Chapter 35.
Pa.
"Never have I ever… eaten a slug," Emily said.
Merle sighed, took another drink. "You got me pegged."
"Your turn." Emily put her feet up on the coffee table, looking into the fire. She slid further into the couch, until she was almost off of it, resting her head against the back.
Merle said, "Took it up the ass."
Emily threw a walnut at him. "Why do you ruin every game?"
He shrugged, cracked the nut, ate it. "You cheat. No way you ain't ate a slug."
"And you argue about every single thing." Emily threw another walnut, this time lighter, for him to catch. "Do you ever get tired of being such an asshole?"
Merle got up to tend the fire, poking a smaller stick until it broke in half, loading up half a log.
For a while, the living room was silent. Merle let it be, sitting back to listen to the crackling of the fire. He spent his early childhood in a house with a fireplace, so the sound was ingrained in him. It was as soothing as the river running, the birds calling.
"Never have I ever…" Emily began, "cheated at billiards."
Merle took a drink. "You're hittin' low fruit, darlin'."
"Never have I ever robbed someone."
He took another drink.
"You're a really bad person," she remarked.
"You gonna tell me some shit I don't know?"
Emily gave a small smile. "You gonna take your turn?"
"Fine. Never have I ever killed someone before all this shit started."
Emily hesitated, and then took a long drink.
"Knew it," Merle said.
"You never killed anyone before this?"
"Nope. Came close. Wanted to. Maybe I would have."
Emily was quiet, taking more sips of her drink.
Merle said, "Who was it? Ex-boyfriend? Did you praying-mantis him? Bite his head off?"
"I was in the army."
"Oh. Explains why you're such a tough bitch – no offense."
"Never have I ever…" She paused, smiled, "You know, everything I can think of is just too easy."
"Yeah, 'cause it's a stupid ass game for kids."
Emily scooted up on the couch again, starting another cycle of slowly sinking down. She had the covers up over her mouth now, just over her nose, the only thing showing her blue eyes, with the fire dancing in them. Her voice was sad, somber, "I used to play it with my sisters all the time."
Merle hated sappy. He pretended he didn't hear her, sat back to finish his bottle. Whenever they stopped over in towns like this, in neighborhoods with doors and walls, he got shitfaced.
It helped him keep his mind straight, try to forget what he'd lost.
XxXxX
"I always hated Alabama."
Merle stood on the cusp of a river, looking at the remains of a bridge. Its pieces jutted out of the water, big chunks of concrete embedded with rebar, some graffiti still lingering on the undersides. It was honestly hard to tell if it crumbled before or after the walkers appeared, as quickly as the underbrush grew up in this place. Merle had to fight through swaths of privet just to get to the edge of the bridge, and thorns were eating at his legs and arms, reopening old cuts.
Emily had stayed on the road, testing her footing on a big chunk of concrete.
"You cross that, you're gonna get a stick of rebar up the ass," Merle warned.
"I could cross it. You'd have to swim."
He snorted. "You ain't that agile, buttercup. Army or no army."
Emily hopped the first gap, landing on her toes on an upright chunk of bridge. She swayed both ways, spread her arms, stayed upright.
"I ain't fishin' you outta that river," Merle said, standing on the edge.
Emily flipped him off, hopping the next gap, and the next. She had to climb down a few pieces to get to the stones below, and then climb back up a web of rebar to the other side.
When she was on solid ground, she turned and bowed.
"God damn show-off," Merle grumbled. "How you plan on getting' them bags over there?"
"Use your brain, dipshit." Emily laid out her plan, which involved a long piece of rope, a carabiner, and an empty liquor bottle. Merle tied the bottle to the rope, tossed it to her, secured the bags onto it, and floated them over the river to her.
He waded through, coming out with his bottom half soaked.
When he untied their bags, he threw hers at her, knocking her over. "That's for name-calling."
Emily got back up, hissing, giving a little on her left leg.
"I ain't hit you that hard," he said.
She said, "I scraped my leg on some rebar."
"That's what you get for showin' off."
"Let's get out of Alabama. This place sucks."
