Chapter Twenty-four
Despite the coolness of the evening air, the camper still holds the heat of the day inside its narrow walls and clustered furniture. The bloodied cloths filling the small sink add a coppery tinge to the humidity, clinging to the curtains hanging above the window where muted voices drift in from the survivors relaxing around the post-dinner campfire.
Dragging a wrist across the sweat dampening her forehead, Erin sits on the edge of one twin bed and looks across the tiny room to her patient tucked into the bed on the opposite wall. Merle lies motionless on Dale's mattress, a solid lump beneath the blanket that peaks higher on its right side where his amputated limb rests upon a small pillow. Keeping it elevated and warm were her biggest concerns after cleaning the wound with antiseptic and applying a more suitable bandage than Daryl's dirty shirt.
"What do you think, Red?" Rick asks from the doorway of the bedroom.
She looks up at him with exhausted, troubled eyes. Switching off the bright lantern she'd set on the nightstand between the beds, she says, "I don't know. The good news is that you cut it straight through. That's what's kept him going so far. If the blade went through at an angle, Merle would have bled out pretty fast," she explains, knowing that with the clean cut, the artery most likely curled in on itself to close off the flow of blood. She just hopes the blood flow was slowed enough before they wrapped Daryl's filthy shirt around the stump. "If it doesn't get infected, he might have a shot. His color is coming back and his blood pressure is stable. For now." And now, only time will tell.
She rises from the bed and notices Daryl standing right behind Rick in the narrow alley in front of the fridge. Her heart constricts when she meets his gaze, blue eyes swimming in sorrow as he searches her face for hope.
"Is he gonna wake up?" Daryl asks above the fingernail that is bitten down to the skin.
Stepping around Rick as he moves into the bedroom, she tries to give Daryl an optimistic smile, but knows it falls short of sparking her eyes. Relying on her experience as a nurse and the compassion that her mom had instilled in her, she summons that age-old harmless adage bent on avoiding the truth, and tenderly says, "We'll see."
At the sound of metal clinking against metal behind her, she turns back toward the bedroom to see Rick fastening Merle's handcuffed left wrist to a dimly lit wall sconce casting shadows in the compact room.
"What the hell, man?" Daryl calls as he steps around Erin, waving an angry hand at Rick. "Now he's completely helpless!"
"Exactly," Rick says as Daryl sits heavily on the free bed, staring heartbroken at his brother's pale face and imprisoned hand. "Listen, Daryl, your brother is going to be extremely pissed when he wakes up without that hand. I don't see us having a calm discussion about it, do you?"
Daryl obviously knows his brother and is smart enough to look somewhat chastened. Though he doesn't admit it aloud, he shakes his head in reluctant agreement.
Erin brushes her hand along Rick's back in support of his decision. "He could also turn, Daryl. We have to be prepared for that too, honey, in case he doesn't wake up," she tells him gently, hating the misery still floating in her friend's eyes.
"He's gonna wake up. He's the toughest som' bitch I know. Losing a hand ain't gonna stop him," Daryl says adamantly and she almost believes him.
She nods her head and lifts one corner of her mouth in a lighthearted smirk. "I think he's gonna wake up just so he can kill Rick for taking his hand."
"Hey." Rick narrows his eyes at her with a look that says, thanks a lot.
"Sorry, babe. You know I'm kidding." She takes Rick's hand and then looks at Daryl with wide eyes, shaking her head slightly and subtly mouthing, No I'm not.
Daryl gives her a small grin and she's happy to see his face brighten up a bit. The brief flash of light in his eyes was worth the clearly annoyed look she earned from her lover.
With Dale and Glenn on watch just a few feet above her head, Erin squeezes Rick's arm against her middle as his warm body curls solidly against her back. Lying in the small dark bunk above the driver's seat, she is thankful that she isn't claustrophobic. She assumes Jim isn't either since this has become his bed since joining their camp. She thinks of him stretched out comfortably on Daryl's mattress for the night while the hunter takes up residence at the other end of the RV with his yet-to-awaken brother.
