Yup, I'm back! For a week full of updates! How have all of you been, babes? I'm sorry if this has been a long time coming. I really hate leaving you all as I have.


Chapter Forty-Four: Ayezan III

**Carol**

They drove down a few dirt roads in eerie silence, the man in the front nursing his broken face quietly, the older man at her side keeping a sharp eye out for any sign of them being followed.

Carol couldn't stop taking long, lingering looks at his face. There was something there that bothered her about it. It wasn't anything that stood out really, he didn't look like a man who had fallen apart after fifty. In fact, she guessed him to be in his sixties, though he looked a good deal healthy and full of life. His lean face was clean shaven and wrinkles touched his forehead and around his mouth, where a deep nasolabial crease ran from the sides of his nose and bracketed his severe looking mouth, even his hair, though grey, seemed youthful and thick like a man of thirty.

But there was something about him that unsettled her. And it wasn't just the fact that he was the leader of a murdering, raping group of men.

Something about his nose, maybe. It was long and aristocratic, there was no mistaking it for a small, pert little thing. There was no hook to it, but it was definitely a proud proboscis.

"So, what's your name, beau ange?" The man asked her softly.

"You're Cajun," she replied.

He beamed. "That's a hell of a name."

"Carol," she said.

"Carol, I'm Martin."

She felt that odd sense of illness take hold of her stomach and grip it at the way he pronounced Martin as 'Martahn', barely speaking the N and holding the 'Ar' a little longer than normal.

"You do what I tell you and we won't have a problem, yeah?" He asked.

"You're granting me safety until the exchange tomorrow?" She returned with her own question.

He turned cold eyes on her, a wicked smile playing with the corner of his mouth. "I make no promises, but if you do what I say, then I'll keep these savages off you best I can."

"If I'm harmed in anyway—"

"You're in no position to make threats, angel," the man declared simply. "Just keep your mouth shut and behave like a good girl. You should just consider yourself lucky that we couldn't risk our doc taking it up the pipe, otherwise we would have just gone in shooting."

The jeep finally slowed on a back road and pulled off, down a little travelled trail, heading for some old cabin in the deep woods that looked like it hadn't been haunted in years. Beyond the cabin, hidden by the thick trees and the log building, were several tents set up and a few men on guard around the perimeter.

Carol knew the place well. For three or four days she had been holed up in it terrified and not knowing what to do, with Judith and Herschel and Beth.

The jeep pulled up alongside a few other SUV's and trucks, and as Martin jumped out, he turned back to her with stern, almost frightening eyes. "You be good now and I'll be good to you."

Carol carefully scooted out of the back, into his custody and as he gripped her by her bound wrists, she let him moved her across the camp.

She passed a few men lounging around a fire and only a small handful of women who refused to meet her eyes, immersed in their work of scrubbing clothing in tubs or performing various 'domestic' tasks, under the watchful eye of the guards and the men.

A few of the women looked battered, some looked downright miserable and Carol felt her jaw clench.

She wondered if she ever looked that downtrodden.

"Not a lot of women," she murmured to Martin.

He leaned in close to her, his towering frame bending to whisper in her ear. "Why do you think we're recruiting?"

She frowned, but refrained from saying anything. Years of being submissive to a man had taught her when to pick her battles.

Stopping before a large blue tent, he opened it and guided her inside.

Immediately she found they weren't alone. In the corner, huddled by a small propane camp stove was a woman who looked to be ready to burst with child.

She looked over, but not into their eyes as they approached.

"Your coffee will be ready soon," she murmured in a Cajun accent to Martin as he stooped to inspect her work, still holding Carol in an iron grip.

The woman was maybe in her mid twenties, a pretty thing with her long, glossy brown hair pulled back off her face. She may have seemed submissive, but Carol didn't see welts or bruises on her like she had on the others. This one seemed cleaner, better cared for.

"Adele? This is Carol, you watch over her while she's here, yeah?"

The woman looked up then, her white chocolate complexion off setting a plump, coral pink mouth and pretty clear, grey eyes and Carol was struck by how classically beautiful she was as the woman looked her over with mildly concerned eyes.

