A/N: Sorry for the delay! I was out of the country, then jet lagged, then catching up at work. I hope you enjoy this next installment.
"Oh hell," Glenn breathed out, scrunching his face in disgust. "Is that-"
"Yes," Rick glanced down, taking care not to step in the puddles. Kings County General Store's floor was littered in bodies, each splayed about in various grotesque poses. Rick had been reluctant to enter, but the needs of his family prevailed over his caution. Everything at the butcher was spoiled, and the bakery hadn't yielded more results than a few bags of flour. Necessity drove the trio to force the heavy wooden door open. The smell alone threatened to level them before they even got inside.
"Walkers did this?" Glenn surveyed the area. "Jeez…" the carnage was unbearable, almost as though a wild pack of animals had attacked. It was hard to know where one body began and another ended. Flies had began to swarm in the moment that the door opened to the outside. Rick left it open. Better flies than this stench.
"Not sure," Rick answered. He bent down, nearly falling over at the stink. "I think…this is the dead," he said, cautiously pushing at the gory mass with his hatchet. It gave a wet slap as it slid over on the floor. The body was all rotten, bloated. He wondered if it had been that way when it met it's end, or if something else had happened. Rick let out a groan. "We should get back to the wagon," he said, standing up.
"Agreed," Glenn looked eager to leave the scene behind. "Whatever happened here, I'm not trying to join them." He tightened his hand around the machete in his fist.
"I want to look," Daryl protested, already poking around. "Something mixed it up real bad in here."
"Your brother?" Glenn asked.
"Might be," Daryl didn't look convinced. "Some of these are walkers, sure. Some maybe died when the town went down…" He continued crouching along, seemingly unbothered by the odors and the gore. "Some of these though…I think someone dragged them in here."
"Why?" Glenn looked disgusted at the mere thought.
Daryl did not answer, but continued his exploration, ducking around the shelves.
"Let's grab what we need and go," Rick decided. He began filling his arms with supplies. Glenn followed suit, attempting to keep an eye on Daryl. They lost sight of him after the third trip out to the wagon.
"I'd say we leave," Glenn announced, tossing rolls of fabric atop the food. "We've taken enough chances just coming up here."
"Agreed," Rick turned around, heading back inside. "Daryl," Rick called for the third member of their party. He had disappeared behind a high shelf less than half a minute ago.
There was no response. Glenn glanced at Rick.
"Daryl," Rick tried again. His call echoed through the store. Cautiously, the two of them entered, quickly sweeping around the now picked over shelves. There was no sign of Daryl.
"Hell…" Glenn cursed. Rick agreed with the sentiment. Near the door, something clattered over, smacking to the hardwood ground. Rick and Glenn straightened up immediately, each brandishing their weapons.
"Back up plan?" Glenn asked Rick in a low voice.
"Maybe," Rick took a few cautious steps forward. "Let's get to the wagon first."
They crossed to the front of the store on long, quick strides, skirting the edges of panic. Rick leaned against the door. It would not budge. He shook at the handle, rattling the wood as loudly as he dared. Glenn chanced a glance out of the window.
"I found the wagon," he sighed. He ducked quickly back out of sight.
Rick looked as well. Their transport was barring their exit. There was no sign of their horses.
"Back up plan," Rick announced, raising his hatchet.
With a nod, Glenn joined him. The wood began to splinter as their weapons went to work.
-l-l-l-l-
"That's a lot of blood," Carl's eyes widened when Michonne emerged from the bedroom door. She glanced down at her shirt, starting at the crimson stain.
"Carl," she kept her voice as calm as she dared. "Please run and get Hershel for me. And Morgan."
With a nod, Carl took off, sprinting down the stairs. Michonne could hear him hollering as he banged through the front door. She lifted the stained fabric of her shirt, pulling it away from her skin. With a shaky breath, Michonne returned to Carol's room.
"How are you?" she asked.
The woman in question was slumped on the mattress, drenched in sweat. Beth applied cool towels to her head, singing in a quiet, calming voice.
"The baby is being stubborn is all," Beth answered for Carol, smiling sweetly. "Save your strength," she soothed.
"I'm so tired," Carol breathed. She looked tinier than normal in the center of the bed.
Michonne came forward with a cup of water for Carol, grateful that Beth had inherited her father's calm demeanor. Michonne's heart was beating like a frightened rabbit. She took a chance to check what was happening. The sight turned her stomach.
"What's going on?" Hershel was in the room all at once, already pinning back his sleeves. Without waiting for an answer, he joined Michonne, his brows knitting immediately with concern.
"Is Carol all right?" Morgan asked, concern clear on his face as he joined them.
"The baby is in breach," Hershel announced simply, pulling up a stool.
"You can fix it?" Michonne asked. She was completely out of her depth now. She turned to where Carl was standing in the doorway with Duane. Concern was written on both boy's faces. Hershel followed her gaze. He immediately smiled, as though the whole situation was inconsequential.
Hershel nodded. "Seen it with the animals on the farm. We can get them through it, but everyone needs to do exactly what I say, and quickly."
There were murmurs of assent from the occupants of the room. They all crowded forth at once.
