MarionArnold - Thanks for the review. Your reviews make me happier than a pantsless old man in waist high grass.
I'm not a review whore, kids. Review or don't.
Just keep in mind that reviews let me know that you're actually enjoying the work and not accidentally clicking on it. I could be doing other things with my time you know, like, sleeping, or eating...or prank calling Lithuania and then sleeping some more and then waking up to eat and then playing some Fallout, then going outside just to prove a point to myself (I'm not actually allergic to the sun!), then prank calling Lithuania again (this time with a dirty limerick), then going back to bed. I'm a busy person, kids. Got a full schedule and a Lithuanian phone book.
Chapter Five: Mamere
**Daryl**
Fuck.
He sprinted across the prison yard, repeating shitty history only this time in Rick's boots.
Dodging a walker who lunged at him, Daryl caught the bastard behind the knee with his foot and downed it, bringing a powerful foot down on its face. It was disgusting and risky, but fuck it, shoes and pants could be washed. As long as the asshole didn't bite him while his foot was down there, but with two more walkers already on him, he didn't think he'd have the time to stoop and finish the job properly.
The walker's teeth crunched under his heel and his face smashed in with a small, rotten smelling explosion. The best thing about stomping rotten ass was that it was ready to collapse already, just a little pressure in the right places and a walker could be crushed with ease.
Preparing to down the two on him, Daryl found them both sinking to the ground, the cracks of two shots almost instant.
Reaching the second gate, he yanked it shut and used a couple pieces of heavy wire to twist it shut in a few places, noticing as he turned to take care of more walkers that a good chunk of them were already dropped on the ground, littering it with bodies from the first gate to the second.
Daryl took out three more, before he realized that was it. The Lieutenant wasn't just blowing smoke out his ass, he was a pretty good shot. He was fast, which made all the difference in the end when it came to walkers.
Feeling a little lightheaded, Daryl ensured both gates were secure, before he dropped to one knee to rest.
A canteen was being shaken in front of his face and Daryl took it, pushing to his feet so that the Lieutenant didn't tower over him. He didn't like to have people hanging over him like that.
He took a couple of gulps.
"Not bad with ol' Salt, petit cabri," the Lieutenant teased, before laughing that borderline insane laugh of his. "Mais, should take a little break, yeah? Don't want to push yourself."
"I'm fine."
The Lieutenant looked at him with that fucking look on his, before grinning crookedly. "Sure you are, but maybe I need a rest, yeah?"
"Take one on your own time," Daryl growled. "Come on."
..-~-..
..-~-..
The door to Cellblock C was locked by the time they got there that night and they spent the rest of the waning daylight hours looking for the keys to ensure they were either with the group or in Daryl's possession to keep the supplies safe from looters. They moved about as much of the prison as they dared, killing walkers that crossed their path, when they couldn't find the keys they decided to camp out in one of the guard towers where the walkers wouldn't get to them, before clearing the rest of the prison out in the morning.
Daryl was only back at the prison for two reasons anyways, to ensure the group's supplies were secure from scavengers and to make sure no one had gotten left behind.
The locked cellblock was empty and all their stuff was secure inside it, tomorrow they'd give the rest of the prison a once over, before he took up the group's trail.
Across from him, sitting on a table eyeing the grounds below them, the Lieutenant whistled an idle tune and it was beginning to annoy the hell of Daryl.
"You wanna shut the hell up?" He snarled.
"If I leave here tomorrow," the man sung softly, "would you still remember me?"
"I'm serious, shut up."
"For I must be traveling on now, cuz there's too many places I've got to see," he went on.
"I will push you from this tower," Daryl snarled. "Are you fucking weird in the head?"
"Come on, Texian, I thought all you good ol' boys liked Lynyrd Skynyrd." The Lieutenant shot back, not at all insulted by Daryl's gruff words.
"Fuck you."
"ZZ Top?"
Daryl chose to ignore the weird fucking Cajun, focusing on the ground below them.
"I knew this girl back home," the Lieutenant began, "named Liza. She was a beautiful girl, soft peaches and cream skin, big blue eyes, curved in all the right places."
"Sure it was a girl, Fay?" Daryl demanded, hoping his cruelty would shut the fucker up.
The Lieutenant smirked. "Well, I think she was girl…if not the operation was a success. Anyways, she used to be a bit of a wild cat, sort of fiery like Tabasco sauce on the underside of your cock. You know the type."
Daryl blinked at the man.
"Mais, anyways I was walking home one day from the store, I walked everywhere back home, not much point in driving when you're twenty minutes from everything. So I'm walking home, got my groceries, eggs and shit in the bag and this beat up red Chevy pulls up. And this girl, Liza, is just sitting in the front seat and I had her on the hook. Now, don't ask me how, I ain't a Valentino or anything when it comes to women. So, I'm standing there with my fucking eggs in a bag and she says to me 'want a ride?' like she's picking up a lady of the evening or something. 'Course, I knew there was a double meaning there, didn't have to spell it out for me. Girl knew how to inflect her voice in all the right ways. So, I'm standing there, got my fucking eggs and I think brown sugar of all things, in this stupid plastic bag in my left hand and I'm looking at this pretty little thing of a woman and she's ready to go, all I need to do is get in. And then all I can think is 'fuck no I don't want a ride!' this woman has been with every man I knew personally…she's gotta have something."