"She won't be here long," Martin added.

The woman named Adele blinked at Carol, before standing up with great difficulty due to her belly. "Have you eaten yet?"

Pushing Carol onto the cot in the corner of the tent, Martin moved across it to ease onto a chair, where he began to clean his pistol.

"I'll fetch a plate," Adele said, wiping her hands off on the thighs of her pants. "For the both of you."

Watching the woman waddle out of the tent, Carol turned her eyes on Martin who remained quiet in his chair, cleaning his pistol.

Idly rubbing at her aching breast with her arm the best she could, Carol felt something hard in her bra and froze.

The small pocketknife the Lieutenant had given her was still there, shoved under her breast where she tucked it.

She stopped rubbing at her breast and sighed lightly.

Presently Adele returned with two tin camp plates of beans and some kind of game meat and while Martin dug into his with ease, Carol eyed the plate offered, before holding up her bound hands.

Adele knelt at her side and began helping her eat.

Carol eyed her stomach in between bites. "How far along are you?" She asked the woman kindly, eyes darting over to watch Martin sporadically, wary of him.

"Long enough," the woman said.

"Where's my coffee, girl?" Martin demanded roughly, sending Adele scampering for the pot on the stove.

Carol, left unable to eat, eyed Martin.

Had she ever been so completely enslaved by Ed as Adele seemed to be? It seemed impossible given the past few months, but she supposed she was.

..-~-..


..-~-..

After the meal Martin pushed to his feet and watching Carol with narrowed eyes, approached, easing onto the cot beside her. In the corner, washing the utensils in a pail, Adele watched with furtive, nervous glances.

She shifted uneasily away from him.

Martin chuckled. "Stop fidgeting, woman." He commanded. "But you're on my bed."

Looking at him, Carol understood what he was getting at and slowly got up, moving away a little as Martin settled on the cot, his long form stretching out.

"Adele, you watch her, yeah?"

"Yes, papa." The woman replied.

Carol looked over at the woman in mild shock. She was thinking the woman was Martin's sex slave or something, she wasn't expecting her to be a daughter.

Tucking a stray strand of long dark hair behind her ear, Adele bowed her head back to her work.

Approaching her slowly, Carol paused when the woman looked up with a warning look.

"You be good now," she warned. "Daddy taught me how to defend myself."

"I'm not going to hurt you," Carol replied, kneeling at her side cautiously. "I just thought we could talk."

"About what?" Adele demanded.

"Where do you come from?"

"Why?" Adele asked.

Carol shrugged. "I'm just trying to make small talk. Beats staring at the inside of this tent all night."

"You should get some sleep," Adele said. "Daddy's going to get St. James back tomorrow and you'll go back to your people."

Realizing why the man wanted his medic back so badly as she once more studied Adele's stomach, Carol sighed and tried again to get through to the woman.

"You know the men in your group are planning to kill my people, don't you?" Carol asked.

"So?" Adele demanded, scrubbing a plate a little too hard than necessary. "It's a dog eat dog world."

"You don't really think that."

Adele was silent.

Carol eyed the tent for a weapon should she need one, but Martin was smart enough tuck his under his pillow when he went to sleep. Only the pistol at Adele's side remained.

"Those other women," Carol began. "They're not here willingly, are they?"

As Adele fell stubbornly silent again, Carol licked her bottom lip and tried again to make a connection with the woman. "Who's the daddy?" She asked, motioning to her stomach.

They were interrupted then by a woman ducking into the tent, hanging around the flap meekly, eyes downcast.

"Adele, she's getting worse," the woman murmured.

Pushing to her feet, Adele wiped her hands on the thighs of her pants. "Mariah, there's nothing we can do without St. James. She'll have to wait until tomorrow."

"Mariah, goddammit!" Someone shouted roughly from outside and the woman immediately scurried out.

Adele moved to the flap, her hand on her pistol protectively and peered out quietly after the woman.

