February 1, 2011
Max sniffed along the forest floor.
"Think this will really work?" Daryl asked. "Bomb sniffin' dog. Not a huntin' dog."
"I read a book on how to train dogs," Dixon replied.
"Oh. You read a book."
"It can't hurt to try. We've had no luck in that blind."
They kept quiet now, wandering the forest at Max's lead, until he finally hit at something. Dixon readied his wooden .22 small game rifle and Daryl raised his crossbow as Max began barking up a storm and digging to flush the frighten rabbits out of two other entrances of their burrow. There was a scattering of feet, the pop-pop-pop of rifle fire and the woosh of one arrow and then another.
They were soon walking back to Fun Kingdom, each with two rabbits slung over their shoulders, and Max trotting happily beside them after his reward of a small piece of cheese.
"Do you think girls still expect guys to get them stuff for Valentine's Day?" Dixon mused as they hiked.
"Dunno," Daryl answered.
"Are you getting anything for Carol?"
"Wasn't gonna," he said, because until now, it hadn't even occurred to him. How many presents a year did women expect?
"Who do you think would win in a fight?" Dixon had been largely quiet while they were hunting, but now that they'd gotten their game, he was in talking mode. "You or T-Dog?"
"Me of course."
"I don't know. He's bigger than you. But you're scrappy."
"Scrappy?" Daryl asked.
"Scrappy," Dixon repeated. "Like Scooby Doo's nephew."
"Watch out I don't come over there." Over there wasn't far. They were walking about a yard and a half apart, Max pattering along ahead of them with his tongue lolling out.
"Who do you think would win in a fight?" Dixon asked. "Me or Glenn?"
"Glenn would just outrun ya."
"Who do you think would win a fight, Maggie or Carol?"
"Carol of course."
"I don't know. Maggie's a lot younger."
"Fuck's age got to do with it? And Carol's plenty young!"
"Who do you think would win in a fight? You or Rick?"
"Me of course."
"Yeah. Probably," Dixon agreed. "Rick probably doesn't fight dirty, or at least not soon enough."
"I don't fight dirty," Daryl insisted. "Mean, less'n I have to. Wouldn't fight Rick dirty. Fight a Wolf dirty."
"Who do you think – "
"Who do you think would win in a race?" Daryl interrupted. "Your runnin' mouth, or the fastest land animal?"
"We're not hunting anymore. We're hiking. We don't have to worry about scaring game. Speaking of races…" Dixon turned to him and smirked. "Who do you think would win in a motorcycle race? Me or you?"
"Well, if you were on your racin' bike, obviously you could outrun my chopper. Your bike's so damn light. But if we were both on racin' bikes, I'd win."
Dixon laughed. "Yeah right. Tell you what, Uncle Daryl. I'll race you riding your chopper and you can ride my racing bike, and I bet I'd still beat you. Even on a slower, heavier bike."
"Ain't lettin' you ride my chopper, kid."
"Uh huh. Because you know you'd lose." Dixon smirked and walked on with a little more pep in his step.
February 2, 2011
Daryl, who was on perimeter check, puttered his motorcycle to a stop at the gates of Fun Kingdom where Rosita stood with her hip jutted out looking through the bars at the baby monitor. Behind her was a Woodbury armored vehicle parked on the cement walkway. Oscar was leaning over the hood looking at a map with another soldier whose name Daryl couldn't recall. Abraham was inside the vehicle, asleep in the front passenger's seat, his head back and his mouth half opened.
"I think your baby monitor needs new batteries," Rosita said. "We've been calling into it for half an hour with no response. Glad you were riding by."
Daryl dismounted, unlocked the gate, and swung it open. "Ain't tradin' day." They were supposed to go to Woodbury in three days, on Saturday. Sophia would be heartbroken if they did the trading here and now and she had to wait another two weeks to go see her friends.
"I know. But I told Oscar about Max and he suggested we should borrow him to sniff out gun powder, ammunition, and reloading presses in houses in this redneck neighborhood twenty miles outside of Woodbury. You know those good old boys used to hide stuff behind walls."
"I ain't never hid nothin' behind a wall," Daryl muttered. Of course, Merle had. Drugs, mostly.
"It wasn't intended as an insult," Rosita assured him. "And Max could also hit on garages, so we don't waste our time clearing a bunch only to find lawnmowers and basketballs. We'll treat him well, keep him safe, reward him with treats, and then you can pick him up again on Saturday when you come to Woodbury to trade."
"What makes ya think he'll respond to your commands?"
"That dog loves me, Daryl. That dog saved my life by ripping out the Governor's throat."
