In the morning, Jenny was able to track Merle's finger, if a little sluggishly, and it was determined they would start out towards her car. Merle found some sturdy branches and they each took one. Jenny was almost positive that, confronted by a walker, her nerve would fail and the only thing she'd be any good for would be running. Merle seemed convinced she would be able to stab a stick into an oncoming walker's head. For all that he was gruff, Jenny liked Merle. Before the End of the World, Jenny was relatively sure she would have avoided a man like Merle at all costs. Now though, chauvinists and red necks were far from the worst things you could run into, and Jenny would rather spend eternity wearing a mini skirt in a bar filled with Hell's Angles, than see another walker. Men like Merle, women too, people who could get things done and hang the consequences, they had the upper hand in this brave new world.
For all that Jenny was excellent at her job, her skills in skewering the undead were questionable. Jenny was certain Merle could do it, hell, he'd done it to people, a corpse should be no problem. She just hoped he would get to if before she had to. Jenny actually hadn't killed any of the walkers. When Atlanta had, for want of a better word, fallen, she had been in Roswell twenty minutes out, at a gas station. It had been out of petrol but she'd gotten a case of bottled water and a few snickers bars. When she had fled the lab that fateful morning, food had been the last thing on her mind.
"Jenny" Ian's clipped British accent cut through her revery.
"Hey Ian, what can I do you for?" Jenny stirred another creamer into her coffee. It was almost egg shell white, more cream that coffee.
"I wanted to know what your department was up to, those samples from Kennestone. Those ones from the woman, ripped her husbands' throat out."
Jenny squinted. The report Ian wanted wasn't written yet, all she had was raw data and a nasty hunch that either every machine in the building needed to be re-calibrated, or that shit was about to hit the fan. Still, Ian could have the data, as much good as it would do him, she'd known Ian for five years and eight months, since she'd started at Vanderbilt, and he was a good guy, but...Wait, why was she justifying this?
The research was classified, and even if it weren't the results she was getting would be enough to make anyone think she'd lost it. Tissues just didn't behave like this one did. Ian was a good guy, but he was sticking his nose where it was neither wanted nor warranted. So, she plastered a smile on her face, and shook her head.
"You know Ian, it wasn't worth it. They sent us a contaminated sample, I mean I think someone literally coughed all over the samples before they shipped them. We're still working but pessimism is in the air."
Ian mumbled something about a tough break and patted her on the shoulder, but Jenny was already up and moving.
She clicked up the stairs, her oxfords tapping on the linoleum. In side the lab, Marie and Pierre were in their cage, one of the white mice running on its little blue wheel. Terry had inoculated Watson and Crick the night before and Jenny peered in, expecting to see them out and about. They weren't. Just as she was about to amble over to her lab station, Crick stumbled out of the hutch, his fur coming off in patches. His eyes, normally black and beady were milky white and staring. His nose twitched and he lurched towards the glass, rearing up to throw his tiny body against it. His teeth gnashed, and Jenny realized the little mouse could smell her. It wanted her, well, it wanted flesh. She wondered, with a sinking heart, what had become of Watson. One thing was certain, what ever had been in that tissue sample, it was bad.
Jenny walked back down the hall and took the elevator to the second floor. She walked past Mary and Tim, nodded to Karry and swiped her keycard, pushing open the store room door. Aspirin, gauze, antibiotics, tranquilizers, saline, two suture kits, topical cream, some scalpels and a stack of alcohol wipes. She slung her now bulging purse over her shoulder and walked out again. She left, waving goodbye to Arnold the security guard and clambering into her car. An hour later, her car two suitcases heavier, she was on the road again.
She'd pulled off the main rode and tried to get a hotel room. When she hadn't been able to find a proprietor she'd found an open room and stayed. She left when her food began to run out. She didn't know how long she'd been there, but when she left it was a different world. The bodies hadn't really been apparent till she'd gotten closer to Atlanta, she'd hit three with her car, their gore splattered up the side of her car, some of it on the upholstery. She'd stopped for the night, hid up a tree. The next day, on her way to check the red farm house, she'd seen the man, the one that had wanted to kill her. And now, now she was here.
Merle looked over again. She was still out of it, looking up at the sky and twisting the stick between her hands. He wondered absently what she was think about. If she was anything like him, she was probably thinking about Sasha, or Sarah, whatever her little sister was called. He was certainly thinking about Daryl. That was the problem with losing people, you forgot how much you wanted them until they were gone. He'd never appreciated Daryl, Daryl had been an annoyance, a little boy who cried and slept fitfully, who followed him around and never spoke to strangers. It was his fault. He'd spent most of his teenaged years resenting the little boy for stealing their mother's affection, for getting into trouble, for making him cover with Pa. He'd let a quiet, vulnerable boy grow up to a guarded, resentful man. He'd kept Daryl out of jail, and off drugs, both better than he could say for himself.