"Just waitin' on you to finish paintin' your nails, princess."
XxXxX
"Looks like shit," Merle commented, wrapping the rainfly tightly around the top of their tent. He crawled in, grimacing, "Smells like shit."
Emily had cut off her pants leg to expose the wound, which was angry and red. Her little scrape on the rebar had gotten infected, and for lack of rest or antibiotics, it was getting worse.
"I know," Emily said simply. "I need antibiotics."
"Yeah, no shit."
She didn't snap back, making him worry.
"We'll find a town, hunt some down." He laid out on his sleeping bag, at the front of the tent, folding his arms behind his head.
Emily said, "I can hardly walk."
"I'll go, then, and you can lay up in here like a lazy asshole."
Again, she didn't snap back. She didn't say anything.
Merle watched her, thought her face was a little flushed, her arms a little pale. Was she always that color? Hard to remember.
"Ain't that some shit," he said, as she lay on her back beside him. "Bunch a' dead folk out there tryin' to off you, and a little cut is gonna do the job."
"Guess I should've swam across that river."
"I'm always right. It's 'swum' by the way."
"You're the most hillbilly talking person I've ever met – you're correcting my speech?"
"If you're wrong, you're wrong."
Emily looked over, and where there should have been a scowl, there was a little smile. A little Emily smile. She had a few in her, giving them out on rare occasions. Merle could make her laugh if he tried hard enough – and he found himself trying more often, the longer he spent with her.
"I'll go out in the mornin'," Merle said, closing his eyes. "Stop moanin' and go to sleep."
XxXxX
Emily was worse in the morning.
She was a little more flushed, her blonde curls flattened to her sweaty face. She tried to get up, though, even made it out of the tent before the pain made her double over. Her leg was nasty, red, too open to close on its own.
"Get back in there," Merle said. "I'll be back. Try not to get ate."
Emily was strangely compliant. She said nothing, only laid back on her sleeping back and turned over. Merle had set snares and traps around their camp to hold walkers at bay and alert them to their presence, but he still lingered on his way out. He was attached to Emily, somehow. Weird, because he never got along with women. Not that they got along. They spent most of the day bickering, fighting, occasionally throwing shit at each other. But still, they stuck together. He was used to her presence and he didn't want her to die.
He walked for miles in an unfamiliar landscape, following signs of habitation until he came across a tiny little town tucked into some foothills. He scoured the houses, coming up empty over and over. Evening wore into dusk and on into night.
Merle found a few painkillers under a couch, half a bottle of expired antibiotics, and a triple antibiotic cream, a quarter full. He took food, too, and filled his water pouches on the way out.
It was black outside, too dark to navigate. Merle reluctantly hunkered down in a house, sitting against the front door to sleep. He wondered if Emily thought he had abandoned her, if she would try to move on without him – if she was still alive, not in some walker's belly.
XxXxX
Morning came abruptly, the dawn chorus of songbirds stirring him from a light sleep. Merle hopped up, stretched, got his shit and got out. He was ready to move on, ready to finish their trek through Alabama. Maybe he could find another car and avoid some traffic snarls. Emily would benefit from not walking for a while.
His march back through the forest was longer. He hadn't realized he was going downhill the previous day, so his calves burned all the way back. By the time he reached their tent, he was winded, aching, his shoulders sore under the weight of his backpack.
Everything looked the way he had left it, no walkers trampling the tent.
He said, "It's me, don't shoot," and undid the zipper.
Emily was sitting up, looking a little like death as she sewed her leg together. Merle kicked off his boots and joined her in the tent, "That's sexy as hell."
She said nothing, focused on the task.
Merle dug out the medication, handed her a pouch of water. "Got some oxy, too. Probably should wait 'til we get a car to take it. Shit'll knock you on your ass."
Emily pulled the last stitch, downed the lighter pain meds and half the pouch of water. Merle gave her the oral antibiotics, too, and handed over the cream.
"It ain't much," he said, "But we got some bigger cities 'tween us and the border."
