Chapter 12

They eased slowly into the back gate, Merle's arm extended with the silenced weapon and carrying the backpack while she followed a step behind with the rifle, the crossbow and the bag of weapons over her shoulders. Dog trotted on her heels, his fur a little damp still.

She had woken just before light, not from the usual nightmares but due to a difficulty in breathing. It had taken her a few moments, and a gentle snore in her ear to identify the warmth that surrounded her as being him – a warmth that was almost crushing her. He had all but rolled on her during the night, his torso and hips over hers and pushing her into the ground, supported only partially by his arm buried between her breasts, and his leg pushed between hers. She had blushed at the intimacy in the position and the fact that she hadn't woken earlier, lifting her head slightly and taking a deep breath – the pain had suddenly exploded around her and she had whimpered quietly.

"Merle," she said quietly and he paused, looking to her and nodding as she gestured to the blood stain on the grass. There was no body though and he continued into the compound.

He'd woken as soon as she'd moved, but stayed still, quite comfortable where he was and not at all interested in getting another ear bashing. The rain had stopped and while the back of his legs were wet, her body pressed against his chest had warmed him through. Her first gasp of breath had alerted him to her predicament and when she gently pushed at him, he had allowed himself to be rolled onto his back. He had opened his eyes slightly as she rolled up to her feet, ready to catch her, but she held it after only a short battle and moved away. She was back before he had counted far enough to get up to look for her and with a stifled groan she had lowered herself back to the ground. Dog's tail had thumped briefly on the ground as she gave him a pat and then she had lain back against Merle, moulding her back, butt and legs against his side. He had sighed as if still asleep and rolled again, throwing his arm over her chest again, she had sighed in contentment. His lips twitched as he hit the barrier of her elbows and his last thought before he dropped off back to sleep was almost an affectionate she's only a whore for warmth.

"It's clear," he stated, relaxing his position as they walked past the first few rooms which had been impacted by her grenade, although he kept the weapon in his hand. The whole complex was quiet and there was no sign of any of the vehicles.

They'd woken to Dog's growl and the noise of gunfire from the Palace about dawn. He'd jumped up and grabbed the rifle, walking to the edge of the trees to look at the building but hadn't been able to make out anything. The screech of tyres had followed not long after and they had waited for about an hour before starting the slow walk back, the pace increasing as Marion's muscles warmed up and she was able to step more freely. There had been the argument, sotto voice, about who was carrying what but she had pointed out that the silenced gun was the best to have in case they were wrong and that the bag of guns would just get in his way. He'd finally figured out that he was actually arguing against a woman carrying his stuff and had just turned to walk away, leaving her with a triumphant grin.

"They took the bed," she said in quiet astonishment as she paused by one of the rooms, the door completely off its hinge.

"Careful," he warned as she stepped in, his senses tingling slightly as he stepped backwards with her. There was evidence of the men she had caught in the blast, although not as much as he would have thought.

Not just the bed, Merle realised as he cast a glance into the room. Pretty much everything that wasn't tied down had gone. The next room was the same and the next room after that. She walked into 118 and swallowed a moan – all the clothes and items that she had collected and stored – all were gone. A thought came to her and she started running to the stairs.

"Hey!" he called out, running to catch up with her. She had stopped at the base of the stairs, her face pale, but even as he came up, tiptoed around the body. Merle glanced at the body as he followed – a casualty of the leadership battle based on the large bullet hole in the middle of his back.

The door was attached, but barely, hanging off one hinge. They'd been through the room like a plague of locusts, the doors of the cupboards were open, showing the bare shelves. The refrigerator door was also ajar, the light shining dimly. She dropped her load at the doorway, walked towards her bedroom and opened the door, her gasp drew him close to her, the gun at her waist, but he lowered it after one glance. The mattress was covered with blood, the floor strewn with the blankets, sheets and other bedding. There was a blood trail and he followed it towards the bathroom, glancing at the shattered mirror and shower screen before peering out the window where the blood trail led down the verandah with no sign of any body.

