A/N: Hey guys! I hope you're enjoying this story so far. Prepare for a barrage of Merle and Daryl chapters (with one intermission). I really enjoy writing the Dixon brothers. Just be warned that Merle does have a mouth on him and he doesn't say (or think) nice things most of the time. Some of the language in this chapter is a little harsh.

XxXxX

Chapter 26.

Cliff.

Merle saw them first. A distraction on a hot, boring day.

It took ten minutes to overtake and surround them. Two women – a fat bitch who swayed with every step and a pretty blonde who looked ready to stab him. Merle got out in front, grinning, sizing up the catch. Not a gun between them, not a chance in hell of fighting back.

"Well, look at you two," he said.

Roy tried to take a knife from the blonde. She spat at him.

Roy grimaced, lost his focus for a split second, and she took that chance to slash him across the shoulder, producing an impressive spurt of blood. It painted the dirty white car a few feet away. They grappled. Merle laughed, enjoying the show.

Roy got the upper hand, literally, when he grabbed her wrist and twisted it, forcing her to drop the knife and then nearly breaking her arm.

Merle finally stepped in, prying them apart.

"Whoa, whoa, no need for violence," he said. "Roy, that's no way to treat a lady."

Roy simmered.

Merle focused on the fat, dark-skinned one, who cowered behind the blonde. "How 'bout you? What you got? A knife? A gun? A little Italiano, a little Mexicano? Hablo English?"

She said nothing, eyes watering.

Merle stepped closer, "Come on out and introduce yourself. Don't be rude."

The blonde put a knife to his throat. "Back off."

"Where were you hiding that?" Merle wondered, going still as the blade dug into his skin. She put a surprising strength behind it, pressing on his windpipe. His pulse thrummed against it. He put his hand up, knowing that Daryl would have a gun on her by now. He was perched on a nearby Mercedes, keeping watch on the rest of the road. His brother was quicker than her, and he was a damn good shot.

"Easy, sweetheart," Merle said, taking a careful step back. She let him. "I just wanna talk. Dangerous for two ladies like yourselves to be wanderin' these streets alone."

She was feisty, but weak, sunburned, and thin. She should never have let him step away. Should have just slit his throat. Daryl would have dropped her, but anyone still alive in this shit knew there were things worse than death. She had to know what being captured might entail.

Merle lunged, grabbing her knife hand and pulling her toward him. He squeezed, crushing her fingers around the hilt, and ripped his arm down, dragging her down with it. She dropped the knife. Merle put his boot on it, stomping the fingers she put out to grab it.

She was a tough one. She yanked her hand back, scuttled to her feet, and it almost looked like she would come at him again, empty-handed. But then she stepped back in front of her friend, putting on a show, all puffed up, shielding the other lady like a dog shields its pups.

Roy was seething, hand pressed over his bleeding shoulder. "Let me take care 'a her." He had drawn a knife, not a gun, clearly meaning to pay her back for cutting him.

Merle waved him off. The blonde had his undivided attention. "Look at you – got your big girl panties on today. Come at me again. Gets me fired up. Been a while since I seen anything pretty as you."

"What do you want from us?" Spiraling curls. Blue eyes. Dressed like a summer hunter. Ready and willing to slice his throat open. She was just his type.

He licked his lips in response.

She never looked away – impressive, for someone in her position. "You're disgusting."

"Men got needs, baby." Merle fingered his beltloop suggestively, looking her up and down. "How 'bout this? You give me your name, I give you mine. Maybe I don't kill you, huh?"

She responded with conviction, "You get out of my face, maybe I don't kill you."

Merle stepped closer, strong enough to throw a little thing like her right off the road, but she stood her ground. If she had a third knife, she would have stuck him by now. "You wanna try it?"

A spray of bullets broke up the conversation.

Merle hit the deck as they pelted the pavement, dinging off cars, blocking out every other sound. Daryl fell off the hood of the Mercedes, hitting the ground hard on the wrong side of the vehicle. Merle scrambled over to him, grabbing him by the vest and dragging him behind the car. His brother was dazed, tagged in the shoulder.

"Stay down," Merle ordered, shoving the boy back when he tried to get to his knees. "You're hit. Stay down, 'less you want a head wound to go with that bullet hole."

Merle turned toward the shots, saw the flash of a muzzle in the trees. Everyone was flat on the road. Roy had taken cover behind the next car over, and the women were out in the open.

