Chapter Nine

Merle's head was clearer with some food in his system, but he was still tamping down a constant feeling of nausea as they checked the remaining rooms on the first floor, making him increasingly irritable as he mulled over the situation.

Tha' goddamn smart-ass, cocky, spunky lil' bitch…

He knew there had been a moment, beyond that unusual flash of guilt, when he'd watched her desperately try to argue her way out of an axe to the head with a slight stirring of pity.

fuckin' pity! She shouldn't even a' had tha fuckin' time ta argue. He shoulda brained her ass right' when he knew she were bit!

Huh, he woulda been wrong though…

When he'd realised she was uninfected, through what appeared to be some pretty smart fuckin' thinking on her part, he'd been too distracted feeling up her ass to get pissed about his disturbing sense of relief. Until now…

motherfucker! She wasn't anythin' ta him but some high class goddamn cooze who still owed him pussy

Then the whole damn thing had turned on its fuckin' head when he found out she'd lied to him about a cure, trying to work out if she would have to kill him. Or at least try to, ballsy little cunt that she was. What was worse was that he couldn't even blame her for playing safe.

which was fuckin' stupid of him. Fuck! Wha' if he'd really let his fuckin' guard down? Wha' if he'd been dipshit enough ta believe her bull through ta tha end? If she'd a killed him, who'd find Daryl an' make sure he wasn't fuckin' things up fer hisself like usual? He mus' be fuckin' sicker than he thought ta ha' fallen fer it…

Merle hadn't liked the sneaking sense of admiration he'd felt at her determination to survive, nor had he felt comfortable at her obvious attempt to sweet talk him into forgiveness. That was what had fuckin' thrown him; she knew it was obvious, and she knew he knew it was obvious. If she'd treated him like he was some dumb redneck fuck chasing tail, and tried to pull that same shit with some goddamn subtlety, he would have shot her down in fuckin' flames an' liked it. Instead, she'd not only gone the other way and made a big joke of it, but had the goddamn brass balls to include him!

bitch pro'bly knew it was fuckin' hard ta say no ta somethin' when ya was both in on tha goddamn joke….

So, of course, Merle dealt with it as he always did, by working himself up to be even more pissed at her. Immediately he'd tried to strike some sparks off her; push her away, piss her off, make her react. But she wouldn't even give him that! She still kept on with that fuckin' good humoured way she had…Jesus, it wasn't right! It wasn't fuckin' natural being around a woman this long without 'em getting pissed!

lil' woman pro'bly thought a sweet ass an' a pair a' tits were all it took ta lead him around by tha nutsack. Fuck tha' shit! He weren't no damn boy chasing his first snatch, and the bitch was gonna getta rude fuckin' awakenin' if she thought he was gonna be doin' her any fuckin' favours jus' ta get laid…

dammit, wha' in tha fuck was her name, anyway?

Not tha' it mattered ta him, but she'd pro'bly be pissed if he didn't use it soon. Women were like tha'. Expected ya ta buy 'em flowers an' shit, or remember their names when ya was only gonna fuck 'em tha once. An' wha' was tha point? Man's only got room in his damn head fer so much.

Now, he wasn't fuckin' unreasonable like tha'. He didn't care if they remembered his name, so long as when they was fuckin' they didn't scream someone else's.

Tha' shit was jus' disrespectful.

The first room they explored was the small stockroom that the little geek had come flying out off, which only contained filing cabinets and a cash box. He told the woman to open it with the crowbar, and when she'd looked at him puzzled he deliberately didn't explain. If she wanted to know, she'd have to damn well ask. Instead she'd shrugged, fetched the crowbar from the bags and prised it open; they found about a thousand dollars in cash. He must have looked disappointed, as she finally cracked.

"I didn't think you'd be after money, so what were you hoping for?"

"Revolver mebbe," he said shortly.

"Oh, are you still… I mean, are you good with a gun?" she said, her eyes firmly on his face, and he knew she was deliberately avoiding looking at his injured arm.

"Course I can still fuckin' use a gun," he sneered with annoyance.

He better fuckin' be able ta…

However, something in her face aroused his suspicion, and from between gritted teeth he ground out a tight but level "Why…?"

"Well, if you like, I could give you a gun," she stated thoughtfully, "I took it off the policeman with the Kevlar vest… but it's broken. Perhaps when we've checked out this place you could have a look, maybe see if it's fixable?"