"You didn't take the ride?" Daryl asked.
"Naw, felt kind of bad for her. Woman like that bases her entire worth on how men react to them. But a woman like that, she changes you, how you see the world, how you react to the world." The Lieutenant said. "You know what I mean?"
Daryl watched as a walker below them ran into the fence and proceeded to knock against it in a vain attempt at gaining entry.
"So, who's Carol?"
The name was tossed out so casually from the Lieutenant's stupid Cajun speaking mouth that Daryl nearly jumped right up from where he leaned, instead he winced at the walker below them and clenched his hand into a fist.
The funny thing was that he didn't do out of anger. Daryl knew anger and his hand clenching at the mention of Carol was certainly not out of anger. It was almost a reflexive action, some odd occurrence in him that caused his hand to flinch at the mention of Carol.
"You said her name the other day when you were out cold." The Lieutenant went on.
"Don't concern yourself over who she is," Daryl snapped.
"Fair enough."
They fell silent for a moment.
"She's probably fine," the Lieutenant said suddenly. "Can't see no woman hanging around you without picking up a few of those fancy knife tricks."
Daryl was silent, he wasn't sure if he wanted to beat the hell out of the Cajun yet. Sure the man was providing him some much needed ass coverage, but he was also too curious about him and knowing about Carol certainly made Daryl want to slap the man unconscious and he didn't know why.
Maybe it was Carol's voice in his head telling him that he was 'every bit as good as them' that stayed his hand from smacking the Cajun around, or maybe it was the fact that despite being highly annoyed with him, Daryl was grateful for the help the soldier boy was offering.
Not that anyone would ever know that.
"I knew another girl, named Eloise, had a smile that could charm a snake."
Sighing lightly, Daryl leaned his forehead against the cool glass window of the tower. It felt like it was going to be a long night.
Behind him the Lieutenant fell silent suddenly and Daryl was on his feet, worried it was a walker or some shit going down, instead he found the Cajun had leaned forward and let his own forehead rest against the glass, eyes distant. The man didn't seem like he was going to finish that thought.
The silence was irritating, almost worse than the Cajun's talking, but Daryl wasn't quite sure how to break it. He supposed he could go outside to avoid the quiet, but he wasn't sure he was ready to move just yet. So he shifted on his feet, changing the dominant foot to support his weight.
There had been times in Daryl's life when he had learned the hard way how talking only lead to trouble, mostly through his father's impatience, mostly through Merle opening his big mouth at the wrong moment to the wrong person. Daryl wasn't a talker by any means, he said what needed to be said and left it at that. But the Cajun looked oddly forlorn, it wasn't right, it didn't settle well with Daryl.
"There's a baby in my group," Daryl supplied suddenly, shocking himself. He would have never said anything about the little Ass Kicker to anyone he didn't trust, so it shocked him that he supplied that information needlessly to the Cajun.
Maybe he wanted to distract the man from what Daryl knew must have been dark thoughts of his own.
It seemed to work, as the Lieutenant drew in a deep breath and turned from the window. "How old?"
"Just little, less than a week."
"Jesus."
Daryl squinted at the man.
"She yours?"
"Naw, Rick's."
The Lieutenant nodded. "I bet he hightailed her out of here then, wouldn't want to be caught in the middle of a gunfight with a baby."
Daryl wasn't so sure of that. He was sure Carol took off with Judith, Rick probably stayed as long as he could to defend what was his with the others, but Carol probably bolted first thing with Herschel and Beth.
The thought that Carol was probably out there alone, with only those two to back her didn't sit well with him. Sure the old man could shoot, but he only had one leg and wasn't entirely recuperated yet. He'd be more of a hindrance than a help and Beth knew her way around a gun, but couldn't aim for shit.
Suddenly Daryl was restless and tense. He knew it was time to head outside.
"I'm going to walk around on the platform a bit." He said. "See if I can figure some easier way to clear out the rest of the prison."
..-~-..
..-~-..
The next morning they were clearing what they could of the prison, cutting their time back when Daryl decided to only inspect the areas the group had been using daily. He didn't want to waste too much time when he'd rather be on the trail of the group.
It was as they were walking the fence line in the back of the prison, that Daryl spied it just outside the chainlink, lying among the tall, dead grass.
He wouldn't have noticed it, if it wasn't for the fact it was bright pink and fluttered every now and then on the gentle breeze.
"Hey," he called over to the Cajun who was inspecting the fence for holes that may have been made during the gunfight.
The Lieutenant joined him and eyed the material.
"Recognize it?" He asked.
"Baby blanket," he replied.
He should know, he was the one that scooped it up from Miss Sue's class for the Little Asskicker. If she was out without a blanket, the little thing would get cold fast during the nights. Spring had come, but it was still cold at nights. Too cold for tiny newborns.
They circled around to the front gate and headed back around on the outside of the fence for the blanket, Daryl keeping an eye out for walkers and signs of bent grass where someone made an escape from.
