Merle was on the run. He'd just attacked the Governor's men and barely made it out alive. Now, he was on his own in this crazy ass world. He couldn't go back to Woodbury and he couldn't go back to the prison. Yep, as usual, he found himself in quite a pickle. He'd found that the best thing to do in these situations as well as most any other situation was to get high. Since crystal meth was pretty scarce these days, he figured getting drunk would do just fine. Now, all he had to do was find some booze.
He spent the night sleeping in a huge old magnolia tree outside of Dacula, Georgia. It hadn't been half bad as far as sleeping in trees went. Now, he was ready to celebrate his own survival. He knew of a biker bar just a short piece down the road and he was planning on hotfooting there before he drew any attention from the biters. If he was lucky there'd be enough booze and beer to keep him on a little vacation from this rotting world for at least a week.
The bar had been a gas station at one point until the interstate had pulled all the traffic away from the highway where it sat. A couple of dudes had bought the place and built a bar inside out of rough cut 2x4's. Then they'd added an old juke box in the corner and a few plastic folding tables and chairs. Not much to look at but then again you didn't need fancy décor when your goal was to get so wasted you didn't remember where you were.
Merle approached the bar, ironically called The Highway to Hell. The owners surely never figured how close to the truth that name would be one day. A few walkers stumbled around the parking lot but nothing he couldn't handle. He took them out quickly with his machete hand and tried the door. It was locked and all the windows were boarded up from the inside. He wondered if Roscoe had barricaded himself in. He hoped he wasn't going to have to face the walker version of his old friend. That would suck balls.
He crept around to the back entrance which was locked as well but with some careful prying (the knife hand came in handy so often) he managed to get the door open. Once inside, he closed the door and relocked it. It was a little off kilter from the prying but should hold enough to keep the biters out. It was dark inside and smelled about as ripe as a hog pen in the middle of summer. Either someone was hiding here or had been recently.
Merle tried to stay in cover as he moved from the back room into the bar area. He could see the whole floor where the tables and jukebox sat. There was no one, living or dead, in his sight. Just as he stepped up to the bar, he heard the click of a revolver being cocked. "Hold it right there, you bastard," he heard a feminine voice say, "Hands up and no tricks unless you want some extra ventilation."
He raised his hands and smirked, "Well, well, well, sweet Lurleen. How the hell you been, darlin'?" There was no mistaking that voice. He'd known the woman since he was in kindergarten. She'd grown up in the same trailer park where he and Daryl had lived. From the age of 16 to about 28, she was a party girl, into whoever and whatever as long the booze and drugs were plentiful. Then, a few years ago, she'd met Roscoe, one of the bar owners, and he'd been her savior. He helped her sober up and start over. Merle hadn't seen her since.
"Merle Dixon?!" he heard her ask, "What the hell? What the fuck happened to your hand?"
"Long story but the gist is that we parted ways," he told her, smiling as he turned around. "A good ole boy sheriff and his buddies chained me to a roof and left me to die but I survived."
She grabbed Merle and pulled him into a bear hug, "Goddamn, man, it's good to see a friendly face. Hell, it's good to see a face that's alive."
Merle hugged her briefly. He didn't care much for such intimate contact unless he was planning on bumping uglies with a woman. "Good to see you, too. Roscoe?"
Lurleen looked away and he could see she was fighting back tears, "No, he's gone. Two months ago. Right after we boarded this place up and well, I've been here ever since."
"Shit, Roscoe's gone? He was a tough bastard. Didn't figure they'd get him," Merle said as he sadly shook his head.
Lurleen just looked down at the floor as he spoke. He could tell she was crying.
"Well, I came here looking for a drink. Got any fire water for an old friend?" he asked.
She looked back up at him with a bit of a smirk, "Sorry, pal. You came to the wrong bar. We poured all that shit out when we were boarding this place up. Roscoe said I didn't need nothin' else to deal with on top of the biters. Said it would make it easier on us both to just get rid of it. I'll tell you I've thanked him every day since because if he hadn't done that, I woulda drank myself to death a while back. It took all I had just to keep from going bat shit crazy since Roscoe's gone."
"The hell you say! Man, I can't believe my luck. Got stuck in a prison with no crystal meth and now a bar with no booze. This apocalypse sucks," Merle told her.
"A prison?" she asked. "That where you been, Merle?"
