"Please. I didn't behave, I know. I know I'm being punished. I know. I… Oh, I deserve it. I deserve it. I've been bad. Help me now. Show me the way. Go on, tell me what to do. Tell me. Tell me. God! That's okay. Never you mind… I ain't begged you before. I ain't gonna start begging now."~Merle Dixon
"What the fuck's all this?!" Merle sounded like he didn't know whether to be impressed or appalled by the scene before him.
Daryl followed his brother through the door, brows lifting as he saw a blood spattered man on his knees and what was left of a walker lying just a few feet away. The man's arms were duct taped to splinted wood, which was covered with bits of blood and bone. Sonofabitch had busted up the chair he was tied to and used the kindling to take the geek apart.
"Looks like we got us a regular Jackie Chan here, brother," Merle noted in his best asshole tone. He pulled his pistol out and leveled it at the kneeling man, gesturing for him to get up. "C'mon, kid, get up and we'll cut you loose. No more funny business, alright? We just wanna ask some questions is all. Nothing wrong with that."
The boy staggered to his feet, one eye swollen shut while the other watched them warily. He backed toward the upended table and rounded it carefully, looking away only to watch where he placed his feet. The Dixon brothers looked on as he picked up the only intact chair and sat it upright before dropping into it. Merle kept the pistol up while Daryl used his buck knife to slice through the tape.
"Where's Michonne?" His voice was a hoarse whisper but it demanded an answer. "Is she okay?"
Merle hitched a leg up on a nearby crate and rested his elbow on his bent knee. "That the samurai that cut up a couple of my boys? She's fine for now. Whether or not she stays that way depends on you."
Uncertainty flickered across that bruised face, one dark eye fixed on Merle's face trying to gauge the truth of that statement. "She got away," he stated rather than asked. "She made it out."
"Did she?" Merle returned, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. "That's news to me. Hell, we might as well surrender then if we can't even hold on to one little gal that likes to wave around a pig sticker." Merle turned the gun over and over, as if admiring it before resting it gently on his thigh. "That little bird is caged up nice and tight, boy, and singing a real pretty tune. The thing is, we want to make sure what she's saying matches up with what you say. If it does, good. If not, well…hoss here ain't the only new friend you'll be making."
They could see the gears grinding in his mind as the boy tried to work out what was true and what was bullshit. To Daryl's surprise, he called Merle's bluff. "I don't believe you," he said quietly. "She made it out. You don't know a thing."
All signs of good humor fell away as Merle straightened, his expression almost as cold as his glacial blue eyes. "I know you've got a group, boy, and I know you're holed up close by. Can't be no more than twenty miles out. Too dangerous to go much beyond that, just the two of you. You and your Nubian Queen didn't just wander across out paths, oh no. You're stockpiling, scouting, reinforcing. The question is where." He flinched but still refused to answer, his good eye widening as Merle edged closer and laid a hand familiarly on his arm. "One little detail. That's all I need. Just one. Where's your camp?"
Unsure of what prompted him to move, Daryl shouldered Merle aside and met the man's look head on. "We want out," he hissed under his breath. "We can help you but only if you help us. Tell us where they are and we'll take you with us when we go." He saw the man's eye flick back and forth, weighing his options. He had no reason to trust them, not really. All Daryl could do was wait and hope that Merle didn't do something stupid, like knocking him or their new friend on their asses.
"How many walkers have you killed?" The rasped question was not what they expected. The man, bloody and exhausted, firmed his jaw, clearly signaling his intent not to say another word until he heard their answer.
"More than I can count," Daryl admitted honestly. "It's what you hafta do now. That's just how it is."
The man swallowed and then nodded. "How many people have you killed?" He looked at Merle this time, trying to see if the elder brother would show the same good will.
"Sixteen at last count," Merle finally anted up. He smirked and gestured casually with the barrel of his gun. "Most of em saw me coming, a few didn't. Hell, we've all got blood on our hands these days. That's life."
Rubbing his arms where the tape had been wound tightest, the boy swallowed and then nodded his head. "I'm Glenn," he stated. "I just need to know one last thing." He looked from one to the other, letting out a breath as he did so. "Why?"
Before they could answer, the room around them exploded in a hail of bullets while the muffled thuds of explosions was heard outside.
Joe reeled back, blood gushing from a jagged cut on the side of his face. His wordless howls of pain almost drowned out the chaos erupting outside. He raised a hand to his cheek, fingers crimson when he lowered them.
Lou and Len froze, eyes rounded as they looked on in horror at the tableau before them. His face was gruesome to behold, blood running in rivulets over the straining cords of his throat. Muscles glistened in the gore, a white flash of bone peaking through where the plate cut along his jawline. "Fuck," one of the men breathed. "She done fucked him up good. Holy shit!"
Carol let the words slip by, her attention focused solely on the bastard whose blood gloved her hand and the rough blade she still held out in front of her. "You're gonna die for this, bitch," he growled and then spit out a thick wad of blood and phlegm. "I'm gonna make you beg me to end it before I'm done."
She backed away slowly, the shard held low and ready in a blood and sweat slicked hand. It never occurred to her to arm herself with the knife at her belt. Carol knew taking her eyes off him would probably be the last mistake she ever made. "Let me go," she somehow found the strength to force the words out. "Somebody's attacking the town, don't you see? If we don't go, we'll die. All of us."
He moved like a ghost, closing the distance between them in three rapid steps. "You're right about…." He cut off, a thick fresh stream of blood and spit leaking from the corner of his mouth, his breath hot on her face as he shuddered. The piece of heavy stoneware slipped deeper, nicking veins and arteries as the she put her weight behind the thrust; made her scream as it broke in to and buried itself in her palm…the other end lodged in Joe's neck.
Carol pushed the body off her and fell back against the table, chest heaving as she gulped in greedy breaths. Pain flared in throbbing waves in her hand as she finally recalled her knife and yanked it free. Lou and Len were nowhere to be seen as she limped across the kitchen to where Karen lay, staring sightless at the ceiling. Tears burned and bile scorched the back of her throat but she fought it back, refusing to give in until she knew she was safe.
Somewhere, gunshots sounded like thunder and the ground quaked with the whomp-chuff of explosives going off. "Gotta go," she whispered through chattering teeth. "Gotta go, Carol. Can't stop now. Go on. Move. Find Daryl."