Carol moved to stand behind her, peeking out over her head as Mariah was slapped down hard by some random man, who snarled orders for dinner to her and dragged her by her arm into a tent.

"These aren't good men," Carol whispered to Adele.

The woman peered over her shoulder at Carol evenly, then beyond to where Martin was sleeping on the cot.

She recognize that cautious glance, Adele was making sure she was safe, that she was out of trouble, before moving back to her work quietly.

"Move away from the tent flap," she commanded Carol sternly. "I will shoot you in the knee if I have to. Daddy says prisoners with broken legs don't ever try to run again."

"I bet you've seen these acts of hobbling, hm?" Carol whispered.

Adele ignored her, finishing the last of the dishes and reaching for a nearby towel to dry them with.

"You know that's what they called it when they did it to the slaves?" Carol went on softly. "Hobbling? That's what you are here, just human chattel to be traded and used."

"Better than out there," Adele replied in a tone that seemed mechanic, like the phrase had been imprinted her head.

"Is it?"

"We're family," Adele said. "We take care of each other."

"Seems like the women take care of the men," Carol returned.

Easing onto the folding chair in the corner of the tent, Carol sighed, deciding to wait out the night in silence. She couldn't help anyone who didn't want the help.

After she finished the dishes and put them on a table in a neat array, Adele wiped her hands on the towel and took another cautious glance at her sleeping father.

"Are your people like this?" She asked softly.

Carol shook her head. "No." Deciding this could be the connection she was hoping to find, Carol went on just as quietly to avoid waking the man. "I have a really good man, he takes good care of me. Where's yours?" She asked, eyes flickering to the woman's swollen stomach.

Adele's eyes flickered past Carol nervously and as she turned to see what caught her attention, she found Martin sitting up on the cot looking dark and stormy.

Before he could say anything, a commotion outside the tent flap drew everyone's attention and as Martin unlocked his case and removed his gun, Adele and Carol moved to peer out.

Martin shoved Carol down hard onto the ground as he passed by and stepped out of the tent.

Before Carol could scramble back to her feet, she heard a gunshot and then still silence.

Martin stormed back into the tent, tucking his pistol into the waistband of his pants.

"Fuck me," he cursed.

Adele remained at the tent flap, looking out with narrowed eyes, one hand on her pistol the other stroking her fat belly.

A man stormed into the tent, his eyes were furious, but as he caught sight of Martin, he seemed to force a plastic calm over his features.

"Martin," he began cautiously.

Turning cold, almost inhuman eyes on the man, Martin Deveau struck a terrifying figure. "Those boys better learn to control their dicks," Martin purred calmly. "Fighting over a woman is about the lowest thing a man can do."

Carol pushed deeper into the shadows of the tent as a small cluster of men in leather jackets stepped into the tent as well, they seemed more worried about Martin than the other man and looked dangerous.

"I'm sorry," Martin said to the man. "You were about to scold me, Troy?"

The man glanced behind him to the leather jacket muscle that seemed to be providing Martin some back up and backed down meekly.

"I…never mind, man."

As Troy cowered his way out past the men, a leader of sorts strode forward on heavy boots.

"We been up and down them back roads, can't find nothing," he said to Martin in an accent quite like the Lieutenant's. She wondered then if this Arkansas group may have it's roots in Louisiana.

Carol studied the patch on the man's back with narrowed eyes it looked like an old pilot complete with goggles and scarf giving the finger and grinning dashingly with a banner below that read; Bastards of the Blacktop, LA.

She assumed LA wasn't an abbreviation for the city of angels.

"Found some juice in a rusted out old bar in some backwater hole," another man supplied.

"Firewater outta keep those savages happy for a while," another said.

"It ain't gonna be enough," Martin said with a heavy sigh. "Them boys are all fired up. What they need are some belly warmers."

Carol noticed that not a single one of the men glanced in Adele's direction. They almost seemed intent on ignoring her presence. Martin must be half insane to keep bikers like them from eyeing his daughter since they seemed to outnumber him eight to one, that she saw.

