Hope you enjoy.

Chapter 25

Merle paused at the car, looking down the street. There were still some figures wandering aimlessly around amongst the houses, but their work had been silent and so far none of them were even moving in their direction. "Fuck it woman, how many prayers do ya know," he muttered. He heard the door slam and shot the street another look – there was no movement. "Stupid bitch," he complained and turned back to walk towards the church. He saw Simon stalking out of the doorway, right over to the fire, he frowned as he saw him grab the container with the rest of the fuel in it and turn back to the church. "Wha' tha fuck?" he demanded and started to run.

"You're nothing!" yelled Simon, splashing the fuel onto the timber doors, the sword pushed from one door handle to the other. "You hear me – nothing! I reject You – I hate You!" he pulled the matches from his pocket, and struck one.

Merle hit him around the waist, the match falling to the ground and going out. Merle straddled him "Wha' tha fuck do ya t'ink ya doing?" he exclaimed.

"It's all lies," screamed Simon, a wild look in his eyes. "Look at all those people – they all believed and we just slaughtered them like they were beasts." He deflated, his next words a whisper. "How could a god let that happen? How could He?"

Merle shrugged, lifting his leg and sitting on the ground, his back to Simon. "Who tha fuck knows?"

"He won't get away with it anymore," he said and reached out, grabbing the gun from Merle's waistband. He pointed it at Merle's head as he turned suddenly. "He won't bring anymore people here to die."

"Simon – wha' ya doin'?" asked Merle, bracing his hand on the ground beside him as Simon stood, keeping the gun pointed at his forehead.

"I'm going to burn it to the ground," Simon replied breathlessly. "I'm going to erase it from this earth – like He's trying to do to us."

"Marion's in there man," protested Merle.

"She'll get to her children," smiled Simon. "She'll be with her family." His eyes snapped into focus as Merle moved. "Your family might not be dead Merle – do you want risk going to hell before them?" The gun's safety snicked off.

Merle subsided, looking down the barrel and then up into the eyes behind it. Wide eyes, wide eyes that were darting all over the place – that had a look of crazy about them. Eyes that would pull the trigger. "Simon," he started.

"Nigga don't you mean?" sneered Simon, stepping backwards, lifting the gun as Merle leant forward and started to crawl after him. "That's all I am to you. All I'll ever be."

"I showed ya 'ow to shoot dammit," objected Merle another great move on your part brother – teach the crazy nigga how to shoot ya between the eyes! "I shared food wit' ya, I shared drink wit' ya.' He paused, then pointed his stump at the church. "She let you in – she rescued you!"

"She should have left me to die," he said bitterly, pulling out the match box with one hand. "If she knew what I'd done, she would have."

A chill went through Merle, but he kept still, watching the gun as Simon extracted a match. It would be only a millisecond. "Wha' ya talkin' 'bout?" he asked to keep him talking, tensing his muscles.

"My family," Simon looked at him directly and Merle saw the coldness settle in them. "I killed them."

"Ya wha'?" blinked Merle.

"They were coming," explained Simon. "The geeks – a glitch if you will," he gave a twisted smile, but no warmth entered his eyes. "Mum pleaded with me to do something – to protect her, Dad, my sisters, my nephew. So I did – I shot them. Ruthy asked me not to – but I told her, it was better this way. She'd go to Heaven – she could wait for me there." His teeth clenched. "But I'm not going to Heaven am I? I'm going to Hell for what I did." He struck the match.

Merle dived just as the flame flared into life – he heard the spit and felt the sharp pain on his shoulder. He hit Simon in the knees and with the thump the taller man hit the ground, the gun bouncing out of his hand. Dog barked, running into the two men, then yelped as the bodies lurched in struggle almost squashing him. Merle came up on top and lifted his right arm to level a punch fuck he thought before Simon's fist came up and struck him across the chin. He was flung to the side and Simon followed him, holding him down with one hand as he flung another punch into his face, then another and another. Merle heaved, flinging his left hand up in a hammer like blow that caught Simon flush in the ribs – Merle felt the crunch and smirked. He heaved again and came to his feet, Simon met him with a neat jab to his jaw and then followed with some blows to his ribs.

Simon was taller and at some stage, apparently, had received boxing lessons. He was lithe and quick, graceful on his feet. But Merle had grown up by the seat of his pants under the blow of a fist – he rolled with whatever Simon handed him and returned it with interest. He used his head, he used his feet, he used his elbows, he used every dirty trick that he'd learnt as a kid and since, in and out of jail. Simon's head was bleeding above the eye and his lip was split in a couple of places – but he was fighting with almost a berserker type commitment.

"Enough!" yelled a voice and Merle turned.

Marion held the silenced weapon on them, moving the barrel back and forth between them. Her face and hands were bleeding from a multitude of small cuts from her passage through a window. "What the fuck is going on here?" she demanded harshly.

"The redneck's gone crazy!" replied Simon. "He tried to kill me."

Merle growled but held still as the gun was currently pointed at him.