"Show your face, you pussy!" Merle shouted when there was a break in the shots. He was burning up inside, seeing red.

And then, unbelievably, a familiar voice came from the trees.

"Merle? Is that you?"

And out of the woods came Cliff Dixon.

Merle stood, not believing his eyes. Cliff was sprinting toward him, arms spread, smiling like they was meeting at an airport, not on a battlefield. The Hitler-youth looking bastard was clean-shaved, unblemished, dressed up like he was goin' to church. Couldn't have looked any different than Merle and Daryl – rumor was, Uncle Beau won't his real daddy.

Roy got to his feet, "Who the hell is that?"

Merle responded, baffled, "Our cousin."

Cliff reached them, hugging Merle, "I almost killed you, you beautiful bastard."

Merle shook the kid off. "Good thing you're as bad a shot as you are a hunter."

"Sorry, thought you were hostiles."

Merle retrieved his brother, pulling him upright and dusting him off. Daryl swayed. Merle put an arm around him to keep him steady. "Walk it off."

Daryl ducked away, never one for being touched. "I'm fine." He turned on Cliff, shoving him. "You almost killed me, you stupid piece of shit!"

Merle sighed, "Jesus, show some respect. Cliff is family."

"He shot me!" Daryl said, incredulous.

Cliff was smiling, unbothered. "Sorry. I didn't know it was you two. What are the odds?"

"What are you even doing here?" Daryl managed a lot of venom for someone bleeding everywhere. His shoulder was a mess – a puckered wound poking out from under his crossbow strap. Blood and sweat mixed and rolled down to his elbow.

Daryl had never liked Cliff – neither of them did. He spent a few summers down in Georgia, and he and Daryl fought every day, torturing each other with stupider and stupider dares that culminated in Daryl jumping off the roof of a barn into a kiddie pool. Merle had to carry him two miles, kicking and screaming, 'cause Daddy had the car. He had broken his leg, and Merle threatened to break his face if he ever did something that stupid again.

Cliff was a smooth-talking asshole, charming everyone with them golden locks, them blue eyes. He even had their Momma worrying over him.

Merle could get over all that.

Daryl was a little on the slow side as a kid, kind of simple – hard to blame anyone who picked low-hanging fruit. But Cliff had wild eyes, just like Beau and all them other mountain people. Merle never trusted that. His daddy had those eyes, and there won't no one on this earth he hated more.

But if anyone was going to survive this shit, it was that side of the family. Merle was real good at adapting. It was his specialty. He could take the crazy if it meant safety.

"I'm just lookin' for my Pa," Cliff said to Daryl, giving one of those easy, innocent smiles. He looked too clean, too young, to have survived out here at all. He was the same age as Daryl, but untouched, like the world never took a swing at him. "Seems most everyone is dead."

"Seems that way to us, too," Roy said.

Cliff looked sharply at Roy, as if he had only just noticed him. "I ain't met you. Who is he, huh? Friend of yours? Family?"

Merle shrugged.

Cliff moved past it, satisfied with no answer. "I guess you met my family." He gestured at the women lying face down on the road. "Go on, get up."

Merle got an uneasy feeling, like that time he was in the woods with a mountain lion stalking him. He turned just in time to put the thing down. He put more thought into the women as they got to their feet, curious why they were out here alone.

Cliff gestured to the dark-skinned woman. "Carla is my wife and Emily is my sister-in-law. Stop that glaring, Em. Merle is family."

"Sack of shit, more like it," Emily responded.

And she flinched preemptively.

Cliff turned on his heel and slapped her with an open hand – the sound was incredible, a solid pop that Merle felt in his skull. She went down hard on one knee, cupping her face with her hands. No one moved. Merle swallowed his surprised, that uneasy feeling in his gut growing.

Daryl was looking at Merle, waiting for some indication of what to do. He might have been a bleeding heart, too soft on the inside, but he won't stupid.

"Sorry," Cliff said to Merle, never shifting from that friendly, smiling tone, "Come on, then. We got food back at the cave. Looks like they never did get that water." Cliff pointed off at the woods beyond the road. "Carla, get the water. I'll get us some supper."

Carla waddled off, shoulders sagging.

Merle joined Cliff up front on the way to their camp, sure of a couple of things. Cliff was just as wild as his daddy, and Emily was gonna have a hell of a black eye.