"No, it ain't like that. My brother, Daryl, and some other folks are livin' in the prison. Cleaned out all the biters and set up housekeepin' inside it. They got a doc although I think he's really a vet and a do gooder ex-Sheriff along with a few other folks. They made it safe. It works pretty good to keep the bad ones out but I never could stand being cooped up like that," he admitted.
"You should try being stuck in here for a couple of months. Prison sounds like a vacation," Lurleen told him. "I've barely stuck my head out except to get water and empty the latrine bucket."
Merle felt bad about what this woman had been through. She'd had a hard life before all the walker shit went down. Hell, hadn't they all? The trailer park they'd all grown up in was not a place that produced happy childhoods. Roscoe had been a bear of a man, about 15 years older than Lurleen, but he'd pulled the girl out of a death spiral and shown her that she was worth something. He'd loved the woman despite her past. Now, she looked as lost as the little girl who'd hidden under the trailer to get away from her mama's drunk boyfriend.
"You holdin' up okay, girl?" he asked. "You're lookin'a little shaky."
"I was hangin' on. It's tough, tougher than anything else ever has been, being without Roscoe. The fact that I'm glad to see your ugly mug should tell you I'm gettin' a little buggy though," she teased.
"Come on, let's cop a squat and we can swap war stories," Merle suggested.
Lurleen stepped back and was noticeably limping as she moved toward a chair in the corner. "You ain't bit, are you?" Merle asked before getting any closer.
"No, I'm not bit! I cut myself on a nail sticking out from one of the boards. I didn't think it was bad but it looks like it's gettin' infected. I just haven't had a chance to get out of here and get any medical supplies to treat it," she told him.
"Let me have a look at it," he told her as they sat down.
She reached down and pulled up her pants leg to the knee revealing a long deep cut on her calf. The skin was red and puffy around the cut with dark streaks extending down the calf. "Damn, that looks nasty," he told her.
"Yeah, hurts like a son of a bitch," she said, wincing as she lowered her pants leg.
Merle knew that this wasn't something they could ignore. Lurleen needed a doctor. The old guy at the prison was the closest thing to a doctor that he knew of outside of Woodbury. "Look, there's not very many of those things out there right now. We could make it back over to the interstate and then cut through Newnan. If we get lucky, we could make the prison in about a day or so. They got a man who can treat that. What do you think? I could take you far enough for you to make it there. I ain't goin' back but you need some help."
"I think I'd do just about anything to get out of this tomb. I'm game if you are. Don't think I can do much runnin' though," she told him gratefully.
"I'll check outside. Make sure we got a clear path. You pack up a few supplies and I'll come back and get you," he told her.
Merle quickly slipped back out the rear door. There were two walkers in the parking lot and he took them down quickly. He could see a few more in the distance but he planned on taking Lurleen in the other direction. He figured things were about as safe as they were gonna get. He went back to the door and opened it to find the woman standing just inside. "Come on, we got a clear shot right now," he said.
Once Lurleen stepped out into the light, he could tell that she was really sick. She was pale with dark circles under her eyes and her skin had a damp sheen as if she were running a fever. She wouldn't have lasted much longer in that bar alone. Maybe old Roscoe had sent him in this direction to take care of her. It was the kind of thing he would have done if he were still around.
As they walked, Lurleen asked him about what had happened. He told her about meeting the group at the quarry and then being handcuffed on the roof. "Don't tell me," she said, "you were spun when all this happened, weren't you? You always turn into a shithead when you're doing meth."
Merle just laughed, "Darlin' you always could read me just right."
"Well, it ain't like trying to read War and Peace, Merle. You're not exactly a deep subject. If you're high, you're either being a dick or you're passed out," she told him.
"Oh, and while we're at it why don't we go over a list of your sterling personality traits, Miss Congeniality," Merle laughed. "Last time I checked, you hadn't won any popularity contests."
"No, you're right. I guess we're both assholes," she agreed. "So who cut off your hand? Was it that sheriff guy? "
"Hah, Officer Friendly? Nah he just left me up there. Him and all his little buddies, they just left me cuffed to that pipe on that roof. It wasn't long before the walkers were scratching and pushing on that door trying to get to me. I begged God, the devil, Buddha and Allah to help me but in the end, old Merle had to save himself just like always," he confessed.
"You cut your own hand off?" She asked in astonishment.
"Yep, took a hacksaw and zippity doo dah, left it laying up there in the sun while I made a hasty retreat down another stairwell. It wasn't a pretty sight, let me tell ya. I holed up in an apartment and went through my entire stash of crystal in a few days. Probably woulda died if I hadn't a been found by the Governor. I thought he was a real savior then. Course I was pretty much out of my mind from the pain and infection."
