This Little Piggy

"Did you know she was teachin' 'em that stuff?" Daryl asked as we made our way outside.

I shrugged, distracted, focusing all my attention on my granola bar wrapper. I swear you needed a degree in aeronautical engineering to get them open.

"Gimme that."

He snatched the bar away from me, deftly opening the packaging and handing it back. I grinned in return, shoving half the bar in my mouth.

"Thanks," I replied around a mouth full of granola. He rolled his eyes, hoisting the crossbow strap higher on his shoulder, looking at me expectantly. "Did I know who was teaching what?"

With my mouth full it sounded more like "did I owe ooh was eaching wat?"

I was stalling. There was no way to answer that question without someone screaming at me.

"Red," he warned.

I swallowed my granola, washing it down with a swig of water.

"Don't Red me." He looked ready to strangle me. "I can neither confirm nor deny that Carol is using story time to teach survival skills."

Carol was my friend, but Daryl was my husband and I would take her wrath over his any day of the week. Daryl PMS'ed with the best of them.

He stopped, pulling a pack of cigarettes from his back pocket and lighting one. He inhaled deep, eyeing me hard while I fought the urge to squirm under his critical gaze. This was completely unfair. I was neither a council member nor the one teaching toddlers how to slit someone's throat. If he had a problem with his BFF's methods take it up with her.

"Rick ain't gonna like it," he finally said.

I snorted, "Rick's not on the council."

In reality that made little difference. While the official transition of power was complete the council still considered Rick's viewpoints, opinions, and reactions at every turn. Old habits die hard and the majority of the council was made up of the core group who'd survived under his leadership since the beginning. In fact, the only outsider was Sasha. Daryl didn't look convinced my answer was a good one, and I sighed. He was so high maintenance sometimes.

"Don't tell him. Wait until the timing's right," I suggested and he cocked his head to the side considering my advice.

"When would that be?"

"That's what deathbeds are for Katniss." Problem solved.

"That dog won't hunt," he frowned.

Dogs? Hunting? I thought we were talking about lying to Rick? He ignored my confusion so I ignored his redneck.

"They may be kids, but they have to learn some time."

As much as I wanted to believe otherwise our little bubble of protection could burst at any moment. Although I disagreed with the subterfuge Carol's intent was sound. Everyone needed to be able to fend for themselves outside the fences.

"I guess," he conceded.

I understood his reservations. Every time someone showed the children a new way to kill the dead, or the living, a tiny piece of their innocence was stolen away before its time, but it was a small price to pay for saving their lives. The world didn't suffer the unprepared.

"Ya seen Merle?"

"Hot damn, yur going too Samurai?!"

"Never mind."

The two of us shared a knowing look as he flicked his cigarette to the ground, stomping on it before we walked to the waiting cars. Merle was grinning hard at Deadpool who stared through him like he wasn't standing two feet in front of her. Her Zen was on point.

The elder redneck was still navigating his precarious position at the prison. Half the people wanted to kill him and the other half were terrified of him. The man had the personality of a racist hyena so making amends to the people he slighted (tried to kill) was more than a 12 step program. It was more like 112.

"At least he stopped calling her his Nubian Queen," I whispered to Daryl and he smirked.

That right there was proof he was trying. Either that or he believed her threat to cut off his balls and shove them down his throat while he slept.

Today we were hitting up some ranch land west of the prison in the hopes of securing sustainable food sources. The construction efforts for the garden, pens, stables and various other structures were either well underway or almost finished. The once sterile prison was slowly but surely becoming a community. One of the former Woodbury residents had even rigged up a shower system that provided very limited amounts of hot water and another found a way to route electricity into the cellblock. We even had a covered pavilion next to the basketball court complete with a cooktop. It was downright homey. If you ignored the barbed wire and walkers lining the fence.

"Stick to the backroads that run parallel to 34," Hershel explained, pointing to the map laid out on the hood of the car. The man took to the role as the council leader like a fish to water. "There's nothing but ranch land passed Wahoo Creek. That'll be our best bet for grains and livestock."

I looked over his shoulder, memorizing the terrain, finding our best approach, identifying possible escape routes and potential danger areas for both walkers and the living. The distance from the prison to our destination meant we were on our own if things went sideways. The area was so spread-out we needed seven people and two vehicles to scout it thoroughly. We hadn't attempted a run with this many people previously, but if we were serious about making this prison a permanent home it had to be done sometime and sometime turned out to be today.

Sasha stepped forward, "Tyreese you're we me and Michonne. Daryl you take Glenn, Alex and Merle."

"Wait!" My head snapped to the side as a boy skidded to a halt in front of the group. "Can I come?"