Cliff babbled about his family, laying out the details of who had died, and who was missing. Merle only knew half the names, and honestly he didn't give two shits about most of those folks, but he gave his attention, anyway. He wanted news, and he wanted food. He could be patient.

Their camp was in a cave.

It was an overhang, partially enclosed by rocks, blocked up the rest of the way by scrap wood, tarps, and a flipped pickup truck. Merle pushed through a tarp into a makeshift room just tall enough for him to stand. It was no more than twenty feet wide, half as deep, littered with signs of life. Carcasses hung in one corner, in various stages of gutting, and a small stack of cans sat on a wooden pallet beside it. It was nothing compared to their own stash, which was hidden away with their vehicles – and it was nowhere near enough to feed three people for any span of time.

Cliff had lit the place with oil lanterns, which sat on the floor in a ring, giving an ominous glow to the edges of the room. He had a small fire going in the center, smoke curling toward a gap in the roof. Merle, Daryl, and Roy sat around it. Emily sat to his left, staring into the flames.

"Lemme see that," Merle said, reaching out for Daryl's messy shoulder.

Daryl shrugged him off, "It's fine."

"Stop being a baby."

"Emily is a doctor," Cliff said, as he gathered up most of his supply of cans and came over. He distributed them, giving Merle green beans. "She can patch that up, Daryl."

Merle poked his brother in the shoulder, hard, and provoked Daryl to swing on him. It was a weak attempt, betraying a compromised range of motion. "Let me look at it, 'fore I make you," Merle said lowly. "I can't have you at half-mast out there."

Daryl slid his crossbow off reluctantly, wincing.

Merle accepted a few gauze pads from Cliff, rejecting three offers to have Emily look at it. He tied it up tight, satisfied that it was the best kind of shot – missed the important stuff. He got one of those to the gut when he was overseas.

His brother sulked a while, and they all ate silently 'round the fire. Merle noticed that Cliff set a fifth can in front of his leg, and Emily sat empty-handed. A power play. Seemed pointless to keep his hackles up after slapping the shit out of her.

Outside, the sun was going down. Warm orange rays peeked through the tarps, lowering the temperature, the humidity. Merle wanted to be outside, keeping an eye out for walkers. Daryl was antsy, never a fan of caves, not since Merle had locked him in a closet when he was a kid 'cause he was being an annoying little shit. He only left him in there for an hour, but damned if it didn't mess the boy up. Roy seemed content. Not surprising. Him and Cliff were cut from the same cloth.

Merle found himself studying the girl, Emily. She was the opposite of that other lady. She looked kin to Cliff – could be his twin. When she felt Merle looking, she glared at him, showing a rapidly swelling eye and a bright red cheek. Merle had never slapped anyone like that. He preferred a closed fist, aiming to break whatever bone he made contact with. He had hit plenty of people in his life, and only two of them were women. One time was a crazy bitch in a bar who stabbed him, and the other was when a lady cop was tryin' to arrest him.

It was overkill, too easy, no sport in it.

"What do you think?" Cliff asked after a while, gesturing around. "Been here a week, maybe less."

"You plannin' on livin' out here?" Merle asked.

"You like it?"

"It's shit," Merle answered honestly.

Cliff smiled. "Yeah. I'm just passin' through. I'm on my way down to the panhandle, to meet up with Daddy and them."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Daryl was still picking at his food. "Why Florida?"

"Heard it's better down there, I guess." Cliff focused in on Daryl, intense eyes somehow both sincere and mocking. "What've you been up to? Finally learn how to flesh a rabbit without bustin' guts everywhere?"

Daryl had a nasty glare ever since he was a kid. "I can flesh twelve rabbits 'fore you're done running your mouth."

"I bet, I bet," Cliff said dismissively, trying to get a rise out of Daryl, just like when he was younger. "Damn good to see you boys again. Never thought I would, not since Daddy and Buck had that big fight. You 'member?"

Merle remembered, but he was uninterested in family disputes. It was a long time ago, and most of the morons involved were dead. "So, your daddy and them are alive? You're sure?"

"Sure as shit."

"And they're in the panhandle?"

"Sure are."

"Glad we ran into you, then. We was headed up to the old farm."

"Last I saw it, whole thing was on fire."