Feeling eyes on her, she looked up from her thoughts and found Martin eyeing her with those sparkling, almost familiar eyes. It was like something in the back of her mind was touched every time she looked at him.

"How many women in your group, cher?" He asked her.

All of the bikers turned to look at her and she felt her skin crawl.

Martin laughed darkly.

"Where'd you dig up the old lady, boss?" One of the bikers asked.

"Ain't no thing," Martin returned casually. "Expect some company tonight, have the boys prepared. They can get loaded off their asses later."

"Company, boss?"

"Her boys might come loaded for bear, if they're couyon enough," Martin stated. "We'll see what kind of threat they are. We play this smart, we could take down that fucking farm and these assholes, plenty of pussy then for the men, supplies, guns. That'll shut them up."

"We'll lock things down tonight, boss. Anything else?" One of the biker's asked.

Martin sighed lightly and moved to his cot, pulling a leather jacket much like the biker's out from under it and throwing it on.

"No, I'm not going to sleep now," he growled. "May as well sit up, look over my prospects." Easing onto the cot, Martin pulled a pack of cigarettes out of the pocket of the jacket and lit one calmly as the men exited the tent.

Puffing out a good furl of smoke, Martin eyed Carol quietly with his inhuman eyes, before scratching with his thumb at the grey scruff of his chin.

"You smoke, ange?" He asked.

"No." She replied.

"I should quit, these things are getting harder and harder to come by," he said. "And the one's you can find are either covered in gacker goo or drier than a nun's tortue."

"Where are you from?" Carol asked him.

"I was born in a house my father built," he began with a funny little grin. "But enough about me, where are you from, girl?"

"Georgia," she replied.

He grinned boyishly at her. "Georgia where?"

"I was born in a hospital," she said. "I don't know who built it."

Turning the cigarette over in his hand, he blew the smoke away from Adele as she approached with another tin camp mug of coffee for him, but neglected to thank her for it.

Carol eyed him with a rising ire.

How many years did she serve a man without so much a thanks for all the work she did, for trying to anticipate his needs like some kind of servant?

Instead of letting her anger take hold, she licked her bottom lip and tried to get more information from the man. Maybe Rick and the others could make use of it if she ever broke free.

"I knew a man from Louisiana," she said, struggling to recall where the Lieutenant said he was from. She could remember the conversation, it happened in the kitchen of the convent.

He had been lying on his back on the floor trying to fix the drainage pipe from the kitchen sink, when she literally tripped over his long legs and went chin first onto the floor.

..-~-..


..-~-..

"Aw, but all girl's love their daddies," he purred as he carefully daubed at her wound with the antiseptic and a cotton ball. "It's why they call them 'daddy's girls' and 'mama's boys'."

Carol beamed widely. "I never cared for either term."

"Well, if you're a follower of Freud, then both terms hold god-awful hidden meanings."

"I can go my life without knowing that, thanks," she said.

His grey eyes flickered with mirth.

Carol could never decipher if his eyes were grey or blue, if they were blue, they were a very grey blue, but there was always that hint of blue in them. Maybe they were like bodies of water, soaking up the colour of the sky and reflecting it.

"Where were you born, Lieutenant?" She asked as he stuck a bandage over her scrape.

"A small town called Basile," he returned distracted by getting the bandage to stick. "Lived outside it, on the edge of the river. There," he exclaimed proudly, "good as new, ange."

..-~-..


..-~-..

Something about the memory disturbed her and Carol struggled to comprehend it.

As she sat with her brow furrowed in the shadows of the tent, Martin had stood up and moved to the flap to peer out at the skies overhead.

"Do you realize what manner of animal man is, ange?" He asked her softly.

A cold chill crept over her again and she frowned up at the man.

..-~-..


..-~-..

"Were you a mama's boy or a daddy's boy, Lieutenant?" She asked before stepping out of the kitchen on her mission.

He glanced over at her from where he was about to kneel back down to fix the sink, eyes unreadable. "To tell the truth? I think I was truly a grandfather's boy. I think his influence stuck with me, long after Mamere took over."

