Sometime later he awoke with a start. The rain had stopped but the air was thick with humidity especially in the small enclosed space in the back of the store. He sat up expecting the woman to still be standing across the room eyeing him but she wasn't. He stood up and called out, "Hey, you still here?"
"Just get the fuck out of here," he heard faintly from the other side of the desk. "You had your snooze. Now go." She sounded short of breath and like she was in pain. He stepped closer.
"I'm just gonna check on you. Do you need any help?" he asked.
"I don't need shit from you. Just leave me be," she yelled followed by a small grunt of pain.
He walked up to the desk and saw her lying on the floor. She had the knife in her hand again and had it pointed in his direction. "Stay away from me, motherfucker, or I swear to God, I'll cut off the other hand," she cursed as she held her other arm clenched tightly around her mid section.
"You look like you need some help. I don't know what's goin' on here and it ain't my business but as you can see I've had my share of trouble. It ain't easy makin' it on your own. I know. If I can do somethin' to help before I go, you best tell me," he told her bluntly.
She relaxed the arm holding the knife a bit and tried to sit up but only managed to make it half way before grunting painfully and falling back. "I think I've got a busted rib or two," she finally admitted. "I don't think there's anything you can do to help that."
He remembered the Goody's powders he found, pulled the pack out of his pocket and handed it to her. "That ain't morphine but it may help some and I can try to wrap your ribs for ya, if you want," he offered.
She took the packet and opened one before quickly downing it. He handed her a bottle of water to wash it down. "You a medic or something?" she asked.
"No, m'am. Not me. I just had a broke rib a time or two in my life. Always did like to fight too much. Doc just wrapped me up real tight and told me to go home and sleep it off. Course in them days, I usually got some good narcotics as well," Merle offered.
She was relaxing around him but still hanging onto that knife.
"What happened? How'd you break a rib?" he asked.
"None of your goddamn business, that's how," she spat back at him.
He threw his arms up. "Hey, if you don't want my help, I can just hit the road. Don't need to put up with this shitty attitude when I'm trying to be neighborly," he snapped back.
"Fine, then hit the road, buddy," she told him with a wince as she grabbed at her ribs again.
Merle turned and started to walk away. He was heading for the door. Then he remembered the day after he'd cut his hand off, how weak and sick he'd been. He would have been acting just like her if help had shown up but he would have been glad for it just the same. He turned back around.
"Alright, we've established that you don't NEED my help but I'm gonna wrap those ribs for ya before I go. Just stay put while I find something to use," he told her.
She opened her mouth as if she were about to speak but then changed her mind and simply nodded once. He figured she must be in a lot of pain to give in without more of a fight.
"There was a coupla houses down the road. I should be able to find somethin' there to use as wrapping. I'll be back quick as I find anything. I'll look for some pain meds and more supplies too," he said as he headed back out.
It was late afternoon by this time. The storms had blown over as afternoon summer storms in Georgia mostly always do. The air had a fresh clean smell. He had a few more hours of light left so he knew he'd have to hurry. The houses he remembered were about a half mile away.
Two dusty little crackerbox shacks stood side by side next to the section of highway. The yards were bare dirt with an old clunker truck sitting parked right in the middle. He took out a couple of walkers on the way so figured he should approach these with caution.
At the first house, the door was unlocked. He pushed it open carefully. The smell inside was unmistakable, walker. He rapped on the doorframe a couple of times to draw any of them out. An old woman walker in a floral muumuu darted out of the tiny bedroom to the right. He plunged his knife through an eye socket and put her down.
There was only the living room where he now stood, the bedroom and bathroom and then a kitchen on the back. He checked the bedroom first. There will all sorts of pill bottles lined up on the bedside table. He checked the labels and found one bottle with Flexeril and another with Vicodin. God bless old folks with insurance. They always got the good stuff. He pocketed both bottles of pills to take back to the girl.
The bathroom medicine cabinet contained ibuprofen and a big tube of BenGay. He figured it couldn't hurt so he took that too. There was nothing that would work for wrapping her ribs though. The kitchen had already been ransacked. There was nothing left except spoiled stuff in the refrigerator.
Next door he found to be locked up. Another jimmy with his knife got it open pretty quickly. There was no smell this time but he knocked loudly just in case. No undead came running. The floor plan was identical to its neighbor. He checked the bedroom first again and then the bathroom. There was stuff like bandaids, alcohol and toothpaste but not what he needed. He noticed, however, that there were women's clothes in the closet so he figured he'd grab some clean things to carry back. He opened a drawer looking for jeans and t-shirts and found an ace bandage rolled up in the corner. That would work perfectly. He also grabbed a pair of sweat pants and a t-shirt that looked about the right size.
The kitchen still contained a few canned items so he threw those in the bag. Sitting in the middle of the table was one of the big round dispensers of baby wipes. He took that figuring Marty might want to clean up a little. His search concluded, he headed back to the country store.
Marty hadn't moved much. She still had her knife ready though. Merle carried the bag over and dumped it at her feet. Then he pulled the two pill bottles out of his pocket. "Got some good drugs if you're innerested," he told her as he tossed them to her.
She caught the bottles and turned them so she could read the labels. "God, yes," she whispered as she opened the Vicodin bottle and took one. She noticed the container of wet wipes as well and the clean clothes. "You trying to tell me something with these?" she asked.
"Just thought you might be more comfortable. That's all. I can go back outside while you get cleaned up if you want," he told her. She nodded. "Need some help getting' up?" he asked. She extended a hand and he reached to take it. As he pulled her to her feet, the sleeve of the shirt she was wearing slipped back enough to show bloody marks around her wrist where she had been chained or handcuffed. Without batting an eye, he continued helping her up and then turned and walked to the front of the store.