"And the drugs, don't forget the drugs," Lurleen reminded him.
"Yeah, the drugs. I wish I could forget 'em. I ain't had no crystal for close to a year now. The Governor cleaned me up, got me healthy. Then he fucked with my head worse than the drugs had done. I been wanting a hit for months but there's none to be found," Merle explained.
"Getting strung out is a dangerous thing these days, Merle. You don't need crystal messing with your mind when you've got these undead freaks ready to take a chunk out of you. Course you never were the cautious type were you?" she said.
"No, I guess not and I don't need no more lectures. I got enough of those from the goody two shoes group back at the prison. I don't need nobody trying to fix me. I'm doing alright, stayin' alive. If I want to take a couple of days off, what the hell's wrong with that?" Merle asked her.
"I ain't tryin' to fix you Merle, just tellin' you the truth. You know I nearly killed myself with booze and whatever drugs I could get my hands on. I'm just sayin' that the world is a much more dangerous place than it used to be. If you're gonna use, you're takin' a bigger risk than just overdosing. I know you ain't stupid Merle, no matter how much you act that way sometimes. Just be careful whatever you do. The world is running short of good men. We don't need to lose another one," she told him.
"Good men, hah! I know you ain't talkin' bout me, woman!" Merle whooped. "That's a good one!"
Lurleen smiled at his outburst. "No, course not," she sarcastically replied, " You Dixons have always been sorry asses even when you were saving my life. "
They walked on for several hours, occasionally encountering one or two walkers which they were able to pass without getting noticed. Merle could tell that Lurleen was having a tough time keeping up. Her leg must have been hurting pretty bad but she hadn't complained once. That was one of the things they had in common due to their raising or lack thereof. You learned that whining and complaining were useless and more often than not earned you a beating rather than sympathy. She was getting slower, though, and the limp was worse. He figured they better take a break soon.
They kept moving until late afternoon when they ran across a house that had a storm cellar. Merle got Lurleen inside and barricaded the door. She was in bad shape. He could feel the heat from her fever as he helped her inside. She was burning up. He lifted her pants leg and saw that the infection was spreading quickly, probably due to in part to all the walking they'd done that day.
"Don't you give up on me, girl," Merle told her.
Lurleen was so tired she could barely reply, "Sorry to wuss out on you, Merle, but it hurts so damn bad. I just gotta rest for a while."
"I'm gonna look around upstairs, see if I can find some aspirin or anything, okay? I'll be back," he promised her as she began to doze.
He eased up the stairs and opened the door into the kitchen. There were no walkers in sight but he could smell them. He walked quietly through to the den where he found two dried out husks that came snapping at him. He quickly put them down and began searching through the cabinets and drawers for medical supplies.
One of the cabinets in the kitchen had a half bottle of rubbing alcohol and some gauze. He could at least clean the wound a little. A search of the bathroom medicine cabinet turned up a bottle of ibuprofen that was nearly full. There was even a can of beans and a couple of tea bags left in one cabinet in the kitchen. He felt like he'd hit the jackpot.
He went back down into the cellar and found Lurleen still sleeping. He hated to wake her but she needed to get a few of the ibuprofen down and he needed to clean that leg. He shook her shoulder gently. "Hey, sweet Lurleen, wakey wakey."
"No, Roscoe, I just want to sleep. Leave me alone," she told him.
Merle could tell her fever was high but he hoped she wasn't hallucinating. "Hey, it's not Roscoe. It's Merle. Come on, get up. You got to take these pills and I gotta tend that leg. Come on now."
She finally opened her eyes and propped herself up enough to swallow some ibuprofen with a sip of water. Merle propped her leg on an overturned trash can and poured some of the alcohol directly on the wound. Lurleen sucked her breath in through clenched teeth, "Shit, shit, shit, that stings!"
Merle chuckled, "Aw, quit bein' such a pussy. I cut my own hand off and didn't go on as much as you're doin'." He took a square of gauze and began to wipe the cut, cleaning away the dirt and dried blood. The skin felt hard and hot to his touch. That combined with the red streaks running down her leg left little doubt in his mind that the infection was getting into her blood stream. If he didn't get her some help soon, she could lose her leg or worse.
"Hey, I think I'm gonna go out at first light and find us a ride," he told her as he wrapped clean gauze around her wound, "I'm getting' tired of walking. We could make the prison faster."