"Tha fuck?! Why didn't ya tell me ya had a goddamn gun? Lemme see it," Merle said with dangerous patience, desperately clinging to the last threads of his temper.

Fuckin' women! Somethin' fuckin' important like this an' they jus' drop it inta tha conversation like it ain't shit! Expectin' me ta stan' aroun' wit' nuthin' but a fuckin' fire axe ta my name, an' her jus' wit' some assorted fuckin' cutlery. Jesus fuckin' Christ!

"Right, I should just…"

"Dammit woman, jus' gimme tha gun!" he snapped at her. He watched with that small sense of perverse pleasure as her face became a little stony and one eyebrow rose.

Huh, now he'd pissed her off.

"Fine," she said in a clipped tone.

Holy shit, 'Fine'? Man, she was pissed! An' about time.

She all but stalked over to the bags, crouching down in front of hers and searching in the side pocket. Eventually rising, she smoothed back down her baggy jacket and walked back over, a gun in her hand.

He all but snatched it from her and ran his expert eye over it; he couldn't see any external damage. It was pretty standard stuff, but decent. Colt 1911, possibly a series 80, popular with military and law enforcement, seven round magazine as standard, grip and thumb safety…

Thumb safety…fer fucks sake…

"Ya say it don't work… did ya take tha thumb safety off?"

"I'm afraid I didn't realise my thumb was in any more danger than the rest of me," she responded coolly, "so I suspect not."

Huh. Not so smart now, are we? Damn, it felt strange havin' tha pistol in his left hand. Whole thing felt off.

Plus she was actin' colder than a witch's tit wit' him, an' he was surprised ta find he didn't quite like it. Now she was actually respondin' like other women he'd known, he kinda remembered how much he hadn't fuckin' liked any of 'em. Not tha' he liked her… bitches were there fer one thin', an once ya got tha' ya got out.

Still, he s'posed he should show her wha' he meant, save her dumb ass from gettin' ki… gettin' him killed.

Like most pistols it was designed for a right handed person, so he flipped it around so she could see and used his finger to adjust it back and forth as he spoke. 'Look here, ya dumbass. This means tha pistol can fire. This means it don't do shit."

Merle could see she was interested, but her voice was still chilly when she said, "Thank you for the courteous demonstration, I shall be sure to remember," and reached for the gun. He quickly pulled it back and tucked it into the back of his pants, grinning at her outraged look. "Ah-ah, bright eyes! If ya don't know how ta use it, imma thinkin' it should stay in tha hands a'someone more responsible."

"But it's my gun!" she snapped indignantly.

"Possession is nine tenths a tha law."

Yep, he had considerable experience wit' tha law on possession... an' a range of other associated charges.

"My God, you really are incredible…"

"Hell darlin', I know," he interrupted, "but I normally don't hear tha' shit 'til after we fuck." Now she was really glaring at him, and unusually he doubted himself for the briefest of seconds.

Dammit brother, can't ya just ease up? Ya jus' 'throwin' away some damn fine pussy; ain't no way she gonna fuck yer ugly ass if ya keep givin' her shit…

However, her next words pushed Merle too far.

"And how do I even know you can use it with your left hand?" she asked bluntly.

Already feeling sick and pissed off, the reminder of his injury finally caused Merle to lose his temper. He knew it was fuckin' stupid, but he grabbed the gun and barely aimed as he fired off a shot at an ornate chandelier, innocently hanging a good thirty feet away in the lighting department. The report reverberated around the enclosed space, so they saw rather than heard one of its bulbs shatter in a tinkling of glass.

Shit! Won't do tha' again in a hurry, he thought, his ears ringing painfully, though thank fuck he managed not ta flinch like a bitch.

The woman meanwhile had clapped her hands over her ears in pain. "Jesus! Alright, fine, keep it you fucking dick! God, you've bloody deafened me, you wanker!"

Merle didn't understand all the words exactly, but he got the gist and laughed a little carelessly; that demonstration of his skill had worked out better than he'd hoped.

After all, it was a tough shot, an' there was no need fer her ta know tha' it weren't tha bulb he was aimin' fer...

However, he was distracted when the woman suddenly gasped and rushed over to the front door. Plastering herself against the wall on one side, she edged her head out for a quick but cautious look before bringing the protective guard down quietly and locking it. "Impressive though your display was, it does seem to have attracted some unwanted attention," she said frostily. "I think we're committed to this building now, whatever might be waiting for us upstairs."