Kneeling, he picked up the soft blanket upon arriving at it and eyed the area.
Sure enough a trail lead away from the prison through the tall grass and as Daryl stuffed the blanket into the Lieutenant's pack, he spied something else among the tall grass that froze him for a moment.
For a mere instant he couldn't move at the sight of a hand lying buried in the thick grass.
Slowly, with his crossbow raised, he approached the body.
Aiming at the area where the head would be, he kicked away the tall grass to see better and found that dirty prisoner lying there, his body riddled with bullets, one thankfully had caught him in the head.
"He one of yours?"
"Barely," Daryl replied, breathing easier. "Name was Axel, prisoner here when we arrived."
He gazed down the trail of bent grass. Carol had been this way and she was with Judith, because he knew she wouldn't leave that child to anyone's care, not after Sophia.
Tearing the sleeves off his shirt, he tied them to the fence. "If it doesn't rain tonight I can pick up the trail again tomorrow," he explained. "No sense us stumbling around in the dark tonight. Come on, help me get the body buried."
Daryl didn't really care for the man, but the rule still applied. They buried their own. And while Axel had skirted the group, he was still technically a member and deserved a burial. Besides, for all he knew the prisoner took the bullets saving Carol and Judith.
..-~-..
..-~-..
The Cajun was eyeing the three graves when Daryl returned from inside the prison with the shovels the group had stashed there, hand hooked on the strap of his rifle.
"Who's buried here?" He asked finally.
Daryl dropped the shovels. "Lori," he pointed at her grave, "and T-Dog."
"Who's in that one?" The man motioned to the last.
"Don't matter. It's empty."
"Why don't we bury the prisoner in it then? The ground's already soft enough to dig, we could be done by the time the sun starts dying off."
Shaking his head once, Daryl handed the man a pick. "Axel goes beside Lori." He ordered.
The Lieutenant eyed him with those fucking all knowing eyes of his, but said nothing, setting down his rifle to work.
..-~-..
..-~-..
On their way out of the prison that evening, they secured everything as best they could. With no sign of the keys, Daryl was hesitant to lock up doors, but he didn't hesitate when it came to the kitchens or the generator room. He figured the worst thing would be that when the group was found and came back without the keys they'd have to bust a few doors down.
At least the walkers seemed to have chased the Governor's men off so that they didn't loot the place of the precious little food supplies.
At the front gate, Daryl paused.
"I wish we had something to lock it with," he muttered, eyeing the gate. "Keep the walkers out so we don't have to clear it again."
The Lieutenant eyed the gate for a moment.
"Mais, going to have to leave it for the night, Texian. I think the sisters have some padlocks on some of their garden sheds they might be willing to part with. We can dash back here tomorrow morning, lock it up before doing anything else."
Daryl nodded, taking one last lingering look at the prison, before nodding. "Alright."
"Let's get back, yeah? Maybe Merle's finally up and about. God knows we could use the extra hands," the soldier's step faltered and he quickly corrected himself, "hand. Sorry."
They started walking up the road to the highway, Daryl hooking his thumb under the strap of his crossbow.
"How's the grande beede lose that hand of his, anyways?" The Lieutenant asked after a moment.
"He hacked it off with a dull coping saw," Daryl replied simply.
The Lieutenant blinked. "Why?"
"You ever hear about how rat's will gnaw their legs off if trapped?" Daryl eyed the man at his side. "Let's just say there's a reason why Merle ain't going to be happy you trussed him up like you did."
Images of his brother's hand lying in a pool of congealing blood came back to him and Daryl could have sworn he could smell the faint scent of putrescence from his brother's limb. It had been lying on that roof in the hot Georgian sun and was already beginning to rot when they arrived.
All the walkers Daryl had smelled never got to him as much as the scent of his own flesh and blood decaying. It squeezed the contents in his stomach and made him sick.
He choked the urge to vomit down with a wince.
At his side, the Lieutenant was eyeing a walker who numbly staggered towards them.
The man was calm, almost eerily cold as he studied the approaching thing.
Daryl raised his crossbow and shot it, putting it down efficiently.
"You ever put down one of your own?" The Lieutenant asked quietly, moving around the slumped corpse.
Pausing long enough to retrieve his bolt, Daryl wiped the walker blood off on his pants. "Nope," he lied, hoping to avoid more talk.
"They outta have a name for that feeling you get afterwards," the Cajun said. "Considering it's basically the end of the world, maybe I should make one up..." the man mused. "Executioner's remorse, maybe."
Eyeing him as though he had lost his goddamned mind, Daryl pushed ahead of the Cajun to lead the way.
"My Mamere would say all these uggies walking around is just mankind reaping what he has sown, that those of us left alive are here to bear witness to the cruelty of man as we suffer through hell to come out the other side forged stronger than steel." The Lieutenant paused. "'Course she was out of her goddamned mind towards the end..."
"Do you ever stop talking?" Daryl demanded.
"I guess I just hadn't had anyone to talk to in a while. Nuns and I don't really have much in common."
"And what makes you think we do?"
"Not much, I guess. But you're a good listener."
Daryl grunted a reply, trudging onwards.