Maggie immediately wished she hadn't asked that question. Maybe Daryl hadn't heard her. Maybe he was already sleeping again.

"Hmmm?" Daryl mumbled, not sure if he had heard her correctly in the foggy half asleep state he was in. He felt her hand caress his hip and then rest there as she pressed herself up close against his back and then she whispered, "Never mind."

He was too tired to press her to repeat what she had said and if she had said what he thought she had said, he didn't want to encourage her. What was he supposed to say? 'Yes, I'd love to fuck you silly but I don't think I can without blowing a blood vessel in my head?' Of course he wanted her, he was a man after all, and she was a beautiful woman. Hell, she was more than that, she was his beautiful woman, (no, he didn't think he'd ever get used to the idea that she wanted him and that she actually wanted to be 'his woman') but with the trauma his body and his head had been subjected to lately it was simply a matter of the spirit being willing and the flesh being weak.

He briefly thought of telling her to get out of his bed and out of his room before he fell asleep again. Hershel had said that his head injuries had caused malfunctions in his autonomic nervous system which controlled his breathing, heart rate and blood pressure. This was why his blood pressure would suddenly skyrocket and then plummet. There was a potential that these malfunctions could stop his breathing or his heart for no reason at all at any time and he sure as hell didn't want to die in his sleep and then come back as a walker while Maggie was lying next to him. He mulled it over for a minute and then quietly said, "You know it ain't safe for you to be in here. You really oughta sleep somewhere else, Mags."

"I'm not leaving." Maggie said and she snuggled in closer to him.

He was wide awake now and rolled over onto his back. Maggie raised her hand slightly and let it skim over Daryl's hip as he changed his position and then she rested it on his stomach just below his navel.

"You know what your dad said about my fucked up head. What if I.."

"You won't" Maggie said before he could finish and she leaned toward him and placed a gentle kiss on his cheek.

"You don't know that for sure." he said.

She sighed and softly said, "I don't want to, but if it will make you rest easier, I'll leave; but not until you fall asleep."

Daryl grasped her left hand from off his stomach and brought it to his lips and gently kissed the top of it. "M' sorry." he said almost in a whisper, "but until your dad says there ain't no danger a' me randomly droppin' dead, I'd prefer you didn't sleep with me." He held her hand against his lips again when he had finished speaking and Maggie could feel the splits against the skin of her hand.

"Okay," she said "But like I said, I'm not leaving tonight until you fall asleep."

"What if you fall asleep before I do?" he asked.

Maggie slid her hand out of Daryl's and gently grasped his jaw and turned his face towards hers. She leaned in and kissed him softly on the lips. "I doubt that will happen." she said. "But if it does, just poke me in the ribs."

Five minutes later Maggie leaned over and kissed her sleeping bedmate's cheek. She climbed out of the bed and quietly let herself out of Daryl's room, closing the door behind her.

Merle was sitting on the deck alone in one of the patio chairs. He had his booted feet propped up on the patio table and he had tilted his chair back so he was looking up at the star filled sky. He had grabbed two cold Coronas out of the refrigerator on his way out to the deck and as he tilted the bottle up and let the last bit of foam in the bottom of the first bottle slide into his mouth he mentally cursed himself for not grabbing three.

Merle leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. All hell had broken loose when he and Andrea had returned to the house.

Andrea had started to run to the gate once she had noticed that it appeared that a grave was being dug. Andrea knew that graves were only dug when a member of the group died. Walkers and enemies were burned.

Merle, with Daryl's crossbow slung over his shoulder, slammed the gate behind him as he came through it behind Andrea and quickly turned and latched it. He still had things that he needed to bring in from his truck so he didn't lock it. He figured he could lock it when the truck had been hosed off and was completely unloaded.

Glenn ran to meet Merle and Andrea as they both burst through the gate. He met Andrea halfway across the yard and opened his arms to embrace her.

"Who?!" Andrea cried out as she fell into Glenn's open arms and hugged him back. She looked over to where Rick stood near Randall. "Hershel? Dale?" Her eyes grew wider, "Daryl?!"