Her statement was confirmed by a few thuds on the window, though it was barely audible with the thick metal guard...

...and, of course, the residual ringing in his ears.

"Don't matter now, woman," said Merle smugly, waggling the gun at her, "bring it on! Ol' Merle can take out anythin' wit' this."

"Yes, I'm looking forward to watching you bludgeon them to death," said the woman dryly, "since that was its last bullet."

Nononofuckno…!

He checked the magazine as best he could. She was right; empty. That was why the gun had felt strange; he'd put it down to holding in his off hand, but it was the weight that was wrong!

Goddamn. Goddamn motherfucker! Fuck! FUCK! Fuckin' typical! Jus' when he thought things was goin' right, life took a big ol' shit on Merle Dixon.

Merle slammed it down on the sideboard next to her before venting his wrath. He swore as he kicked apart a chair, grunted as he tipped over a decent sized dresser one handed, and then proceeded to stamp a small and inoffensive coffee table to death before he stopped, panting slightly but feeling marginally calmer. When he looked up, she was leaning quite relaxed against a sideboard, a bemused expression on her face.

"Feeling better, precious?" she asked calmly, "Tantrum over?"

Merle snarled at her.

"I'll take that as a no." She was staring hard at him. "Not having a gun has genuinely upset you, hasn't it?"

Merle couldn't believe she sounded surprised. "Picked tha' up did ya, sweetness? Hell, yer mus' be one a them detectives." He thought for a moment. "An' I ain't upset!"

Bitches got upset. Dixon's got pissed.

"You know, they're really not that useful round here… in the city I mean. It just attracts more of them."

Huh, where ha' he heard tha' before…

"Rather have one an' not need it, than need it an' not have one."

"Ah-ha," she sounded impressed, "Kafka?"

He couldn't help it. "Nah… Trojan."

She looked confused at his grin before realisation dawned and she simultaneously blushed and tried not to smile. Merle knew being sick was affecting his thinking because even when he was pissed at her he thought she looked kinda cute. However, she started frowning again, sending him another considering look. Merle wondered what she was going to come out with now.

"Have you always been around guns?"

He studied her hard; Merle got the feeling she was leading somewhere, and on instinct decided to answer honestly. "Since I were a kid, an' I've always been a fuckin' good shot. Learned how ta hunt, then had a tour in tha Marines."

Admittedly, a lot a tha' was in tha stockade, but hell, it still counted.

"Hmm, then I suppose you do get into the habit of having them about." He thought she looked a little impressed at his being in the Marines, but her voice gave nothing away. "Alright. Then may I also ask if you are going to explode in a violent fit of temper every time something doesn't go your way?"

Merle shrugged.

"Pro'bly."

She laughed. "Well, at least you're honest," she said, chuckling a little. "I think… I think I'm going to," she said, half talking to herself, "and if I'm wrong… well, I suppose in this world it's better to be shot than to be eaten."

Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out another gun.

"Fuckin' hell, Mary Poppins, what tha' fuck else ya got in them pockets?" he gasped, half amused.

"I would have told you about this and the other gun having one bullet if you hadn't interrupted me so rudely, so, you know… maybe think about that before you do it again. You really did piss me off, and believe it or not that doesn't happen often."

I'd believe it. An' if it's any consolation, woman, I had ta fuckin' work fer it.

She held the gun out to him, demonstrating to Merle her level of awareness on firearm safety by holding it by the handle and pointing the barrel directly at him. He tensed automatically, but as she continued blithely he realised with some relief that her finger was nowhere near the trigger.

Still, he wasn't entirely happy about it.

"Here, I was going to keep this one for me, but I'm useless, so call it a thank you present for not braining me. Now, I know it works and it does have quite a few bullets, but please don't fire it indoors unless you really feel you must. I always wanted to fake being deaf when I'm old just to piss people off, and it won't be so much fun if I'm not faking."

Merle was naturally suspicious. "Ya giving me tha' gun?" he queried.

"Yes."

"Ta keep?" He couldn't get his head around it.

"For your very own," she smiled, before adding with mock seriousness, "But your father and I expect you to be responsible. No fooling around trying to impress the other kids; it's all fun until someone loses an eye…"

Merle cut her off with a snort of laughter, but he was still intrigued. "Why ya doing this? Ya don't even know me."