He was in his early twenties and if I remembered correctly was part of a college ensemble Daryl and Merle found on their last hunting trip. His sandy blonde hair was tussled in that stylish way kids wore it these days pretending the look was natural, but in reality it took 10 minutes in front of a mirror. He had a lop-sided smile on his face that made me wonder how someone so carefree survived five minutes much less over a year. I didn't think I'd ever been that laid back. I'd seen him around the prison on occasion, always smiling, laughing, joking and I was almost positive he was dating Beth. Whatever the hell that meant.

"I don't think that's a good idea," Sasha started.

The tiny, wisp of a woman was a surprise addition to the council, but Hershel's desire to even the playing field by included a newcomer made sense from a practical standpoint. Our group was far outnumbered by the refugees and if we wanted them to adhere to the council's guidance we stood a better chance if one of their own was on it. So far my limited interactions with the woman found her to be level headed and fair in the decision making process, but like all the other newcomers I had yet to speak any meaningful words to her.

"I can help," he insisted, "I want to help."

His eagerness betrayed a boy trying entirely too hard to prove himself a man. He was too excited about the run to be taking the risks seriously. He was eager to prove himself, but for what or to who I had no idea. This wasn't a game. You didn't get points for bravery, only death and a shallow grave. Daryl chanced a look at me and by his face I could tell he was thinking the same thing. Sasha blew out a harsh breath, motioning for Daryl to follow her. Hershel joined them a short distance away, heads bent as they discussed the pros and cons of his request.

"He ain't gonna make it two minutes," Merle mumbled at my side, adjusting the knife strapped to the end of his stub.

Maybe, maybe not, but like I told Daryl earlier everyone had to learn.

Sighing I pulled a roll of duct tape out of my pack. "Give it here."

"I got it."

"The knife is about as limp as your dick," I challenged, "Hold still."

"Always thinkin' 'bout my dick Firecracker," he taunted.

I rolled the tape around his stump, securing the wobbly knife.

"I'm worried you're going to go blind if you keep eating Viagra like Skittles." I tore the end of the tape and smoothed it down around the metal fitting. "Remember to seek help if you have an erection lasting longer than four hours."

He yanked his stub away. "I told ya, that's Tylenol!"

"Uh huh."

He rounded on me, pointing his now secured knife stub in my face, but before he could unleash any hillbilly insults we were interrupted which was disappointing. Winding Merle up was one of my favorite pastimes.

"Excuse me." We both faced the college kid. "Mr. Dixon…Merle…I'm Zach."

I raised my eyebrows at the kid, doesn't bat an eyelash at the prospect of leaving the prison, but nearly wets his pants talking to Merle. Maybe the kid had some survival instincts after all.

"What the hell ya want?" Merle barked and I elbowed him in the ribs. He pursed his lips, but kept his mouth shut.

"I wanted to, ah, say…thank you," he stuttered, sweat beading around his forehead that had nothing to do with the heat. "You and your brother saved us and we never properly thanked you."

The kid held his hand out, his face in worship mode. Merle stood there paralyzed, eyes locked on his outstretched hand like he was offering him a venomous snake and not a friendly handshake. No wonder his attempts at reconciling with our group were going so poorly. His people skills were worse than Daryl's and I once saw him punch someone for tripping over the crossbow he left sitting in the middle of the hall.

"You're welcome," I said, coming to the rescue.

My words broke through my brother-in-laws bewilderment as he awkwardly and uncomfortably accepted the boys praise with a gruff handshake. Zach beamed, giving us both a nod as he walked back to the cars to await the council's decision.

"That was spectacularly awful."

"Shut up," Merle hissed and I laughed, slapping him on the back.

The trio came back, and I could already see the writing on the wall. Happy Go Lucky was coming with us.

"Zach," Sasha said to the boy, "You're with us, but you do everything we say. Got it?"

"Sure, sure."

He smiled bright, the sun reflecting off his bleach white teeth so intensely I almost went blind. He practically skipped to the car before climbing in, talking Deadpool's ear off. She glanced over her shoulder, silently begging me to switch cars. I grinned and gave her a slight shake of my head, laughing out loud when she climbed into the car and slammed the door shut with enough force to bend the frame.

I climbed into the backseat of the truck with Daryl as Glenn got behind the wheel, Merle riding shotgun. The prison hadn't even faded in the rearview mirror before the thick silence in the truck felt like it was choking me. I fidgeted in my seat and I could see Daryl biting his thumb out of the corner of my eye. Clearly he felt it too. The front seat occupants on the other hand sat ramrod straight with their eyes focused straight ahead. It didn't look like either was breathing.