Merle had a few memories of a sprawling cattle farm up in the mountains. Cane poles and dirt roads. A whole summer of sunshine, crawdads, and rusty pickups. But that was before Cliff and Daryl were even born, before Pa died – before a lot of things.

Just after sunset, the water arrived. Carla looked worn out, barely upright, as she dragged two gallons in each hand. Merle wondered why Cliff had sent a fat lady out on such a physical task – a fat lady that was supposed to be his wife. He could have done it much more quickly himself.

Cliff gave Carla a can of sweet potatoes, and she went over to some blankets in the corner to eat.

And then Cliff took on a worrying tone. "Hey, rich blood," he said to Roy. "How is your shoulder?"

Rich blood. He was talking about the accent. Roy sounded like old money. It was almost the opposite of the Dixons' accent, which was more that of poor farm folk.

He had stopped bleeding right after being cut, but Roy still said, "Pretty bad."

Stirring shit up.

Cliff nodded, saying to Emily, "Seems you should apologize."

She said nothing, looking down at the fire.

Daryl tensed up.

"I said you should apologize." Cliff tapped the extra can with his index finger, studying it.

Emily shook her head this time, "No."

Cliff grabbed her suddenly, forcing her to her knees in front of Roy, the posture of prayer.

Daryl stirred, but Merle clamped a hand on him, keeping him seated, giving him a sharp warning look that said, Not our business.

"Go on, make it sincere," Cliff said, grasping her hair in his fist.

Roy looked pleased with himself, waiting. What a piece of shit.

Merle had seen enough.

"Cut that shit out."

Cliff ignored him, speaking to Emily. "Apologize." Meanwhile, she was twisting around, trying to hit him, inciting him to hold her hair tighter and press her head down toward the ground. Damned if that girl didn't have some badger blood in her.

Daryl was looking at Merle, looking about one step away from doing something himself.

Merle sighed. Nothing was ever easy anymore.

He pulled his pistol and pointed it square at Cliff, and he said it again. "Cut that shit out."

Cliff kept his hold on to her hair, "Why?"

"I know you your whole life, and ain't no boy like you ever marryin' a beaner. Should've said that one was your wife. I might'a believed you. What else you lyin' about, boy?"

Cliff shrugged, calm for someone staring down a barrel. "I won't lyin'."

Merle kept his voice level. "I don't give a shit if you was lyin' them, and I don't give a shit who they are or what you do to them. I just wanna know if Beau and them are alive."

Cliff released Emily, strangely calm to have a gun on him. "Really?"

"You lost your god damn marbles, kid, but that shit ain't my business. I need to know if Beau and them are alive, and where to find them."

Cliff seemed more worried about the interrogation than the gun. "Panhandle, like I said. Heard they was in a little town by the water – Millford, or somethin'. I's headed down there. Hoped we could join up, you know?"

"Mill Forge?" Daryl said.

Cliff nodded.

Merle spared his brother a glance. Daryl was getting pale. His voice sounded off.

"You okay, Daryl?" Cliff said, moving like he was coming over.

Merle cocked his gun. "Stay there."

Cliff put his hands up. "Okay. Just relax. I don't mean no harm."

He sounded genuine, but the situation was already escalated. Merle was on edge. His finger twitched toward the trigger. He knew a threat when he saw one.

Emily was looking at Merle. Emily. He had to admit he liked her. He was into feisty chicks. He had never been very heroic, preferring to leave people to their business when it didn't have shit to do with him. But he had this sinking feeling that if he let this shit go, if he let this kid come with them, he'd have to keep one eye open all the way down south.

Emily acted before Merle could decide. She threw a fierce elbow into Cliff's family jewels. He fell backward, drawing his gun, a scowl replacing that easy smile of his.

Merle was faster.

He shot Cliff in the face.

As his body dropped, Roy jumped to his feet, gun on the girl. Neither woman stirred, only stared. Emily was still on her knees, looking up at the two of them. She inched away from the body, away from Roy, probably working out how to stab one of them, how to set the other one on fire. Merle grabbed Cliff's gun before she could realize it was within reach.

Merle said to Roy, "Pack up the useful shit. We're getting the hell out of here."

Roy hesitated. "I thought we were looking for your cousins."

"Not that one, specifically," Merle said, patting down the body and looting a pack of cigarettes, a lighter, and a pocketknife. "Boy had squirrels in the attic. No surprise he went all Dahmer. Been like that since he's a boy – caught him squashing bunnies under rocks when he's four or five."