"All right," Hershel took a deep breath, chancing a winning grin at Carol. "Let's bring this baby into the world."
-l-l-l-l-
"Go," Rick instructed.
Glenn complied at once, forcing himself through the splintered remains of the door and beneath the wagon. Rick followed. Behind him, he could hear the groaning of the dead, their feet shuffling in hot pursuit. He ducked beneath the base of the wagon, bracing himself behind a wheel spoke.
"Now what?" Glenn asked. He was flat on his stomach, looking out. There was at least 100 yards between them and the nearest shelter. The horses where nowhere in sight.
"We run for it," Rick saw no other option.
"You forgetting Daryl's got a crossbow?" Glenn asked.
"He might still be on our side," Rick's mind tumbled, frantically searching for a way out of this.
"That a chance you're willing to take?" Glenn looked at him.
Rick sighed. "You got any better ideas?" he asked his younger counterpart.
"I do," Glenn crawled up onto his knees. "Can you move that wheel on your left?" he asked Rick.
Rick reached for a spoke, pushing. It took some elbow grease, but the wagon lurched forward a few inches.
"You'll need both hands," Glenn instructed. He seized the wheel to his right. "Once we get it going, stay covered."
"All right," Rick braced his feet beneath him, waiting for a cue. Glenn nodded. Together, they pushed.
Sweat ran down Rick's face, stinging his eyes. Despite the coolness of the weather, it was sweltering down here, shoving the wagon through deep tracks of mud. His fondness for his horses ratcheted up. He prayed Merle didn't have his hand on them.
With a sudden lurch, the wagon began to move, rolling forward all at once. Glenn and Rick scrambled to keep up, crouched beneath on all fours. Every second or so, Glenn would reach for his wheel, pushing. Rick mimicked him.
There was a low whistle and a thrum, then the wagon jerked sideways. Another few bolts buried themselves in its wooden body. Glenn gave Rick a knowing look. Something in Rick's gut dropped.
"We'll deal with it," he promised Glenn.
We have no choice," Glenn agreed. Their cover picked up speed, rolling towards the fabric shop just up the road.
"We get inside for cover, bolt the back door," Glenn instructed. We need to get to the top floor, get the advantage of height. That'll put an end to Merle's guerrilla warfare trick."
"And if they bring the fight to us?" Rick asked.
Glenn gripped his machete. "Let's hope they're stupid enough to do it."
-l-l-l-l-
The bedroom filled with the sound of Carol's screams as the woman bared down with all of her might.
"That's it," Hershel coaxed. "One more big breath and a push," he instructed. "Michonne?" Hershel prompted her.
"Ready," she assured the older man, getting into position.
Carol let out another yell, crushing Morgan and Maggie's hands in her own.
A daughter emerged, feet-first, slipping suddenly into Michonne's waiting hands. Michonne quickly tucked clean cloth around the baby, pulling her away from Hershel and into the safety of her waiting arms. Both mother and daughter were crying.
"Now," Hershel announced. Beth leapt forward at once with a sterilized needle and a bowl of water.
Carol collapsed on the bed as Hershel continued his work. "The baby… she called out to Michonne, utterly exhausted.
Quickly, Michonne sat the crying infant on Carol's chest. "A girl," Michonne told her. The baby was turning pink already.
"What are you going to name her?" Beth questioned sweetly, coming around to wipe Carol's face.
"Sophia." Carol answered without hesitation, her eyes only on the child in her arms.
"It's a good name," Morgan complimented. His eyes drifted to Hershel.
From his place, Hershel gave a nod and a smile. "She's out of the woods," he announced. "Praise God."
Relief flooded the room, being replaced instantly with joy. Michonne began to laugh, releasing the pressure. The others quickly joined her. Michonne collapsed into a chair in the corner. Carl quickly made his way to her, laying his hand on her shoulder. Michonne reached out to hug him.
"I'm glad Carol's ok," he whispered, his eyes on the new mother and infant. Michonne was suddenly reminded of how Carl's mother died.
"Me too," she stroked his hair, tugging gently at his arm. Carl allowed himself to be pulled towards her. "You ok?" she asked him.
He nodded, eyes still on Carol, on the soiled and bloody sheets beneath her. Michonne turned his chin towards her.
"Why don't you go get Judith?" she asked. "Your father will be back soon."
Carl nodded, distracted. He scuffled out of the room. Michonne rose to her feet, determined to follow him. From his place at the foot of the bed, Hershel shot her a knowing look. Grabbing a jacket to cover her blood-stained shirt, Michonne quickened her steps.
"Carl," she called after her stepson. He paused at the top of the stairs, still staring at the ground. Michonne reached for him. He turned into her chest, shaking already. Michonne held him, rubbing his back. "It's ok…" she whispered, kissing his head.
Carl just squeezed her tighter. "If you and my dad have a baby…" he began, his voice wet with tears.
Michonne knelt at once, cupping his face between her palms. "Carl, I can't promise you that nothing will happen to me, but…" she hugged him again. "I'm not going anywhere without a fight. Ok?" she asked.
"Ok," he agreed, hugging her again.