Merle had been tasked to"make things right" with Glenn and Maggie following their incarceration at the hands of The Governor. Tasked meaning both Daryl and I cornered and threatened him if he didn't. Well, I threatened. Daryl stood there and scowled with seething disapproval at his older brother. Based on the tension pulsating through the small truck he'd yet to do so. It could be a good thing or a bad thing the two were trapped in the car for the foreseeable future.

I leaned forward, ignoring Daryl's warning look as I reached between the seat and the door, grabbing Merle's arm and pinching hard. He yelped, jumping in his seat and turning to glare at me. Glenn studiously pretended not to notice the exchange, devoting laser-like focus to driving in an effort to avoid acknowledging the man sitting next to him for as long as possible. I pointed at Glenn, my lips pulled thin when Merle shook his head no.

No? No? I wasn't asking and this wasn't up for debate.

I pointed again, silently threatening him, Daryl covering his ensuing smile with a hand. My Vulcan mind meld with Merle wasn't as strong as it was with his brother, but it was enough we could argue with relative ease.

"Do it," I demanded.

"No fuckin' way."

"Do it or I'm telling everyone you're addicted to Viagra."

His mouth dropped open, "Ya wouldn't dare!"

"Try me."

"It's Tylenol," he insisted.

"I'm going to count to three."

"Stay outta it!"

"One."

He scoffed, "I ain't some kid ya can…"

"Two."

"Alex, I ain't playin'…

"Two and a half."

"Fine!"

I gestured to Glenn before leaning back in my seat and crossing my arms over my chest. Merle turned around in his seat, uncomfortably stealing glances at the driver who refused to acknowledge his existence much less his desire to apologize. I felt Daryl's eyes on me and looked at him, his eyebrows raised in question. I gave him a reassuring nod, holding up my finger to indicate he should wait and everything would be fine, most likely.

"Uh, listen Chinaman…" My mouth dropped open. Daryl groaned. The car swerved violently. What in the holy hell? "I mean Glenn," he corrected, shifting in his seat. Glenn's grip on the steering wheel was so tight his knuckles were white. "We should talk."

"No we shouldn't," he ground out, gaze never straying from the road. I swallowed hard, moving to the left slightly so I could jump in-between the two if necessary.

Merle cleared his throat, "I know…I know I've done wrong by you and yours."

His voice broke a little at the end, and my heart ached for both my friend and brother-in-law. Like Daryl I desperately wanted them to mend fences, but sometimes there was simply too much damage. A hand wrapped around mine, squeezing gently and I interlaced my fingers with Daryl's. I knew Glenn's reservoir for forgiveness was essentially bottomless, but only when it pertained to himself. The fact Maggie had been terrorized was his sole point of contention. He could get passed his own hurt. It was hers he couldn't bear.

"Whoever sheds the blood of man," Merle whispered, "By man shall his blood be shed."

The silence in the truck was so loud it was deafening. I wasn't religious by any stretch of the imagination, but I knew a Bible verse when I heard one.

"For God made man in his own image," Glenn finished. My head bobbed back-and-forth between the men, waiting quiet literally on the edge of my seat. Glenn's tone gave no indication of his intentions. "You think quoting a Bible verse makes up for what you did?"

"No, I don't." Merle kept his head turned away. "Ain't nothin' I can do or say to make it right with ya or yur girl. Can't unring a bell." Wasn't that the truth. "I just want ya to know I ain't that man no more." He swallowed hard, rubbing his chin with his flesh hand. "Or at least I'm tryin' not to be."

I was squeezing Daryl's hand so tight I was likely to break bone as I held my breath in anticipation. This was both heartbreaking and inspiring. Like the most fucked up social experiment of all time.

Question: Were there limits to the human capacity for forgiveness?

Hypothesis: The ability to forgive was not directly linked to how badly they beat the shit out of you, but rather how badly they traumatized your loved ones.

Before the end of the world my answer to that question would have been unequivocally yes, there were limits to forgiveness. Now, I wasn't so sure. Forgiveness was a tricky beast, and if I learned anything in the last few months it was that it didn't conform to expectations. I'd forgiven Daryl's abandonment. Rick had forgiven Carl's murder. Tyrese and Sasha had forgiven Rick's banishment. Forgiveness it seemed was found in the most unlikely of places, but it varied from person to person. Sometimes the forgivable to one person was categorically unforgivable to another. Our ability to forgive Merle held no weight on Glenn and Maggie's.

"It's not what you did to me I can't get passed," Glenn said, his breathing heavy. "What they did to Maggie…" he trailed off, shaking his head as if to shake the memory.

"I know it don't mean nothin', but I didn't know 'bout that," Merle stated somberly. "I'm a lotta things, but I ain't no rapist. If I knew what he was doin' to her I would'va done what I could to stop it."

He was telling the truth. I didn't need my internal lie detector to see the honesty of his declaration.

