ANDREA
"Milton, what are you doing?"
Andrea had come out of the warehouse behind Merle to a welcoming of pandemonium and ducked back inside when the bullets came her way, but after the first explosion, she decided she needed to take her chances. That was when she saw Milton rising out of the pool of water and meandering over to one wall, his rifle clutched in a loose, unaware grip.
"Milton!"
He was disoriented by the way he was staring at the ground and not even acknowledging the gunfire around him. A bullet shattered the glass over his head and as the pieces fell, one sliced open his cheek, but his only reaction was to blink in confusion and touch the blood coating the left side of his face. Andrea threw out her arm to grab him and dragged him onto the ground behind the boxcar, calling to him in the hope that something she said would register in his mind.
"Milton, say something!" she screamed at him as they lay on the ground while explosions shook the boxcar.
Behind her, Rick and Hans were fighting their way uphill as Maggie guarded their backs. Not too far away, Michonne and Beth ran for the cover of the trees with bullets striking the pavement at their heels. Andrea and Milton had to move now or risk being left behind. She stood up, swaying at first due to the explosion, and then held out her hand for Milton to take it.
Daryl came around the left side of the boxcar, crossbow loaded and almost at the same time, Merle appeared on the right and with him was—
"Phillip," Andrea breathed.
He had only one arm and was covered in blood from an assortment of wounds that should have killed him. Why the Termites would go to such lengths to save him, only to cut off a limb for them to eat was so bewildering that Andrea didn't even try to comprehend it because even more baffling was why Merle had Phillip with him.
"What the hell's he doin' here?" demanded Daryl, aiming at Phillip's head.
"He's a meat shield, that's all," said Merle. "He's gonna cover us on our way out and then I'm gonna kill 'im."
Andrea looked at Daryl. Neither of them understood this at all, but Merle—apart from being covered in almost the same amount of blood as Phillip—seemed to be in complete control of his actions. Whatever his motives were, they made sense to him.
"I can kill 'im now, we don't need no one sneakin' up behind us'n puttin' a knife in our backs like this fucker did t'Hershel," Daryl growled.
"Hey, back off, lil' brother," warned Merle. "I ain't askin' you t'understand what's goin' on here, but I ain't gonna stand 'round arguin' about it neither. Take Andrea'n Miltie. We'll cover you, ain't that right, Governor?"
Phillip considered Andrea and a shadow of the old smile he used to reserve just for her made its way onto his face. "Milton told me you were dead. He's still tryin' t'protect you, isn't he?"
As if in answer to his question, Milton rose up, knife in hand, and would have stabbed Phillip in the throat if Merle hadn't taken a fistful of Milton's hair and pinned him to the side of the boxcar while Daryl and Andrea kept their weapons on Phillip.
"He's my kill, y'unnerstand, Miltie? Y'had your chance plenty've times, so now it's my turn. And his livin' body's gonna be your ticket over that fence and into the woods, so get it t'fuckin'gether."
"I'll escape in my own way, not with his help," Milton snarled, shoving Merle back. "Get him the fuck away from me or I will kill him in the next five seconds."
"I shouldn't've hurt that old man," said Phillip. "That was a mistake, Milton."
Milton punched Phillip in the face and then Merle made Phillip double over in pain as he kicked him in the groin. Andrea secured Milton by taking hold of his shirt so that he wouldn't fly at Phillip again.
"Milton, we need to go now. With or without Phillip's help, we need to go."
Milton pointed his knife threateningly at Phillip. "I don't care what deal you made with him, Merle, he doesn't deserve it. He deserves to be eaten one fucking limb at a time by these cannibals; they'll take their time with him and make him suffer for every goddamn moment of it. You're bringing insult to Hershel in giving him a quick death."
"This's my business, Miltie; it's somethin' I gotta do. I think the old man would forgive me for that," said Merle, clearly disturbed by Milton's attitude.