"Sounds like a plan," she told him as she settled exhausted back against the wall. "Where you plannin' on getting this ride? Back before Roscoe died, we did some scavenging for supplies and gas. We didn't find a vehicle in a 20 mile radius that would run. They're were all either stripped for parts or out of gas."
"I'll find somethin'. You know old Merle always has been a resourceful guy," he said.
She smiled, "Yeah, I know. Remember that dirt bike you built out of pieces from a dozen different bikes? God, that was one ugly machine but we had some fun riding that thing, didn't we?"
Merle grinned too, "Yeah, you and Daryl were barely big enough to drive it but we wore a track through those woods riding that thing. Huh, I'd forgotten about that."
"I didn't. You and Daryl were the only friends I had. When I was out with the two of you, I was safe, away from that sick bastard that lived with my Mom. You guys, especially you Merle, were kind of my knights in shining armor that summer. You hid me and fed me. I don't know what I would've done if you weren't around. Kind of like now, I guess."
"Oh, hell, girl, don't go getting' all sentimental on me. I ain't never been no kind of knight. We was all just tryin' to survive in them days. Me and Daryl hid out with you tryin' to stay out of our old man's way just like you were trying to stay out of Neal's way. We didn't do nothin' special," Merle said as he looked down at the dirt floor under them, "I wish I coulda killed the son of a bitch, both him and my Daddy. They deserved it."
Lurleen put a hand on his arm, "Merle, we were kids. It wasn't your job to protect us. You did what you could, more than a lot of kids your age would have done. I put all that stuff behind me a while ago at the same time I gave up the booze and the drugs. You can't carry that kind of weight around all your life. It's too heavy. It'll wear you down slowly until it kills you. "
"I just left, though. I left Daryl behind to face that bastard alone. I've seen the scars on his back. I know what he went through. I can't even imagine what you must have survived…" Merle admitted through a clenched jaw. He never talked about this stuff with anybody but Lurleen had been there. She knew.
"Merle you did what you had to do. You needed to survive and you did. So did I and so did Daryl. We all did what we had to do to make it through some fucked up childhoods. We got tough. Maybe that's why we're still here now. All this zombie apocalypse shit ain't so bad after the kind of life we had as kids. You were good to me then and here you are doing the same thing again. That makes you a hero in my book." she told him.
Merle looked away from her, feeling ashamed and angry at himself for feeling it, "You need to just shut up, Lurleen. That ain't me, never has been. My baby brother, he'd probably qualify, but I'm the bad guy, the black sheep. There's too much…too much that I've done and seen. Nobody like me should be called a hero."
Lurleen was getting sleepy again. She laid back down on the dirty floor using her backpack as a pillow. "Merle, you gotta stop looking back. None of that matters, especially not now. What you do today and tomorrow and the next day is what decides the kind of man you are. Right now, you're a man that's helping me, probably saving my life. I'd say that makes you a good man."
Merle sat up the rest of the night while she slept. The medicine helped cool her fever. He thought about what she'd said and he remembered what Carol had told him back at the prison. Maybe he was a late bloomer. He knew he'd never be a leader like Rick. Hell, he wasn't sure he even wanted that kind of responsibility, but maybe he could do some good. Make up for some of the really bad shit he'd been involved in with the governor .
Right now he knew that he wanted to help Lurleen. He wanted her to make it. She deserved to have as decent a life as possible after what she'd been through. He'd always liked her. They'd even hooked up a time or two back in their wild days. That was when he'd started calling her Sweet Lurleen. Back then, she had been desperate for attention, for affection and for escape. Roscoe had pulled her out of that darkness and shown her that she was worth loving. She was a different woman now but that lost little girl was still there behind her eyes. Some things could never be put away and left behind. He knew that firsthand.
Early the next morning, just as the sun was peeking over the horizon, he woke Lurleen up and gave her a few more ibuprofen. He promised her he'd be back soon and slipped out of the cellar into the already muggy morning air. He had to find a car or a truck, something that he could use to get her to the prison so Hershel could treat that cut. There were still walkers stumbling around the house but he took out a couple and quickly got past the others.
He'd checked his map and he knew he wasn't far from a tiny town. There was a possibility that he might find a garage or gas station where there might be a vehicle. He moved along the road as fast as he dared, always keeping his eyes open for any threats in the distance. The living could be worse to deal with than the dead. He hoped he wouldn't have to face off with either but if it came down to it, he preferred the previously deceased.