Glenn told her it was Dale and Merle walked by the two of them on his way to the house just as Andrea burst into tears. Merle wasn't going to hang around for the waterworks. He never could stand to see a woman cry. It made him feel either:

a. Angry, because the crying woman was either an emotional idiot and needed to suck it up OR she was an evil shrew and was using her tears to try to manipulate a man into doing her bidding.

b. Uncomfortable. He had made a few women cry in his day, women that thought they really meant something to him and claimed to care for him when all he was looking for was a piece of ass. This only happened when he foolishly allowed himself to fall into a routine with the same woman for a while. It seemed that just as he was starting to enjoy having a regular sex partner, the woman would ruin everything by trying to put a leash on him and making PLANS for them. He'd tell her he loved the sex, but he sure as hell didn't love her and then and she'd fucking cry. That would always be his cue to leave and not look back.

He looked over his shoulder and watched for a second as Andrea let Glenn lead her to where the new grave, Dale's new grave, was being dug. Andrea was still crying and Merle looked away from her and started toward the house.

"Wait, Merle!" Rick called after him.

Merle turned to look at the man that had handcuffed him to the roof in Atlanta and who he held totally responsible for the loss of his right hand. Merle set his jaw and narrowed his eyes. "What in hell do you want?" he snapped.

Rick's eyes widened and he swallowed and he took a step back without realizing it. He was suddenly very aware that Merle would probably never completely forgive him for what had happened in Atlanta and to be honest, he found Merle to be very intimidating when he gave him one of his ice cold blue-eyed glares.

Merle saw Randall leaning on the shovel he'd been using to dig Dale's grave and he jerked his thumb at him, "And who the hell is that?" he demanded.

Glenn decided to intervene before things got ugly between Merle and Rick and he steered Andrea toward Rick before he released his grip on her so she could collect a hug from their leader. Glenn then turned and he stepped in front of Merle and said, "We really need your help, Merle."

Merle scoffed. "I ain't too good at diggin' holes with one hand and all if that's what you're needin' my help with."

"No," Glenn said and he grasped Merle's wrist and started to pull him toward the garage and away from Randall and the others.

Merle didn't like Glenn grabbing his wrist like that one bit and he planted his feet and didn't budge.

When Glenn looked over his shoulder to see why Merle wasn't coming along with him, Merle gave Glenn a steely glare and then looked down at where the young man's hand encircled his wrist. He cocked an eyebrow and looked from his wrist to Glenn's face again and then he stepped forward so he was face to face with Glenn. "You best be takin' your damned hand offa me, China boy."

Glenn swallowed and quickly released Merle's wrist like it was on fire and had burned his hand.

"Merle," he said, "I'm sorry, but we need your help and I really need to talk to you….privately. I need to ask you..."

"Glenn," Rick interrupted. "there's no need for secrecy. Merle," Rick said, and he pointed at Randall. "This is Randall. He showed up here with two members of his group who are now deceased. They attacked the house and one of them killed Dale."

Merle directed his glare towards Randall. "My brother okay?" he asked.

"No one else was injured." Rick answered.

Merle nodded and Rick continued. "Now Randall here, he was doing okay at first. We were asking for information about his group and he was cooperating, only now for some reason he's changed his mind and doesn't want to tell us anything else. He's suddenly become awfully tight-lipped, and that's a problem."

Merle looked Randall over and grinned a big, toothy grin. "Is that so?" he said with amusement. "I'll bet a crowbar would pry those lips apart real easy an' all kinds a information would come fallin' outta his mouth."

Randall stopped leaning on the shovel and stood up as straight and tall as he could. He tried to wipe any semblance of fear from his face but Merle could see it in his eyes for the split second that they met his before Randall looked away. Randall was already afraid of him. That was a good thing.