"You knew what kind of man he was," Glenn accused, "And you still took us there."

Merle was quiet as he absorbed Glenn's contempt. It was clear he needed to feel the hate behind his words as punishment for his time with The Governor. He was locked in a prison of his own making and until he believed he was worthy of being released he never would.

"Yeah," he finally agreed. "I took y'all knowin' he might kill ya. Hell, I shot Alex b'fore that jackass ever laid a hand on y'all."

My arm tingled at the mention of the gunshot wound, phantom pains. Daryl shifted beside me, his face murderous as he glared at the back of his brother's head. I brought our joined hands to my lips, kissing the back of his hand and giving him a small smile. His shoulders relaxed marginally and we returned our attention to the real issue. Yes, Merle shot me, but I also shot him so I considered the matter settled.

"I was as mad as a cat on a hot tin roof after Atlanta." My eyebrows scrunched in confusion and I looked to Daryl who sighed, silently promising to translate later. "I was hurt, hell almost dead when The Governor found me. It ain't no excuse, but I did what I did to survive." I bowed my head. We'd all done despicable things in the name of survival. "Ain't a day that goes by that I don't ask forgiveness for my sins. I understand if ya can't give it to me, but I ain't gonna stop tryin' to make it right. I won't never hurt no one in the prison again. I swear it. I'll protect 'em with my life if I have to."

He already had. When he went off Mission Impossible style and tried to single-handedly take out The Governor he did it to stop a war. He was trying to protect us. It was stupid, reckless, ill-advised and had zero chance of success, but it was the thought that counted.

When Glenn didn't respond my shoulders sagged. If that speech didn't do the trick nothing would. That was about as genuine and heartfelt as Merle had ever been, but it seemed the damage was too extensive. Darryl tugged me closer, my head falling on his shoulder as I snuggled against his side. My heart ached for Merle's rejection, but I understood Glenn's reasoning. If someone hurt Daryl the only thing left to forgive would be their cold, decapitated corpse.

Between Daryl's intoxicating scent, warm body and the hum of the truck the weight of my eyelids was too much to overcome. I yawned, adjusted my body and settling in for a cat nap, Daryl's arm going around me.

"I forgive you," Glenn stated, voice firm.

I froze next to Daryl, not daring to move for fear of disrupting "the moment". Daryl held me tight and I felt his body vibrating with anticipation. This meant more to him than anyone. He loved our group, loved Glenn, but he also loved his brother. Having to choose between them was something he was incapable of doing.

"I'll talk to Maggie when we get back. I don't want you near her yet. Just…give her time."

I buried my smile in Daryl's shirt listening to Merle give his word he would keep his distance from the eldest Greene daughter. The silence in the car as I drifted off to sleep was free from the hostility that preceded it, and I figured no matter how this run turned out it was already a roaring success.

Famous last words.

"Red." Someone was shaking me and I swatted their hand away, trying to get comfortable again, but my pillow kept moving. "Red!"

I sat up abruptly at the shout, eyes wild, a knife in my left hand, eyes darting around looking for danger. I took a deep breath when I found nothing, but three sets of eyes staring back at me.

"What?"

"We're here," Glenn stated.

I looked out the window and saw we were stopped on the side of the road. Everyone else was already out of the car getting ready.

"Hair's lookin' a little crazy Firecracker," Merle commented matter-of-factly before stepping out of the truck.

My hands flew to my hair and I grimaced when I felt the tendrils going in every direction. Putting my knife away I hastily pulled out the hair tie, my thick mane of red hair spilling down my back. As quick as I could I gathered it up, pilling it on top of my head in a messy bun and securing it with 20 hair ties just to be on the safe side.

"Still got some drool on the side of yur mouth," Daryl pointed out.

"I don't drool."

"Tell that to my shirt." He pointed at a wet spot on his shoulder with a smile I didn't return.

"Whatever."

We joined the rest of the group and proceeded towards the set of ranches Hershel marked on the map. The nostalgia of the farmland hit me instantly. The old, white farmhouse, the fence surrounding the property, the rusty windmill, it was just like the Greene farm. And just like the Greene farm the ranch appeared untouched by the turn, at least from a distance. There were multiple structures on the property besides the main house, a barn, a workshop, and stables. It was almost guaranteed we would run into walkers somewhere. There was simply no way this place hadn't been ravaged by the dead after all this time. On the edge of the property Daryl held up a hand stopping the group.

"Alright, we're going to split up," Sasha instructed, "Tyreese and I will take the barn and workshop. Daryl, you take Merle and Zach, check out the main house. Michonne, Glenn and Alex, see if you can find any livestock or crops over there."

I dug a piece of paper out of my jeans, handing it to Daryl. "List of stuff Submarine asked us to look for."

