Uncanny (A Very Undead Birthday)

Disclaimer: Obviously, I don't own anything related to The Walking Dead.

Other Stuff: I've never attempted to make a cake this way, so my limited baking knowledge could be completely wrong. *Spoilers: Yep, I know Merle's supposed to be dead at this point in the show. It's intentional. Hope you enjoy!

Chapter 4: The Cake

Carol knew that the cake was a big deal. It would be the first confection she had attempted post world-gone-to-hell. So the expectations were pretty high.

Rick had decided a week ago, when Maggie brought up the random fact that Beth's birthday was coming up, to throw a surprise party for her. That's when the ideas had started rolling in. Hershel and some of the group's recent members from Woodbury had volunteered to decorate, Maggie was determined to scrounge up a present, and that left someone in charge of the cake.

Carol had agreed to bake, knowing that with four other group members gone that day, she would have to take on the task alone. Therefore she was extremely surprised when Carl showed up in the kitchen with a clean face and eager eyes.

"I want to help!" he said.

Carol tried to hide her amusement with a stern façade. "Is that so? And who's going to keep an eye on Beth?"

Carl sighed. "Beth is watching Judith. She's got her hands full, literally. I don't think she'll be going anywhere for quite a while."

Carol put a hand to her chin, as if seriously debating this decision, and Carl's eyes widened in desperation.

"Please," he said softly. "I want to help."

"Okay," Carol said. "But first, remove the sheriff's hat. It's impossible to bake a cake with a pie on your head."

It took them about fifteen minutes to find most of the ingredients they would need. Flour was the easiest ingredient to find, but sugar was more precious, and baking powder was almost non-existent. Maggie had found vanilla on a scouting expedition about a month ago. With all of the ingredients assembled, Carl found a large mixing bowl and they were about to begin.

Then Hershel ambled in. He was literally covered by the tremendous armful of flowers he had slung over his shoulder.

"Afternoon," he said, as if nothing was out of the ordinary, and proceeded towards the cooler. "Needed some water."

Carol and Carl paused, too enraptured by the current sight of Hershel covered in petals than the task at hand.

"Starting an indoor garden?" Carol asked dryly.

Hershel chuckled and set a single stemmed flower on the counter in front of them. "It's a Cherokee rose, Beth's favorite. I thought I'd decorate the main block with them."

Carl picked it and examined it. Five delicate white petals connected to form a sunny yellow center with a few black specks. It smelled of drowsy sweetness and reminded him of a time not so long ago when his parents were dancing in the hallway of their home on the hottest day of the year. His dad was smiling and his mom was wearing a white dress, and she was twirling, twirling, twirling—

"You can keep it," said Hershel, gesturing with one of his crutches, a faint smile on his face. "I've only got about a million here with me."

The older vet was almost out the door when he stopped and turned around. "You're baking a chocolate cake, right?"

Carol nearly choked. "Chocolate?"

"It's Beth's favorite," he said softly. "Hope you can pull it off."

"Where are we gonna get chocolate, Hershel?" Carol asked. "Is Willy Wonka's factory down the road?"

Hershel winked, approving of the sarcasm, and said one word: "Merle."


He was slumped against the wall in his bunk when Carol found him, mouth hanging open, and a fine line of drool running down his chin.

This wasn't what I signed up for.

Carol began by clearing her throat, and then she cleared it a little louder.

Merle uttered something that was a mix between a laugh-snort, and kept right on sleeping.

She could feel the seconds slipping away and wondered what Beth was up to. It was only a matter of time before she came looking for company.

"Merle!"

The man jerked upright, eyes red, and hands hovering over his side arm. Slowly, he relaxed back into the bunk, running a full hand across his face.

"Whatever you want, that dream was more important."

Carol smirked. "Was she naked?"

Merle had a far-away expression in his eyes. "No, but she had glasses . . . What can I do for you? Another of Officer Friendly's requests?"

"No." She leaned in closer. "Mine."

Merle's eyebrows arched in surprise, and a slow dopey smile sprang from his lips. "You're kidding."

Carol shook her head simply.

Grinning, Merle relaxed back in his cot, fingers interlocked and behind his head. "What can I do for you?"

"I need chocolate."

There was a pause.

"Chocolate?!"

Carol nodded innocently.

Merle practically leapt from his bunk, beginning to pace, as if he was on the defensive.

"Word has it that you're the man to see."

"So what if I am?" he shot back, looking over his shoulder as if there were others spying on them.

Carol clasped her hands together. "Look, I'm baking for a birthday today, as you well know. You're my only hope for a chocolate cake. Can you help me?"

