CHAPTER FIVE
It was the morning after Michonne's return to the prison and Rick's group (minus Glenn and Maggie) along with the Woodburians were gathering atop the two aluminum benches on the courtyard. Rick stood in the center of the courtyard, his jacket was buttoned to his throat, and the palm of his right hand rested on the walnut grips of his Colt Python revolver. Behind Rick stood Eddie and Juan, in front of them was a prison laundry cart, but instead of linens, Eddie's cart contained homemade stabbing weapons carved from wooden broom poles or filed from metal rebar, and Juan's cart held field tools and athletic gear like brush hooks and aluminum baseball bats.
"Good morning, everyone," Rick said warmly.
Rick's group smiled or nodded in greeting, but the Woodburians grumbled or waved a hand; a few said "Good morning, Rick," in return.
"I understand there might be hard feelings because so few had meat, while so many had oatmeal, but today is where that sacrifice starts to pay off," Rick announced. "Today we'll install the new gate, and after that, I'll announce the group members for the supply run. Once we've restocked the pantry, we can start the other rebuilding projects like adding that…that thing with the stakes Hershel talked about."
"That thing is called a Cheval de frise," Hershel smiled as he corrected Rick.
"Yeah, a Cheval de frise," Rick said with a thumbs up towards Hershel.
A good natured chuckle rippled across Rick's group and the Woodburians.
"Anyway, while the construction crew is putting up the new gate, the rest of us have to protect them from any walkers that might show up, that's why we've brought out these weapons," Rick said as he thumbed over his shoulder at the three laundry carts behind him. "Eddie and Juan spent yesterday afternoon sharpening broomstick poles and metal bars into stabbing weapons."
The Woodburians looked at the two laundry carts filled with homemade or improvised weapons and they began to mutter their fears amongst themselves.
"Some of you haven't killed a walker since you settled in Woodbury; most of you haven't killed a walker at all. Believe me when I tell you that you can kill a walker," Rick said.
"Stay behind the fences for protection, but don't bunch up at the gate. If walkers show up, make all the noise you can to attract their attention and keep them away from the gate and the construction crew. When the walkers get close enough, thrust your weapon at their eyes or their foreheads; destroy the brain, and you kill the walker.
"If some of the walkers ignore you and go for the construction crew, let Michonne, Glenn, Maggie, and myself handle them. No offense, guys, but I don't want any of you reaching for a club while you're juggling one of those iron doors."
A chuckle rose up from the men chosen for the construction crew.
"Hey, Rick," John called out with his hand raised.
"Yes, John?"
"Where's Dixon during all of this?" John asked as he gestured across the courtyard at the redneck sitting with the rest of Rick's group on the other bench. Daryl refused to join the construction crew yesterday, resulting in an argument between him and John.
"Daryl's going to be our lookout," Rick answered as he pointed at one of the destroyed guard towers. If he spots any walkers, he'll call out."
John glared at Daryl and snorted in contempt. "A lookout, huh? So you went from not giving a damn, to getting a damn good view!"
Daryl grinned at John and gestured at one of the guard towers. "Did you see Saving Private Ryan? If a herd shows up, you better not move too slow, or I might think you're a walker and shoot an arrow through your damn skull!"
Some in both groups chuckled, others muttered about the obvious tension between the Vietnam veteran and the redneck. Carol, sitting beside Daryl, worried that another argument might break out between him and John, so she discreetly held Daryl's forearm to keep him calm and seated. Daryl sat still, but the feeling of Carol's hand on his forearm made him blush.
"All right, that's enough," Rick said with his hand raised for silence. "Daryl told us why he's not helping with the gate, but he's more help to us up on the tower; he's saved my life a few times with that crossbow. Now let's get to work. Construction crew: follow Henry to the motor pool. Everyone else: chose a weapon."
Rick's group and the Woodburians stepped down from the bleachers. The construction crew, consisting of John, Tyreese, Eddie, Charlie, and Greg followed Henry towards the motor pool, while the adult Woodburians rummaged through the two laundry carts for a stabbing weapon of their liking.