Daryl couldn't really argue with that.
"Besides, don't you need to keep him away from the puppies for a while? So as not to stress the mother? This will give him something to do for a couple days. And the kids in Woodbury will love all over him when he's done."
"How you know 'bout the puppies?" Daryl asked.
"Two days ago, Sophia radioed Woodbury on official business. To tell Carl and Patrick about them."
Daryl felt a mixture of amusement and anger. Official business? The kid knew how to follow the letter of the law anyway. "She talked to Carl and Patrick?"
"No. She had to relay the news through the soldier on radio duty. Axel. Because we agreed on no use of the radio for casual conversations. Didn't we?"
"Yeah. I'll talk to 'er," Daryl said. "I'll deal with it. Half."
"Half what?" Rosita asked.
"We get half of whatever you find – ammunition, gun powder, guns, reloadin' presses. For the use of the dog."
"You've already got two reloading presses. And you don't have that many people. You don't need another one. And half is an awful lot for not doing the footwork yourself."
"Sounds like our dog's gonna be doin' the footwork."
"He's not going to be putting down the biters. Or hauling the stuff into the truck. You don't need half."
"Then I guess you don't need Max."
Oscar strolled over now. His eyes instinctively flitted up and down Rosita and he smiled at her before turning his attention to Daryl. "One tenth," he said.
"You got the authority to negotiate this?" Daryl asked him.
"Do you?" Oscar replied.
"Guess so. I'm the one opened the gate."
"The Council gave General Ford on-the-spot decision making power," Rosita said. "But since he's still napping, that authority falls to me as Lieutenant General."
"Rough night?" asked Daryl, looking over Rosita's shoulder at Abraham snoozing away.
"I don't know. He was with Haley all last night. I guess they were boozing it up. I guess they're a thing now."
"Haley?" Daryl barked. "The guard with the compound bow?" When Rosita nodded, he asked, "Ain't she a teenager?"
"She just turned twenty-one," Rosita replied. "She's only two and a half years younger than me."
Daryl always forgot Rosita was closer to twenty than to thirty. She acted closer to thirty.
"He likes them young," Oscar said.
"Not necessarily," Rosita told him. "His wife was forty. Sasha's thirty-six or something. And who are you to talk? You're seeing me."
"But I'm not fifty," Oscar told her. "I'm only ten years older than you."
"Abe's not fifty."
"Well, he's sleeping like an old man," Oscar muttered.
"Forty percent," Daryl said.
"Thirty," Rosita told him.
"Thirty-five."
"Twenty-five," Oscar replied.
"Ain't how this works," Daryl insisted. "Riskin' our dog. That's family."
"We just wiped out a den of Wolves!" Rosita reminded him. "And now Fun Kingdom doesn't have to worry about them. If you ask me, we're doing you a service by staying well armed."
"Fine, thirty percent, but that's my final offer."
"Agreed. But no reloading presses. We need those more than you do. Ammo, firearms, and powder only." Rosita held out her hand, and Daryl shook.
[*]
After delivering Max to Rosita, Daryl found Sophia in the stables brushing one of the horses. "Been real helpful 'round the farm," he told her.
"If I do all my chores, Beth says I get to ride Magnus twice a week."
"Hmmm." Sounded like Beth was farming out some of her chores to Sophia. "Hey…you uh…you by chance make a call on the CB even though you were told you ain't s'posed to?"
Sophia's arm froze in mid stroke. She lowered the brush and looked at him apologetically. "I just thought they should know! They should really know about the puppies."
"Puppies ain't official business."
"Well…they sort of are. I mean, when they're weaned, we're giving one to Carl, right? That's like a trade. Sort of. And trades are official business."
"Sophia," he said sternly. "You ask your mama if you could make that call?"
"No," she admitted.
"You ask me?"
"No." She looked gloomy as she went back to brushing Magnus. "But – "
"- No buts!" Sophia tensed at his raised voice, and he lowered it. He still sounded stern, but he stopped yelling. "Did somethin' you weren't s'posed to do and you damn well knew you weren't s'posed to do. Own it."
"Sorry," she murmured and looked like she was struggling to hold back tears. "I was really careful about the code, though. I swear I was."
"The less time we spend on those airwaves the better. You heard 'bout the Wolves? Could be more people like that out there, just lookin' for camps to massacre, rob…" He gritted his teeth. "Or worse."
"Okay," she said quietly, avoiding looking at him as she nuzzled the nose of the horse. "Am I in big trouble?"