"And who tried to kill me?" she asked icily. Marion looked at Merle – bleeding from a split lip, his singlet shirt torn half off, breathing heavily, his fists clenched at his side. He lifted his eyes and met hers. She turned the gun onto Simon.

Simon saw the look – saw the message pass between them. He yelled and reached forward, grabbing Merle around the neck – pulling a gun from his waistband and putting it to Merle's head. Marion froze, lowering her weapon.

Where the fuck had that come from? wondered Merle, he knew the only one of the guns he'd given Simon was the shotgun. And he had never had a 6 shot revolver like that.

"I did it for you," he pleaded to her, his grip around Merle's neck savage. "You miss them so much – it's not fair for you to be kept away from them."

"So you thought you'd kill me?" she exclaimed. "Who gave you the right to make that decision?"

"He's made it before," said Merle warningly, her eyes flicked to him in shocked horror before turning back to Simon.

"You said yourself – they're in a better place," Simon bleated and Merle's eyes rolled. He tensed his shoulders and winced as the gun pushed further into his head. He met Marion's eyes – they were warning him wait. He clenched his jaw. "I couldn't let them be attacked – become one of them. I did them a favour," he insisted.

"Perhaps you did Simon," she allowed. "But I want to live. I decided that a long time ago."

"Haven't you ever considered..." Simon's voice trailed off.

Marion swallowed, meeting Merle's eyes briefly again. "I have. I came close to – when I thought there was no hope. But there's always hope Simon, there's always something to live for."

"Hope?" he scoffed. "What hope is there if we're all going to turn into one of them?"

Wha? thought Merle. Where had that come from?

"That's only a guess Simon – I could be wrong," said Marion. "Please – let him go. Let's talk about all this."

"Talk?" laughed Simon, the sound a grating parody of humour. "Merle Dixon – talk? He doesn't talk Marion – he acts. I don't understand what you see in him – your husband must be rolling in his grave."

Merle swore, bucking his shoulders – Simon rode the movement easily and pushed the gun harder into his head.

Marion flinched and lifted the weapon. "Let him go Simon."

"Or what?" he mocked. "You're going to shoot me Marion? You won't be able to seek forgiveness for that one," he nodded at the church. The fire was well and truly lit, having moved from the door into the internal walls and up along the roof. The noise was increasing, the heat making them sweat.

"I don't need a church to pray Simon," she replied, the gun held steady. She flicked her gaze to Merle she can't make the shot he realised. His head was too close to Simon, she was afraid that she'd miss. He nodded slightly and her eyes flicked back to Simon. "But I don't want to shoot you – please let him go. If you don't want to stay with us, that's fine – we'll go through the supplies, help you get a car." We will, will we Merle thought savagely.

"Come with me," urged Simon As if the bastard hadn't just tried to cook her alive. "You know it's only a matter of time..."

"Enough Simon," her voice cracked out as only that of a mother or drill sergeant could. "I'm travelling with Merle to Fort Benning – end of discussion. Now, let... him... go!"

Marion watched the emotions play over Simon's face, the hurt, the guilt, the fear, the hate. Please God no she thought.

Simon shoved Merle in the back so he staggered to the ground and lifted his gun.

Merle heard the spit and it took a moment for his mind to process the absence of pain and the different sound. He rolled over onto his back and saw Simon's hand release the gun, his face blank as he slowly tumbled to the ground, a gaping hole through the middle of his chest. He turned around, Marion was still in place, the gun held extended in front of her. She seemed to mentally shake herself and lowered the gun, talking one step before having to stop as Dog started jumping all over her, yipping and barking in a frenzy. Merle snorted and pushed himself to his feet, grimacing at the pain the simple movement caused him. He walked over to where Simon's body lay, his lip curling before he reached over to pick up the gun. He flicked it open and froze her, Dad, my sisters, my nephew, 6 shots.

"Ya fuckin' stupid nigga!" he yelled, and kicked the body, hurling the gun at it. "Ya crazy, demented, selfish black bastard!" he kicked the body again and again. "Ya piece of shit, worthless .."

"Merle!" Marion's horrified voice and face got in his way.

He flung himself away from her, swearing.

"Please Merle," she almost pleaded, her voice teetering on the edge. "I need you to stop."

He stopped, putting his hand on top of his head. "Tha fuckin' nigga almost burnt ya to a crisp..." he started.

"Don't you make this about race Merle," she ordered. "He was a tormented soul," she continued softly, still next to the body. "I should have seen it – the way Dog was trying to look after him. It was the same way he looked after me."

"T'ia ain't your fault woman," he snarled at her.

"How can't it be?" she smiled at him sadly, bending down to pick up the gun.

"Don't," he said suddenly, taking a step forward and holding out his hand.

She gave him a puzzled look, and then looked at the gun. The horror dawned on her face and the gun dropped out of her limp hand, she staggered back a couple of steps. She looked up at him "I killed him."

"No ya didn't," he refuted, stepping forward to grab her by the shoulders with one hand and a stump. "He used ya – he didn't have the stones to do it 'imself – so he used me to make ya take the burden." He held her eyes with his own. "It ain't your fault woman."