An object hit the wall next to him and he whirled.

She was picking up armfuls of the bedding off the floor, throwing them over before bending over to pick up another load. "Where is it? Where the hell is it?" she said to herself in almost a panic.

"Hey?" he said. Dog came over to him, his tail between his legs and his nose almost touched Merle's leg as he hid behind him.

She ignored him, walking over to the other side of the bed and lifting it, "Where is it?" she said again, this time more loudly.

"Wha' are ya lookin' for?" he demanded.

"My camera," she snapped at him, pausing in her frenzy of searching. "What the fuck would they want with that?" His brows rose slightly. "What possible reason could they have to take that? Are they going to take fucking happy snaps of them and their bastard mates?" She dropped to her knees, looking under the bed and almost pulling over the bedside table to look behind it. "Arrrgh!" she screamed and Dog turned to slink back into the bathroom.

"Hey!" he yelled, taking two large steps and reaching down with his hand and dragging her to her feet. She fought him, wrenching out of his grasp and stepping back.

"Don't fucking well touch me Merle," she snapped. "This is all your fucking fault. They were chasing you! You stole from them and they wanted it back! Not me, I just got caught up in the cross fire and now look at this – they have taken everything!"

"Ya said ya had some more supplies,' he retorted angrily.

"Oh yeah, great," she sneered, rubbing one hand through her hair. "Three bags with half a dozen tins of food, change of underwear and a toothbrush. Just fucking fabulous!"

"We'll be a'right," he said. "We..."

"WE?" she snorted with laughter. "There is no 'we' Merle – you left me, remember?"

"I came back!" he yelled.

"Really," she glared at him. "For what Merle? For me? For your bit of tail?" She paused, the venom dripping from her words. "Bullshit Merle – you came back for that fucking bag – not me."

"I saved you, didn't I?" he yelled at her, leaning over her threateningly. Damn but the bitch stepped closer.

"Saved me?" she mocked, rolling her one good eye. "For what exactly? You tell me exactly what I've got left."

"You got me," he started but was cut off by an almost hysterical laugh.

"And what's that worth Merle?" she derided. "Absolutely fucking nothing. You're a one handed, inbred redneck piece of white trash whose own mother walked out on you and whose brother wouldn't even wait for you after the world ended. Why the hell would I want you?"

Merle flinched and his fist clenched.

She saw it and lifted her chin, turning her head sideways "Go on – finish off what your fucking mate started."

Merle turned on his heel, grabbing the door and slamming it closed so hard that the wall shook. He bent down at the doorway, grabbing the weapons bag and the rifle, taking a step out. "Fuck" he said, dropping the bag and extracting a handgun and a packet of bullets. He tossed them on the floor without a glance at where they landed, shrugging the bag onto his back and stepping out, turning down the stairs and heading out the main gate.

Marion stayed still for a few moments, the noise of the door reverberating through her head as she trembled with rage. She dropped to her knees amongst the bloody sheets and Dog crawled over to her. Gingerly he licked at her hand and it came up, sweeping him into her lap and she folded over the top of him, shuddering. He licked at her face, his tail waving very slightly and finally she sighed, straightening. "It's all gone Dog," she whispered. "They're gone – I've got nothing left."

She put Dog onto the ground and stood, having another half hearted look around the head of the bed for the camera. There was nothing and she moved to the cupboards – they'd been emptied, but she opened the drawer and found the calico bag she'd been filling with postcards (they took better photos than she ever could). She emptied them onto the floor, staring dispassionately at the pictures of the Hoover Dam and the Grand Canyon for only a moment. She walked over to the window and picked up the couple of isolated scraps of clothing which had escaped the purge – a pair of undies, two (odd) socks and a singlet top. She wandered into the bathroom, finding a sliver of soap still in the shower and one toilet roll at the very back of the bottom shelf in the vanity. She examined herself in the mirror "well that's attractive," she muttered and with a groan, pulled off her ruined shirt. She used a bit of toilet paper to dab water at a couple of cuts and to do a better job of cleaning around her eye before pulling on the singlet top. She splashed some water over her face, then grasped the pressure point between her forefinger and thumb for several moments until the throb throb in her skull subsided. She picked up the wallet, intact except for the money that had been in it, that she thrown into the bathroom and slipped it into the bag. Absolutely fucking nothing. You're a one handed, inbred redneck piece of white trash whose own mother walked out on you and whose brother wouldn't even wait for you after the world ended. The words replayed in her head and she had a vision of herself, snarling the hateful words into his face. She sighed. "Crap."