Daryl wondered what big trouble meant to her. He wondered what happened when she was in big trouble with Ed. He knew Ed had never hit the girl – Carol had said she always gave him another target to take it out on when he was angry with the girl – but she'd probably been yelled at and insulted just as badly as he ever was as a boy. "Nah," he said quietly. "Just give me your word ya ain't gonna do it again."
"I won't," she promised.
[*]
That night in bed, Daryl told Carol about what Sophia had done and how he'd handled it.
"You were a bit of a pushover if you ask me," Carol teased.
He didn't take well to the teasing. "Warned you I was gonna be a shit parent. Dunno what the hell parents do when they ain't beatin' their kids."
"You aren't a shit parent," Carol said firmly. She rolled on her side and tapped his chin with a finger. "Honestly, Pookie, I think your disappointment is going to be punishment enough for her." She kissed his cheek. "You did it right," she reassured him. "You're a good father, Daryl. And you did it right. Thank you for handling it. I'm sure she won't use the radio again."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah." She snuggled in. "Sophia's lucky to have you. So am I."
He wrapped an arm around her and got very silent, that way he did when he was a little overwhelmed. A few silent minutes passed, and then he said, "Love ya, Miss Murphy."
Two days earlier…
Gavin knocked on the door of Negan's room and announced himself.
"Enter!" Negan called.
Gavin swung open the door, expecting to find Negan in his sitting room, but it was empty. The factory offices, which usually had small reception areas and main offices, had been converted to sitting rooms and bedrooms for Negan and the lieutenants of the Saviors. "In the bedroom!" Negan call.
Gavin walked in and immediately averted his eyes when Negan sat up in bed, which pulled the sheet down to reveal the bare breasts of one of his wives – the youngest, newest one - Amber.
"It's okay," Negan told him. "She doesn't mind if you look. And you're going to want to, because ho-ly shit are they a lovely pair!"
Amber did mind, Gavin thought, because she pulled the sheet up above her breasts and tucked it under her arms. The woman was only twenty-one, and desperate. She'd "volunteered" to join Negan's harem because her mother needed medication, and the woman was too sick to work to earn enough points to buy it. Amber couldn't earn enough points to feed both of them and buy the medication.
"What can I do you for, Gavin?" Negan asked.
"We picked up that transmission again," Gavin replied.
"Do tell." Negan reached for a pack of cigarettes and put one between his lips. "I don't usually smoke," he explained to Gavin as he lit up. "But there's nothing better after sex." He put two fingers around his cigarette, pulled it from his lips, and whistled out the smoke.
I could kill him right now, Gavin thought. Negan was naked in that bed, unarmed. Lucille was leaned against the bedside, but Gavin had a handgun on his hip. Of course, if he shot Negan right now, the bullet might go right through his head and into Amber. And then there would be a firefight when someone loyal to Negan tried to kill him. Gavin might or might not win that battle, might or might not draw enough rebels to his side, but even if he did win, he wasn't head tyrant material. He wasn't going to take over the Sanctuary and rule it with the iron fist most of these men seemed to require. He could maybe keep a small outpost in line, but not the whole syndicate.
Negan rolled his hand with the cigarette and the smoke curled. "Go on."
"Warrior Princess again, and someone with the call sign of Spartacus. She was talking about puppies and mentioned relaying the information to a Midnight Dingo and a Dungeon Master."
"Puppies? What on God's green earth is that code for?" Negan asked.
"I don't think it's code for anything. I think she was just talking about puppies. I think her dog recently had puppies."
"Well now I want a puppy, Gavin! Put that on the next tribute collection list."
"I don't think any of the communities have puppies, sir."
"Any idea where they are yet?" Negan took another puff of his cigarette and then began doing something underneath the sheets with his hand which made Amber bite her bottom lip in disgust. But when Negan turned to her, she faked a smile back at him.
Gavin averted his eyes again. "Georgia, we're guessing. Spartacus slipped up and mentioned Woodbury once. Said, We'd love a puppy in Woodbury." He looked up again, relieved to find Negan's hand back above the sheet. "We found it on the maps. It's an unincorporated area in Georgia, a town or neighborhood of sorts, population three hundred and fifty before the plague."
"Send a collection team to this Woodbury. Under Wade. I want a puppy. I'm going to name it Negan, Junior." He shot that simpering smile of his at Amber. "That's a great name isn't it?"
Amber nodded and faked a smile back.