She pulled away from him, covering her mouth. There was a crack and she looked up, Dog yelped as the roof of the church imploded and the frame crashed down.

"Come on – let's git outta 'ere," said Merle next to her shoulder.

She shook her head. "Not yet," she turned back to Simon.

"Ya ain't going ta bury 'im," he exploded.

"No," she shook her head again. "Not yet." She took a breath and then looked up at him, her voice stronger now. "I want to see if he turns."

Merle frowned. "Why tha hell would he? He's dead."

"Bear with me," she requested. "You remember that man that had my sword. Well he was alive that afternoon and a geek the next day. Of all the people I saw sick – it took them at least three days to die. I couldn't understand how he would get from living to a geek so quickly. And then I remembered something – that dead man on the stairs? That we stepped over? He ended a geek too – he was one of the ones who chased me down the street. Now how is that possible? He wasn't bitten when we first saw him – was he? He had been shot. So how did he turn?"

"So I got to thinking about this disease. It obviously starts with the flu like sickness – I've seen sick people die and come back. And perfectly healthy people can also get sick if they are bitten or scratched – probably any exchange of bodily fluids will do it. But none of that explains what happens at the Palace – the geek that rose from the dead, the absence of the bodies of the men killed by the explosion, what they were shooting at, why they left before they were ready. So I got to wondering – what if there's two types of infection? What if there's an airborne virus that attacks your system through your respiratory system and something that is carried through the blood – but is dormant until you die. "

Merle blinked, trying to follow her train of thought. "So why do ya git sick if ya bitten or scratched – t'at's carried t'rough tha blood."

"But it's come from the respiratory infection."

"So ya reckon that we've all got t'is second virus inside us?" he demanded. "T'at turns us into geeks when we die."

She shrugged. "I'm no microbiologist – but it's a working theory." She nodded at Simon's body. "One we can test." (1)

/ / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / /

Merle prowled around the church, looking around for geeks that may have been attracted by the fire. There'd been a few, but the burning geeks had apparently put a dead smell in the air and those that he'd killed, silently with the silenced gun or his knife, had really just been wandering along. The afternoon had progressed, it would be night soon. He looked along the side of the shell of the church to where she sat, Dog curled up in between her legs, the crossbow close to her side. She'd hardly moved since she'd convinced him to wait around. It had taken a bit – he wanted nothing more than to just get into the car and get as far away from the cursed place as he could. But she'd argued with him that this was something that she wanted to know, that she needed to know. So finally he'd agreed – not only because he suspected that he'd have to carry her away, but because her sword was still too hot to retrieve from the ashes near the front of the church and because – well he wanted to know as well.

"We're goin' to have to set up camp," he said as he came up behind her.

She nodded, but made no move.

"Ya want somet'in' ta eat?" he asked again.

She shuddered a little and shook her head. "No thanks Merle."

"Ya need ta eat somet'in'," he insisted.

She sighed and looked up at him. "Not today Merle, please?"

He sighed and crouched down beside her. "'ow long ya goin' ta wait?"

"You don't care, do you" she asked, slightly enviously.

He shrugged. "I did wha' I could ta 'elp 'im – he chose not ta accept it." He looked at her fucker's lucky you did kill him – he would have torn the prick to shreds. "T'ere's some people ya just can't save."

Marion sighed and ducked her head.

Dog growled and they both turned towards the body. In some type of fascinated horror they watched as Simon's hands flopped, his hands clenching, a slight noise coming out of his throat. His head rolled a little, towards them and his eyes opened – the brown obscured as if with cataracts, a grey white film over the top. What used to be Simon growled and moaned, rolling to get to his feet.

Merle dragged Marion to her feet with an arm under hers. She staggered against him, catching the whimper with her hand across her mouth. Dog barked, getting in between them and the now geek.

"Dog," said Merle and the animal retreated behind them. Simon-geek growled and Merle pointed the weapon, firing and it dropped to the ground, finally dead. Marion turned and emptied her stomach onto the grass.

/ / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / /

Merle sat up against the car door, his legs spread out along the seat, his left hand propped with the weapon pointed out the open window. He moved his shoulder slightly to adjust the pressure on his back. Marion lay between his legs, her hips hard against his upper thigh, her shoulder buried underneath his, her back pressed against the seat and his stump wrapped around her feeling every breath of Dog's from his perch along her side. Her head was on his chest – her breathing was even but he knew she didn't sleep. They were covered with blankets, he was almost sweating – but her shudders wouldn't stop.

"It'll never happen to ya woman," he said quietly.

There was silence and then, "promise?" the word was barely audible. "You'll do what is needed?"

"I promise," he returned. He hesitated, the vision of Simon rising as a geek in front of him "Will you ..."

"Deal."

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(1) I daresay that there are a number of fics which attempt to explain the way the disease works, however I have only read one and that was partially (Day 100 by Last of the Lilac Wine) to avoid any unintentional copying. Any similarity to any other stories is purely co-incidental due to great minds thinking alike!