Violeta27 - It's funny you mentioned the new names for the walkers. I have the Lieutenant calling them uggies, because as we learned on the show different groups and areas breeds different names for the walking dead. I thought uggies might be a Cajun thing or maybe just a Lieutenant thing.
MarionArnold - You have some of the best observations. I enjoy them. No, the combat knife isn't named after Salt (the character) it's an old country charm to use salt against bad spells or spirits. The Lieutenant's .22 rifle and combat knife are both named after ingredients used for protection against bad 'gris-gris'. His M40A1 sniper rifle is actually named after the Voodoo Queen Marie Laveau (for those who care to know).
Buckismith - Well, thank you for your review. Good to know it's not terrible. ^_^
This is the last chapter from that damned original character's pov for a while, so rejoice! (Because no one likes original characters).
Chapter Three: Mal Pris
**The Lieutenant**
"You'd best let me loose!"
He was greeted with a gruff command the instant he walked in through the door of the infirmary.
In the bed the petit cabri was struggling to sit up, fighting his bonds.
Halting at the side of the bed, the Lieutenant placed his right hand on his hip, his left holding the strap of his rifle. He watched the man struggle with the ties around his wrists and ankles for a moment in shock. He honestly wasn't expecting him to be so lively so fast.
"You're going to undo all the work Sister Mary Claire spent on your wrist, Texian." The Lieutenant greeted calmly.
The man puffed and panted like a trapped animal, eyeing the Lieutenant with a pair of the coldest blue eyes he had ever seen aimed at him. The man was like a wolf, sizing up his prey, he was pacing back and forth without ever leaving the bed.
"Am I back in Woodbury?" He finally asked in a calmer rasp.
"Naw," the Lieutenant replied, filing the name away for interrogation purposes later.
"Then let me loose." He spat.
"I untie you, you best behave, yeah?"
The man took in the Lieutenant's gun, then the sisters who had gathered behind him, before nodding. "Yeah."
At least the petit cabri wasn't stupid.
"Alright, hold still."
He turned to Father O'Rourke who eyed the man in the cot warily and touched the padre's rifle calmly, gripping the barrel.
"Don't hesitate, padre." The Lieutenant ordered.
The man frowned, but agreed with a nod of his head.
Shouldering his slipping gun, the Lieutenant approached the man, carefully unstrapping first his legs, then his arms.
The man glowered white hot fire at him, but said nothing.
"I need to go." He said.
"You will. I can't stop you." The Lieutenant pointed out, he glanced over at the grande beede. "That Merle?"
"Yeah." The man replied, sitting up enough to gather himself together.
"You asked for him the other night."
This seemed to piss the petit cabri off a little for some odd reason and his face darkened. "So?" He snarled.
After a moment, as he struggled to get his boots on with his bad arm, the man calmed enough to ask. "He going to be okay?"
"Yeah. I think. Cut it pretty close though."
"Merle's had worse," the man muttered, climbing to his feet and snatching up the clean shirt the Lieutenant had left on the chair at the side of his bed to pull it on angrily.
Throughout the entire moment of dressing, the Lieutenant noticed that the petit cabri didn't once turn his back on anyone present, he would turn to the side, but there was always one eye kept on the group who stood between him and the door.
Tugging the shirt down, the Lieutenant saw the petit cabri sway from the movement, but knew the man wouldn't back down from his escape now. That would be a sign of weakness.
"What's your name?" The Lieutenant asked.
"What's it to you? Ain't going to be around long enough for you to remember it." The man growled, looking around his cot for something. "Where's my crossbow?"
"You think I'd be stupid enough to let you have it while inside our walls?" The Lieutenant demanded. "You'll get it at the gate."
"Whatever," the man replied, making his way towards the door, holding the stitched wound on his side with his good hand.
"You just going to leave Merle, Texian?" The Lieutenant inquired, following the man out of the infirmary.
"Got more important things on my mind right now," the man said, squinting at the sun. "Ain't like a bunch a nuns are gonna kill him."
It took the Lieutenant all of a minute to realize the man was getting his bearings, finding the time and place by his surroundings as they just stood there for a moment.
"Who said we want him here?" The Lieutenant inquired.
"Then kick his ass out when he comes to," the man muttered. "Merle can handle himself."
