Unthinkable 8
On the way back, Rick's opportunity came. The group of dead came out of nowhere – their snarls and moans reverberating around the forest. Why hadn't they noticed? Even the Dixons were blindsided...and it seemed the walkers were moving faster than they usually did. How could that be possible? He heard them from behind him and thinking only of the safety of his son, he ran back to them.
Or one explanation was that they had been so distracted – the Dixons finding Rick on his son like that, Rick himself had been intent on what he wanted to do to Carl that the shuffling and moaning noises that heralded the dead had simply gone unnoticed.
Anyway, it had nearly been too late for all of them and everyone had been unnerved, even as the brothers joined in with Carl and his father to fight them off despite their loathing for him.
Two had stood out - one had been an old woman with her rotting skirts hitched up – everyone's Grandma except her face was rotting with one eye hanging off its stalk on its cheek, her snow white hair trailing down her back. Another had been a little boy of about 5 – their ages when they died or who they'd been didn't matter, by then they'd all become not indifferent exactly - but less hesitant when dealing with them.
During the battle, Carl got hurt, his head was covered with blood – his own. The others feared he'd been bitten when the old lady lunged at him, teeth snapping at his throat. But he held her a hair's breadth away and then he stabbed her in the head with the small dagger he always carried on him. Bits of her blood and brains sprayed him even though he turned his head away.
'Did ya get bit, son?' His father was by his side while the brothers dispatched the last few growling stragglers.
Carl jerked away violently from his concerned grip on his arm without replying but typically, Daryl was by his side in a shot. He was suddenly feeling unwell, he'd been lacking energy for days. Leaving Merle to deal with the rest of the walkers, he punched Rick hard in the face, bloodying his mouth.
'Get away from him, pervert.' He snarled.
Carl watched this, hardly able to believe that Daryl had just called his Dad that, although he'd called him the same in his head many times but never said it aloud to his face. Never would have dared, no matter what he did to him.
'Hey, little brother.' Merle strode over and drew his gun and trained it on Rick with no regard for his son watching. 'How about we put this sick fuck down?'
Rick trembled but faced him head on stonily and made a 'Come on, then' gesture. Didn't deign to beg for his life, as part of him felt guilty and at least if he was dead, he couldn't hurt his boy anymore with his sickness.
'No!' Carl screamed before he tottered on his feet.. 'Leave him alone.'
Rick watched all this drama with little emotion, wondering why he still wanted to protect him.
Merle chuckled contemptuously and put it away. 'Still, ya days are numbered, Officer Friendly.' But he allowed him to accompany them back to the camp. 'Don't think the rest of 'em will take too kindly to havin' a leader who fucks his own kid.'
'I...I don't feel too good...' Carl would have winced if he hadn't swooned again Rick made no reply and there was nothing he could say, it was too late for denials.
Daryl put his hand to feel his forehead. 'Fuck, Merle – he's burnin' up!'
'It ain't...He ain't been bit?' Rick worried and instinctively started towards him but was blocked by Merle's broad body.
'Don't think so but what the hell do ya care?' He lashed out at him. Rick looked away.
The Dixons curled their lips in disgust as the leader walked along with them in silence, barely tolerating him and they pointedly took care to keep Carl protectively sandwiched between them as they supported him with each of his arms around their shoulders. Once or twice the boy's eye-lids fluttered as it seemed that he was teetering again on the verge of unconsciousness before he jerked awake. The sweat was dripping off his face which was flushed.
Meanwhile, alhtough hurt that his son had shrank away from his touch again but not really surprised, Rick planned what his counter-attack if Merle or Daryl told the group what he had been doing yet despite their threats, he didn't really think they would. They hadn't so far and it had been a month already...It was true that when the older Dixon had pulled a gun on him and suggesting 'putting him down', he hadn't cared but now he wanted to live.
He hoped he would get to strike first. More convincing that way.
It turned out he would get to.
…
As they got closer to their people, Andrea and Glenn ran towards them.
'Walker atttack.' Rick explained briefly.
'Oh my God!' Maggie cried when she saw the unconscious teenager covered in blood sprawled in Merle's arms. 'Is he OK?'
'Let's get him to Herschel.' He ignored both them and their questions as he addressed his brother.
'No...He's OK, no need to. Jus' a slight fever (they looked horrified, the terrible possibilities rolling around in their heads) but we're pretty sure he ain't been bit.' Rick piped in and they looked at him in surprise.
'He's goin'.' Daryl snapped, his mouth twisting in a sneer when he glanced scornfully at him, the unspoken secret lying heavy between them and giving added weight to his words.. 'Or ya got a problem with ya son gettin' himself checked out? He's sick, after all.' Even as they spoke, they were running to the infirmary tent.
Rick could say nothing to that but to say he was worried was the understatement of the century.
'Give him to me, then. I'll take him.' He tried but Merle smirked at him.
'Don't ya worry, Officer Friendly.' He drew out his nickname for him mockingly. 'We got'im, all safe and sound. We'll take him to the Doc.' Even Rick sensed how badly they wanted to tell everyone what they found him doing but a promise was a promise and they wouldn't break theirs to his son, no matter how much they blustered and poured contempt all over him.
Merle stopped to rearrange Carl properly in his arms before they rushed off and Rick went back to his tent. He knew he should go with them, make sure that Carl didn't say anything if he woke up – he was his father after all – but he knew the Dixons wouldn't allow it.
Why should he care what they allowed? Since when had they got the upper hand? He thought to himself although he knew the answer already. Since they found out about their special father and son game and the little slut whined about it to them.