He sat there quietly, watching her apply the cream, apply new white gauze and bandages. Sometimes he forgot she was a doctor. Seemed too foul-tempered for the job.
"Thanks," she said, lying down, stretching her injured leg out. "Thanks for coming back."
"Yeah, well, still holdin' out hope we'll bump uglies."
Emily laughed. "You're a pig."
She seemed to doze off. Merle found himself admiring her. Emily was the toughest woman he had ever met, sitting there sewing up her own leg. She had managed to limp for miles before they were forced to stop at this campsite. He realized too late that he was attached, that he was protective of her, that he needed her to stick around.
It was an alien, uncomfortable feeling.
XxXxX
Merle saw the hunter first, giving the signal to Emily to duck down. She went down hard on her right leg, holding her left out stiffly. In the past few days, the infection had gotten moderately better, but Merle could tell she was suffering.
He tipped his head toward the camouflaged figure lying on the hill.
Emily nodded, waited.
Merle said, "Could be kin. Close enough now. Need to see a face."
"Call out to him."
"Are you stupid?"
"Your voice is distinct," she said.
"Oh." Fair enough. "Lemme try a whistle first."
Merle crawled out a little further, a little closer. He whistled an old tune his Pa taught him when he lived with his wild cousins for a while. It was how they kept in contact when they were in the woods. It was thick enough to carry through the trees, innocuous to the animals, distinct from other hunters in the area, kind of like a family signature.
The camouflaged figure shifted, and a return whistle came.
Merle ventured closer, almost out of the cover of the trees. He called out, "Is that a Dixon out there?"
Just like that, the hunter popped up out of his hiding spot, throwing his hood back.
Merle breathed a sigh of relief, recognizing him.
"Billy, you ugly bastard," Merle said.
"No way in hell," Billy said, crossing the field, strapping his rifle to his back. He stopped to take him in, grinning, and then clasped him on the shoulder, "Look at that! You're shittin' me right now, boy."
Emily was coming out of the brush, too, limping on her bad leg. Billy looked around Merle, curious.
Merle shifted, blocking his view, "I been walking a while, cuz. Any other a' our people out here?"
"You bet your ass." Billy motioned toward the hill he was on. "I gotta ride my horse back. I can give your lady a ride, if you like."
"I can walk," Emily said.
Billy glanced at her again, nodded. "Alright, then. Head south through that thicket, you'll find a little huntin' path marked with red flags. On down there is Mill Forge. We got our setup out there, old fort. I'll be there to let ya in."
"Ain't never heard better words, brother."
Billy looked at Emily again, a little too long, and headed off.
"They oughta have meds for that leg," Merle said, turning to find Emily looking weary. "What? You gonna pussy out? They're family."
"I've met a cousin of yours before, remember?"
"Best not mention that," Merle said.
"Duh."
He snorted, "Sure you don't wanna hook up? Might have a real bed tonight."
"Positive."
"Lemme know if you change your mind."
Emily smiled, started hobbling toward the hunting path. "Come on. Maybe they have some painkillers."
"Aw, you got a little boo-boo, precious?"
"Need the painkillers for after I break my foot off in your ass."
Merle laughed.
XxXxX
Billy wasn't kidding about the fort.
Merle and Emily walked into town, found a fort made of big gray bricks. It had walls that were twenty feet high, and seemed about as large as a football field.
Billy was there, as promised, to open the showy wooden doors for them.
"This is unreal," Emily murmured to Merle.
He shook his head, "You're tellin' me…"
Inside, the place was like a castle. They passed through a brick tunnel into a large courtyard filled with wooden buildings, tents, and a few big tables. Merle recognized a few faces, saw a few strangers. It was a wild, wild place, flipping his expectations on their head. He expected the Dixons to have a camp, but not a fortress.
Their arrival made the activities in the courtyard stop. It was all men, who paused their tasks to gather, giving them curious looks.
"Hey, Pa, told ya I found Merle!" Billy announced.
Out of the opposite tunnel, a man strode out.
Merle lost his sense, lost his words. He stared, dumbfounded, as his Pa came into the courtyard. Pa was his daddy's daddy, the patriarch of their family until he disappeared. Merle was just a boy. Daryl wasn't even born.