She opened the bedroom door almost cautiously, but he wasn't there Well hello – you told him to piss off. The gun and bullets gave her pause and after only a slight hesitation she picked them both up, adding them to the bag. There didn't appear to be anything salvageable in the kitchen, but they hadn't searched through the sink water and she was able to extract a knife and spoon. There were no glasses so she stuck her mouth under the tap and drank until she couldn't fit anymore. She glanced at Dog and he wagged his tail at her. She rifled through the cupboards and drawers again, finding a cracked plastic container and he lapped at the water eagerly even after it leaked out onto the floor. She glanced over at the lounge room, but all the music and movies had been taken, it looked like they had even attempted to move the lounge but it had been too heavy to get far. She glanced at the cross bow that he'd left where she'd dropped it and stepped to the lounge, smiling slightly as she moved the couple of cushions and located the quiver against the wall. A couple of bolts were broken and these she discarded.

Marion took one last look around the room that had been hers for the last six months and then looked down at Dog. He looked up at her and his tail wagged slightly. "Come on" she invited and stepped out the door, turning to go out the side stairs.

She walked quickly down the street, purpose in her stride, Dog bounding along next to her to keep up. She stepped in a puddle and frowned, taking a little more notice of her surroundings. The place had a newly washed feeling about it, water glistened on the plants and trees in the garden, she could hear a slight trickle in the stormwater pipes beneath the ground. It had rained? she thought in confusion. She felt her legs and glanced at Dog – there was a suggestion of dampness on her right and on his coat and she thought back to the night. The stars had been out before she went to sleep, but when she'd gotten up – had they been? No, because she'd almost tripped over that log. She thought back to how she'd woken – his torso over the top of hers, his legs riding up over hers and his jacket resting over her hips so that only her lower right leg had been out. Why the hell would I want you? "Oh for fuck's sake Dog," she groaned as she figured it out.

They arrived at her first destination and Marion pushed through the gate and turned into the verandah. "Hey Tweety," she said and then stopped. The cage was empty, one isolated feather balanced on the edge of the cage. She smiled somewhat ironically and walked past the cage, entering the house and looking under the entertainment unit. She dragged the bag out, opening the zipper to confirm its contents and extracting a muesli bar before throwing the bag over her shoulder. Dog bounced ahead of her as she chewed, waiting while she opened the gate before zipping out ahead of her. "Dog," she called and he propped, one foot in the air. He waited until she was within a couple of metres of him before he dashed off again, and this time she let him go. She crossed the road and reached for the gate.

Dog growled and she looked down at him – his hackles were up and she frowned, "That Sheppard back is it Dog?" she asked and putting the bag down, pulled the crossbow forward and inserted a bolt. Dog growled again, louder this time but she ignored him, reaching up and over to unlatch the gate. She crept forward along the side of the house, Dog at her heels giving an isolated growl each couple of steps. She glanced down at him with a frown "ok, ok – I get the point. Now shush already!"

She eased herself around the building, looking for the large dog but couldn't see any signs. She glanced over at the chicken coop – it had been almost dismantled. The wire had been ripped off one edge, the steel frame had been pushed out of shape. She frowned, straightening. "Chick chick?" she called.

The shape that straightened in the back of the coop and turned slowly towards her held the remains of a chicken in its hand, blood all around its deformed mouth. A growled moan escaped its mouth and the chicken scraps were dropped as it turned. A second figure straightened in the coop and a third limped from behind the back wall.