He nodded, tucking the paper in his pocket. Everyone moved out, but a hand on my arm stopped me. I looked at Daryl, eyebrows raised in question.

"Ya know a crop from a weed?"

No, I didn't. I was counting on Glenn and Deadpool. I'd zoned out during Hershel slow and excruciatingly detailed lecture on the ins-and-outs of crop identification. When he moved on to the livestock portion of his sermon I started fantasizing about Daryl naked. Thank god there wasn't a test at the end. The only question I would've gotten right was what sexual position I wanted to try tonight.

"You know your ass from a hole in the wall?" He smirked at my non-answer and I bristled in irritation. He always saw right through me. "Just focus on your job and I'll focus on mine Katniss." I glanced over my shoulder at Merle who looked about ready to strangle poor Happy Go Lucky. "Better hurry up."

He sighed, watching Merle bark something at the boy that had him paling considerably.

"Good luck Red."

"I don't need luck. You need luck. You're the one clearing the house with a rookie. I'm looking for plants and animals."

I wasn't really worried about him. He may have a beginner on his team, but he had his brother and between the two of them I was fairly confident they could eradicate the Zombie problem in the great state of Georgia given enough time and arrows.

He shrugged, "Ain't worried 'bout it." Of course he wasn't, but he should be, for Zach's sake. I had socks older than that kid. "Be careful."

"I'm always careful," I insisted. He stared back at me blankly. "OK, I'm careful most of the time." Nothing. "Fine, I'll be careful this time."

He threw me his signature sexy smirk that almost made me forget he was doubted my cowboy skills. I lived part of my life on a ranch for heaven's sake. Would it kill the guy to have a little faith? Turning on my heel I caught up with Deadpool and Glenn. I'd show him. I was gonna go full John Wayne via True Grit up in this bitch.

"Why the murder face?" Deadpool asked casually.

I groaned, "I don't have a murder face." She raised her eyebrows, looking to Glenn for confirmation who nodded in agreement. "Oh my god."

"Daryl worried you weren't paying attention in Hershel's class?" Glenn asked innocently.

"Stop talking." Deadpool laughed and I picked up the pace. "And for the record I was listening."

"Is that what those sex doodles were? Notes?" I shot her the finger, my face heating up from embarrassment. "I particularly liked the one where you were doing a backbend, but I'm not sure how practical that is."

"That wasn't me, it was him," I clarified absently. "And he wasn't doing a backbend he was hanging off the edge of the bed with his head and shoulders on the floor. I was the one straddling him."

"Oh I see." Her face had a wistful, satisfied look. "That's a good one."

The two of us shared a knowing smile, lamenting the physics of it all as I described the best way to ensure he didn't fall completely off the bed when employing that particular maneuver, but was forced to stop when Glenn tripped and fell.

"You OK?" I asked, backtracking to help him to his feet.

His face was beet red, eyes wide, mouth hanging open. He looked like he just suffered a stroke.

"Did you just say he was hanging off the bed…with you…straddling him?"

I glanced at Deadpool who shrugged. "Yeah."

"That's a real thing?" I couldn't tell if he was shocked or intrigued. I nodded and he scoffed. "You're lying."

"I'm really not." I wouldn't lie about something like that.

"What's it called?" he challenged, still disbelieving.

"The waterfall," we said in unison.

I held my fist out and she bumped it with her own while we laughed at Glenn. His ears were turning an endearing shade of red that was adorable. We laughed the rest of the way to the pens, but Glenn was quiet and I got the impression he was trying to work out the semantics in his head. Either that or he was trying to figure out how to connive Maggie to try it. I wouldn't recommend that course of action. The waterfall was an advanced move and should only be done under the close, personal supervision of an individual with prior experience.

The cries from the pen directly in front of us pulled my attention away from sex. It couldn't be and yet it very clearly was which was incredible. As we got closer to the chain link fence held together by huge, solid wood beams cemented into the ground my mouth dropped open in shock, our walk quickly turning into a jog. We hastily scanned and cleared the area and when we found no walkers turned our full attention to the pen. I smiled at the four adorable piglets squealing inside the muddy enclosure. I walked forward, hands resting on the wooden edge of the fence, peering down at them.

"How?" Deadpool pondered.

"The fence," I marveled. "It's solid as a rock and too high." I had to step on the bottom wood plank just to get a good look inside. It was the perfect protection from walkers although I was sure it wasn't built with that in mind. "Looks like they dumped a truckload of food in at a time to avoid having to venture this far from the house on a regular basis."

"So someone was alive not too long ago?"

The sound of a gunshot drew our attention to the farmhouse. It was followed closely by four more. Apparently we wouldn't need to ask the former residents of the ranch the infamous three questions.