"Look at that," Pa said, getting closer, barely showing his age. Dixons were long-lived, sturdy people. He looked Merle up and down, whistled, shook his head, "Look at my boy."
He put a hand on Merle, just as tall as him, a face just like Daddy.
"Everybody, this is Merle," Pa announced, pride in his voice, "My grandson. Boy, I ain't seen you in… must've been thirty years."
"Must've," Merle responded, finally finding words. "Daddy said you was dead."
"I ain't," Pa said, grinning. "And who is that pretty lady there?"
Merle looked back, having forgotten he had a companion at all. Emily was looking wearily at his family, trying to look uninjured despite how much her leg must hurt.
Merle felt the eyes fall to her – though most had been on her already. She was pretty and young, a firecracker, just the type a Dixon would go for.
He reflexively said, "She's with me."
Hoots and hollers followed that.
Pa nodded, "Listen, when I left, I wanted to take you with me. Fought tooth and nail. But your damn daddy… Noah won't havin' it."
"Why'd you leave?" Merle asked.
"You know how your Grammy gets. Had enough of that." He got a few laughs, looked around to acknowledge it. "But I wanted to take you with me, boy. Raise you right. Wish I had. But it looks like you did alright."
Merle was unsettled, uneasy, but he was the king of bullshitting.
"Yeah, I did alright."
"Well, shit, boy, you look tired, and your lady's hurt. Billy, get 'em a room ready in the wall."
The wall was the exterior of the castle, a wide circle with a hallway going all the way around, rooms spaced along it. Their room had a window to the outside. Merle went straight to it, watching a few walkers wander around in the streets.
"Brought you this, Pa said you'd need it," Billy said, passing Merle a syringe. "Antibiotic cocktail."
Merle was familiar with it. Dixon family recipe. They got the clap on occasion.
He handed the syringe to Emily, shut the door. Locked it.
The room was brick, cool to the touch, with a fancy red carpet and a large bed, made up with a rich red comforter, white sheets. Tapestries hung on the walls, along with paintings, a mounted set of antlers. It was too nice for his family. Probably why none of them took it. They were outdoor people, hating feeling cooped up, contained. Daryl was like that. Merle was versatile, appreciating walls and a roof sometimes, still holding onto his love for being outside.
Emily injected herself with the antibiotic, sat up on the bed against the backboard, her leg propped in front of her. "Nicer than the tent."
Merle was still looking out the window, "Keep talkin' shit and you're sleepin' outside."
It was an empty threat.
"Your grandpa, huh?"
He nodded, uncertain. "Thought he was dead."
"And is he… nice?"
Merle snorted. "What's that 'spose to mean? You askin' if he's gonna knife us in our sleep? No. Our family sticks together. Blood is stronger than anything."
She didn't have to say it. Merle knew what she was thinking.
"It was different with Cliff."
Emily took a deep breath. Merle looked over to find her eyes closed. She was kneading her thigh, wincing every now and then.
"Pa is a good man," Merle said, feeling like he had to defend himself. Memories flooded him, the earliest, the sweetest. "He took care a' me for a while when I's a kid. I lived up on his farm in Virginia."
Merle never loved anybody like he loved his Pa – except his brother. His memories of that man were all good, all positive. Pa took him on his first hunting trip, his first fishing trip. Pa taught him to tie knots, to skin a buck, to set a snare. He was devastated when Pa disappeared. He cried for days, and his daddy wasn't happy about that. He beat the shit out of him over and over again, trying to smack the tears away. Merle had to swallow it.
He wished Daryl had met him.
"Hard to imagine you as a kid," Emily said, pulling him from his thoughts.
Merle kicked his boots off, crawled onto the other side of the bed. Emily didn't protest. He shut his eyes, not even bothering to harass her. The mattress felt like heaven on his back. Even when they stopped over in houses on the way, they always took a downstairs room, usually a living room or dining room. Both of them liked to keep their ears to the ground. Merle appreciated their similarities, the rhythm they had found.