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Chapter 8
Aliya tossed the green plastic laundry basket on the bed and bit her tongue. Literally. She was sick of the conversation before it even started. She'd been folding and putting away clothes and thinking about Daryl. Thinking a lot about Daryl. She was enjoying having the room to herself and being able to just relax, until Bridgette came in and flopped down on her own bed.
"Allie, please. I'm dying to know. I won't tell anyone."
She looked at the girl and glared. "That's none of your damn business, Bridgette."
"Oh, come on. You've been sleeping down there off and on for two weeks now. You can't tell me you're not…you know." She stuck out her lower lip and pouted, an affectation that was supposed to be cute but was totally lost on Aliya. "Pweeease." she whined. "Tell me. What's Daryl like, you know, in the sack?"
"You're incredible. Really. Do you have any clue how badly you're pissing me off right now?" Aliya said quietly. "You need to stop asking. It's between me and Daryl and I think too much of him to even be having this conversation with you."
"You can tell me. I swear I won't tell a soul. We're roommates. Roommates talk about stuff like this."
"We're not roommates, Bridgette. We occasionally sleep in the same room. That's it. That is the extent of our relationship. I wouldn't even call us friends because you obviously don't respect my privacy or care about my feelings. Now drop it."
"I…I'm, Allie please. I didn't mean to make you mad." Bridgette sputtered.
"Then you should have shut up the first time I told you to mind your own damn business." Aliya snapped. She moved to the window and looked out over the front of the house, everything laid out in front of her. She could see the yard, the woods surrounding the subdivision, the drive and even a bit of the road. She loved the view. But she was growing weary of the company.
Aliya moved back across the room quietly, exiting without saying a word or even looking at the other woman sitting on the hastily-made bed. It was mid-afternoon. Daryl would be back from hunting soon. She couldn't wait. She moved downstairs swiftly, grabbing her Glock and a clip out of the cabinet in the kitchen and walked out the back door.
XXXXX
Aliya climbed the fence as carefully and as quietly as she could. She kept her eyes peeled for the owner of the black pick-up truck that was now parked within inches of the front gate. It had appeared between the time she last looked out the bedroom window and the time she made her way downstairs and wandered through the yard to the front. The top of the truck was still warm to the touch, which told her it hadn't been there long.
The windows were rolled down in the truck and there were beer cans and candy bar wrappers littering the seat and floorboards on the passenger side. For a fairly new truck, it was disgustingly dirty inside and it smelled. B.o. and stale beer and cigarettes. Just like her dad's party cabin after the guys that worked for him had been there all weekend. She circled the truck slowly and looked around for walkers, peering under the truck, just in case. She opened the driver's door and leaned in to inspect the black satchel in the seat, thinking instantly that this was stupid of her, she had left herself pretty vulnerable with her back turned to the road. But it was too late.
The man walked up behind her without making a sound and stood up straight, pointing the .44 at her. Aliya heard a twig snap and started to turn around but felt something cold and hard in the small of her back.
"Mmmm mmmm mmmmm." the voice growled. "I ain't seen nothin' that good-lookin' in weeks. 'N I ain't talking about that plastic piece of shit in yer hand, neither, Sweet Cheeks. Pass it behind ya' 'n put yer' hands up."
"Fuck you, Asshole."
"Aww, now that ain't no way ta' talk ta' company, is it? Not very neighborly, no sir. Yer' hurtin' my feelins' Darlin'."
"I'm gonna hurt more than that in a minute. Who are you? What the fuck do you want?"
"Oh, Babydoll, I want a lotta' shit," he licked his dry lips, "'n you're sure as hell gonna give it to me." He put the gun to her head. "Come on away from there and stay turned around." Aliya took a backwards step towards him, keeping her hands up. "That's it…nice 'n slow-like." She felt his gun on her back again as he knocked hers from her hand and kicked it under the truck. He traced the barrel of his gun down her back slowly and continued to her waist, down her ass and between her legs. He made a low, lecherous whistle. "Damn, Red, we gonna' have us some fun."
"You're a dead man." she said quietly.
"Ooohhhh, I'm 'skeered." he said mockingly. "What's yer' name, Tough Girl."
"You first."
He poked her hard in the back with the gun. "I asked ya' yer' name, damn it!" he spit. "Fuckin' answer me."
"Aliya."
"Mmmm. ALL-ee-yaaaah. That's a real purty name fer' a real purty girl. All-a'-ya' Who lives in them houses?"
"Just about forty of us."
"Don't you fuckin' lie ta' me. I been watching this place all day."
"Who's lying now? If you've been watching, then you should know."
The man poked her roughly with the gun. "Said how many, bitch?"
"Less than 20."
"Weapons?"
"Of course."
"You the one been writing all over?"
"What?" Aliya tried to turn her head to get a good look at him but he poked her again hard in the back.
"Nope. You keep that pretty lil' head a' yers' turned for now. Who's this Dixon on the mailbox?"
"Former owners." she lied. She'd written "D. Dixon" in big black letters on the mail box one afternoon when she and Daryl were horsing around outside with Carl. Daryl thought it was funny that his name would be outside a house like that. He said that if Merle ever did show up, he wouldn't stop because he would know it was a joke.
The man put the gun to the side of her neck. "You best stop fuckin' 'round, Sugar Tits. I'm in no mood. I asked ya' a question."
"A guy in our group."
"Well, fuck me six ways from Sunday. He been leaving those directions?"
"No."
"Who has?"
"Me."
The man eased up on the gun a bit and started laughing, a whisky-rough giggle of sorts. "Well, Honey, how's come yer' a-lookin' for me when my own brother ain't?"