"How do we get them back?" Glenn asked, scratching his head as he adjusted his baseball cap.

"There are crates in the corner."

We followed Deadpool's outstretched arm to the right corner where two metal crates sat untouched. Two of the four piglets were huddled inside a metal house on the opposite side of the pen, staring at us with big, questioning eyes. The other two were squealing like mad, running around in the mud and slop with no destination in mind, excited by the company. I even saw one jump for joy. They were without a doubt the cutest things I'd ever seen, Nugget notwithstanding.

"I so want one," I commented, making my way to the entrance.

"They aren't pets." Glenn, always so level-headed and boring. "They're food."

We'd see about that. I was getting at least one of them off death row as soon as we got back to the prison. The president used to pardon a turkey at Thanksgiving. Same concept.

The three of us entered the pen sending all four piglets into a frenzy that made them squeal, run around, and squeal some more. We spread out across the length of the pen, the four piglets eyeing us with interest from the opposite side.

"Now what?"

I glanced at Deadpool. "How the hell should I know? I was drawing sex pictures during the How to Corral Piglet portion of the lecture."

"I don't like how that one's looking at me," Glenn said, pointing at the runt of the litter.

"Kevin won't hurt you." Both their heads turned to me slowly. "What?"

"You named them?" she asked.

"Only that one," I said pointing to the one shooting daggers at Glenn. "And that one. And the one on the far left."

"We've been here five minutes." I shrugged. I was efficient. "Well, what are their names?"

"You already met Kevin." I smiled at him and he squealed back. He was awesome. "That one's Bacon." I pointed to the one in the middle. "And that one's Jimmy Dean." I pointed to the one on the far left.

"Kevin, Bacon and Jimmy Dean," Glenn repeated in a monotone voice.

"Yeah." I cracked myself up.

"What about the last one?" she questioned.

This was officially the weirdest conversation we'd ever had and that was saying something.

"I didn't want to overstep." It wasn't right for me to have all the fun. "You wanna name him?"

"No," the answered together.

"You guys are no fun."

I spread my arms wide, taking a slow step forward.

"How do you know they're all guys?" Glenn questioned.

"Uh." I didn't, but I wasn't about to do a gender check either. "Come on, let's get this show on the road."

They mirrored my movements, the three of us making our way down the long, rectangular enclosure towards the four scared piglets. The closer we got the more agitated they became.

"What exactly are we doing?" Glenn asked just as Kevin hissed at him.

"We're going to corner them, pick them up, and put them in the crates." Duh.

"That easy?" Deadpool doubted.

"If Rocky can do it with chickens we can do it with piglets. Pigs are way slower than chickens," I reassured them, taking another measured step forward, frowning when the animals started to spread out.

Was it just me or did that look like an attack formation?

"Rocky sucked at it."

Glenn jumped back when Kevin squealed, pounding his tiny hoof into the mud like he was preparing to charge.

"I think you were right about Kevin," I told him, "He doesn't like you."

All at once the piglets went still and silent. It was creepy as fuck. The four of them stared at us with their beady, little eyes and we froze in response. It was pathetic. We could face down a herd of walkers no problem, but four piglets the size of miniature schnauzer's had us shitting our pants.

The bit-sized animals were eerily motionless so we stayed rooted in place, waiting for them to make the first move. They had us outnumbered, but we had them contained. We could totally do this. We just needed to play a zone defense and then it was only a matter of time before we wore them down.

As if sensing my thoughts they hunched down low to the ground and I hesitated, but before I could process what was happening they charged. It was like someone rang an invisible bell. One minute they were huddled against the far side of the fence and the next Bacon let loose a shrieking piglet war cry and they charged, Kevin leading the pack.

"Glenn, grab Kevin!" I yelled, reaching for Jimmy Dean.

He snorted, half jumping as he ran by me. His body was slick from mud and my hands slipped down his back, unable to gain purchase on the unwieldy creature.

"Son of a bitch!" I cursed, trying to track his movement, but he was a tiny, pink blur. "Deadpool get Bacon!"

It was all downhill from there.

The three of us darted around the pen, chasing the piglets that were far more maneuverable than anything with such a rotund form had a right to be. Only a few minutes into the fray and I was amending my previous statement. Piglets were fast as hell. Screw chickens. It was entirely possible they possessed some kind of magical powers that enabled this kind of speed and agility. One second they were there for the taking and the next you were grabbing nothing but muddy air.

Glenn muttered a curse reaching for Kevin only to lose his footing, hitting the mud with a splat that sounded painful. He screamed in terror, crab walking backwards as the piglet stalked towards him with a menacing look that scared the absolute crap out of me. God speed Glenn.