She sighed, and apparently tiring of holding the gun out to him, placed it on the sideboard next to her, and began to count off on her fingers. "Okay. One; I have no knowledge or experience of guns, as I rather embarrassingly demonstrated earlier. Frankly I'm not very comfortable around them, and realistically I'm more likely to shoot myself or you accidentally than a zombie deliberately. Two; you are trained and can shoot extremely well, as you've shown. Given we're in the same building, and it's in both our interests to use it successfully on any zombies we haven't chased out of hiding yet, it's more logical for you to have the gun. Though for the sake of my hearing, I'd rather it was a last resort."

The woman paused now, staring at the floor intensely as though choosing her words with care.

"Three… you know, I can't argue with you… you're absolutely right; I don't really know you. It's a gamble, and maybe a stupid one. I suppose you could easily be planning to kill me with that gun, though I note you didn't shoot me with the first one I gave you, nor have you made any attempt to accept this one, despite my best efforts to give it to you. However, let's say you are planning to kill me and… oh, I don't know, rob me of supplies. Well, that would suck, obviously, but it's a quick death and with the way the world is today, that's probably something to be grateful for."

Huh, stealin' her supplies mebbe tha least a her worries when it came ta some she might encounter, but he didn't wanna interrupt her lil' lecture. Part a him could see her argument, but there was a lifetime's distrust tha' meant he couldn't understand why a woman like her would give her best chance of survival ta a man like him. An' fer some reason he wanted ta understand…

She sighed, and rubbed her eyes as though tired. "If I've read you right, and beneath that rather dickish exterior you're basically a fairly decent man at heart, I've gained an ally, and one who can use that gun to defend us more effectively than I could. If not, then what the fuck is the point in going on?" Her voice cracked slightly as she continued. "Seriously, if the first and only living person I meet in nearly a month is just some psycho killer, just… just what is the fucking point?" She sighed again, grimacing slightly. "Sorry, I'm tired and my thinking is fuzzy. Do you want this gun or not?"

Merle held out his hand. "Hell, I'll take it, if only ta prevent ya from shootin' one of us by accident." He watched the woman begin to smile, and added, "Or, which I suspect is more goddamn likely wit' ya, handin' it over ta some nutjob on fuckin' trust an' getting' both our asses killed." Still smiling, she picked it up off the side and gave it to him, then closed her eyes and took a deep breath, as though meditating. Merle watched her for a moment, taking the chance to admire the smooth planes of her face unobserved, and wondered if this would be a good time to try and snatch a kiss.

Hmm, could do, but who knew wha' else was in them there pockets…

After a few moments she spoke. "I don't wish to seem overly optimistic, but I don't appear to be dead." She cracked one eye open while keeping the other tightly closed. "Hmmm…no bullet hole, no apparent urges to bite you…nope, not even to nibble…"

Shame…

"…guess that means you're a decent man, Merle."

"Guess tha' means ya got low standards." She simply grinned and shook her head.

Still, guess my competition's thinned out a lil' lately…

Merle checked the gun thoroughly this time, and found himself with an old friend from his days as a Marine. Beretta M9, standard Army issue, 15 round capacity and roughly a 50m range. Damn nice, and what was even better was that the magazine release was adjustable for left handed users. Very handy, he punned to himself with a twist of his lips, before ruthlessly dismissing any sense of self-pity. This time he made sure to check the clip and it seemed fairly full, though it would be difficult to remove the cartridges and check properly without practice. "Ya know how many rounds i's got?"

"I counted twelve bullets in there. I used two when I first got it, of which only one hit the target while attracting a dangerous amount of attention. That's why I haven't used it since. Plus it's got a pretty powerful recoil."

Merle raised his eyebrows at her belief that the M9 had an unusually strong recoil, but maybe if you weren't used to guns maybe it would seem powerful. "Where'd ya get it?"

"I took it out of a dead soldier's mouth." At his sharp look, she shrugged ruefully. "You asked."

Made sense; assumin' it had a full clip ta start, tha' was one round in tha soldier, two shots she fired herself, leavin' twelve rounds as she said. He'd check it properly later, but if tha' was right he'd still have ta make 'em count.

"You thought about it?" he asked on a whim.

She didn't pretend to misunderstand him. "Suicide?" she frowned. "Yes, on occasion, I won't lie. But not anymore." Not anymore? He filed that away for later exploration, and tucked the pistol into the front of his pants.

"God, are you sure you want to carry the gun there?" she asked, shocked. "Isn't that a little dangerous? It goes off quite easily."