Randall would not allow himself to look directly at Merle after they initially locked eyes. He immediately sensed that Merle was dangerous. As dangerous as or more so as any of the members of the group he had been a part of for the last month. Randall could easily imagine Merle taking part in any of the atrocities he and his group had been involved in and enjoying it. He wondered if the man holding the gun on him and the Asian kid could see the crazy that lurked behind the one-handed man's eyes like he could.

"So you want me to get some information outta this little shit?" Merle asked Rick without taking his eyes off Randall.

"Think you can?" Rick asked, using the same tactic that the governor had used to motivate Merle before he went in to interrogate the tight-lipped prisoner that turned out to be his brother. The leader in Rick knew that by acting dubious about Merle's abilities as an extractor of information, he was actually encouraging Merle to get whatever information he could out of Randall any way he could.

Merle snorted. "'Course I can. Piece a cake." he said as he narrowed his eyes at Randall. "Just got one question."

"And what is that?" Rick asked.

"You got a limit for me in mind? 'Cause if he's a stubborn bastard, I wanna know how far I can go before I reach that point. Just in case..."

Randall bit his bottom lip. Surely they wouldn't let this brute actually torture him, would they?

He already had a good idea of what Merle was capable of, but the leader seemed to be less inclined towards violence and the Asian seemed like a nice guy. The old man that had been sitting in the lawn chair with the shotgun until half an hour ago had seemed to be the nicest of all of them and he reminded Randall of his kindly and wise old grandfather. Randall was actually disappointed when the white-haired man stood up and announced that he was going to retire for the evening. The old man handed the shotgun to the Asian kid and had gone into the house after bidding them all, including Randall, good night.

"No limits. Do whatever you have to do to get the information we need." Rick told Merle.

Randall's eyes widened and he looked at the former law man. "What?"

Rick turned and glared at Randall. "Shut up and dig." he snapped. Rick then turned to Merle and said. "He's gotta finish digging this grave and then, depending on the time, I'll either come get you or you can get started in the morning"

"What?!" Randall asked again as he drove the shovel into the soft earth.

Merle smirked and pointed at the hole. "Might want to dig two of those," he said to Randall.

Randall stopped digging and his eyes grew wide.

"Oh, wait," Merle added, "Never mind the second grave. My bad."

Randall looked visibly relieved for a second.

That was until Merle continued, "We burn biters an' enemy combatants, we don't bury 'em." Merle nodded and patted the crossbow's strap that crossed his chest. As he turned and moved toward the house he heard Andrea questioning Glenn about the attack that had killed Dale. He saw the covered body on the porch and stopped to look at it for a couple of seconds.

Merle never cared much for Dale, but outside of being an annoying, overly righteous windbag, the man had never done him any harm. Still, one less useless mouth eating away at the group's food supply was not a bad thing. He wasn't sure if Rick was planning on feeding Randall at all, but he knew Randall was going to end up on the burn pile within the next twenty-four hours so it really didn't matter. It wasn't like there would be an extra mouth to feed for very long.

Merle stormed through the kitchen and the dining room on his way to Daryl's bedroom door. He stopped in the living room for a second to grab a few stale M & M's out of a crystal candy dish on a sofa table and popped them into his mouth after making sure that they weren't peanut M & M's. Both he and Daryl were very allergic to peanuts.

He approached Daryl's door and stood listening for almost a full minute. He could hear Daryl snoring in his quiet, Daryl way and he was just about to bang on the door and wake his ass up to give him his damned piece of crap crossbow when he heard Maggie giggle and mumble something. He listened a bit longer. Obviously, she was talking to Daryl. He heard Maggie moan and call Daryl 'Tiger' and he rolled his eyes. He would have to learn the story behind her nickname for his little brother one of these days. Then again, maybe he didn't want to know. Maggie moaned again and Merle was about to take his leave when he realized that Daryl was still snoring. He smirked and gently placed his hand on the doorknob and turned it, and then quietly and slowly pushed Daryl's bedroom door open about four inches and peeked inside the room.