When he got no response, Merle looked over, finding Roy staring at the body. He was looking a little squirrely himself, a little pale in the face.

"What? You 'fraid you're next? Or you just a pussy? I know you ain't got no hold ups about killing. You sent that sheriff's boy out there in them woods as a distraction. But you ain't got the balls for this? I take care of my business up front, right out in the open."

Roy's jaw tightened and he looked away.

"S'what I thought," Merle huffed.

Daryl was getting up, wincing. His bandages were soaked through, crimson, dripping.

"Shit, boy," Merle groaned. "Come on. We ain't got time for this."

Daryl started peeling the old bandages away, grimacing at the ugly hole in his shoulder. "He best be glad you killed him, or I would."

Merle packed the wound again, tying it tighter this time. "We get somewhere safer than this shithole I'll cauterize that," Merle said, and then tapped his brother on the back of the head. "Get your head on straight in the meantime. Man up."

Daryl slapped his hand away, "I'm fine."

Merle shrugged. "Fine. Don't come cryin' to me next time you take a bullet."

Roy was standing halfway out of the tarp, staring into the unsettled forest. He nodded back into the cave, at the woman on her knees by the fire, "What about them?"

Merle knew what he wanted. He caught that look in his eyes out on the road, a predator locked onto his prey. Merle liked to talk shit, make 'em squirm, but that was as far as it went.

"What about them?" Merle said. "You wanna play around? Good luck. That bitch is crazy."

Roy seemed to think better of it. He just snorted.

Before they could leave, Emily got to her feet. "Give me my knife back."

Merle turned, surprised she would risk calling them back. "You ain't in any position to be making demands, Doll-face."

She got to her feet, stopping nearby, just out of arm's reach. "Give it back."

"Why, so you can stab me?"

"I need to protect her."

Merle glanced at the other woman, sighing. "Listen, your best bet is to cut that dead weight. I mean, what you got there? A fat beaner? How far can she walk, a hundred feet?"

"She's pregnant, stupid."

Merle gave the woman a second look, only coming up with an "Oh."

Emily came closer, dangerously so, and poked him in the chest, "Give it back."

"You're brave." Merle pulled the knife off his belt (though he had been tempted to make her grab it herself) and opened the blade, inspecting it, taking his time. "Nice piece. You get it engraved?"

"I took it off a body," she said.

Merle laid it in her open palm, winking. "Call me if you ever wanna get down and dirty."

He turned, noticing all at once that something was wrong.

Daryl had gone pale as milk. He swayed, and then collapsed. Merle was in time to keep his head from striking hard rock, but the rest of his body crumpled.

Fear and panic gripped Merle, almost choking him. He hit his knees, turning Daryl over and finding the fresh bandages rapidly turning red.

His eyes were shut, his breathing shallow.

It was much more serious than Merle thought.

Emily appeared beside him, crouched, reaching out for his brother. Merle shoved her so hard she hit the wall. He pulled his gun, "Back off!"

She put her hands up. "I'm a doctor. I can help him."

"You're full of shit is what you are," Merle snapped. His life seemed to be in a sudden, deadly spiral, blurring the edges of the room.

Emily had balls. She crawled over, one hand up, the other gently touching the barrel of the gun. She pushed it down, pointing it at the floor. "I can help him," she repeated, in a soft voice that seemed the opposite of everything she had said to him so far. "I owe you."

Merle had no idea why he let her put her hand on the gun, why he listened. "Fine. Fix him."

Emily went to work, throwing out requests. Carla came out of her hiding place and helped her. Merle stood back, watching, while the two strangers put their hands on his brother. He kept the gun in his hand, pacing, time dilating.

"Walkers," Roy said from the door.

Merle stirred, unaware, until now, that he had stopped moving. He crouched next to Emily, "You take care of him, you hear? Anything happens to him, I'll make you wish Cliff was still alive."

She said, "I hear you," without looking up.

Merle went to the door, where the woods were alive with shuffling, stopping Roy before he could fire his first shot. "Keep back the bullets 'less we get surrounded."

It was a melee.

Merle threw himself into the fight, slashing through walkers with a machete, going by the glow coming from within the cave. He and Roy stayed close to it, close to each other, and took the walkers as they came. It was a trickle, then a flood, then a trickle again, coming in cycles as they made their way through the woods.

