Merle lit out after he led the walker parade to the Governor's men. It was a risky move but he'd finally taken out that sumbitch Governor. Just from watching the little army fall apart after the head shot took him down, Merle knew that Daryl and the folks at the prison wouldn't have to worry about Woodbury any longer. His little brother was safe, at least for now.

He thought about going back, like Michonne said, trying to live with the group, be a civilized man. Hell, it was funny to even think about himself trying to be civilized. Merle Dixon is, was and always will be a loner, needing nobody and nothin'. So, he set off on the road again with no real destination in mind. Maybe he'd heard toward the coast, find a boat and live on the water for a while.

He'd been walking for two days when an afternoon thunderstorm sprang up. It had been gray and muggy all day and when the clouds started gathering he could feel the drop in air pressure especially in the stump where his hand used to be. He ran about half a mile before coming across a little country store where he could take shelter.

The hail started failing just seconds after he made it inside. "Hell and damnation, I hope this ain't gon be a twister," he cursed to himself. He shook himself like a dog trying to shake some of the water off his hair and clothes before taking a look around.

The shelves were mostly cleaned off but he figured there might be a few hidden gems lying around. He was stuck here for a while anyway, might as well do something useful. He started at the front of the store, finding little but empty boxes and useless stuff. Why would anyone ever need pore cleaning strips anyway, much less after the dead started walking?

He did find a travel size box of Goody's headache powders which he pocketed and a lighter that still worked. The back of the store was mostly drink coolers which were unfortunately empty. He sure could have gone for a beer, even a hot one. There was also a door leading presumably into the back storage area.

Merle tried the door handle and pushed but the door didn't budge. "Well, now, ain't that innerestin'?" he said to himself. People only locked doors when there was something valuable inside. Maybe he'd found himself a treasure.

It took a few minutes working at the lock with his new sharp pointy "hand" to get the door open. Even with the lock undone, the door didn't open easily. It felt like it had been barricaded with something heavy. He pushed it enough to see that stacks of large dog food bags were pushed against the other side. He could also see a stack of canned goods and bottled water against the back wall. "Now, that's what I'm talkin' bout," he chuckled as he threw his full weight against the door knocking the makeshift barricade askew and giving him enough room to crawl through the crack in the door.

The back room was small and dark. Plywood had been nailed over the one small window. It was also hot and smelled to high heaven. Merle looked around. This wasn't an abandoned stash of food. Someone was in here with him.

The only possible hiding place was behind a small desk in the far corner. He faced it and spoke, "Come on out now whoever is over there. I got a gun and I'll use it if need be."

There was no response so he moved a few steps closer. "If you're hiding back there, come out now. I ain't planning on hurtin' nobody," he said. Suddenly there was movement. A person stood up holding a knife extended and pointed toward Merle.

"Don't come any closer. I'll kill you. Do you hear me?"

It was a woman judging by the voice but otherwise he couldn't tell. She was wearing filthy men's pants and a long sleeve shirt that was about four sizes too big. She was covered in dirt and what looked like dried blood. Her hair was fairly short but so lank and greasy that it lay flat against her skull like it was painted on.

Merle lowered his gun. "Hey, hey, I just stopped here to get out the rain. Don't mean no harm. Let's just put the weapons down okay? Nobody's gotta get hurt here," he told her.

"I'll put my weapon down when you put yours down," she told him. He realized she was looking at his prosthetic .

"Okay, just give me a minute," he said as he unbuckled the knife from his arm and laid it aside.

"That's fucked up, man," she told him pointing to the knife hand as she lowered her blade.

"Yeah, it comes in handy though. Handy, get it?" he told her with a chuckle. She didn't even crack a smile. She was scared. He could see it in her eyes. She'd been through some shit for sure and she was afraid he was here to cause her more problems. He kept his distance and sat down on a few stacked bags of dog food.

"Mind if I help myself to a bottle of your water?" he asked.

She shook her head. "Go ahead."

"Thank you kindly," he told her as he cracked a bottle open and downed half of it in one swallow.

"Name's Merle Dixon," he told her as he continued sipping on the water.

"Marty Salter," she told him.

"So, Marty Salter, what brings you to this fine establishment?" he asked. "I told you that I ducked in here to get out the storm but looks like you've been here for a bit."

She looked at him warily. "Why do you care?"

"Just makin' conversation," he answered. "Don't gotta get worried about it."

She hadn't moved except to lower her blade since she'd first stood up. "Ain't you getting tired of holding up that wall?" he asked.

"I'm fine. Don't worry about it," she told him.

"Fine. Look, since you ain't exactly the friendly type, I'm just gon lay down over here and take a snooze till this rain lets up and then I'll be on my way, okay?" he told her as he laid back across the pallet behind him.

She didn't respond and he didn't care. He had been trying to sleep in trees for two nights running so needed some shut eye.