"Georgia, sir. Woodbury is 598 miles from the Sanctuary. It's a wonder we're picking up the transmission at all, even intermittently. It's far too far to demand tribute. What we'd have to spend in gas to drive all the way down there, with no idea of how many highways we'd have to clear on the way, and all the ammunition we'd have to use to clear the way down, and the number of men we'd have to send to make sure we broke them in…and with the communities we have here now…." Gavin shook his head. "We can't spread ourselves too thin. It's not worth it."
"That's a damn shame," Negan said. "But I suspect you're right. And, hell, as long as we keep plowing new earth here. Laura tells me you struck a deal today with this King Ezekiel character?"
"Yes, sir."
"Does he really believe he's a king?"
"It's shit," Gavin told him. "But it's shit his people eat up." Not unlike Negan's shit, Gavin thought. People needed a king or a god to kneel before, something bigger than themselves. It gave shape to the chaos of this world.
"Rumor is you didn't even have to make an example of anyone. I thought they'd show more resistance. How did you manage to do that?"
"I agreed to limit the collections," Gavin told him reticently. "I didn't demand half like we did at the Hilltop and Hallowbrant."
"What now?"
"Trust me. That way they have more to reinvest, and their produce will grow. We halve their supplies, and they can't produce at much. That brings us a lower long-run return. Look at how we get less and less out of the Hilltop with each passing collection. Eventually it's going to be like trying to squeeze blood from a turnip."
"If you want to head an outpost, Gavin, you have quotas to make."
"Give me eight weeks, and I'll surpass that quota, I promise you. And unlike the Hilltop, the revenue stream will remain steady. It won't decline, if you just allow time to establish it."
"Six weeks," Negan told him.
Gavin nodded. If he skimped on his own commission, he could do it. "And I uh…" He really didn't want to tell Negan this part. "I let them keep their arms." He braced himself for Negan's reply.
Negan stubbed out his cigarette and gave him a cool look. He spoke calmly, but too often the calm came before the storm. "It's not easy to rule an armed populace, Gavin."
"If they can keep their arms, if they feel less subjugated – "
"But they are my subjects."
"Yes. Absolutely they are. And King Ezekiel knows that. It's just…if we roll in and take their arms, the whole populace will know about Ezekiel's deal with me."
"His deal with you?" Negan asked.
"It's a way to keep the tribute flowing without having to beat to death one of their men or risk any of ours," Gavin reasoned. He tried to sound confident, but he kept looking at that bat that had already come down on more than a few heads. "I wouldn't want to press a confrontation with them. They have at least fifty people, several of them fighting men, and they know how to make and use melee weapons, even if we were to strip them of what they have now. If I agreed to let them keep their weapons, King Ezekiel would agree to meet me privately outside the gates for regular pickups, no muss, no fuss. He's not even going to tell his people he's doing it. Only his inner circle will know. That way, there's far less likelihood of an uprising against us."
"Ho-ly shit!" Negan said through his laugh. "His people don't know?"
"No, and like I said…that means no one in the Kingdom is going to be chomping at the bit to start a war with us. Unlike…"
"Unlike what?" Negan asked.
"Hallowbrant. They're getting restless. Skimping on the collections. Whispering about rebellion. Simon's already had to make an example of two men." And in Gavin's opinion, that might just be making them more restless.
"Well, I'm sure Simon has Hallowbrant well under control," Negan assured him. "You're always worried about uprisings, Gavin. Quite the Debbie Downer if I do say so myself."
"I'd like to avoid war if possible. The Kingdom will provide a steady revenue stream, I assure you. And fresh food – vegetables, fruits, and pork. They have pigs. Not even wild boars. Pigs."
"Look, I'm not complaining. You did what I asked. You tracked those Renaissance Fair freaks back to their camp and you initiated collections. You did it without me having to get my hands dirty. Well done, Gavin."
Gavin tried not to show how relieved he was.
"Pack your bags," Negan continued. "You're going to be heading up a new outpost at the Chemical Plant. That plant is close to the Kingdom. Keep an eye on them. Make the regular pick-ups and bring the bacon home to Papa! You can choose your men. Any seven."
"I'll take Mark."
Amber jerked her head toward Gavin and then immediately hid her reaction. Mark had been her boyfriend before she volunteered to join Negan's harem. But once Negan had a wife, no one could touch her except by Negan's special permission, and Mark was never to be given permission. Gavin thought it would ease temptation to get Mark out of the Sanctuary and away from Amber.
"No," Negan said. "Not Mark," he stays here.
"I thought you said I could choose my seven."
"Any seven but Mark," Negan insisted.