•••
Glenn and Maggie were on sentry duty behind the prison squad car that served as a temporary gate. They both wore their riot armor, but they left their gauntlets and their helmets beside the guard tower. Maggie held the Gerber Camp Axe II, while Glenn held the Gerber Survival Series Parang; both tools were from the blade collection Carl found on the highway last year.
Glenn held a pair of binoculars to his eyes and was looking down the deserted road while Maggie was looking uphill as the group meeting on the courtyard broke up. "Look at him," she said with disgust.
"Hmm?" Glenn asked as he lowered the binoculars and looked over his shoulder at his fiancée.
"Daryl," Maggie nodded as she glared at the group's hunter.
Glenn turned around and looked uphill as Daryl and Carol stood side by side on the courtyard; they seemed to be waiting to talk with Rick. "What about Daryl?" Glenn asked.
"He makes me sick," Maggie answered as she looked at her fiancé.
"How come?"
"Because he thinks he's Rambo."
Glenn chuckled. "Well, he did pull an arrow out of his side. That's real badass."
"Yeah, his own arrow; an arrow he fell on," Maggie pointed out.
"Well…your dad's horse did throw him and that's how he ended up with that arrow—"
"And he's a racist," Maggie interrupted.
Glenn blinked. "Huh?"
Maggie huffed angrily and threw down the hatchet with such force, its sharp blade stuck in the gravel road. "You know what I'm talking about: Daryl got into an argument with that old man and called you 'the Korean'."
Glenn put the binoculars and the parang on the hood of the prison's squad car and faced his fiancée again. "Come on, Maggie. You're making a big deal out of—"
"That's not the first time Daryl talked about you like that. Remember that comment about Asian drivers when we reunited on the highway?"
"It was a joke, Maggie," Glenn argued.
"But it bothered you, Glenn. I heard it in your voice."
"Can you forget about this please?" Glenn asked as he shifted his posture uncomfortably.
"Why are you defending Daryl?" Maggie asked as she walked over to Glenn. "Are you afraid of him?"
"No!" Glenn shouted. A moment later he looked down at the gravel road and kicked at it with the toe of his boot. "Well, he did grab me by the throat," Glenn muttered as he rubbed his neck gingerly.
"Exactly!" Maggie exclaimed as she threw up her hands. "Do you think Daryl would've attacked Shane, or Rick? Of course not! Instead he attacks the Asian guy."
Glenn looked at Maggie for a few moments, but he started to shake his head. "No. I insulted Merle. If somebody had insulted my sisters, I would've done the same—"
"What you said was wrong, but do you think you deserve to be beaten for it?"
"I didn't say that."
"Then what are you saying, Glenn?"
Glenn said nothing and he turned towards the prison's squad car and rested his arms on its hood. Maggie frowned and took a step towards Glenn. "I'm sorry," she said as she placed her hand on her fiancé's shoulder. "But you were risking your life for this group before we even met. You were the one who led me and Tyreese into the tombs to get the guns the Governor's army dropped. You're smart. You're brave. You deserve to be respected. You should talk to Daryl and tell him to stop the racist comments."
Glenn stood tall and looked at Maggie. "Do you really think I should talk to Daryl?"
Maggie took hold of Glenn's hand and squeezed it gently. "Yes, I do."
•••
"Hey, Dad!" Carl called out.
Rick was walking towards Cell Block C but stopped in his tracks when he heard Carl's voice. He looked to his right and saw Carl running towards him.
"What it is it, Carl?" Rick asked.
Carl stopped running and stood in front of his father. "Can I help you and Michonne if walkers show up?"
Rick shook his head. "No. I need you to stay on the courtyard."
Carl frowned and lowered his head, his face obscured by his battered Stetson hat. "Come on, Dad…" he whined.
"You can't help out on this one, Carl," Rick said firmly.
"I can't help out on any of them," Carl mumbled angrily.
"Carl, most of the Woodburians aren't just senior citizens and kids, they're sheltered. They don't know how to kill walkers and I don't want you along the fence if they panic and cause a breach."
Rick put his hand on Carl's back and guided him towards the laundry cart standing next to Cell Block C, but instead of homemade weapons, this cart was stocked with rifles, shotguns, and other military and police items. "Stay here and guard the guns and ammo," Rick said.