They both wandered in the direction of the front gate, where Sister Mary Monica was at her post, she watched them approach quietly, with her big, dark eyes, at her side rested the man's weapon.
He snatched it up and eyed it.
There were no bolts left for it, but he didn't say anything about that.
"You got anything to defend yourself with out there?" The Lieutenant asked as Sister Mary Monica unlocked the gate.
"Nope." The man replied casually, stepping out of the safety of the walls into the world beyond.
The Lieutenant narrowed his eyes at the man's back. He could barely hold himself up, had just woken from a three day coma, but he was determined to go without a weapon.
He sighed heavily and turned to the sister. "I'll be back. Keep to the patrol schedule. Anything happens you get the padre, yeah?"
She nodded.
Catching up with the man, the Lieutenant walked beside him, eyeing him as they strode down the road.
"The highway down here?" The man asked, pointing in the direction they were headed.
"Eventually."
They walked on in silence for the longest time, the only sound was the crunching of the gravel on the road beneath their boots.
"What do you want?" The man asked finally.
"Just making sure you get where you're going in one piece."
"Yeah, well, you'd be better off back there. If Merle wakes up, he's gonna be pissed that you trussed him up like that." The man turned to eye him quietly. "He ain't as zen as me."
"He's tied up pretty tightly, 'cept for that moochon of his."
"I don't need your help," the man stated firmly.
"I don't doubt that, but you have me curious about you."
The man looked at him with a sneer.
"Back down, capon, it ain't that kind of curiosity."
They walked in silence, cutting into the woods once they crossed the main highway. The man seemed to have his bearings better now that they hit that strip of blacktop. As though he mapped the area before, or maybe just knew the woods once he reached the area beyond the asphalt. It was amusing to him, because the Lieutenant knew the woods to the south of the highway in the same way, he was completely lost beyond it though.
As injured as he was, the petit cabri made pretty good time, he hadn't eaten properly other than the few spoonfuls of broth Sister Mary Claire had worked down his gullet, but he seemed okay.
"You realize that when we get where I'm going, my people are going to tie you up?" The man demanded.
"Naw, they won't. Not when they see me with you."
"Don't be so sure of that."
..-~-..
..-~-..
They pushed through the edge of the forest and suddenly there she was tucked away like a nymph among the flowers.
The Lieutenant eyed the prison with amazement. He had never been this far North from the convent; he hadn't even realized that a place like the prison was around anywhere near.
"Give me your knife," the petit cabri ordered, holding out his hand, eyes on the prison and the uggies scattered about the grounds.
Without thinking whether he'd turn on him with it, the Lieutenant handed it over and watched as the man hustled over to the open gate, taking out a few uggies with ease. The man was an artist when it came to taking the rotted things down.
The Lieutenant used his rifle butt on a couple others, it wasn't as quick as a knife, having to bash their faces into pulp, but it did the job.
Following the man as he tore into the prison yard, the Lieutenant slowed as they approached the second gate into the cellblocks. It too was wide open.
By the looks of things the prison was overrun with uggies, but that wasn't all that went down. Tire tracks tearing up the brown grass of the prison yard near the first gate and shell casings from a variety of rifles that littered the ground said something definitely went down. He assumed the gunfight was what drew so many uggies to one location. Like a light in the darkness to them...or a dinner bell to hungry cattle.
The petit cabri tore off through the second gate, efficiently taking out uggies that crossed his path, with the Lieutenant hot on his heels. They both stopped short as the sight of a mass of uggies who were literally pouring out from the open doors of the prison cellblock.
"There's too many," the Lieutenant warned. "Look, whoever you had stashed away here, they're gone…there's no way anyone would be alive with this many uggies around. By the looks of them tracks they probably beat cheeks out of here."
There was a moment when the Lieutenant thought he was being helpful with his words, that they were getting through to the man, but as soon as the petit cabri turned, he regretted ever uttering them.
"I didn't ask you to come with me!" He growled, fists clenching at his sides. "Get the hell out of here if you want!"
The uggies were on their scent now, heading for them briskly and the Lieutenant took a step back, the man following him in retreat.
They headed for the open gate, dashing through in time to roll it closed. Using a chain, the Lieutenant wound it around the bar of the gate and the post of the fence, but without a lock it would only give them a few minutes at best.