"Nah, 'cause I know how ta put tha safety on," he smirked, before hooking is thumb into his belt and patting his zipper. "Plus, I got me a bigger gun in these pants than tha' there lil' peashooter…"

"Oh, Jesus wept…" she said as she rolled her eyes, though he spotted the tell-tale twitch at the corner of her mouth.

"Jus' takes a light touch…" Merle said as he moved in closer, but he was surprised when she leaned forward herself, put her hand on his arm and shot him a look of mock sympathy.

"Oh dear, does it 'go off' easily as well?"

"Fuck no!" he responded, recoiling slightly at the implication. "Ol' Merle don't come wit' no hair trigger, woman!"

"You'd best be sure that little gun doesn't have a hair trigger," she grinned, patting his arm and winking before going to grab her gear, "or 'big gun' won't be coming at all."

Fuck me, thought Merle, as despite her ugly clothes she somehow sashayed away with a saucy fuckin' air of impudence, if I ain't careful I'm gonna start ta like tha' lil' bitch.

The thought didn't make him entirely happy.

The rest of the rooms on the first floor proved equally unexciting, at least as far as geeks went. There was an employee locker room, which they decided to come back to since everything was locked and too small to contain even the most emaciated geek. Of more interest was the employee break room, which had various foods in the cupboards, though again they agreed to explore it in more detail once they'd cleared the building. However, there was considerable excitement over the old cooker provided for staff, which was attached to a dusty looking tank of propane.

"Do you think it will work?" she asked him, eyes wide and eager at the prospect of hot food.

"I'll fuckin' make it work!" said Merle uncompromisingly.

They returned to the stairs and began to walk up slowly together, both instinctively taking responsibility for a side of the floor. Merle wasn't quite sure how he felt about trusting his back to someone who wasn't Daryl. He wasn't worried she'd harm him deliberately, not now, but if she fucked up he could end still up screwed. Well, if shit went sideways, he supposed he could handle it. After all, he had a fuckin' gun now, after a week of relying on just the axe. Things were finally turning around.

They made it to the top of the stairs and saw the floor was dedicated to bedroom furniture and bathrooms, made up into mock room-displays, with a decent sized corner dedicated to towels and cushions and fluffy shit Merle had little time for. The woman's side was mock bedrooms and studies, while Merle's side had mock bathrooms and a door marked 'Roof Access,' which was chained up. No problem; Merle wasn't in any hurry to be back on a roof anytime soon. There was another door on his side that he suspected led to another staff area, or possibly more storage.

"Shall we explore your side first?" she asked in a whisper.

See, this was exactly tha kinda shit he knew would happen; now she'd be dependin' on him fer every little thin'.

"What', ya want Ol' Merle ta hold ya hand, darlin'? You take yer side, an' I'll take mine."

"But if we split up…"

"…We'll get done twice as fast."

Her lips compressed a little, but she merely shrugged again and went to check on her side. Since there appeared to be no rooms off the main floor on that side, it seemed she would mainly be checking wardrobes and under beds, anywhere a geek could lurk. He turned back to his own side and felt slightly dizzy for a moment.

Shit, he was feelin' sick.

His stump was starting to really itch; he wondered if eating had finally given his body enough energy to complain about the abuse he'd put it through. Still, if he could just make it through this floor, he could rest without the woman knowing how shitty he felt. His mind kept wandering, and like a pussy he was having trouble focussing on the task in hand. Even as he prowled the floor towards the storeroom door, he thought about what she had said about them having a friendship.

Friendship... huh, she was fair an' far off if she thought tha' was wha' he wanted from her, or anyone fer tha' fuckin' matter. Fer an instant, he was six years old again, whining ta his Ma tha' he didn't have any friends 'cause tha other kids didn't wan' ta play wit' a Dixon, while she chain smoked quietly in tha dim, broken down kitchen. He hadn't heard his Pa come in behind him, an' was only made aware of his presence when he went flyin' headfirst into one of tha kitchen cupboards; he heard a crack as tha door broke wit' tha impact. Head throbbin', blood flowin' down in ta his eyes, he remembered his father clutchin' tha front o' his shirt an' lifting him painfully up ta his face. Little did he know then, but over thirty years later he'd see almost exactly tha same face in tha mirror each day.

Pa's eyes were bloodshot around the cold crystal blue, an' he stank of beer an' cigarettes an' wha' Merle would know not ten years later was whore.