I had Jimmy Dean cornered and smirked at the piglet, approaching slowly, ready to show him who was boss, but he moved like The Flash, streaking between my legs with a high-pitched screech. Startled again by his quickness I stood up, pivoting around much too fast on the muddy ground, my feet going one way as my body went the other. I fell onto my hands and knees, sinking down into the mud a few inches. I kept my mouth closed, trying to keep the bacteria ridden slop out of it.

It took me a few pulls to dislodge my hands from the thick, viscous mud and I seethed when a hail of mud sprinkles splashed across my upper body. When I opened my eyes I blanched in horror. Jimmy Dean had completed his turn and was coming at me head on like a miniature, raging rhino. I yelped, diving to the side and rolling to avoid the hurricane of evil as he sailed by with a snarl. I grimaced when mud slowly seeped into my boots, down the front of my tank top, and yes, in my pants.

As it turned out Jimmy Dean was the boss.

A strangled cry sounded to my left and I turned just in time to see Deadpool on her knees fumbling to keep a hold on Bacon who was wiggling and twisting with a flurry in her hands. The awful sound of his distressed howls made me cover my ears for fear my eardrums might rupture. Hearing their brother's cry for help the three others converged on her unawares, forming a piglet phalanx that was charging straight at her.

I tried to yell out a warning, but my lips were momentarily sealed shut by the mud. They rammed her from behind sending her sprawling forward, forcing her to release Bacon so she could brace her arms for the fall, but it was all in vain. Her momentum carried her forward too fast to recover as she pitched forward, face planting in the mud with a plop. The pigs squealed in victory, their newly freed brother jumping around. To add insult to what could possibly be very serious injury Bacon dug his back hoofs into the mud, repeatedly kicking the sloppy substance against the side of her head.

I sat back on my heels, my weight causing me to sink into the mud like quicksand, but at this point who fucking cared. I tried to find a portion of my body, my clothing, my soul, anything, not covered in mud to wipe my face, but I couldn't see well enough. The mud caked on my eyelashes was causing them to stick together to the point blinking was becoming increasingly difficult and painful. My hands were fused together forming two muddy clubs that put Merle's nub to shame.

Glenn groaned beside me, giving up the pretense of staying clean, lying down flat on his back with his arms and legs spread wide, covered head-to-toe in mud and defeat.

Not one to surrender so easily Deadpool struggled to her feet, slipping four or five times in the process before abandoning that approach and digging her hands into the mud and pushing, sliding on her belly towards the fence. She reminded me of a penguin sliding across the ice except with a fraction of the grace. When she was close enough she curled her fingers around the chain-link and pulled herself into a semi-upright position.

The three of us glared at the piglets on the other side of the pen dancing in victory. Fucking terrorists. I was soooo not pardoning them now. I spit mud out of my mouth, letting my club hands drop to my side as I cursed the demonic animals. Go find farm animals they said. It will be fun they said.

A chunk of sludge got stuck on the tip of my tongue and I drug it against my teeth in an effort to dislodge it, but instead I inadvertently swallowed it. Here's to hoping Hershel's antibiotic stash wasn't running low.

"What the fuck?"

Daryl's voice drew my attention to the far side of the enclosure where everyone from the group stood displaying varying degrees of shock and amusement. My vision was severely impaired, but I was pretty sure Sasha, Zach and Tyreese were the shocked ones and the Dixon brother's the amused ones. The assholes.

"Hey babe," I exclaimed, holding up a surprisingly heavy muddy paw, hocking another lung full of mud onto the ground. "We found piglets."

"I see that."

My husband at least had the decency or good sense to try and contain his amusement. I may be suction cupped to the ground at this particular moment, but I'd be free eventually and I was much faster than he could ever hope to be. My brother-in-law had neither the incentive nor the willpower to reign in his amusement. His arms were braced on the fence, face so red from laughing it looked like it might spontaneously explode.

"Slippery little bastards," I admitted and Daryl nodded with a smirk, handing Tyreese his crossbow.

He opened the gate, walking on the slushy mud like he was walking on air, the sure-footed bastard. He paused in front of me with his hands on his hips, head cocked to the side trying to find somewhere to touch me not covered in funk. Good luck. There was mud slipping down the crack of my ass so that was officially a lost cause.

With a heavy exhale he leaned down, grasping both my shoulders firmly and pulling. The mud was reluctant to release me as he strained against its hold, his arms bulging briefly before a loud pop signaled my freedom. He kept both hands on me while he guided my blind, uncoordinated ass out of the Pits of Hell otherwise known as the piglet pen.

