Glenn

I'm not sure if it's more dangerous being bait or being protected by a racist alcoholic redneck. But Daryl said this is the best way to do it and I trust him. Still, I wish he wasn't testing my devotion so early in our relationship. The relationship in my mind of course.

Merle's not so bad, actually, although he's physically imposing – over six feet and kind of mean and scary looking. I'm not sure he's really a racist because he treats me okay. Maybe he was just badly brought up. He's not FBI, that's for sure. When I ask he cackles and says, "Not likely." He goes on to explain that he owes Daryl. I can only imagine what Daryl did to make Merle grateful. Maybe it was a 'Get out of jail free card.'

Merle may not be so bad but his house is a pit. Run-down on the outside and shabby inside. It's not that it's filthy because there aren't bugs or anything but it's a mess and Merle doesn't seem inclined to clean. I offer to pick up but he tells me to leave it alone because he knows where everything is.

"Have you lived here all your life?" I ask.

"Pretty much."

"The mailbox says Reuben Bisbee."

"My granddaddy. Never bothered to change it. Post office knows where to deliver mail."

I don't pry any further but I make up a whole history for Merle. Maybe his parents died when he was young and he was raised by his grandfather who passed on recently. Probably not much money at the best of times and what there was went for Reuben's final expenses. Merle was grief-stricken and let himself and the property go to wrack and ruin.

He seems to be serious about security because he sits me down and goes over what will happen if visitors show up. Apparently my whereabouts is being carefully leaked. I'm worried about being on my own with Merle because he has to sleep sometime but Merle says there's back-up. A couple of sheriff's deputies, Rick and Shane, and a SWAT guy called T-Dog are watching outside.

So Merle and I settle down to relaxed vigilance, playing cards and discussing world events. Merle's perspective is such that I can't stop myself bringing up subject after subject just to hear him hold forth with his own unique point of view. He also entertains me with stories about the locals, rambling on with ever more outrageous and obviously made-up tales.

So far I've learned that Rick Grimes and Shane Walsh have been friends forever and that when the sheriff retires next year Rick will probably be the new sheriff and that could fuck up the friendship. Rick is the likelier candidate because he got shot and was in a coma for awhile and everybody loves a hero. Except Merle. Rick is married to Lori who is a pain in the ass and possibly bulimic. Merle's words were that she looks like the type who pukes a lot. They have a son, Carl. Carl also got shot, by Otis who was hunting on his day off. The boy was wandering around the woods on opening day without wearing orange.

I'm not sure a family prone to getting shot has the right stuff to produce a sheriff. Maybe Shane would be the better choice?

But it turns out that Shane beat the shit out of Ed who had abused his wife Carol for years and was likely to start on their daughter Sophia. Even though Ed deserved it, it might have meant trouble for Shane except that Ed got bit by a rabid coyote and died. A little later Sophia was kidnapped and locked in a barn for two weeks and by the time she was found she was so far gone she died anyway. Apparently the widow Peletier and her daughter are natural victims.

But wait, there's more!

Jim the mechanic lost his wife and kids to some flesh-eating bacteria. He was so overcome that he infected himself on purpose and let nature take its course. The veterinarian has two hot daughters and the older one, Maggie, is vexing her father by hooking up with bad boy Randall. Hershel didn't think he had to worry about the younger one because Beth had been going out with her goody-two-shoes high school sweetheart for years. Then Beth got depressed about having nothing to look forward to but a dull life with Jimmy so she cut up her wrists. She survived but can't be trusted alone with sharp objects yet.

A fat old farmer they called Bluto took the cover off his well and went to town for parts to fix the pump. He got sidetracked at the bar but decided to fix the pump anyway when he arrived home drunk. He fell in and drowned and wasn't found until a week later. When they tried to pull him out he fell apart so they left him in the well and put a marker on the cover.

Just a slice of life in rural Georgia. Merle tells me all this with a kind of glee that makes me think he could have a future writing soap operas for TV.

On the afternoon of the sixth day visitors arrive. It's T-Dog's shift and he calls to warn us. Merle had been feeling antsy and thinking this was about when they might show up, allowing time for them to look around after finding out where I was. He's been going down the lane each day to get the mail, and once into the small town nearby for beer and smokes. He says the place should look natural, not like it's deserted or locked down. The hardest part is making sure it doesn't look like two people are living here, keeping my things cleared away and stripping my bunk in the second bedroom every morning.

With the knock on the door we spring into action. I lift up the false floor in the pantry and go down to the root cellar although Merle told me it had always stored more moonshine than vegetables. He dumps a stack of newspapers and magazines on the floor when it's closed. I'll be able to hear voices faintly through the old floorboards.