A/N: Thank you so much for the wonderful reviews! I am thrilled that you guys are still enjoying this story! I'm posting this chapter a little early since I will be away for the next couple of days. Enjoy...

Chapter Forty-three

The winds have finally blown out to sea and taken the rain with it, but the storm surge has left a lake over the church's entire front lot and much of the back, where the first few rows of headstones seem to be sitting in a river of tears from Mother Nature herself.

Rick finds Erin sitting with Daryl on the landing of the breezeway, looking out at the cars whose tires are partially hidden under eight inches of water. Perched with their feet on the top two steps of a seven step staircase, they sit well above the waterline. He looks out across the yard and sees nothing but water and trees, no indication of where the grass gives way to yellow-lined blacktop. "Christ, that's a lot of water," he says as the sun glints off of a long branch that floats leisurely around the bumper of Morgan's Honda.

Daryl rises from the stoop. "I'm gonna go look for some wood so we can build us an ark." He lifts his shoulders in an unruly shrug, rolling his neck vehemently as if the shirt he is wearing was trying to suffocate him. "God damned hurricane," he mutters as he moves around Rick and disappears into the manse.

"That is a lot of water," Erin repeats, looking at Rick with a forlorn expression when he sits down next to her. "How long do you think it'll take to recede?"

"Well it's already started. Look at the tires, you can see the watermark there."

He points a finger toward the van at the other end of the walkway.

"My eyes aren't as good as yours so I'll just take your word for it."

"Yeah, trust me. It's definitely gone down a little. Another five or six hours and it should be low enough to drive through." Rick looks toward the right where the Golden Isles Parkway lies beneath the Altamaha River for about a quarter of a mile, which is as far as he can see. "On this stretch anyway. I'll take the pickup and check out the area up ahead, see how bad the roads are up there."

"Take Daryl with you, honey. He needs to get out of here. If he's stuck inside another day I'm afraid he's going to start chewing his foot off."

"I know. He hates being cooped up, and he's still pissed about his bike."

Daryl had been upset that morning to find his saturated motorcycle leaning against the side of the church with its kickstand sunken in a muddy mire, the tarp he'd secured over it fifty feet away, wrapped around the railing of the stairs by the front door to the sanctuary. He'd spent an hour towel drying it as best he could and added a little WD-40 to disperse any moisture stuck inside the pivot points. Hopefully that will be enough to keep it going.

"Maybe he'll find a new bike when you go out later," Erin says, pressing the side of her knee into Rick's.

"He won't want a new one. And this one will be alright after it sits in the sun all day."

"It's funny, isn't it? How such a beautiful sky can shine down now as if nothing had happened yesterday, like it's not taking any credit at all for leaving us stranded here like this." She leans her head against his shoulder. "When we were eating dinner last night, in the middle of all that crazy wind and rain, it really felt like we might never see the sun again. And then today it shows up all smug and cheery."

He smiles at her insightful perception and presses a kiss to the top of her head. "Yeah. I guess that's just the way life goes on, isn't it."

Rick steers the pickup truck around another huge tree, this one lying in the crook of a telephone wire suspended just above the asphalt like a giant slingshot. Three miles from the church, they continue to twist and turn through the shallow water, making their way around all the debris scattered about the town of Baxley; branches and brambles and enormous oaks pulled out of the ground to lie on top of crushed cars and damaged roofs, their thick roots exposed to hang limply in the late afternoon sun.

Daryl points to a spot up ahead on the right. "Hey check that out."

Rick sees the sign for a Suzuki dealer standing above a large showroom. "Really? You want a new bike?"

"What? No, ain't nothin' wrong with my bike," he says defensively. "Just got a little wet's all."

Rick chuckles lightly. See, Erin, I told you so. "Then why do you want to check out the Suzuki's?"

"I don't. I'm talkin' 'bout the RV lot next to it. We could trade in Dale's junker for a nice new ride."

"Good idea." Rick maneuvers around a displaced garbage can and rolls slowly past the Suzuki shop.

From the seat next to him, he hears a murmured mumble around a dirty thumbnail. "Don't need no new bike."

Rick glances over at his friend, staring morosely through his corner of the windshield. "Doesn't look like they have anything as nice as Merle's chopper," he says in an effort to lift his friend's spirits. Then a little more gently he adds, "He'd be happy that you're still riding it for him."

"Mmhh."

"I'm real sorry you lost him, Daryl."

Daryl gives him a short nod and looks down with a quick quiet,"Thanks." A moment later he straightens in his seat. "I always thought he'd outlive me. He was the toughest som' bitch I knew and I figured he was just too selfish and too stubborn to die first."

"In the end, he wanted to protect you. You were all that mattered to him."

"I don't know. Merle never did nothin' like that his whole life."

A somber silence stretches between them as Rick pulls into the Georgia Dust RV Sales and Rental. He clears his throat and gives his partner a gentle smirk to lighten the heavy moment. "Thanks for not letting him kill me after the whole hand thing."