Merle paced a bit more, his brow furrowed as if he was deciding matters of global politics, or a complex mathematical equation.

"All right," he said with a raspy breath. "But it's gonna cost you."

Carol never lost a beat. "Booze and sex are out."

Merle moaned, and almost collapsed back onto his bunk. She went to him gently then, her voice softening.

"Look, let me know what I can do for you. I'm sure we could reach some kind of compromise. This birthday is really important for the group. Merle, tell me what you need—"

At that moment, Merle reached out to her. Carol flinched slightly, and then relaxed when she realized all he wanted to do was hold her hand. They stayed that way, sitting silently together, for several minutes. Carol was too nervous to meet his gaze, but when she chanced a look, she realized that his eyes were closed. He sat peacefully, looking almost content, the first time she had ever seen him look that way.

At last, Merle released her, and dropped to his hands and knees, rummaging underneath the bunk. When he surfaced, he held in his hands two bars of chocolate. It wasn't baking chocolate, but it would do. Delicately, he placed them in Carol's open arms.

"Better be the best damned birthday cake I've ever eaten," he grumbled afterwards.

Carol was almost in too much shock to fully take in what had just transpired between them. She stood up and said confidently, "It will be."

She was about to turn the corner and walk down the hall when she heard Merle's voice and stopped, looking back at him. All alone in his cot, he looked like a sad and tired man.

"If anyone asks, you traded it for booze."

Carol nodded. "Of course."


Carl was the best helper Carol could have asked for. He had the same acute intensity that his father possessed when faced with a problem. Carl threw himself into the baking business and never looked back.

Carol had never baked a cake in a pot before, but she placed a wire rack in the bottom of the kettle and carried the contraption outside. Carl followed closely behind, holding the chocolate mixture as if it was a sacred elixir, their hope and their salvation.

"Let's just hold off on our expectations until we taste the finished product," said Carol out loud, musing.

The two walked briskly and soon found a quiet spot outdoors to start a small fire. Carl gathered brush and kindle, and Carol lit the fire with a match, cultivating it until it was burning adequately. Carl placed the holder over the flames, and Carol set the kettle in its place.

Carol nodded to her assistant silently, and he began to pour the batter slowly into the pot, pausing only to make sure that none was misplaced. Afterwards, Carol took a spoon and wiped the bowl clean, rapping the spoon against the kettle, and watching the drops fleck the top of the cake. Carol covered the kettle, and then they waited.

Carl took a few moments to check on Beth, at Carol's request, and she settled in, checking the kettle's contents every few minutes to make sure it was cooking evenly and not burning around the edges. It was strange to view time in this new world, she thought. The one watch she possessed had stopped working several months ago when the battery died. It was strange that she still wore it on her wrist, almost as a reminder of the way things used to be.

Without a timer, she waited. Carl returned and faithfully waited with her, pacing the perimeter of their area as if walkers might appear at any moment in spite of the fences.

The sweet smell of chocolate began to rise in the air, and it almost brought a tear to her eye. When was the last time she had baked a birthday cake?

Sophia had a birthday cake. You made one for her three years ago. It was a vanilla cake with raspberry filling and butter cream frosting, her favorite. Do you remember the icing balloons on top and the dolphin? Dolphins were always her favorite—

"Are we going to decorate it?" Carl asked, interrupting her thoughts and reading them at the same time.

Carol stirred and cleared her throat. "I suppose we could."

"Musical notes," said Carl. "I think we should put musical notes on the cake. Beth likes music."

"It may not even turn out," said Carol softly.

Just then, a distant yell drew their attention away from the cake, albeit temporarily, and towards the fences several yards away. Carl ran towards the sound, a hand on his holster. Carol chased after him, oven mitts covering her hands like protective paws, pulling him back.

"That smells nice," came a voice.

Carol's body sagged and she managed a soft chuckle.

"Baking a cake."

Michonne placed her booted right foot firmly on the body of a walker she had just run through the head and pulled her sword cleanly out with a grunt.

She must have had a productive practice, Carol thought. A dozen corpses lay strewn in a sloppy pile around her body. The quiet warrior ran her blade through the grass in long sweeping motions, flicking off the dark blood as meticulously as a painter defines brush strokes.

"That reminds me," Michonne said, approaching the fence.

Carl stepped towards her, a combination of respect and awe in his eyes.

She produced a small object from her belt and pushed it through a hole in the fence towards Carl.

"Don't know why I kept it this long," she said. "But now I do."

Nodding at Carol, Michonne walked away.

Carl turned around, his eyes wide. A small pink birthday candle lay in his outstretched palm.