Daryl was on his right side, facing away from Maggie and towards the door. Merle froze. Had Daryl seen him? Daryl was a very light sleeper and under normal circumstances a mouse fart would jolt him wide awake from a dead sleep. His head injury had changed that and once his eyes had adjusted to the dark room, Merle could see that Daryl was still asleep. Maggie moaned and pressed up against Daryl's back. Merle bit back a chuckle when she threw her arm over Daryl's hip and mumbled something in a low, almost sexy sounding voice.

Merle quietly stepped back and closed the door. He counted to five to himself and then knocked on the door. no one answered at first so he pounded harder on it. He heard Maggie loudly tell him to go away and he grinned and pounded on the door some more.

Daryl was half asleep when he opened the door and Merle presented him with his crossbow. Merle was delighted with Maggie's reaction to his teasing and he was in such a good mood that he didn't even mind when Daryl slammed the bedroom door in his face.

Merle opened the second Corona and brought the bottle to his lips. The beer wasn't nearly as cold as the first one and for a second he considered getting a cold one out of the refrigerator but he decided against it. His good mood was long gone. He had a lot on his mind now and he didn't like it one bit.

Merle had immediately figured out that Randall belonged to 'Dave's Group' and that he was one of the three that the now dead men back at the Greene's barn had said were sent out to investigate the existence of a secret military base-house a dying soldier had told them about. It existed alright, Merle thought, and it was brimming with food, weapons and more damned toilet paper than you could shake a stick at.

Merle knew Andrea had figured out Randall's tie to the men at the Greene's farm, too, and that she would be filling Rick in on the situation, unless, of course, she was just so torn up over the death of the old man that she wasn't thinking straight.

Merle decided that the house wasn't a safe haven anymore, if it ever had been one to begin with, and he was torn over what to do. His first instinct was to repack his truck, fill his tank with gas, grab Daryl and throw him into the truck cab with all his damned pussy pillows and blankies and head north. Fast. Very fast.

The encounter he hoped he had set up between Dave's group and Woodbury wouldn't last forever and whoever came out on top would eventually come looking for the house. Dave's group was already aware of its possible existence and when the three that were sent out to find it didn't return that might set off some alarms. Then again, Dave might just think that they had been caught by a Woodbury patrol after the victims in the barn had seemingly been rejected by Woodbury's representatives and killed.

Merle closed his eyes. His head was starting to hurt but he still needed to think this through.

The mouse was more than likely already in Woodbury and if she started running her mouth about the lake house, and Merle was sure she would, the governor would be sending a requisition team out to check things out before launching a full scale assault.

Merle hoped that his plan would pan out the way he hoped it would and a big, fat conflict between Woodbury and Dave's group would develop. If that happened, the lake house would probably be the last thing on the governor's or Dave's mind and the group at the house would be relatively safe, at least for a little while. Still, Merle thought, whichever group won the conflict would eventually come looking for the house. All good reasons to leave right now.

"On the other hand, ha-ha ha" he mumbled to himself. "There's ol' Darleena Dizzy Britches to think about." Merle knew it would be best for Daryl to get the rest he needed in order to heal before they headed north. He also liked the fact that Hershel was doing what he could for Daryl and the veterinarian seemed to make Daryl's recovery his priority.

Even before the dead had started to walk and search out human flesh, no one had much cared about the Dixon boys and Merle was actually grateful that now, in the worst of times, Hershel was concerned about and looking out for his little brother.

Merle took another mouthful of beer. It was starting to get quite warm and he winced. Then he snorted. Cold beer was a damned luxury now, and here he was he turning up his nose at warm beer. "Jackass", he mumbled to himself.

Merle got back to thinking and made a face as though he'd just caught wind of something that smelled really nasty.

Then there was Maggie. In Merle's opinion Maggie was dangerous. She was dangerous because it was possible, just slightly possible, that she had as much influence over Daryl as he did. Merle could see problems ahead if this was true.