"He was never gonna kill ya."

"Erin wasn't so sure about that."

"Nah, he wasn't gonna kill the one person he knew could look out for me. He may have hated ya, but he trusted ya."

"Really?" Rick parks among a fleet of campers ranging from twenty-two to forty-five feet long, luxurious behemoths ready to tear up the road. "He told you that?"

"No. But I knew."

"How?"

"'Cause if he really wanted to kill you, you'd be dead," Daryl says and climbs out of the truck as if he hadn't just caused a shiver to slither up Rick's spine.

"Well thanks for not sharing that bit of information with Erin," he mutters dryly as he reaches for his own door handle.

Taking his gun from its holster, he follows Daryl along a row of Quantum campers, heading toward the main office and hopefully a selection of keys. When a substantial thud echoes from a thirty-six foot Thor Motor Coach, Daryl stops suddenly and turns to him with a finger on his lips. A murmuring of voices penetrates a large window that was designed to offer a panoramic view to relaxing travelers.

Rick looks around the lot and sees no other signs of life, no indication that a group of refugees were making this place their home. Whoever is inside this camper is just passing through. He knocks on the glass, not too aggressive and nothing sinister, just three short raps from one neighbor to another in search of a cup of sugar. "How are y'all doing in there?" When his question is answered by complete silence, he knocks again. "We know you're in there, come on out."

His tone is friendly but he strokes the trigger of the Colt at his side, ready to aim and fire if necessary, just in case.

A little more leery, Daryl holds the arrowhead of the loaded crossbow aimed at the door of the vehicle.

Rick hears a light scuffle of movement inside the camper and then a soft whisper. "Wait, maybe they'll just go away."

A second voice answers at normal volume, not even bothering to keep it down. "They know we're here, Aaron. Come on."

Two men step out of the camper, the first one holding a gun in his hand and pointed at Daryl's chest. Rick lifts the Colt to defend his partner. "Easy now, we don't want any trouble."

"Then you guys should just keep on walking," the man says, glancing at Rick but keeping his gun trained on Daryl.

The second man steps to the side of his friend. "We don't want any trouble either," he says quickly with a nervous smile as he rubs his palms on his jean-clad thighs before holding them up in surrender. "Listen, uh, why don't we all just put our weapons down and, uh, pretend that we never saw each other."

The man is fairly young, Rick thinks, about the same age as himself, with wavy brown hair cut short and neatly combed, and sympathetic eyes that are more curious than cruel, inviting you in to share a quick laugh and warm conversation.

His cohort is a different story. With a very thick beard and long brown hair hanging way past his shoulders, this hippy seems a little younger and a lot more wily. He lifts his chin as his eyes dart around, looking for any additional threats other than Daryl and himself. The man is tense but ready; thoroughly rigid but at the same time loose enough to move quickly if needed. Smart man, Rick thinks, as the hippy locks eyes with Daryl again.

"Alright, take it easy," Rick says, hoping to diffuse the situation. "Nobody needs to get shot."

"Then put down your weapons." Hippy says calmly as he glances at Rick and then back to Daryl.

Not a chance. "Where's the rest of your group?" Rick asks.

"We don't -,"

"They're around," Hippy cuts his friend off. "Not too far, so if you're thinking of starting something here, they're gonna finish it and it's not gonna end well for any of us," he says and Rick knows that he is trying real hard not to blink, a telltale sign of a lie.

He also sees that the safety is still engaged on the gun that is pointed at Daryl's face. Amateurs.

"Yeah? Is that gun even loaded?" Rick takes a cautious step closer to the man.

"Of course it is." He looks a little nervous, not as sure of himself as he was a minute ago.

With his own gun still aimed at the long-haired man, Rick lunges forward and swiftly snatches the revolver from the hippy's grip.

"What the hell?!" the man exclaims before taking a step backward and raising his arms to mirror his friend.

"Yeah, what the hell, Rick?!" Daryl complains, clearly affronted. "Ya could'a got me shot!"

"Even if it is loaded, it's not gonna work with the safety on," Rick says, turning the gun in his hand to open the cylinder.

"Shit," Hippy mumbles under his breath.

"I told you we should've left it inside," his friend mutters as Rick checks the chamber and finds it empty.

"We ran out of bullets yesterday," Clean-Cut says. "Please, just let us go."

"Where ya goin' to?" Daryl asks as Rick hands the gun back to the hippy.

"Savannah."

"Charleston," Hippy says at the same time and then shoots his partner another exasperated look.

"What? They're either gonna kill us or they're not. So what's the point in lying."

Rick meets Daryl's eyes for a moment and then looks back at Clean-Cut. "You really heading to Savannah?"

"Yes, we are," the man answers adamantly as Hippy rolls his eyes.

"Why Savannah?" Rick asks, wondering if they are following the same course of rumors.

"We heard about a refugee center up there."

"Where are you coming from? Why aren't you with a bigger group?"