"Ya wan' friends do ya, boy? What ya gonna do, ya pussy, ha' sleepovers an' talk abou' boys, mebbe braid each otha's hair?" He dropped Merle to tha floor. Merle hadn't cried. Dixon boys didn't cry; not if they knew wha' was good fer 'em. "Ya a Dixon. Ya don't need no friends boy, ya don't want 'em. They're a fuckin' lia.. liabul…

His mother had been drinking too, an' had made tha mistake of giggling quietly at his father's drunken forgetfulness. His father barely spared her a glance as he backhanded her in tha mouth, his attention still focussed on tha small boy sprawled on tha floor. "I'm sayin' they're a fuckin burden! Ya got ya kin, boy. Tha's all tha' matters." Apparently considerin' his parental duties discharged, he'd stomped up ta bed ta sleep off tha bender he'd been on.

Merle remembered watching tha cigarette's orange glow as it rolled on tha dirty floor in front of him, before his Ma had silently picked it up an' placed it back between her bleedin' lips.

They never fixed tha fuckin' cupboard...

Shit! His Pa may ha' been a fuckin' asshole, an' a useless asshole at tha', but he was right; kin was all tha' mattered.

He reached the door and opened it, axe at the ready. Silence… no movement. Relieved, Merle moved into the room.

Fuckin' woman, thinkin' she's somethin' special! Hell, he hadn't cared 'bout anyone 'cept Daryl… I mean, yeah, there was…no, no, best not ta remember, brother. Tha' shit was long done wit', even before tha' world went ta hell …

The wind was knocked out of him as he was tackled from the side and sent crashing to the floor.

Merle kept hold of the axe tightly, which was the only thing that saved him. The walker was a huge man, black and bald and well over three hundred pounds, and he appeared to be dressed in what might be a janitor's uniform. His weight was almost entirely on Merle's torso and lower body, making it impossible for him to move and challenging to even breathe. He had the axe up across his face, the walker biting down on the middle of the handle while its hands grasped either end. The sharp angles of his newly acquired gun dug painfully and mockingly into his groin.

Fuckfuckfuck…

Merle desperately tried to get his spinning head to come up with a solution. He was in some pretty serious shit; the walker only had to move its hands slightly to scratch him and then he'd be fucked. For a moment he envied the woman her gloves and those stupid fuckin' pyjamas…

The woman…

"Woman," he yelled as best he could, "git yer ass over here!"

"Where are you?" she yelled after a pause.

"Where ya think? Come git fuckin' Oprah offa me."

He turned his attention back to the walker, muttering, "Git off me, ya goddamn nigger!" As if in response it dripped foul black saliva onto his chest. "Aww Jesus," Merle murmured, feeling disgusted. Suddenly there was the sound of running feet and a gasp from behind his head. Then one of those wicked blades flashed into his vision and plunged into the ear of the walker, spilling more geek juice onto him. It stilled and the full weight of it collapsed on him.

Both he and the woman struggled to shift the body but eventually they managed to roll it sideways. She knelt beside him while he remained prone on the floor, trying to ignore the rising waves of nausea that had been made worse by the pressure on his stomach and lack of air.

"I don't think that's Oprah. Looks more like Uncle Phil," she joked weakly, obviously still a little shaken. He let her talk.

Jus' need a moment... catch my breath. Not a pussy, not a pussy…

"Fresh Prince?" she queried at his lack of response. "No? Different generation maybe. Well… umm, I hate to sound like a broken record, but are you bitten?"

"Nah…fine," he managed to get out, pleased his voice sounded steadier than hers.

She nodded, apparently prepared to accept his responses at face value now, before standing and offering him a hand up. He had enough pride to ignore it, but only made it to his knees before he realised standing was a mistake and threw up.

She shot backwards, but was unable to avoid catching most of it on her boots. Over the sound of his retching and the pounding in his ears, he heard her voice torn between annoyance and amusement.

"Oh Merle, really! Those were brand new boots…"

Apologies, these chapters get longer and longer. The Franz Kafka quote is actually 'Better to have, and not need, than to need, and not have.'

The prize of smug satisfaction goes to those who spot the Governor reference and The Sixth Day quote. Also a little bit of reverse Merle/T-Dog fight from Season 1. And we get a Fresh Prince of Bel Air shout out because it starred Will Smith, who was in I am Legend, which is sort of like a zombie film.

Almost. A bit.

I'm going to try very hard to get another update in before Christmas, but the meantime do please take a moment to leave a review; they are loved and appreciated, like my wonderful reviewers themselves!