relief.

"The tanks are almost full." Merle looks down at me and grins. "Another week or so of diggin up gas an' we'll take off."

I nod. I want to argue that we should head back to the cabin, that the clearing is probably the safest place in the world, right now, but I nod. If this were my brother, I would be willing to brave anything to find him. I don't fight Merle on this. So, in a week or so, we'll be off again.

This has become my life, traveling with the only family I know, now, in the worst possible disaster in human history. Fun.

It's better than dying alone, though.

Right?