Maggie either would not want Daryl to leave and go north or she would have Daryl talked into taking her along with them. Sure, Merle reasoned, Daryl had left Maggie behind to go look for him, but now he had been found and Daryl's ridiculous behavior after he'd saved Maggie's ass from Morey back in the Greene's barn indicated to Merle that his baby brother wasn't going to be so quick to leave Maggie's side again.

Daryl had never gotten attached to another woman after Lily and Merle had been pleased with that development. Merle had decided when he was a young boy that only men who were pussies and soft in the head would allow their mushy, disgusting "feelings" and emotions to develop and deepen. Pussy feelings were feelings of attachment, compassion, sympathy, friendship and love. Real men didn't express these feelings. Hell, in Merle Dixon's perfect world, real men didn't even have these feelings. It was okay to have manly feelings. Manly feelings were Merle's specialty and he took great pleasure and manly pride in expressing them. They included anger, hate, disgust, indignation, loathing and lust. Merle took after his father and had easily perfected the ability to feel and express manly feelings.

Daryl was a different story. Daryl was a born pussy and it had taken a lot of effort and work on Merle's part to help Daryl develop into a manly man, a man that his last name dictated and demanded him to be.

After Bud had effectively put an end to Daryl's relationship with Lily, Daryl had become terribly depressed, but he had also grown a pair of balls and pushed down his pussy feelings and let his manly feelings take over. Merle liked that. Now it looked like Maggie was bringing all Daryl's pussy tendencies back to the surface and Merle was not going to allow the repussification of Daryl Lee Dixon to happen. No siree. Merle made up his mind then. He would leave in three days and head north.

Merle watched the stars and made his plans. Tomorrow would be a busy day. He would speak to Hershel about Daryl and encourage Hershel to keep his little lovesick daughter away from Daryl for a few days so he could sleep and recover. He was also going to suggest to Hershel that keeping Daryl at least mildly sedated would be a good idea, seeing how bad his headaches were and knowing from past experience that sleep helped Daryl to recover. He'd tell Hershel about the time that Daryl crashed his motorcycle into a tree and passed out for days after walking home from the crash, still shitfaced drunk. Daryl had been fine after sleeping for three days. Well, until Merle beat his ass for wrecking his bike. He'd deserved it, though, the dumb shit.

Merle let his mind drift into the past. He recalled picking Daryl up at the hospital when he was released at the end of five days after Bud had carved him up. Daryl hadn't spoken to him all the way home and had gone straight into his room and slammed the door when they got there. Merle gave Daryl his space, but after four days of getting the silent treatment, Merle had had enough. He'd finished off a bottle of Jim Beam and six Budwiesers as she sat in front of the television in the living room on that Monday evening watching Monday Night RAW. He and Daryl always watched Monday night wrestling together while they had a couple of beers. Daryl came out of his room and walked into the kitchen without saying a word to Merle and Merle heard the refrigerator open.

"Get me another beer while you're in there and then come on out here and watch wrestlin' with me." Merle called into the kitchen. "You've gotta see this, Derle! There's this new guy, the Undertaker and he's kicking everyone's ass!"

A minute later Daryl walked back through the living room and towards his room. Merle scowled when he noticed Daryl hadn't brought him a beer. "Whoa, son, looks like you forgot somethin'." Merle said as he stood up and reached out to grab Daryl's arm. Daryl stepped out of Merle's reach and continued toward his room without saying a word.

"I'm speakin' to you, Darleena." Merle snapped, "Now go get me a beer, dammit!"

Daryl didn't even turn around and Merle put his beer down on the scratched and dented coffee table in front of the sofa and lunged at Daryl, grabbing him by the back of his shirt. "You best be listenin to me boy, or I'll.." Daryl spun around and Merle blinked just before Daryl's fist collided with the left side of his lower jaw. He had seen what was happening just a split second before Daryl hit him and he blinked with disbelief.

"Why you.." Merle started to shout. Daryl punched him in the stomach. Merle was drunk and his reflexes were slower than they normally would have been, so when he tried to grab for Daryl, Daryl jumped back and stepped sideways, then darted forward, slamming his fist into Merle's ribs.