Walking next to Jenny he realized how well Daryl had learned. Jenny, while by no means loud, still stepped on dry leaves, brittle branches and loose gravel. The result was a low, but constant noise. Daryl had always been silent. Just like a ghost behind him. His feelings about Daryl had only worsened with age. Guilt and anger and shame warred with a desire to be emotionless, not to show weakness. All the threads had gotten knotted up, and separation had only pulled that knot tighter. Now it was a mess of crisscrossed strings and fraying edges.
Just as he was about to ask Jenny if she knew where in the hell she was wandern' off to, they emerged onto a dirt road. Merle stiffened, looking for any sign of walkers, he didn't like bein' out en the open like this. With the way apparently clear they turned left, heading in the direction of the car and the house.
The road was dusty, the ruts deep and filled with stagnant water from the recent rain. Merle kicked at a pebble, sending it skittering off into the grass. He'd almost giv'n up hope, when a pale yellow punch bug appeared on the horizon. Muddy and bloody, Jenny broke into a run, jogging along in her ridiculous heels, her slacks and Merle's vest. He chuckled, whatever else he though of her, she was certainly funny.
When he reached her she was red in the face, her fists clenched. On the telephone wire above the car, several colorful banners fluttered in the light breeze. Merle quirked his eyebrow,
"What's goin' on girly?"
"My bras. They threw my bras over the telephone line." and then she started sobbing. Merle was even more confused. He looked at the ground, two suitcases were open, contents strewn across the ground. Jeans, shoes, tops and books. What worried him was the muddy prints and the blood smeared on some of the clothes.
Watching her sniffling he figured he was lucky it had taken this long. She was good, useful even, but she was a city girl, en city girls weren't made fer hard livin' or rough men. He waited till her crying tailed off, then spoke.
"Walkers, they been through here."
Jenny sniffed and nodded, then held out her hand.
"Your knife." Merle shrugged again and handed over the blade. She wrinkled her nose at the smell, bits of bone and hair still clung to the business end, still she took it and set her mouth in a fine line. Jenny strode to the boot of the car and pried open the tire compartment. Instead of a spare tire, a bag was stuffed into the hole. She lifted it, and slung it over her shoulder. Then, leaning down she rifled through the clothes. Merle groaned, this would take hours, he knew how women were with their fucken' clothes. Almost immediately she stood.
"The walkers, they must have smelled, well smelled 'me' on them", she pointed with distain to several streak of blood tinged slaver across a pair of black jeans. Merle held out his hand and she passed him the knife, but not before wiping of some of the gore with the jeans. She picked up a pair of blue converse that had escaped both the walkers and the men, hidden as they were under the car. Looking over the mess of dirty cloths, ripped fabric and dirty she stooped, picking up an ancient looking book, the cover fraying and faded. She had her documents in her purse, as well as the medicine and supplies she'd stollen and the snickers bars. The men had taken the case of water and the cloths were worthless now. She didn't want to come in contact with the remnants of the walkers. She had open wounds and Jenny didn't want to find out how virulent the whatever it is was.
They turned and headed away towards the farm house. The cicadas and the birds, singing the song of spring, blocked out the faint moaning, coming over the crest of the hill a few paces past the farm house. Tired from a poor night, sleeping rough, both either ignored or failed to notice the noise as they pushed open the door screen door, letting themselves inside the darkened farmhouse.
Jenny riffled through the cupboards, finding some canned vegetables and, to her delight, some of, what she supposed were last years peaches. Merle didn't stick around in the kitchen, it was, after all, the women's domaine. The house was simple, think wooden table tops, gingham curtains and a woven rug under the threadbare sofa. He tested the water in the small downstairs bathroom and was pleasantly surprised to find that, while ice cold, it was running strong and clear. He could still hear Jenny banging around in the kitchen, so he slipped out, heading upstairs. The stairs looked hand hewn, with shallow depressions from wear. The walls were painted a sort of washed out blue. He paused next to a framed sampler
"my grace is sufficient for you for my power is made perfect in weakness"
The house was silent, which made him edgy. He flattened himself against the wall, sliding up towards the landing. Somewhere around the seventh step the smell started.
The landing was sunlit and warm, worn pine and the same pale blue walls. There were more framed quotes, but Merle was too focused on the smell. There were three doors, one was open on a half bath, one closed, one ajar. Merle stayed pressed against the wall, edging to the closed door. He twisted the knob, knife pressed against the length of his arm. The walls were pale pink, the bed was white enameled metal, the sheets, neatly made, were also pink. Merle swallowed the unexpected lump in his throat.
The smell was coming from the other room, it was faint, not like a walker, well, not like a fresh walker. There were three bodies. A man, a woman and a little girl. He'd used a shot gun, so there wasn't a whole hell of a lot to go on. The woman and child were on the bed, the man slumped on the floor beside it, his bowed head facing the window. Merle ignored the mess on the bed and peered out the single window. A jeep was parked outside. The floorboards creaked loudly. He turned around stopped. Well shit.