Carl looked wide-eyed at his father.
"If walkers show up and breach the fences, we're going to have to put them down before they overrun the prison. The only people who can take a gun from this cart are from our group, Karen, Sasha, and John Boyd, all right?"
"You're letting that old guy have a gun, after all the crap he said to you?" Carl asked incredulously.
"Carl, watch your mouth," Rick said firmly.
Carl lowered his head, but he huffed in frustration.
"John and I worked out our differences. If he needs a firearm, let him take one."
"If I do, will you let me go on that food run?" Carl asked.
Rick looked at his son for a moment, and said, "I'm not negotiating with you, Carl. If I let you go along, it'll be because I think you're mature enough to follow orders and contribute to the mission."
Carl lowered his head, but this time it was in shame. "Yes, Dad," he whispered.
Rick smiled and put his hand on Carl's shoulder. "Thank you, son."
Carl walked over to Cell Block C, put his back to the wall, and sat down with his arms wrapped around his knees.
Michonne kept a respectful distance during Rick and Carl's conversation; now that it was over, she walked over to the group's leader. "Rick," she said.
Rick turned around and looked and the newest member of the group.
"I'm sorry," Michonne said.
"For what?" Rick asked.
"The trouble between you and Carl," Michonne answered. "Before I left to hunt the Governor I said you and Carl will work it out. It seems like it'll be tougher than I thought."
"You're not the only one who's noticed. Hershel's concerned about Carl too."
"It's not just Carl I'm worried about," Michonne confessed.
Rick's complexion went pale. "Wha…what do you mean?" he stammered.
"Rick, you not only have to take care of Carl, you also have a baby girl and everyone in this prison. Just how long do you think you can keep going?"
Rick lowered his head, ran a hand through his hair, and sighed wearily. It was hard admitting it to himself, but he was tired. Daryl was a good second-in-command, and he hoped John would ease tensions with the Woodburians, but he still felt that he had to carry the weight for everyone.
"I appreciate what you're saying, Michonne. But we're too weak for me to start sharing responsibility with others," Rick said as he looked at the sword wielding woman. "Maybe I'll think about it after we've rebuild the prison."
"All right," Michonne nodded. "But I volunteer to go on that supply run."
"Are you sure about that?" Rick asked. "You've been through a lot recently. It won't hurt to rest a few days."
"I'm sure," Michonne answered as she turned around to walk away. "See you at the fence."
•••
Rick watched Michonne walk away when he spotted Daryl and Carol walking towards him. "Are you two ready?" Rick asked the redneck and the housewife.
"Ready as we'll ever be," Daryl answered as he picked up his Stryker Stryekzone 380 crossbow that he left leaning against the staircase. Daryl had placed a scope on the sight bridge, and he also replaced the arrow he lost in the gunfight at the feed mill with one of his spare arrows, but its yellow and red vanes made it look odd amongst the white and green vanes of the four other arrows set in the crossbow's quiver.
"Okay. Keep a sharp eye. It's fine with me if you shoot a walker or two with your crossbow, but let some of them make it to the fence."
Daryl glanced at Rick, slung his crossbow over his shoulder, and picked up the plastic green tube he used as a quiver for his spare arrows. "You're turnin' into a bloodthirsty son of a bitch, ain't ya?"
"No. These people need to get over their fear of the walkers. It may as well be today."
"Whatever," Daryl said as he spun the quiver's strap around his left hand so it wouldn't drag along the ground.
Carol looked worriedly at Carl, before she began rummaging through the laundry cart, and take out Dale Horvath's Remington 700 bolt action rifle. "Don't shoot that rifle unless you absolutely half to," Rick ordered.
"I won't," Carol said as she slung the rifle over her shoulder. Carol reached into the laundry cart again, took out a box of .308 Winchester ammunition, and a pair of binoculars. Daryl waited as Carol slipped the box into a jacket pocket, unwound the binocular's strap, and put it around her neck. Once Carol was ready, she and Daryl walked side-by-side towards the guard tower that stood beside the courtyard's gate.
"Can I ask you a question?" Carol asked as she looked at Daryl.