An hour passed before the stream completely ended.

Merle stared up at a full moon, parked just over the trees. Cliff was an idiot to make a camp in such a vulnerable place. His daddy hadn't taught him much about surviving, apparently. How the hell did he make it so long?

"Keep an eye," Merle said to Roy, ducking inside the cave.

Emily was sitting by Daryl, dabbing blood from his arm with a damp cloth. He was unconscious, still pale, now lying on his right side with his wounded shoulder up. He was breathing just fine. His shoulder was wrapped in plain white bandages, crisscrossing under his arm. Bloody sutures and a bullet lay on the cave floor, along with a wet stain. It smelled like puke and antiseptics.

"He woke up, vomited from the pain," Emily explained, noticing him grimace. "I gave him a sedative to keep him unconscious for a little while."

Merle nudged his brother with his boot. "When's he gonna wake up?"

"Could be hours."

"Wake him up. We gotta go."

"I can't force it."

"Lady, I ain't got time for this. I said, wake him up!" Merle had his gun in hand, finding no better cure for anger than gripping the hilt.

Emily was unfazed by the weapon. "If you give a shit about him, you'll let him rest. He lost a lot of blood and he's in a lot of pain."

Merle kneaded his forehead. "Unbelievable. I'm in hell. I died, and I'm in hell."

He paced the cave, taking a watch cycle so Roy could get a few hours sleep. Just after midnight, they switched. Merle was restless, sitting against the cave wall, opening and closing his pocketknife. Daryl was dead quiet, not even twitching. His bandages stayed clean and white. Merle contemplated shaking him until he woke up, but what Emily said burned into him – if you give a shit about him. She had him backed into a corner.

Emily got up to check on him before dawn, and then said, out of nowhere, "Take us with you."

Merle laughed. It had been quiet for so long that the sound was like a siren. "Why?"

Emily sat on her knees beside Daryl, taking his pulse. "You were looking for your cousins. Well, there's one right there." She gestured back at Carla, who slept facing the wall, hiding that horrendously swollen belly of hers.

Merle had been thinking on that topic.

"Here's what I think happened," he whispered. "Cliff overpowered you, took you prisoner, took a few sips of the honeypot. Ain't no way that boy'd ever marry a wetback. He needed a little entertainment for the road. He kept you in line by threatening your sister. We been in this shit, what, a month? Not long enough for that bitch to swallow a bowling ball."

Emily had a hard expression. "She's been in this shit for longer than that."

Merle knew what she meant, no need for explanation. Cliff seemed like the type to cross that line.

"You ain't her sister, are you?" he said.

"No shit. I'm her doctor. We were together when-" She stopped herself, cleared her throat. "I was really close to getting her to talk to me. We had a translator. She doesn't speak English. The hospital got overrun. It all happened so suddenly, and then Cliff showed up."

"I don't need your sob story."

"How about this, then? I can help your brother. He has a serious injury. You need me."

He was torn, faced with the last thing he wanted. But there were mitigating factors. Independent and proud as he was, Merle knew he could not take care of Daryl. His wound was more serious than he originally thought, and the world was a dangerous place these days. If she had been anyone else, any less fierce, any less bold, he would have turned her down outright.

He said, "What make you think I'm any better than Cliff?"

"Because you killed him."

Merle couldn't help himself. "Maybe I wanted what he had."

She met his challenge without hesitation, "I'm not afraid of you."

"Maybe you should be."

"You need me," she repeated, her voice faltering. It was not fear, but desperation.

"How 'bout this," Merle said, "We take you along and leave the pregnant bitch behind."

"I'm not helping your brother unless she comes."

"Brave little bird," Merle murmured.

Emily went back to her side of the cave, sitting beside Carla, her loyal pit bull. She kept her burning eyes on Merle, waiting for a response.

"Fine," he said, never intending to follow through on his threats. "But you let my brother die, you're goin' down with him, and so's the beaner" Merle stood up. "We'll stay here until he wakes up, then we're headed south."

A thought occurred to him, a certain do-gooder sheriff out in the quarry.

"I know just the place to drop you ladies off."

Roy poked his head in, "We leavin' or what?"

Merle joined him outside. "No, not just yet. Help me fortify this door." Merle walked off into the woods in search of more scrap, muttering, "What a stupid fucking day."