Sick bastard, Gavin thought. He liked it. He liked making Mark stay here, so Mark could be reminded every day that Negan was the big man on campus, that Negan was the one with the swinging big dick, the one fucking his former girlfriend. Negan probably liked rubbing it in Gavin's face that he was fucking his baby sister Tanya, too. It was all part of the sadistic power play. Of course Negan had been a gym teacher. He'd probably found every weakness in those kids and exposed them to the humiliation of being ridiculed before their classmates.
"And take Jared with you," Negan added.
"So I'm not choosing my men?" Jared would have been at the bottom of his list of recruits. The man was too hotheaded.
"You can. The other six," Negan insisted. "But take Jared with you. That guy's starting to annoy the shit out of me."
"Alden," Gavin said. Alden was young, twenty maybe, a bit more idealistic than your average Savior, far less hotheaded. He wasn't likely to light a fuse unnecessarily, and above all, Gavin wanted to keep these collections and day to day life at his outpost as peaceful as possible.
"I don't even know who that is," Negan said. "But you're welcome to him."
"D.J. Quan. Laura. Jake."
"Laura stays with me, but you can have the other three."
"Emily."
"She's a cook and a cleaner, not a soldier."
"An outpost needs a cook and a cleaner."
"All right then. Some good choices in there," Negan told him. "And in honor of your promotion, choose one of my wives for your pleasure tonight. As long as she's willing."
Gavin didn't know what that meant, as long as she's willing. He supposed it was Negan's way of convincing himself he wasn't a rapist.
"Not Tanya, though," Negan told him with a wink and Gavin suppressed every muscle in his face to keep it from twitching. "Incest is a bridge too far, even for me. Or Amber." He squeezed some part of Amber under the sheet. "She's busy tonight. You can have one of the others, though."
Gavin made a half bow and backed out the doorway, clicking it shut behind himself. He made his way down to Negan's harem and knocked on the door before unlocking it and entering. All of the lieutenants were trusted with keys to the harem, though they could only take a wife to bed by special permission, which was granted rarely.
The women assumed a sudden formal position when he walked in, but on seeing it was only him, they relaxed. He motioned his siter Tanya over to a corner of the room, and the women went back to talking with each other. "I've been promoted," he told Tanya. "I'll get even more points than before. I'll buy your food. You don't have to do this anymore."
"This is easiest, Gavin. It's easiest for both of us. It's secure. Besides, Negan's not violent in bed. It's an easy chore. It's like doing the laundry."
"You don't have to make this choice."
"Maybe I didn't when I did. But if I walk away now? And let you support me? Negan's going to hold that against you. You know he is."
Gavin glanced over her shoulder at the other wives. "He wants me to have one tonight. As a reward. For my promotion."
Tanya rolled her eyes.
"If she's willing," Gavin said. "So, I'll just tell him none of them were."
"That's not going to fly," Tanya told him. "You know he'll see it as a rebellious rejection of his gift if you don't take him up on it. He'll hold it against you."
Gavin sighed. "Send Frankie over here then."
"You always did like her," Tanya said. She strolled over to the couch, bent down, and whispered something to Frankie. The woman eventually rose and walked over to Gavin in the corner.
"Tanya explain?" he asked.
Frankie nodded. She followed him out the door. As he turned to lock it again, he said. "You don't actually have to do anything. Just spend the night in my room. You can have the bed. I'll take the couch. Just, if Negan asks…"
"Understood. Thank you."
"You're welcome," he replied. It seemed strange to be thanked by a woman for not raping her.
"Do you have any wine by chance? It helps me sleep at night."
"Half a bottle," Gavin told her as they strolled down the metal walkway. Sounds rose from the old factory floor below, people working late into the night, desperate for points.
"Did you hear about the new leader at the Hilltop?" she asked him as he swung open the door to his bedroom and waited for her to walk inside.
"What new leader?" Gavin asked as he closed the door behind himself.
"There's a new guy in charge of the Hilltop now." Frankie kicked off her high heels and sat on the loveseat in his sitting room. "Gregory was ousted."
Gavin walked over to the end table by the couch where the half empty bottle of wine sat. He pulled out the cork and then went to get her a glass from the cabinet above his mini-fridge. He poured Frankie a glass and handed it to her. Then he got out another for himself and, once he'd poured it, sat down next to her. "I thought everyone at the Hilltop was afraid to step up and lead that place," he said. "I thought that's how that weasel Gregory ended up with the job."
"Apparently this guy's relatively new. Stumbled on the place just a couple weeks ago. But he's somehow ousted Gregory already."
"So what's his name? This new leader of the Hilltop?"
Frankie took a sip of her wine and then answered, "Shane Walsh."