Daryl grunted in approval.
"Why do want me to join you up there? It's not the same as needing someone to watch your back."
Daryl stopped in his tracks and thought back to the moment on his recent deer hunt when he decided that he was in love with Carol, but how could he put those feelings into words?
Daryl lowered his head in thought, while his right hand held onto the strap of his crossbow slung over his shoulder, and his left hand held onto the strap of his makeshift quiver. After concentrating for a few tense moments, nothing good came to mind, so Daryl gripped his crossbow's strap tighter and he threw up his left arm in frustration, and when his arm came down, the quiver struck the side of his leg, and the quiver twisted around on its strap like a dreamcatcher twisting from a tree limb in a gust of wind. Finally Daryl raised his head, looked at Carol and said, "I…I don't want you by the gate, riskin' your neck."
Carol smiled and lowered her head as she a light blush appeared on her face. "Thank you," she whispered.
Daryl narrowed his eyes and grunted in confusion as to what Carol whispered.
Carol raised her head and the light blush was gone. "I said, 'Let's go," she lied.
Daryl nodded and he and Carol resumed their walk to the ruined guard tower. When they arrived, Daryl opened the door; to reveal a winding staircase that ascended to a trap door. Daryl motioned for Carol to step inside, she smiled in appreciation and stepped into the tower, and Daryl followed.
•••
The adult Woodburians young and strong enough to help put down any walkers had chosen their weapons and were now walking down to the fence line. Michael and Alicia walked downhill with three Woodburians to a section of the fence line, both held wooden broomsticks with tape wrapped around one end for leverage and the other end being a sharp point. As the couple got closer to the fence line, Alicia's heart began beating harder and she panted for breath as she sunk to her knees.
Michael had taken two steps before he realized Alicia was in trouble; he ran back to his wife and wrapped his arm around her shoulders. "What's wrong, honey?" he asked worriedly.
"I…I won't do this," Alicia panted.
Michael looked at the three other Woodburians who had reached the fence line; they were looking back at him and Alicia with curiosity and concern. "Honey, you've got to stand up and go with me to the fence," he begged. "We have to help protect the construction crew from the walkers."
"No," Alicia said as she looked up at her husband with tears in her eyes. "I won't kill people."
Michael's eyes widened and he knelt down beside Alicia so he could whisper in her ear. "They're not people anymore."
Alicia looked at Michael in disbelief. A moment later Michael slipped a hand under Alicia's arm, stood up and pulled her to her feet, and began pulling his wife towards the fence line.
•••
"Viola!" Henry said cheerfully and a flourish of his hand.
John, Tyreese, Eddie, Charlie, and Greg were lined up like army recruits as Henry showed them the iron door on the side of the motor pool.
"Very nice, Henry," John grumbled with his arms folded across his chest. "Could you snap your fingers so that door will pop off its hinges and float down to the fence?"
Henry's smile faded and was replaced with a scowl. "You're a real comedian, John."
John grinned. "Well, good humor makes work lighter."
"Do we have WD-40 for this job?" Charlie asked. "Because the screws and hinges on these doors have been rusting since the day it was installed."
Henry knelt down and rummaged through the plastic milk crate he placed beside the motor pool. "I've got two cans right here," he answered as he held both cans up in the air. "That should be enough for this door and the one around back."
"All right," John said as he clapped his hands together. "We'll take one door down at a time. Let's get to work."
The construction crew muttered in agreement; Tyreese patted Eddie on the back.
John reached into his jacket pocket and took out a set of car keys. "Charlie. Gregg. Hitch the flatbed trailer to the Dodge; after we remove the doors from their hinges, we'll use the truck to carry them to the fence."
"You've got it," Charlie nodded.
John tossed the keys to Charlie, he caught them with both hands, and he and Gregg walked towards the small collection of automobiles on the courtyard.
Henry put one can of WD-40 back in the milk crate and removed the cap from the other as he walked over the motor pool's door and sprayed the WD40 on the iron door's rusted screws and hinges. The construction foreman stepped back and watched patiently as the spray ate through the decades of rust. John walked over to the battered metal tool box, opened the lid, and rummaged through it until he found the flathead screwdrivers, and the adjustable wrench.