"You didn't know your father?" She asked.

"Who needed a daddy when I had two good grandparents and one mean old Voodoo Queen who lived down the road?" He returned easily.

"Voodoo Queen?"

He beamed boyishly at her. "That's a story for another time."

..-~-..


..-~-..

Carol continued to frown at Martin as he gazed out the open flap.

"Martin?" She asked.

He turned that lean, handsome face towards her, cold eyes narrowing curiously. Carol's stomach twisted almost painfully at the familiarity of his features, suddenly things were clicking into place in her mind. She didn't like the idea at all. It couldn't be such a coincidence. But she needed to know. Not all Cajun's were related, but…the features were all so familiar and the voice, the height, the way he seemed to walk and move. Everything reminded her of the Lieutenant and the more she thought about it, the more she realized how similar the two men were in appearance and certain mannerisms.

"Have you ever been to a town called Basile?"

Those narrowed eyes widened a little, before flickering over to Adele who was quietly mending a pair of socks.

"No," he said finally. "Never even heard of it."

Carol's eyes were diverted to Adele who had suddenly stopped what she was doing, the younger woman's hand freezing in the middle of yanking the needle and thread through the hole.

It took Martin glancing back to her curiously to start the woman up again.

"Do you have a son?" Carol asked Martin.

The man smirked. "Wish I did. Girl child ain't nothing you want saddled with you when things go to shit."

Adele's brows furrowed ever so, but she kept working, head bent.

Carol swallowed thickly. "She seems to take good care of you," she offered, defending Adele.

"Sure, but she cost me. She still costs me."

"If she costs you so much, why don't you turn her out into that pack of wolves braying at your front door?" Carol inquired.

"Woman I'm beginning to get itchy, you'd best just shut your hole, yeah?" The man snarled.

Unsure why the urge was in her to out the man she suspected of being some kind of relation to the Lieutenant, Carol went on. "I think you have been to Basile. I think you have family there. A little boy you left behind about forty years ago, maybe? Did you walk out on his mother or—"

Martin moved across the tent and sent Carol reeling almost across the room with a solid backhand.

Carol, used to such a hit, took a second to recover, before springing to her feet, ready to defend herself. She'd be damned if he got another one in.

He seemed content however, finding the subject effectively dropped.

"Now see what you made me do?" He purred. "I didn't want to damage the goods. Adele, I'm stepping out, gag the woman while I'm gone and tie up her legs so I get some fucking sleep, yeah? Been up all night with these asshats…"

"Yes, daddy," Adele said softly.


..-~-..


..-~-..


Surplus Imagination - This must be the flip side, because I'm here and you're here. You are here, right? Right?! O_O?

DarylDixon'sLover - I'll try...no promises.

HaloHunter89 - I think you're right about Daryl if anything ever happened to Carol, he'd be gone.

itsi3 - O Bubble. I don't know why I just did that. You figure it out. ^_^ Thanks for the review.

Brazen Hussy - Two more chapters then some Merle, just a friendly head's up.

Merle's Right Hand - Aw, don't be dead inside, you're so lovely.

Yazzy x -I think losing Carol is heartbreaking period. But yeah, things are all sad and I hate it.

vickih - I hope Carol will be okay too.

Girl in a White Dress - Ain't I a Stinker?

GG - I can imagine Fay will take a .308 to the old man...ehehe.

Arisprite - Good to see a new reviewer. Thanks a lot for the review!

rivillie - Thank you. I love hearing things like that. It inspires me to write more and more and more. You'll get sick of this world and the characters soon enough. ^_^

Pipergirl17 - Thank you! I appreciate the review. I really do. It's nice to hear the Lt. has another fan. They seem to be growing.

FizzyWitch - I hope you weren't on your seat too long. I do apologize.

ldyjaydin -So nice to have you caught up. I can't wait to finish this series to read all the other delicious Caryl stories out there. I do plan to one of these days when I'm not writing, working, bumming around or nuking Super Mutants in the Capital Wasteland.