Merle sucked in a breath and bellowed like a wounded bull as he took a hard swing at his younger brother. Daryl jumped back and then shot forward and clobbered Merle in the face again. Merle staggered backward and Daryl hurled himself at this older brother. The impact was enough to knock Merle onto his back and he hit his head on the edge of the coffee table on the way to meet the dirty, musty and worn gray green carpet covering the living room floor. Daryl was scrambling to sit on Merle's chest and he hit Merle in the face again. The pain of the impact from both the coffee table and Daryl's fist helped to clear Merle's head rather than make him dizzy and he yelled and reached up to grab his brother around the neck.

Daryl continued to rain blows down upon Merle and Merle tried to get his hands around Daryl's throat.

Merle had found Daryl's silence through the attack to be vaguely unnerving, but now Daryl started to shout at the top of his lungs as he struck Merle. "You mother fuckin' piece of dogshit! We're blood! Blood, you asshole! You don't betray yer own blood!" Daryl continued to yell as he reamed on Merle. "I fuckin' hate you! I hate you! Why didn't you tell me?" He was screaming now, "Why?! You stupid, cruel son of a bitch! I'm your fuckin' brother!"

Merle brought his fist back and hit Daryl as hard as he could on the right side of his face. The impact snapped Daryl's head to the left but he recovered quickly and answered Merle's shot with another one of his own.

Merle's nose was bleeding and he was sure Daryl had broken it. His eyes were starting to swell closed and Daryl's last hit to his face had almost knocked him out. Daryl grabbed Merle's forearms and held his arms to Merle's side and then moved so his knees pinned Merle's arms to the floor. Merle blinked as his younger brother leaned forward until their noses were almost touching. Daryl's eyes were narrowed and his face was a blood spattered contorted picture of pure rage. He pinned Merle with an ice cold blue steely gaze as he pulled his lips back into an animal like snarl. Merle felt himself shudder. Daryl looked like a sweaty, hungry, wild, rabid wolf ready to rip out his throat and Merle realized with surprise that the strange and uncomfortable feeling he was experiencing right then was fear.

"You'd a been kinder just to let 'im kill me." Daryl snarled. Merle noticed the tears then. Daryl wiped his eyes with one of his hands and then stood up, freeing Merle. "Just stay the hell away from me." he said and Merle heard his brother's voice break. "Fuckin' bastard."

Merle watched wordlessly as Daryl stalked off to his room wiping the tears from his eyes. He sat up and was hit with a spell of dizziness. What the hell had just happened? Daryl had just kicked his ass, that's what had happened. Yup, his baby brother had just kicked his big tough Merle Dixon unkickable ass and then scurried off to his room to cry like a little girl. Merle didn't think that he had ever felt so humiliated.

Merle sighed. No, he couldn't allow his brother to get all pussified by the spitfire. He knew exactly how he could prevent that from happening and he was damned well going to put his plan into action.

Merle finished the beer and wiped his brow. Shit, it was hot. Things usually cooled off a bit in the evening once the sun went down but not tonight. It was at least ten degrees hotter than it had been a couple of hours earlier, Merle was sure of it. He leaned back in his chair and rested his head, then he closed his eyes and listened. After a few seconds he zeroed in on the noise being made by one particular nearby cricket and he mentally began to count.

Daryl had come home from school once all excited and blabbering about crickets and some kind of bear and a law and when Merle had finally cuffed the kid, he had quieted down and caught his breath and then explained to Merle how he could tell what the temperature was outside just by listening to cricket chirps. Merle had thought he was full of shit and didn't want to hear any more of the crackpot theories his stupid little brother was being taught at school until Daryl had bet Merle that he could tell him what the temperature was within four degrees just by listening to the crickets.

Merle snorted. "What you got to bet?"

"All the money I got in my bicycle fund." Daryl said.

"How much is that?" Merle asked. He knew Daryl had been mowing lawns and doing odd jobs here and there when he could and was trying to save enough money to buy a bicycle of his own. At the rate he was going, Merle figured that by the time he'd saved up enough money for the bike, he'd probably be in the market for one of them old-people Rascal scooter things.