What if Herschel examined him properly and found signs...Rick didn't believe that he had left any, was always gentle with him, prepared him properly but still. He'd been complaining about the pain lately but Carl was a good boy and well-trained. He'd never say it was his Daddy if it even came to that, would he? He'd never betray him – he was still his father after all. Besides, nobody would believe him.
Rick knew he had to get back into that Infirmary and see him. Make sure he kept his mouth shut or at least accused the right person if it came to that. But...(he gripped his hands into fists as he crawled into the tent he used to share with his son before he started running to the Dixons tent – that in itself looked strange, did it not?)...the Dixons were there – between him and his own flesh and blood!
Exhausted, he heard Carol outside tell the others to leave him alone and let him rest when they asked where he was. She told them that Carl was being taken care of - nothing worse than cuts and bruises during a Walker attack out in the woods and he was running a slight fever but not to worry because nobody was bitten. They were sure of it.
Rick shivered and turned on his side, he didn't feel like he even had the strength to change his blood-splattered clothes. Despite his worry for his son, he fell asleep dreamless almost immediately.
…
Merle laid the unconscious boy gently down on the bed while Herschel shook his head at the egg-sized bruise on the back of his head from when the Walker (not his father) had slammed him against the tree.
'Probably concussed...Should be OK...unless...Is there any chance he was bit?'
'Don't think so.' Merle answered.
'How about Rick? Why ain't he here with him?'
The brothers exchanged hard glances at each other.
'He ain't hurt.' Daryl said. 'But he's whacked...Restin' in his tent, probably.'
'Hmm...'
Herschel began undressing the youngster who was covered in blood and zombie gore. He stank like an abbatoir – they all did but most people had become accustommed to a lower standard of cleanliness and hygience they'd been used to before the end of the world. When he had taken his blood-spattered shirt off, he looked up pointedly at them. 'Do ya mind waitin' outside while I clearn him up and check him over?'
''Course.' Merle replied and they left.
'Should we wait?' Daryl asked him when they were outside.
'What for?'
He didn't answer but they both knew what the other was thinking.
'Let's go and wash. Get out of these filthy clothes.' Daryl ran off challenging his brother to beat him to the river. As soon as he got to the bank, after checking around that there were no women and kids in the vicinity, he soon stripped off. 'Ugh...' He groaned at the zombie gore. 'Yuck.'
Merle did the same, catching him up swiftly and joining him in the cold water, also shivering at first.
'Do ya think he'll find out...?' Daryl began but his brother interrupted him.
'...what Rick's been doin'?' Merle finished.
'Yeah.' Daryl ducked his head under and raised it again, looking at him steadily. 'Is it gonna come out? Part of me thinks we should have told someone long before this...'
'But Carl didn't want us to!'
'Yeah, but he' still a kid! Don't know what's best for him.'
'Yeah, well. Would anyone have believed us. Ya know what they think of us...'
'Still, we let it go on!' Daryl blurted out and stopped splashing from where he stood up to his chest in water.
'Who would have believed us if Carl denied it?' Merle went up to him. 'Ain't nothin' we could do...Not if the kid don't want help.'
Daryl looked so downcast that he gave his shoulders a quick squeeze before he let him go. Knowing what they were both thinking...there had been no-one to help them with their Dad when he was beating the shit out of them but like Carl, they would never have spoken to anyone about it.
'But what if we did the wrong thing?'
'We didn't.' Merle sounded more adamant than he actually felt.
It turned out they did.
…..
Still no bite-marks but something worse. A lot worse. Herschel pulled off Carl's jeans and just stared disbelievably at the bruises that resembled hand-prints on his hips.
'No...'. He gasped in horror. There was only one way to get marks like that...being held down or pinned down from behind and the hand-prints were big and square...obviously a grown man's hands.
Frowning, he checked that the teenager was still out of it by lifting up his eyelids and shining a light into them. No response but his pupils constricted,
'I'm sorry, son.' He whispered as he pulled down his underwear and stared again at what he saw there. Confirming his suspicions, just as a more thorough examination did. No permanent damage but enough to make him bleed...the blood in his underwear was his own clearly.
He cursed, because without DNA forensic science – even if there was anyone who knew how to use it and all the men gave a sample willingly, he would never know who'd hurt him so badly for sure but he had his suspicions. Who had he spent a lot of time with lately? Whose tent had he been sharing? No wonder he'd been acting out – his easy-going and co-operative nature seemed to have changed over night, could have been put down to teenage hormones but now it all made sense. His dramatic loss of weight and poor appetite were symptoms of a much worse problem.
'You, poor, poor boy.' The group's 'doctor' told him quietly as he put them aside to cover him with a blanket. No doubt he would panic when he woke up without nothing on...Maybe Rick could go and get him a fresh pair.
He stroked his dirty hair off his face. 'Safe now, boy.' He spoke gently to him. 'Ain't no-one ever gonna hurt ya like that, not ever again, son. Not while I'm still around to stop them.'
Seeing that he was sleeping quietly and his fever was already coming down after a mere 30 minutes, Herschel went out of the Infirmary in search of Rick to tell him the terrible news mixed with a little good. He knew he was going to go crazy, no doubt would demand swift and immediate justice – haul up the suspect and he intended to advise him to hold back until Carl was able to tell them for sure who the culprit was.
There were no bite-marks but there was something almost as bad as being infected.
Carl had been sexually abused, the good news was that he would most likely make a physical recovery (he'd given him something to lower his fever, probably it was nothing serious) but a complete psychological one was not so certain. The vet knew that stress could lower the body's immune system, probably the boy had caught a bad cold. Nevertheless, to be on the safe side, he had also given him an injection of broad-spectrum antibiotics but these wouldn't work if it was a virus, such as the flu.