Though Jim may enjoy the openness of the large tent, she knows he'll be just as happy to return to the camper with Dale and Glenn come tomorrow, assuming Merle wakes up by then… or doesn't. She just hopes Jim sleeps well enough tonight on his own, knowing that Glenn has had to soothe him through several nightmares over the last two weeks.
Her thoughts drift from Jim to Michonne, the latest addition to their refugee camp, and Erin wonders if she is sleeping peacefully herself in the small two-man tent that T-Dog had pulled out of their supply pantry. Loaded up on Nyquil flu medicine from the growing first aid kit, the woman ought to be out cold, but who knows what living nightmares she has endured that will find their way into her dreams at night.
Incredibly grateful for the strong body at her back, Erin presses Rick's arm even tighter into her midsection and dips her chin to rest her jaw against his hand.
He must sense her anxiety, as he knows her so well, because she feels the brush of his lips against the back of her head.
"I've got you," he murmurs sleepily into her hair. "Go to sleep, baby."
"Promise me something first."
"Anything."
In the darkness of the extremely cramped space, the softly spoken word carries an enormous amount of weight. If only… "Promise me you'll be careful around Merle. He's going to be royally pissed when he wakes up."
"If he wakes up," Rick replies.
"Oh, he's going to wake up, honey." Just so he can kill you. She doesn't say the words aloud but she knows he hears them just the same.
"It was Daryl's call. He's just as much to blame here," Rick says defensively, sounding a little more alert than he was a moment ago.
"But Merle won't see it that way. It was your hands that held the sword and he is not going to want to blame his brother. He already disliked you, this just gives him a reason to really despise you."
"He never needed a reason. Now can you please stop worrying about him?"
"He's not the one I'm worried about." She brings his hand up to her mouth and presses her lips to his knuckles. A few minutes later, she feels the even rhythm of his breathing and listens to the quiet, comforting sound for quite a while before she finally drifts off to join him.
Standing on the large balcony overlooking the white sandy beach of Tybee Island, Erin holds her long hair back against the strong breeze blowing across the Georgia seashore. Closing her eyes and soaking up the warm sunshine heating her upturned cheeks, she breathes in the cool Atlantic air as seagulls call out, sweeping along the current.
Hearing a muffled noise behind her, she glances over her shoulder to see Rick coming out of the bedroom, the sunlight stroking his bare chest and highlighting his happy trail; the narrow strand of short curly hairs that lead down into the opened button of his half-zipped faded blue jeans. Barefoot, he walks silently across the spacious balcony while the ocean caresses the beach, its gentle waves creating a soothing soundtrack as they break against the shoreline.
Four stories above the wide stretch of sand, Erin turns back to the ocean as Rick's strong arms slink around her midsection. He pulls her back against the treasure at the end of his happy trail and she raises her hands to slip behind his neck, leaving her hair to blow gently in a puff of salty wind.
Wearing nothing but his white tee shirt that still reaches her thighs despite the full stretch of her arms, she feels the denim of his fly pressing roughly against the thin cotton material covering the cleft of her bare cheeks. Dropping her hands to close them over his, she leans back into his solid strength.
"Mmm, I like this dream," he says into the crook of her neck. "Are we still in Georgia?"
"UmHmm…, just outside Savannah," she replies with a soft groan as she tilts her head, giving him more neck to graze. "I came here a few times with my cousins. My uncle's boss owns this condo."
"Nice place to relax, huh?"
"Oh yeah." She rests her temple against his whisker roughened jaw.
"Then why are you so tense?" His hands slip out from beneath hers and then she feels their warmth against her shoulders. "What are you worrying about, honey?" he asks, digging exquisite circles into the base of her neck with his thumbs.
"Seriously?" she replies with a sarcastic, slightly nervous laugh.
"Okay, dumb question. What are you most worried about at the moment?"
She sighs deeply. "Merle not waking up. Merle waking up. Merle killing you. Mad Walker-Merle eating you."