"Merle?" Aliya spit out. "Merle Dixon?" She turned and faced him, hands still up. "What the fuck, Merle?" She looked at his right arm. He'd been hiding it, keeping her back turned to him, to keep her from seeing him. If she would have seen it from the start, she would have know he was Merle in an instant. Especially if she'd been able to look at his steely blue eyes. His arm, however, was a bit of a surprise. He had a prosthetic hand. An African-American prosthetic hand.
Merle was the same height as his younger brother, and had the same general build but carried a bit more weight, with a jaw that was more square and a higher forehead. His head and face both had about a week's worth of stubble, dirty blonde-brown tinged with gray. He was handsome in a really rough, rugged way. He looked different from Daryl, though. Harder. Meaner. Aliya almost laughed, however, when she looked at what he was wearing. Or more precisely, wasn't he wasn't wearing. Merle had on a pair of faded, worn jeans, square-toed motorcycle boots and a black leather vest, buttoned all the way up, with no shirt underneath. Huge muscled arms, just like Daryl. Jesus, she thought, what the fuck is it with the Dixon men and sleeves?
The man was grinning, a leering, evil grin, when the familiar voice behind him echoed Aliya's question. "Yeah, Merle, what tha' fuck?"
Merle turned around slowly, surprised. He looked at Daryl, who had his crossbow trained on him. "Boy, I know you don't have that thing pointed at me, now." The grin had turned into a hard stare. The two men stood there, barrel and crossbow leveled, looking at each other for a minute until Daryl spoke again.
"You bit?" Daryl said through clenched teeth.
"Hell no, but Lil' Miss Fine-Ass here can change that any time she wants." Merle said, turning his head around to Aliya. "Ain't that right, Sweetheart?"
"Screw you, Merle." she said.
"Baby, any time." he said "You just say tha' word. Hell, you don't have to say anything 't all! Just scream my name nice 'n loud when ya' cu-"
"Shut up, Merle." Daryl interrupted, glaring at his brother.
"Whassa' matter, Baby Brother? Hit a nerve?" he sneered. "Aww, don't tell me you' ain't laid pipe ta' this 'n yet." He turned around and looked at Aliya again. "Oh, no, Darlin', we just can't have that." he said in a syrupy-sweet voice. "We gotta' get ya' a real man, not this sorry piece of shit."
"Shut up, Merle." Daryl hissed again. He still had his crossbow raised and pointed at the older man.
"Put that fuckin' weapon down, son." Merle said, taking a step closer to Daryl. "I ought ta' be shootin' you for leavin' me on that fuckin' roof."
"I didn't leave ya' on tha' roof. You're tha' one who left. We went back for ya' but you was gone. Then ya' stole our truck. Why'd you not just stay there?"
"Fuckin' geeks were after me. I had at' get the hell outta there."
"That's a damn lie, Merle. That door was chained tight. I had ta' use bolt cutters on it."
"Don't tell me what you had ta' do, Dickweed. I had ta' cut off my own hand. I had ta' do a lotta' shit ta' make it outta' there. Where tha' hell have you been? Lemme see now, holed up in some big-ass fancy house with tha' same fuckin' people what did this to me? Yeah, tell me more a' what ya' had ta' do, Brother."
"Fuck you, Merle. Ya' damn near got us killed takin' that truck. Ya' coulda' drove it back ta' camp, but ya' split. You're tha' one who left, Merle, not me. I looked for ya'. I looked all over for ya' ."
"Yeah, now, see, I'm thinking' that's not YOU doin' so much of a' tha' lookin' as tha' little woman over there." he said, gesturing with his head. Merle turned to Aliya again. "Missy, how come you're tha' only one who seems like they give a shit 'bout finding' ol' Merle? You figure out this pencil-dick wasn't 'nuff 'n ya' thought you'd find a better Dixon?"
It was about this point that Aliya had had enough. She could feel her face getting redder by the minute. It wasn't Merle's language that she couldn't stand, not by a long shot. He wanted verbal abuse, she could sure give it to him. No, it wasn't appreciated but that wasn't it. It was the way he was talking about Daryl…the way he was talking to Daryl. Accusing him of not trying to find him or not caring about him…because she knew that the one thing Daryl wanted desperately was to know that Merle was alive and ok.
Aliya stepped between the two men and pushed hard on both their chests. She didn't move either one of them, but she shoved them hard enough for them to see she was seriously pissed. "Ok, Boys, I've heard enough. Merle, you just back off. Daryl's been looking for you every chance he could get. I've been leaving the signs because I've been going into those places with the others while Daryl's out hunting and keeping all of us alive. So, just shut the fuck up. We can't change what happened. Y'all can resolve this with Rick and T-Dog and Andrea later but you ain't gonna' be tearin' each other up over it. I won't have it. Now lets get the hell out of here before your little pissin' contest starts drawing walkers."
She grabbed the gun out of Merle's hand quickly and turned to Daryl. "Put that fuckin' thing away." she said. She walked back to the truck and bent down, reaching under and sweeping her hand until she found her Glock. She stood up and tucked it into the back of her waistband, walking back to them.
"Whooo weee!" Merle exclaimed, rubbing his balls over his jeans. "That sweet little piece a' ass is a hellcat, I can just tell. Baby, you 'n me gonna' have a lotta' fun, yessiree Bob!"
Aliya walked up to Merle and poked a finger in his chest. "Listen you crankhead piece of shit, you stay the fuck away from me and watch your mouth or you'll be sporting two stumps." she hissed quietly. "N' I ain't talking about your other hand, either." She poked him hard one last time for emphasis and turned on her heel, giving Daryl a dirty look as she walked past him towards the gate.
Daryl started to grin and took a step towards Merle, smacking him hard on the bicep. "I'd do what the fuck she said, Merle. She's about half-pissed and that right there…" Daryl pointed his finger in Aliya's direction, "...that's Duke Henderson's baby girl."