Merle was somehow able to stop laughing long enough to offer Glenn a helping hand which he begrudgingly accepted because it was that or die here. Once Merle got him on two feet he held onto the side of the enclosure like someone ice skating for the first time, taking a hesitant step, adjusting his hold on the fence then taking another. At the rate he was moving he'd be out of the pen sometime in 2020.

Deadpool didn't wait for help. She clawed her way up the fence one humiliating rung at a time. When she reached the top her mud coated ass teetered there for a beat like a jacked up seesaw. We all held our collectives breath waiting to see which way she'd fall. Not bothering with finesse or chancing a fall back into the mud she threw herself over, landing on the ground with a wet splatter. She didn't move again.

Daryl led me out of the pen, hands never leaving me as I waved my mud coated arms around like the blind asshole I apparently was, but they got too heavy and it was too much work so I let them drop to my side with sigh. When I was back on solid ground he let go, sighing dramatically standing in front of me.

"Ya a'right?"

I snorted than grimaced when mud shot up my nostrils going straight to my brain.

"I don't know how to answer that question."

"Wait here."

If it wouldn't have caused more mud to saturate my already damaged corneas I would have rolled my eyes. A pack of wild dogs couldn't drag me back into that pen. Exhausted for reasons I didn't understand given the fact we were dealing with four measly piglets I sank to the ground to watch the festivities.

Merle and Daryl were in the pen, talking quickly as they eyed the devil farm animals. There were three of us and six hands and look how that turned out. There were two of them and they only three hands between them. This would be epic. I had no idea why they weren't employing the others, but the brothers seemed confident in their skills. You know what they said, pride cometh before you tried to corral evil piglets or some shit.

Twenty minutes later all the piglets were in the crates and loaded in the back of the truck. If it was a contest, which it wasn't, I believe it would technically be called an ass whooping. The brothers moved with precision, stealth and lightening quickness as they stalked, cornered and crated the piglets without getting so much as a drop of mud anywhere but their boots. It was just depressing.

Currently Glenn, Deadpool and I were dejectedly sitting in timeout next to the car with strict instructions not to touch anything. I couldn't even if we wanted to. I didn't have any fingers. How the hell was I going to touch anything? Glenn was no better. He looked like he was encased in a mud cocoon and Deadpool was literally super glued to the ground thanks to the mud seeping from her pants. It was painful knowing we got our ass kicked by piglets. It was downright humiliating watching someone pick them up and throw them in the crates like they were picking lint off their pants, utterly demoralizing.

"How did they do that?" Glenn marveled, picking a chunk of his crusted cocoon off his forearm. It was practically fossilized at this point.

"Redneck voodoo," I answered, still trying to spit the taste of mud out of my mouth. It wasn't working.

"Is there a lot in my hair?" Deadpool asked.

Glenn and I turned and I had to fight to keep my face neutral. Based on Webster's definition of "a lot" no she didn't. I believe the dictionary would classify this more as a "shit-ton". It was so thick at the base of her skull it looked like she was wearing a mud helmet. I was having a hard time differentiating between it and her dreadlocks.

"No, it's not bad," I lied.

She looked to Glenn who quickly added, "Yeah, barely noticeable."

A pair of boots stopped in front of us and we looked up at Daryl.

"Come on, got the shower working, but y'all gotta be quick cause there ain't a lot of water."

Swallowing my humiliation and more mud I climbed to my feet and followed him towards the house. The stories about today would be bad enough without returning to the prison looking like a mud bath gone wrong. He led us into an upstairs bathroom where Deadpool went straight in while Glenn and I waited in the adjoining bedroom.

"There's extra clothes in here." He tossed a backpack on the bed.

"Thanks," I mumbled, head down.

"You brought extra clothes?" Glenn pondered.

Yeah, he did. A couple extra sets for me and one for him. His clothes would be gigantic on Glenn and my extra pants about six inches too long on Deadpool, but it was better than our current situation. I'd rather cut my toenails with her samurai sword than explain why he carried that bag around. He turned, leaving us to solidify into mud bricks.

"At least ya didn't set yurself on fire this time Red."

When smirked at me over his shoulder I vowed retribution, just as soon as I could move without the burden of 50 extra pounds of mud. The look on my face made him haul ass out of the room less I beat him to death with my club paws, but it was too late, the damage was already done. Glenn gaped at me in disbelief.

"Fire? That's why he has the extra clothes? Because you caught on fire?!"

I flopped back on the mattress with a groan, ignoring the flecks of dried mud that chipped off my body and shot around the room.

"We're so not doing the waterfall tonight."

This idea popped into my head when I saw Violet. I couldn't stop smiling when I thought about writing this. It cracked me up imaging Alex, Deadpool and Glenn failing so epically (especially Alex and Deadpool who are practically ninja's most of the time). I hope you guys laughed a lot!

What was your favorite part?