The petit cabri kicked the hell out of the fence in anger, growling in rage at the creatures inside who moaned for their flesh. Taking the combat knife, he then proceeded to shove it through the holes in the fence, killing as many of the creatures as he could. They collapsed right in front of the fence, making it hard for the others to get at the gate to open it. The man didn't stop until he couldn't reach anymore, he just killed and killed, the thick blackened blood and gunk coating his arm and the knife. Seemed like the petit cabri had a bit of an anger problem.
The Lieutenant for his part watched the man's six as he got his rage out. It didn't matter to him, less uggies for him to deal with later.
"Fuck!" The man shouted in frustration, finally dropping his raised arm. He took a look at the tire tracks that lead out of the prison gates. "They wouldn't have gone far," he muttered. "I've been out…two, three days maybe…" he followed the tracks, the Lieutenant on his heels. Stopping once the muddy road became highway asphalt, the man growled and kicked the hell out of a nearby broken down prison van.
"Easy, Texian, you're gonna break your foot."
The man twisted his mouth as though trying to contain emotions he couldn't let loose and tucked the knife into his belt.
"I can pick up the trail," he assured himself. "I need Merle." As though that made everything better, the man calmly began back the way they came.
The Lieutenant hesitated for a moment, before trailing after the man.
..-~-..
..-~-..
"Daryl Dixon," he said as they crested the hill that the convent perched on.
They had been walking for nearly an hour in silence, before he spoke.
The Lieutenant nodded. "Carol," he returned softly, just to see the man's reaction.
Daryl's footsteps faltered ever so and the man's brow fell, lowering over his cold, blue-grey eyes, at his side his hand clenched and released just as fast. "What?"
"I said they call me Lieutenant." He stated clearly, mocking the man's thick Georgian accent poorly, filing away the man's reaction to the name 'Carol' for a later inquiry. He was deeply curious about this Carol now.
Daryl Dixon turned those sharp blue eyes of his in the Lieutenant's direction. He looked long and hard at him, before sniffing. "Don't have a name or what?"
"Lafayette Vancoughnett the Fourth," he returned softly, eyeing the encroaching darkness that was beginning to creep upon them.
"Jesus," the man grunted. "Your parents hate you or something?"
"This coming from a man named Daryl," he shot back.
Daryl scowled darkly, getting defensive. "What's wrong with Daryl?"
"Nothing, what's wrong with Lafayette?"
"Other than the fact it's got the word 'fay' in it? Nothing I guess," Daryl stated, darting through the gate as soon as the sister opened it.
The Lieutenant paused at the gate, staring after the man, before shrugging in agreement. It was a rather goofy name, even for a Cajun boy, but still the backwoods hick didn't have to point it out so blatantly.
..-~-..
..-~-..
"Merle! Hey, Merle, get your lazy ass up!" Daryl exclaimed, bursting into the infirmary to prod at his brother's foot with his good arm. "Come on, we gotta get ourselves back on track!"
The grande beede didn't budge an inch.
Daryl slapped his face, nothing.
"Fine, whatever, I'll do it myself. Don't need your lazy ass anyways." Daryl growled, storming out the door. "Always dragging me down!"
The Lieutenant followed him quietly across the lawn of the convent.
"You attached to my ass or something, Fay?" The man snarled, turning on him.
The Lieutenant narrowed his eyes at the man. "I'm not going to just let you wander around my convent unguarded."
"Man, fuck you! I ain't got no interest in a bunch of nuns! Just leave me be!" He ordered.
Letting the man storm off to a safe distance, the Lieutenant still kept close to him, sitting far enough away that the man had his space, but still close enough to intervene if he caused any trouble.
Sitting on the ground under the magnolia tree in the convent yard, the Lieutenant watched as Daryl Dixon chewed on his thumbnail for a bit, gathering his thoughts by the looks of it, before he stood up, calmer and headed towards him.
"I'm going to borrow your knife, make myself some new bolts." He commanded, before heading for the gate. "Then I'll head out."
"Maybe you should eat something first," the Lieutenant pointed out, following him again.
"Maybe you should mind your own business!" Daryl snarled. "Go back to tending your nuns!"