"Ten dollars an' forty eight cents." Daryl said immediately.

"Okay, and if I lose, I pay you five." Merle said.

"You know I'm right." Daryl said and he grinned.

Merle huffed. "Like hell you are."

"Then match my bet." Daryl said.

"I ain't matchin' your bet on somethin' stupid as this." Merle griped.

"Chicken." Daryl taunted. "Bock, bock bock, Merle's a big ol' chicken."

Merle grabbed Daryl by his shirt collar. "Now you cut that out, ya little shit!" he snarled.

Daryl smiled. "I'll cut it out if you'll bet me ten dollars."

Merle sighed and released his little brother. "How old are you now?" he asked.

"Ten." Daryl said.

"You wanna live ta be eleven?" Merle asked.

Daryl said he did, but that unless Merle coughed up ten dollars on this bet, he was just going to have to conclude that Merle was a big ol' chicken.

Half an hour later Merle was handing over a ten dollar bill to his little brother. He went on to use the information he'd learned from Daryl to fleece several of his friends by betting them that he could tell them what the temperature was within four degrees by asking the crickets.

Rick came out onto the porch and approached Merle. He was holding a bottle of Coors beer in each hand and Merle moved his gaze from the sky above him to the tired looking man walking towards him.

"You got the captive in his cell for the night?" Merle asked.

Rick stopped at the table and put a bottle of beer down in front of Merle next to the one he'd just emptied. "Yup."

Merle nodded toward the beer. "That for me?" he asked, never taking his eyes from Rick.

Rick met his gaze. "Yup."

Merle nodded and reached for the beer. He held the neck of it in the hollow of his palm and twisted the top off with his thumb and index finger.

"Mind if I sit down?" Rick asked.

Merle snorted. "Why you askin' me? Ain't my house."

Rick sat down and opened his own beer. "Andrea tells me that you met up with a couple other guys from the group our captive was running with." he said.

"Please tell me she didn't tell you that in front a the guy." Merle said.

Rick shook his head. "She waited until we'd secured him for the night and then told me and Glenn. So what are your thoughts, do you think they'll try to attack us?"

Merle laughed. "What, you want my opinion?" He pointed at the beer Rick was just bringing to his lips. "That ain't your first one, is it?" he asked. "You gotta be half in the bag to be wantin' my opinion."

"No. Not yet anyway, but I do want to know what you think."

Merle leaned forward. "Okay, here it is then. I think we should get the hell out of here as soon as we can. Head north. Once the governor finds out about this place, and we can't be sure that the runaway mouse hasn't already filled him in about it, he's gonna be sending a team out to check the place out. If he likes what he sees, and he will, he will plan and execute an attack. That's what he does."

Rick leaned back in his chair. "Glenn and Beth are going to be on watch tonight. We need to decide whether to stay or run. This place has food, electricity, weapons. I really hate to leave it all. I'm thinking that maybe we can cut off all access. Block the Forest Lake Road with vehicles, downed trees, maybe blow up the road in a few places. That is if we decided to stay."

"I can see where it might be hard to leave this behind." Merle said.

"Andrea told us about what you did at the farm. The idea with the notes was brilliant. I'm hoping your plan works and that Woodbury and Randall's group will keep each other busy at least for a few days."

Rick and Merle talked for a few more minutes and Rick gave some specific questions to Merle that he wanted him to ask Randall. Before they both stood up to go inside, Merle asked about executing Randall when he was done with him.

"Change of plans on that." Rick said as he pushed the chair he'd just vacated back in next to the table.

Merle was surprised. "You gonna let him go?" he asked.

Rick's answer surprised Merle even more.

"No. Andrea wants to execute him."

Sorry about the delay but I am working working working overtime all the time! I have money now, but I have no life. Oh well. I'm sorry it is taking me so long to post chapters. Yes, I suck. Sorry.