"Oh shit," Marion gasped and turned. She hit the gate as the trio came around the edge of the building, shambling with startling pace. Dog scooted out at her feet and she slammed the gate, reaching down to grab the bag as she ran back out into the street. She skidded to a halt as she and the group made eye contact – there was at least of ten of them. Their growls exploded and they broke into a run a proper run, the gate at her side rattling and shaking as the others tried to break through. "Move Dog!" she yelled and turned, running as best she could down the street.

She managed several blocks before the injuries of the previous day caught up with her and she stopped, gasping for breath and holding her ribs. Her heart thudded in her ears, drowning out any other sound. The world started to tip a little, pinpricks of black floating on the edge of her vision No, no, you will not faint Marion she concentrated, knowing that fainting, even for a short while would be a death sentence. Dog jumped up on his back legs, nudging her with his nose and she turned around. They had pretty much kept pace with her, they were fresh ones, not decayed yet. Where had they come from? she wondered. She took a deep breath and lifted the cross bow. She targeted the largest one at the front Where had she seen him before? and let the bolt fly. She missed, but the group was so tightly packed that a figure behind him dropped. She flung the bow back over her shoulder and picked the bag back up, turning to jog off again to put a bit more distance between her and them. She had half a dozen bolts shame that those two bolts had snapped – she'd have to do some close quarter work.

She paused at the intersection, putting the bag at her feet and inserting the bolt. She lifted the bow and took aim at the largest one again. She released the trigger "Got him!" she exclaimed and looked down at Dog. He was looking away from the figures, up the cross street and she turned more to see what had caught his attention. There was nothing there and she flicked him lightly, "come on" and stood again, putting the bag back over her shoulder.

Dog growled and she turned again. Her blood froze.

The crowd shambled forward, limping, dragging damaged limbs, hunched over in death. They were ten wide across and she watched one row, two rows, three rows come into view. A low groan sounded much closer and she whirled, suppressing a scream because that was never a good move as a hand reached out toward her. She swung the bow like a bat and there was a crack as it hit his wrist, snapping it. He recoiled with the blow, but straightened, reaching out again, not recognising that the hand was at ninety degrees to the wrist. She scrambled out of the way, running with Dog on her heels down the side street.

The movement caught the attention of one of the dead in the main street and it turned, sniffing into the breeze. Another stopped and turned with her, then another and another and as if chained together, most of the group turned, the warm alive scent drawing them along eagerly.

"Well that's torn it," gasped Marion as she watched the two groups merge. It was nothing she could fight, even with the gun and bullets Merle had left her, there were too many and she was pretty much spent. Her face was on fire, her ribs stabbing her with every breath. The black spots were threatening to overwhelm her on each run, earlier and earlier. And the dead just kept on coming. She took a deep breath, grimacing at the pain it caused, and picked up the bag again.

The church was pretty much intact, but the doors had been knocked off their hinges and she knew that it offered no sanctuary, despite its stone walls. And too many had died inside it already. She instead made her way through the garden, around the hedge and the unkempt roses until they gave way to what used to be the manicured lawn pocketed by headstones. She made her way unfalteringly through the monuments and headstones until she arrived at the trio of fresher graves. No fancy headstones adorned these graves, just a simple cross made from branches on each of them but here the grass showed evidence of a recent mowing.

"Hey gorgeous," she whispered towards the larger one and gently laid her hand on the cross. "Smidge, missymoo," she said to the others, laying her hand briefly on each. "Mummy's here." She squatted down amongst them and opened the bag, lifting the box open and filling the magazine with bullets, counting as each one went in. She clicked it back into place and undid the safety, laying the gun carefully on the ground, bending her head to her knees. Dog whined and she reached down to give him a pat. The groans announced the first arrivals and she swallowed, reaching for the gun. She looked up at the church, seeing the effigy of Jesus through the window.

"Forgive me," she whispered and lifted the gun.