Tsking at his behaviour – which amused him more than anything – the Lieutenant nodded to Sister Mary Monica to open the back gate for the man to storm out of, watching him go with a tiny smirk.
"Crazy couyon…" he muttered, heading for the infirmary to check in on the other redneck. "See if I care if you get your fool head gnawed on..."
..-~-..
..-~-..
Three hours later, Daryl came back, storming through the gate just as pissed off as when he left, his hand clutching a bundle of sticks for making some bolts.
He marched over to the steps of the church and began whittling the bark off them, ignoring everyone who eyed him warily.
The Lieutenant sighed heavily, pushing up from where he sat on the wall and hopping down to approach the man.
"You regrouping?" He asked, easing onto the steps beside the man.
"Naw, I'm heading back to the prison first thing come morning." He grunted, before adding a soft, "ain't making the same mistake twice," under his breath. "Need to get reloaded, first. You got any feathers around here?"
"Feathers?"
The man jerked the stick in his hand.
"Ah, for your bolts, naw, but tomorrow I'll have some turkey feathers for you."
Daryl squinted at Sister Mary Monica as she was relieved from her post by Sister Mary Agnes. "That so?"
"Sure. I'm on his ass now, won't be long."
The two fell silent, the Lieutenant stretching his legs out in front of them on the steps. "How many in your group?" He asked conversationally.
"Ain't none of your business!" Daryl snapped.
Holding up his hands, the Lieutenant backed off the subject.
The Old Missy came up behind them then, quiet as a little mouse and held a plate of food between them, nudging Daryl.
"You should eat something," she said in that high-born southern drawl of hers. "My girls say you haven't eaten yet."
Daryl studied the plate of what looked like last night's stew, then the woman, before nodding once and taking the offered plate.
The Mother Superior sat down on the other side of Daryl, watching him as he continued to strike bark off the stick with deft motions of his arm.
She was a middle aged woman, forty or forty-five by the Lieutenant's figuring, but had a soft look in her indecipherable greenish blue eyes that reminded the Lieutenant of a woman he once knew back home. He wasn't sure why he took to calling her Old Missy when she wasn't much older than him, he supposed it was just because she carried herself with more grace and sense than most women he knew. She kind of reminded him of Ingrid Bergman from that nun movie, she had the right look...'course it could have just been the habit.
"Some of the sisters think the rapture's finally come," she began softly, as though one of the men had asked her a question. "That the dead rising is a sign of the apocalypse."
The Lieutenant furrowed his brow at her random entrance into the conversation, but said nothing.
"They're losing faith." She sighed. "They think because they're still here, God hasn't chosen them to ascend into heaven."
Daryl had stopped his work to stare at the woman, both men were staring at the woman like she had grown a second head.
"So tell me," she said adjusting the voluminous black skirt of her habit. "What's really going on outside these walls? Do I give my girls hope or guns?"
The Lieutenant was a little wounded that the woman hadn't ever asked him that question, but then again she probably knew he'd lie. He'd tell her anything to keep her from worrying.
Daryl went back to his work.
"It ain't God's work, that's for damned sure." He muttered. "You'd be stupid not to arm these women to the teeth. Teach them how to defend themselves. Not just from the dead," he added bitterly.
The Lieutenant scowled. "What do you mean?"
"Man," Daryl growled, "think about it! There ain't no law out there! Fucking walkers and goddamned rapists running around killing people!"
"I didn't know it got that bad," he returned quietly.
"It's worse," Daryl stated. "It's damned worse. People have broken up into tribes and we ain't friendly with outsiders. You gotta protect what's yours, you gotten arm these women, teach them how to protect this place."
Eyeing the Old Missy, the Lieutenant noted a moment of absolute fear take over her features, before her eyes steeled and she nodded. "I see. Thank you for your honesty. Lieutenant? A word?"
Feeling like a little boy sent to the principal's office, the Lieutenant stood up. "Yes, Ma'am."
"And clean that bark off my church steps when you finish, honey?" The Old Missy commanded Daryl. "This is a convent, not a farmyard."
The petit cabri squinted up at the woman, neither agreeing nor arguing with her command.
The Cajun Dialect
Mal Pris - Stuck in a bad situation.
Texian - All people who don't talk like Cajun's are referred to as Texian's.
Moochon - Knob or in this case stump.
Capon - Beggar or rogue.