Hippy squares his shoulders and starts to speak until Rick cuts him off. "And don't give me that bullshit about your friends being close by. We all know you two are on your own out here."

"Okay, no bullshit. We were with a small group in Tallahassee. It was fine for a while but then too many hotheaded leaders with very little common sense was making it a dangerous place to be. Things were getting ugly and we couldn't trust any of them."

"A civil war was going to break out at any moment," his partner continues. "We heard about Savannah and figured we take our chances on the road heading North. We were doing alright until we ran out of gas about ten miles back on Route One."

"Well it looks like we're heading to the same place," Rick says, tilting his chin. "Maybe we can help each other out."

"How's that?" Hippy asks.

Rick shifts his feet on the wet ground and holsters his weapon. "The most important commodity these days is people."

"Good people," Daryl adds. "Strength in numbers."

"And we've got a good group of people with us," Rick tells them and then holds out his right hand, thumb up and fingers straightforward in welcome; a vow of friendship, a sign of trust. "I'm Rick. My friend here is Daryl."

Hippy hesitates for a moment and then reaches out to take Rick's palm in a firm handshake. He nods to the man on his left. "This is Aaron, and I'm Jesus."

"No shit?" Daryl cries with an amused grin. "I mean yeah, I can see why. Ya look just like him."

Rick straightens for a moment as a tingle blooms at the top of his spine.

"Well, my real name is Paul Rovia, but my friends call me Jesus."

Rick drops his chin and chuckles under his breath, and then gazes back to the long-haired man. "Oh, we are definitely gonna be friends."

"Yeah? You trust us?" Jesus asks, sounding highly skeptical.

"Absolutely." Rick's face shines with a brilliant smile, his heart feeling lighter than it has in days. "Yesterday I asked God to give me a sign. Today I found Jesus, literally. Figure a sign can't get much clearer than that."

Jesus grins back at him with a shrug of agreement. "Works for me."

Daryl extends an arm for his own handshake and Rick sees him hold his grip for a prolonged moment, pulling the man a bit closer. "Just don't crucify us in our sleep."

"No worries," Aaron says quickly, stepping forward and reaching out for Daryl's hand.

When Daryl steps back after securing a truce with Aaron, Rick gives the hunter's shoulder a friendly squeeze. "Come on, man. It's gonna be fine. Now let's go pick out a present for Dale."

Returning to the church with two new campers and two new friends, both of which Rick hopes will come in handy on their journey, they are greeted happily and the men are welcomed warmly into the fold, the charge led by Carol and Erin. The evening is spent getting to know their new comrades over a tournament of board games, orchestrated by Carl and Duane.

Sitting in a comfortable recliner in the spacious family room, Rick watches Erin and Sophia on one side of a Parcheesi board in a battle against Aaron and Amy. He is thoroughly enjoying himself, feeling relaxed and at ease in the candlelight that glows warm and cozy on his family and friends spread about the room. He glances at Carl in the far corner, who utters a complaint about an unfortunate roll of the Yahtzee dice in a match against Kelly and Eugene, and then returns his gaze to Erin when her laughter calls his attention. Her face is lit up with a smile so bright that his heart skips to a joyous rhythm inside his chest. And then it trips and stumbles as he realizes that her smile is directed specifically at Aaron.

A strange feeling rises up from his bowels, through his belly, along his spine and across his shoulders before sitting stubbornly at the base of his skull. In all his life, through years of family dysfunction, teenage tumult and exhausting relationships, he'd felt fear, bitterness, rage, and anguish. But he'd never felt jealousy. Not until now. Not until Erin.

He'd never thought twice about it whenever he'd seen Lori talking to a good looking guy. It just wasn't in his nature to summon the green-eyed monster. Or maybe he just didn't love her enough to care. And truth be told, he'd never thought twice about Erin smiling at Daryl or Glenn either. And they'd made her smile plenty. But when she smiles at Aaron, there is a spark in her eyes that enhances the happiness on her lips. Not necessarily a romantic spark, but a flicker of light all the same.

Of course he wants her to be happy. But he'd never imagined that anyone could make her as happy as he could. It's his job to keep her happy. But maybe he isn't doing his job as well as he'd thought all these weeks. They have been fighting a bit lately, hell – from the moment they'd met a day hasn't gone by that they didn't argue about something. But that's just part of the passion they feel for one another; the flip side of the extraordinary love that they have for each other.

Then why can't he scratch away the thing gnawing at the back of his throat? He knows he's being irrational, he trusts her completely. And although he barely knows the man, he really likes Aaron. A lot. But that doesn't mean he likes the way the man can make his woman smile. And not just a cheerful grin on her merry cheeks, but a flat-out full-on true beam of joy that says, My heart is open so please come in and make yourself at home.

How can he possibly do his job when she is looking at this guy like that! And what is Aaron going to do about it? Maybe it was a mistake to bring them back here. Maybe it wasn't a sign from God after all. Or maybe he just misread the sign. Again.

That is the notion that scares him the most.