He stood there looking out the grimy window at the gathering darkness wondering what that woman had been through and how she'd ended up here. No wonder she was surly and aggressive. She had reason to be.
About 30 minutes later, he heard her calling, "Hey, Merle Dixon." She sounded like the Vicodin was taking effect.
He walked back to the back. She looked better, no doubt about that, but she still needed a shower. It looked like she'd used the whole container of baby wipes. The filthy discards lay piled beside her. Her face was clean and she'd changed clothes.
"Well, there was a person under all that dirt, huh?" he asked with a laugh.
"Don't get cute. We're not friends. You're doing me a favor for which I'll pay you with some of these supplies. That's it," she responded.
"Just trying to break the ice, that's all," he said. "So, how you wanna do this? You gonna turn around so I can wrap those ribs?"
"Okay, but don't try anything. I still got the knife," she told him as she turned toward the wall. He picked up the ace bandage and told her to lift her shirt. She pulled it halfway up her back revealing a map of scars, welts and bruises. It was worse than anything he'd ever seen his old man dish out.
"Shit," he whispered without meaning to.
"No comments ," she told him. "I know it's ugly. Just fuckin' wrap the thing."
"Yeah, yeah, sure," he replied as he got to work.
Once the bandage was in place, she quickly dropped her shirt and stepped away from him.
"You know, you're pretty banged up. It wouldn't hurt for you to take two of those Vicodin," he offered.
"No. Gotta keep my wits. Can't afford to fall asleep," she told him.
"Look I'll stay here, keep watch until you wake up,okay?" he asked. "You need some rest."
"Who the hell died and made you my fairy godmother?" she asked sarcastically.
Merle couldn't help but grin. "Damn, girl, didn you see my wings?" he teased.
She opened the bottle and popped another pill. Within twenty minutes she was getting woozy. As she started to nod, he figured he'd try to find out what happened to her.
"Marty, how'd you get all those bruises and stuff?" he asked.
She stared at him through slitted eyes. "For me to know and you to find out," she slurred.
"Did somebody hurt you?" he continued.
She shook her head as though trying to dispel a bad dream but she spoke, "Jones. It was Jones, locked me up, beat me. I got away though. I got away."
"Yeah, you're safe ," he told her as she finally drifted off to sleep.
It was fully dark outside now. Merle used his lighter to light a candle on the desk and fix himself something to eat. As he sat there, he watched her. She was sleeping peacefully. She was one damn tough chick to have survived what she'd been through and still be putting up a fight. "Hell she could pass for a Dixon," he thought to himself as he finished his can of stew.
Merle stayed awake during the night as he'd promised. The whole place was quiet as a tomb except for Marty's soft snores from time to time. She also did some talking in her sleep which revealed how afraid she really was of the Jones character who held her captive. It made Merle see red just thinking about it.
Watching his old man beat on any woman stupid enough to hang around had given Merle a very low tolerance to violence against women. From the looks of it, Marty had not only been beaten but tortured and shackled.
He heard her stirring just before sun up. She managed to sit up by herself before glancing his way.
"You still here?" she asked.
"Told you I'd stay and keep watch," he replied.
"Well, ain't you just the boy scout?" she answered sarcastically.
"Guess you ain't exactly a mornin' person, huh?" he offered with a chuckle. "Feeling any better?"
"Yeah, some, I guess. Still hurts like a mother, though," she told him.
"Well, at least you still got some vics left. You feel up to talking a walk? I can show you where those houses are and you could take a shower if you want," he told her. "I'm headin' out that way anyway I guess."
Marty looked at him skeptically. "Yeah, I guess I could make it," she told him.
He threw her a granola bar which she tucked in a pocket as she pushed herself up by leaning against the wall for support. "You gon need any help getting movin'?" he asked.
"I got it," she tersely replied.
He stood up and grabbed his gear and headed toward the door, making sure to go a little slower than normal so that Marty could keep up. The area outside the store looked clear. There were no walkers in sight. He moved on outside and waited for her to follow.
It was the first time he'd seen her moving around. It was painful to watch. Not only was she holding her ribs but she was limping pretty badly as well. He wasn't sure she'd make it. "You, uh, sure you're up for this?" he asked.
"Said I was," she told him through clenched teeth. At the pace she was setting he figured they'd make it the half mile to the houses in a couple of hours. It wasn't safe to let her take that much time. He'd spotted a hand truck in the back of the store so he told her to hold up while he went back for it.
He was feeling kind of proud of himself for thinking of it but when she saw him wheeling it out, she rolled her eyes. "Come on," he told her. "I can wheel you there and back in a jif. It's a damned sight better than this slogging along you're doing. "
She stood with her hands on her hips scowling at him.
"Just get the fuck on the thing, woman," he told her. "I'm gettin' damn tired of arguing with you over every little thing." She didn't like it but she stepped on and leaned back as he tilted it so he could push her down the road. He thought about trying to make conversation but figured she'd just shut him down again so he pushed her the half mile without a word.
They went into the second house where he'd found the first aid supplies. The water was still running but only cold of course. Still she didn't complain. He left her alone to wash up while he waited in the front room where he eventually dozed off on the couch.
He woke up to her crouched beside the couch and shaking him. He started to react but she put a hand over his mouth quickly while holding her finger to her lips. He pulled her hand away. "What is it?" he whispered.
"It's him, Jones and his crew. They're lookin' for me. We gotta hide. He'll kill me for what I did and he'll kill you just on principle," she whispered back.
Merle crawled over to the window and peeked out. There were at least ten heavily armed men coming towards them from down the road. What in the hell had he gotten himself into?