"That old man's life wasn't wasted," rasped Phillip. "He rubbed off some've that goodness on you."
This time, Andrea, Merle, and Daryl had to restrain Milton as spit flew from his mouth and he stabbed at the air to get to Phillip.
"It wasn't his fucking time! He was my friend, you fuck!"
"Get 'im outta here," Merle told Andrea.
Daryl hauled Milton along in a half-nelson, half-carrying him all the way to the fence with Andrea providing cover fire. Making a foothold with his hands, Daryl motioned to Andrea. "Up'n over, c'mon."
Andrea placed her foot on Daryl's combined fingers and stuck her other one in a space on the fence. Daryl hoisted her up with enough momentum so that she could swing her leg over the side, but while she was straddling the fence, a piercing pain in her shin made her lose her balance and tumble over the other side. Milton scrambled over the fence after her, wincing as he strained his injured arm. As Daryl mounted the fence, Andrea saw Merle and Phillip breaking through another section a couple hundred yards off to her right while further up the hill, Rick and the others were ducking out of sight.
The rattling fence and Merle's shouts at Phillip had drawn in walkers from all sides that had been standing outside of Terminus for who-knew-how long, fighting to get in. There were enough walkers to swarm them within seconds.
"It's not too bad, you can still walk," said Milton after examining her leg.
"Milton, you have to help Merle."
"But Daryl—"
"Naw, she's right," said Daryl, looking as if it was causing him pain to not be able to go to Merle's aid. "I can help her get away, you can't. You can help take down them walkers, though. Go, I'll help her."
"I can't." Milton's lower jaw quivered. "I can't risk leaving you. Dammit, Andrea, I already had to say goodbye to the only person who ever embraced me like a parent should hold their child, don't ask me to have to say it to you. I don't know how…I-I'm not able to cope with another loss. Please…"
Andrea cupped Milton's face in her hands and brought him to her, kissing him as he had kissed her before pulling back and stating with firm promise, "No goodbyes, I swear."
/ / /
MERLE
Even as wounded as he was, the Governor was a good shot as Merle led him on a rampage to give the others time to make it safely into the woods. The Termites were cowards, returning Merle and the Governor's fire from the safety of their compound, but the noise had attracted groups of biters, making the uphill struggle even worse so that Merle had to shoot behind him, keep watch on the Governor, and be wary of incoming biters all at once while trying not to get shot or stabbed in the back or bitten. A lucky sniper shot off a round that clipped Merle's jaw before splintering into the tree behind him and he dropped his assault rifle in reactionary pain.
"Behind!" he shouted at the Governor, who doubled back and mowed down the biters stumbling up the hill behind them. Merle bent over to pick up his weapon and felt fingers grab the back of his recovered overshirt. The Governor yanked him backwards and threw him aside into the bushes as an active biter fell on the spot he had been seconds before. Stomping down on the skull to end the biter, the Governor kicked at Merle's boot with his own.
"We're almost in the clear, get up!"
Merle brushed his bleeding jaw against his shoulder and saw the biters scaling the hill from below as well as the ones closing in from the left and right. He and the Governor backed up until their shoulders bumped. They opened fire, not aiming, but just pulling the triggers as quickly as they could to slow the biters down. As the Governor stopped to reload, a biter broke through the ranks and rushed them. Merle skewered it on his blade, trying to protect his arm from getting scratched at while continuing to shoot his rifle.
"What the fuck's takin' so long? Shoot, damn it!"
A bullet went through the biter's temple and Merle turned to see who had shot, expecting to see that Rick or Hans or even Maggie had returned. It wasn't any of them, though; it was Milton, standing at least fifty yards off. A small gangle of biters broke off to pursue him, leaving Merle and the Governor to deal with the remaining dozen or so. Merle counted eight biters for himself, hacking, slicing, stabbing, shooting…
He was just about to let his guard down to take a breather when the Governor shrieked. Two biter bodies lay at his feet, but while trying to dislodge his knife from one's skull, another had closed the distance. It clamped down onto the Governor's elbow and tore right through to the bone. A second took a bite out of the his hip. Merle shot them both down and the Governor went to his knees, convulsing with horror at these new injuries that would ensure his death, even if Merle chose to go back on their deal.