-l-l-l-l-
"Come out and fight, you damn coward!" Rick's shout echoed across the empty town. He stared out of the open window for a moment more.
Silence was the only answer. Beside him, Glenn tensed.
"What if he's gone?" Glenn asked. "What if he's trapping us here so he can head back to the farm?"
The thought had crossed Rick's mind as well. There was no reason for this game of cat and mouse. He had half a mind to run out there and end it.
The decision was removed from him, however, when Merle strolled into the middle of the main street like he was out for a Sunday walk. He looked like several miles of rough road. His face was drawn, dirty, his clothing far too baggy. His right hand was nothing more than a stump, the sleeve tucked shoddily around the stump. He'd affixed the baton of a war rifle to his wrist. He was brandishing it like a flag, waving up at them as though they were all old friends, the reigns to Rick's wagon in his good hand.
"Lord," Glenn exhaled. "Didn't think he could get any uglier." Rick let out a wry chuckle. His amusement didn't last long as Merle began to speak.
"Well if it isn't Rick Grimes and the chinaman!" Merle Dixon hooted with an air of delight. Rick's eye began to twitch with annoyance immediately.
"What do you want, Dixon?" he shouted back, wondering if he could hit Merle from this distance. His rifle he had left with Carl, but he was willing to bet he could strike Merle right between the eyes with his hatchet if only the fool got close enough.
"I'm just returning your property!" Merle feigned shock, clutching invisible pearls. "This does belong to you, don't it?" he brandished a folded piece of paper, speared on the end of the baton that now served as his hand.
"Hell," Rick swore, grasping at his now-empty shirt pocket.
"Oh, it is yours!" Merle continued his mockery. "I would say come on down and get it, but you two yellow-bellied cowards are holed in there real good. Maybe I should just read it to you."
"Didn't know you could read," Glenn shouted out the window, voice full of venom. Without further ado, he began to scour the room they were in, searching for something. "Keep him busy," he mumbled to Rick under his breath.
Rick didn't need to do much. Merle was unfolding the letter from Michonne with great panache, his choppy accent butchering words that were only meant for Rick's eyes.
"My dearest husband," Merle began in a high, lilting, and poor imitation of a woman's voice. "These past two weeks have been a paradise I never expected to find on this earth, not now or especially before the turn. Despite the general grumblings of nearly every married couple I have come in contact with, I find that marriage to you—" Merle broke off, guffawing. "Married?" he crowed. "Tell me you didn't marry that nig—"
He never finished his insult. From the moment that Merle fixed his foul lips to mock Rick's wife's words, Rick had joined Glenn in his mad search. A splintered table leg made an excellent club. Rick hurled it with all his might through the open window. It bounced off the hard packed dirt road, striking Merle in his leg. Dixon let out a series of curse words that would make a sailor blush.
Rick didn't not pause long enough to watch. He was already making his way to the stairs.
"Where are you going?" Glenn asked. "You forgetting Daryl's down there?"
Rick stomped back to the window. "Dixon! What the hell did you do with Daryl?" he shouted.
Merle swore again. "Don't you worry about my baby brother," he yelled back. "I'm looking out for him, like always."
Rick didn't wait to hear more. In seconds, he stomped down the stairs, hatchet in hand, heading for Merle.
"Whoa there, Grimes," Merle held up his arms in surrender. "No need to get violent."
"I think there is," Rick's hatchet was up.
"You kill me, then Daryl's going to die a very painful death," Merle imparted. "I know you don't want that."
"Tell me where he is," Rick demanded. He could head Glenn behind him, storming out of the door brandishing a club of his own.
"My brother's the least of your worries," Merle couldn't resist the opportunity for digs, not even when faced with Rick's murderous rage. "But go ahead and kill me, if that's what your heart's set on." He lowered his arms, shrugging as though it were all inconsequential. "That poor little wife of yours though, she's going to get a might nasty surprise."
Rick froze, inches away from hitting Merle right between the brows with the business end of his hatchet.
"What are you talking about?" Rick seized Dixon by the collar.
Merle grinned nastily.
"Can't kill me if you want to find out," he said.
-l-l-l-l-
"Mama!" Judith's cry went up from the front room. The girl was stationed at the window, peering out of the lopsided lace curtains.
"Judy, shh," Michonne cautioned. "Carol and Sophia are trying to rest." The whole house had gone quiet after the birth, retiring to await Rick's return.
"But there's a man," Judith pointed.
Michonne hurried over, sword bouncing at her waist. She had changed out of her bloodied shirt and into her yellow dress. She nearly tripped over her skirts in her haste. Carl dogged her footsteps. Together, the three peered out of the window.
"See?" Judith asked, pleased that her family took her seriously.
Michonne could see the vague outline of a dark haired stranger riding a white horse swiftly towards them. He would reach the cabins before she could warn the rest. Attempting to stay calm, Michonne quickly picked up her daughter, transporting her away from the window.
"Carl," she turned to her son. "Go get the rifle," she instructed.
"Mama," it was the first time Carl had called her this. The term stopped Michonne in her tracks. She turned to look at him. His face was pink, his eyes wide. "I know that man," he told her.
Michonne's heart sank.