•••
Daryl and Carol sat on the edge of the bombed out box of the guard tower with their feet dangling like they were sitting on the edge of a dock. Daryl's crossbow was loaded and lying on the debris strewn floor behind him, with his quiver of spare arrows beside it. Carol held her binoculars to her eyes and was scanning the tree line for walkers; the Remington 700 bolt action rifle was lying behind her.
"GI Joe was right about one thing: it is a damn good view," Daryl said as he looked at the forest with its multiple colors of early autumn below a clear blue sky.
Carol lowered her binoculars and smiled at Daryl. "It is, but don't start day dreaming. Rick and the others are counting on us to warn them of any walkers."
Daryl looked downhill at the prison squad car that served as temporary gate and saw Rick talking to Glenn, Maggie, and Michonne. Daryl grunted in agreement with Carol, and she looked at the tree line and raised the binoculars to her eyes again.
A minute later, Daryl dug into his leather vest pocket and took out the pack of Marlboro cigarettes; he opened the pack and shook it so the remaining cigarettes rattled about inside. "Want one?" he asked Carol.
Carol lowered her binoculars slightly and glanced at the cigarette pack. "No thanks," she said quickly as she resumed keeping watch.
Daryl took one cigarette and put it between his lips. "It won't bother you?" he asked Carol worriedly.
"It won't," Carol answered as she continued looking through her binoculars.
Daryl put the cigarette pack back in his pocket, took out his nickel plated Zippo lighter, lit his cigarette and took a drag and blew out the smoke. Shit, Casanova, you're finally alone with Carol, so tell her somethin'! He thought angrily.
Daryl took another drag, blew out the smoke, and repeated the ritual a few more times as he concentrated on what he should say to Carol. A few minutes later a pounding headache started. Daryl took the cigarette from his lips, blew out the smoke and looked at Carol. "Thanks for helpin' me with Merle," he said.
Carol lowered her binoculars and looked at Daryl. "You're welcome," she smiled.
A moment later, Carol looked back at the tree line and raised her binoculars to her eyes again.
Daryl's headache stopped and his jaw dropped open. Fuck! Was that the best you could do? 'Thanks for helpin' me with Merle'? he thought. Goddammit! Without your motorcycle or a bar, you're lost when it comes to pickin' up women, ain't you?
Daryl looked out at the forest and closed his mouth; a few minutes later he glanced down at the cigarette between his fingers, and ground it out on the floor of the destroyed guard box. Daryl wiped his hands clean, and returned to looking at the forest bathed in the colors of early autumn.
Carol slowly moved her head right to left as she watched the tree line through her binoculars. It was sweet of Daryl to say that, but I was hoping he'd say something more…intimate, Carol thought.
Maybe I should say something to him?
Carol lowered her binoculars slightly. No. If it took Daryl that long to say that little, then that's all he's going to say. Besides, we have to keep a lookout for walkers, not start a romance.
•••
Rick stood behind the prison's squad car and looking down at the gravel road, in his hand was the Gerber Gator Machete that he used to clear the prison's courtyard several weeks ago. Michonne, Glenn and Maggie stood nearby, and the Wooodburians were spread out along the fence line.
"What's taking them so long?" Maggie asked as she gestured up the hill at the prison.
Rick looked up at the prison; the Woodburian children went about the courtyard while the Woodburian elderly talked amongst themselves. There was no sign of the construction crew, and the iron doors from the motor pool. "The screws and hinges on those doors must be rusted pretty good, I'm sure they're working as fast as they can," Rick answered.
"What about the design for this new gate? Will it work?" Michonne asked.
"I think so," Rick answered. "Henry was a construction foreman, I trust him on this."
A human whistle cried from above; Rick, his group, and the Woodburians along the fence line all looked at the ruined guard tower atop the hill saw Daryl standing with the thumb and forefinger of his right hand in his mouth, and his crossbow in his left hand. Carol stood beside Daryl and she cupped both hands around her mouth and shouted "Walkers!"
Rick looked back at the forest just in time to see dozens of walkers coming out of the tree line, and staggering towards the prison.