The little town was a few miles down the road. It was really more of a crossroads than a town. There was a small Quik Stop market with a few gas pumps out front, a Baptist church with a sign announcing an upcoming revival and a cinderblock building with a handwritten sign over the door reading Ed's Tire and Auto. Merle took a quick look in the window. Ed, or a fellow mechanic, was still inside sitting in a metal folding chair with a shotgun resting underneath his chin. The top of his skull and most of his brain decorated the wall behind him. The good news was that an older model Ford pickup was sitting inside the repair bay. He was willing to bet it was the dead man's truck and he prayed it was still in working order.
Merle tried the door but it was locked. He had no choice but to break out a window, and the sound of breaking glass was sure to attract any walkers in the area. He'd have to make it fast. Once inside, if that truck wouldn't start, he might be up the creek. It was a chance he had to take at this point, like it or not.
His knife hand made quick work of the window but even as he climbed inside the building he could hear the groaning of nearby walkers who had been alerted to his presence. The truck was covered in dust but otherwise looked fine. The tires were good and the gas gauge showed half full, but he couldn't find the keys. He checked the visor, under the floor mat and the glove compartment. He didn't see any keys lying around in the shop so the only other option was that they might be in the pocket of the guy in the chair.
The fellow had been dead a while so he was more dried up than rotting. Merle made a quick search of his pockets and found a key ring in the left front. There was a Ford key on the ring. He jumped into the truck and tried starting the engine. Walkers had already made it to the broken window. There were at least six. They'd claw their way inside soon so he didn't have much time.
The truck had been sitting for a long time. The battery might be dead. It sputtered once or twice on the first try but didn't catch. He cursed under his breath and tried again while pumping the gas. It turned over for a second or two before dying. Now, one of the creatures had gotten inside, falling head first through the window. It was still trying to get up when he finally heard the engine roar into life. He pumped the gas once, twice, revving the engine.
The garage door was still down. With no power, he couldn't open it without getting out of the truck. The walkers were building up at the window and now two were inside. One had his face smashed against the truck's driver side window. He had to try and punch through the door with the truck. There was no other way. The door didn't look too sturdy so he figured he'd have a good chance.
He eased the truck forward until the front bumper rested against the metal door and he pushed the accelerator. The back tires spun but the door started to bend outward. This could work. There were at least six walkers inside now, all clawing at the truck, trying to get to him. He continued pushing the accelerator and watched as the door bent around the truck's front bumper until he could see daylight through the holes on each side.
He put the truck in reverse and backed up as much as possible. Then he slammed it into gear and stomped the accelerator. The back wheels spun but he got just enough momentum to knock the garage door off its track and he was suddenly free of the garage. The broken door fell off to the side as he kept moving. He still had a few hangers on as he hit the road but as his speed increased, they dropped to the pavement. Within a few minutes, he made it back to the house where Lurleen was waiting. With any luck, they'd make the prison in an hour or two. She was going to make it.
He parked the truck as close to the cellar door as possible and ran down the steps to where he'd left Lurleen. He thought she was sleeping but when he called out for her to get up, she didn't respond. He reached down and felt her face. It was burning up. She was still breathing but he couldn't get her to wake up. He jerked the knife prosthesis off his arm and threw it into her backpack. With the pack slung over his shoulder, he picked her up as gently as he could. It was a lot harder hanging onto her without two hands but he had to make it. He stopped twice going up the stairs to keep her from slipping but finally he made it to the truck.
The noise from the old vehicle pulling up to the house had drawn some attention and the walkers were making their way towards it. He laid Lurleen on the hood, got the door open and put her inside, then ran around to the driver's side and got himself locked in. The engine was still running. He hadn't dared turn it off. They quickly left the house and walkers behind and he headed down the road hoping he wouldn't hit any roadblocks before he got to the prison.
Lurleen lay slumped against him as he drove. Her skin was so hot. He didn't have any water to pour over her so he cracked his window a bit to let some air in, hoping to cool her down. The breeze might not have been exactly cool but at least the air was moving. Lurleen stirred just a bit, "Merle, we have to hide. He's coming Merle. We have to hide. Please don't let him find me."
"Don't worry, baby girl, I ain't gonna let nobody hurt you again. You just rest now darlin'. Merle's got you. Just rest," he told her, wrapping his arm around her. She was soon back asleep or unconscious. He wasn't sure which it was. As long as she kept breathing, he was going to save her. He had to.