"Aw, sweetheart." His chuckling lips press comfortingly against the back of her head. "I promise I won't let him eat me."
"But you can't swear that he won't try to kill you."
"We don't even know that he's gonna wake up." At the look she throws at him over her shoulder, he quickly adds, "I'll watch my back around him, okay?"
"Oh, he's waking up alright," she says softly, rhetorically. "Vengeance is a strong motivator to survive. People have come back from far worse with a lot less to live for."
"I had a pretty good reason to come back myself."
"Carl is a very good reason."
"He is. But my son is not the only reason I came back. I know that now." His arms wrap securely around her upper chest and she sinks back against him. "You're a damn good reason for living yourself, Red. You were made for me, weren't you. I mean, I can't help thinking that you were put on this earth just for me," he whispers solemnly into the soft hollow behind her ear.
If she knows one thing with absolute certainty, it is that; that she was made for him and he was created especially for her. "Yes," she breathes, her hands riding his wrists as his palms glide down over her breasts, massaging their fullness.
Nuzzling her neck he brings her hands to the railing and folds his fingers over hers until she is grasping the cool metal. "Hold on, baby." The heat of his body leaves her back and two powerful hands gently tug on her hips, forcing her to shuffle a few steps backward.
With her spine lying flat, she feels the silky caress of his white tee shirt rising slowly up over her hips. "I know this ass was made for me," he murmurs as she feels a large calloused hand coasting over her rear end.
Her body responds to him immediately, instinctively. She pushes back until she feels his growing erection beneath the hard ridge of his fly pressing against her bare skin. He leans in harder, pulling her hips back as he grinds against her, the feeling incredibly arousing. "Yeah, and this was definitely made for you, wasn't it, honey."
"God, yes." She misses it the instant he steps back and the cool ocean breeze floats over her heated flesh. At the sound of his zipper being opened and his jeans being lowered behind her, she spreads her legs further apart, barely aware of the majestic ocean and its beautiful song before her. Her shirt glides farther up her back and she moans in anticipation.
"Yeah, this body was definitely made for me," he murmurs as she feels one strong hand caressing the plane of her back while another glides over the curved flesh of one smooth posterior cheek. "Mine," he breathes, slipping a finger sinuously inside of her.
"Mmm…," she groans as he digs deeper, slowly circling the edge of her walls, leisurely, thoroughly. The more lethargic his pace the quicker her pulse and her flutter liquefies as her belly tightens. His hand recedes and then she feels the smooth head of his cock stroking the threshold of her folds, slowly, eloquently, deliberate. "Mine," she echoes as her body aches to be fulfilled, desperate to bond her female to his male; two souls genuinely united and intrinsically mated.
A moment before he drives deeply inside of her, she gasps a quick salty breath as a sharp sting suddenly graces her rump, burning deliciously in the shape of his palm as she grips the railing to receive his ardent thrust.
Rick wakes in the stuffy trailer with an erection worthy of a stallion prancing through a field of fillies in heat. Erin stirs in front of him, pressing her ass into his raging groin. He is surprised to look beyond her shoulder and see the narrow wall of the Winnebago instead of an endless ocean. A strange - but not unpleasant - burning sensation on his right palm fades as a distant voice infiltrates the haze of his dream, their dream… their incredibly erotic dream. Jesus.
When the voice crystallizes and then breaks apart, dividing into two entities – one loud, angry and pained, and the other soft, soothing and edgy - Rick quickly rolls from the bunk and jumps to his feet. When Erin wakes and turns over to follow him, he tells her to stay put, his fevered voice frustrated and unintentionally short. She looks at him from the edge of the mattress, her green eyes lazy with sleep but lustrous with something gleaming in their depths; a heady blend of wanton desire and playful humor. She takes his breath away as his balls get even bluer inside of his impossibly tight jeans. Christ. Leaning in, he presses his lips hard against hers. "Love you," he says quickly against her mouth before rushing clumsily toward the back of the RV.