He looked up at Merle, pale, sweating, and gagging for air. "Merle, it's time."
Why in the hell did Merle choose today of all days to grown a conscience? This man was the bane of Merle's existence, an insult to mankind, and a psychotic murderer who had killed that old man. Hershel, the one person in the group who was willing to accept him in so readily to provide medical care. That was what Hershel did; he cared for any injured person, even if that person didn't deserve it. Merle owed him this, needed to deal out this ramification.
Sensing his hesitation, the Governor tried to sit up. "You gave me your word that you'd—"
A bullet passed through the Governor's hip. Another buried itself in his thigh and the Governor curled inward to try and make himself as small as possible. Milton staggered up the hill behind him, his boots sliding in the mud but the vengeance on his face unwavering as he shot the Governor in the rear. Crying out in pain, the Governor flipped onto his back, his heels hammering into the ground. With no change in facial expression, Milton put another bullet in the Governor's left knee. Then he picked up the Marlin 1893 where the Governor had dropped it in the weeds and cocked it. The only problem was that one hit from the shotgun would make the Governor unrecognizable and Merle wasn't entirely sure that Milton knew that.
"Milton…stop…" the Governor implored.
"Like you should have stopped looking for us? Like you should have left us the fuck alone? I'll stop when I feel that you've suffered enough for killing that old man."
"Miltie, y'shoot 'im with that shotgun, you'll kill 'im right out," Merle informed him.
"We'll see."
What the fuck had happened to Milton in the last eight hours? From the time he left to collect timbers to now, this meek, terrified, awkward, useless man had both deteriorated and evolved. He had gone catatonic over the loss of Hershel and battled Merle with no thoughts of consequences. He had laughed in the face of imminent death and been nearly raped. He had gone intrepidly into a hive of gunfire to provide cover for Merle and hacked a man's face off for assaulting Andrea. He had taken human lives to protect the group and shot the Governor with sadistic passion. And Merle refused to let him go any further.
"Step back; I'm gonna end this."
Glaring down the barrel of the Marlin, Milton's body posture tensed. "You don't have the right. His life is mine to take."
"If you fire one more time, you're gonna pop. You can't handle it 'cause that's not the sort've person you are. And I'll be damned if that piece've shit at your feet is the one who makes you someone you're not s'posed t'be."
"Why would you care? What happens to me, the person I am—it doesn't affect you."
"The hell it doesn't, dumbass. Whatchoo do right now affects the group and everyone in it. If you do this, there's no goin' back t'whatchoo were before. Y'wanna go back t'Andrea like this and tell her thatchoo tortured the Governor? Think she'll forgive you for that? Christ, Milton, I'm s'posed t'be the one pullin' this shit. It's always been me who does the dirty work, the one who's got no morals."
"Then I guess we're more alike than we thought."
Merle raised his pistol and shot the Governor in the face. It was so simple, so easy, that Merle wondered how it had taken this long to do it. Unforeseen circumstances.
Lowering the shotgun, Milton rounded on Merle. "The fuck is your problem?"
"You're standin' there drenched in blood with fuckin' murder on your face on top've all the shit that's happened t'us t'day and y'wanna know what my problem is?"
"You're the one who led him out here instead of killing him where you found him."
"I needed 'im t'get out. The Termites started firin' at us instead've the rest've the group—and he probably saved my ass a few times. Hell'f I know if he was repentant, but he served his purpose in the end'n now it's done, so quitcher bitchin'."
Milton shouldered the rifle, looking dazed. Below, the Termites were rallying to their vehicles.
"Time t'move, Miltie."