MollyMayem84 - I always thought Daryl reacted the way he did because he felt a lot of guilt over giving Carol hope when she was ready to let go. Like maybe he felt like he was hurting her more by trying to help, which is why he reverted back to being mean 'I-don't-need-nobody' Daryl.
KrisAnthemum221 - Haha, I know! A lot of the things they do on the show, I'm like 'why?' it's the end of the world, go nuts.
Surplus Imagination - MwahaMwahahahaha...ah, your reviews amuse me. Don't worry, I like to tease about killing people off, but I'd never do it just willy-nilly, that'd be stupid of me.
Brazen Hussy - Ah, no Merle in this chapter. I'm afraid. But he's in the next one and he's bad ass, so stick around.
GG - Yeah, Daryl just needs to see that he is actually the best thing in Carol's life right now (other than Little Asskicker). Because honestly, the man is adored and adores, you know he does.
Lilone1776 - I'm glad you thought the Sophia story was in character for Daryl. He doesn't talk much, so I was afraid to have such a long diatribe from him, but I tried to keep him in character, while having him tell his version of the story. Thanks for the review. It put my mind at rest.
AFishNamedSushi - I'd love to read a story you post. I'll most definitely review it too (though I suck at reviewing). And thanks for the props. I'm going to take those props and play Whose Line with them.
Axelrocks - Honeychild, I'm old enough to have seen both Boondock Saints in theatre...so I've actually seen Mr. Reedus' hinder on the big, big screen...and it was beautiful. (I love that we're talking asses back and forth, this pleases me). Anyways, you are always one of my favourite reviewers, so thanks and keep them coming! ^_^
I know, I know guys...this story is lacking Caryl...but I swear when all is said and done you'll be grateful you stuck around. I swear! ...all the damned time. (old jokes...oy)
Chapter Eighteen: Passe'
**The Lieutenant**
They had pulled the truck up beside an old custard coloured car, when Daryl cut the engine and hopped out.
Scrambling to follow, the Lieutenant studied the car's front windshield as Daryl studied the area for signs of his people.
There was white paint on the windshield that was weathered until it was nearly unreadable.
Curious, the Cajun leaned down to read it better, squinting at the print.
"Sophia stay here, we will come every day…" he read aloud, before realizing it was left for the little girl Daryl was talking about. He straightened up quickly and cast a glance at the redneck. They must have left it for the little girl.
Daryl eyed the car, blues eyes dancing over the hood, but avoiding the message on the windshield. "Someone was here," he said. "We had left some food on the hood there and it's gone. Not saying it was any of my people, but…" he looked around, heading for the railing that separated the highway from the ditch.
The Lieutenant followed quietly, hopping the railing as Daryl had, following in his footsteps. "Where we off to now, petit cabri?"
Stopping at the edge of the woods, Daryl looked one way down the long line of sentinel-like trees that paused at the edge of the ditch, then the other way, squinting in the harsh glare of the sunlight.
It had stopped raining and the Georgian skies decided to fill with deep indigo and fluffy white clouds that parted for the sun. It would have been a beautiful day if it wasn't for the uggies.
"There's this church nearby, could be they took shelter there…" Daryl muttered, heading for the woods.
Pulling his rifle off his shoulder, the Lieutenant followed, marvelling at how the scruffy man could just keep going and going. Holding his rifle in the sling ready position, the Cajun studied the woods around them as they stepped through the barrier of trees into the sylvan world.
He was reminded of Robert Frost.
"And miles to go before I sleep," he muttered softly.
"What?" Daryl snapped.
"I think it was bird." The Cajun replied quickly.
The petit cabri glanced over his shoulder quickly to give the Cajun soldier a hard glare, before they pushed through a crop of thorny bushes to reach the edge of a little creek bed.
On the other side of the creek an uggie waded absently through the water, moving towards no real end of its journey, just shuffling across the remnants of the American south in search of its next meal.
Taking a glance to ensure there was only one, Daryl shot the uggie and moved towards it to retrieve the bolt from its head.
Standing where they emerged from the underbrush, the Lieutenant watched as Daryl looked about at the woods surrounding them, before he moved back towards him.
"Come on," he said. "The church is just up the creek a ways."
..-~-..
..-~-..
Stepping into a boneyard, the Lieutenant shifted uncomfortably in the Georgian heat, though not by any effects of the sun. His mamere used to tell him that if one stumbled and fell in a boneyard, they would die within the year.
Since there were now approximately 300,000,000 ways a man could die these days, he was especially worried.
"Mind your step, Texian." He warned the gruff man ahead of him.
"Don't be an old woman," Daryl grunted, indicating that he too was raised on a few old world superstitions. That or he was just being his natural friendly self.
Making their way across the cemetery quickly (or in the Cajun's case, carefully), they were mindful of the surrounding woods and the silence. Crashes and snaps of twigs were good signs that something with no real sense left in them was heading through the woods for them.
Hopping up the steps into the church, Daryl searched the small building from top to bottom, while the Lieutenant stood guard at the door. Studying the long, open distance between the church and the forest, the Cajun tensed as something crashed into the cemetery clearing, followed by a lumbering mass of uggies.
He counted at least twenty of them, all chasing something small that was speeding its way towards the church.
"Cabri? We've got a minor problem!" He called into the church.
Daryl joined him at the door, just as the thing the uggies were chasing scooted between them, scrambling into the church.
The lumbering undead were tripping up among the headstones, a few of the luckier ones made it through.
Hurrying back inside, Daryl and the Lieutenant grabbed hold of whatever heavy items they could and barricaded the doors on the inside, hoping to hold up from the uggies long enough to form a plan.
They managed to drag a heavy pew across the doors just as the first of the uggies thumped against it angrily.
"Fucking assholes," Daryl muttered.
The Lieutenant was eyeing the thing that caused the whole mess.
It cowered under a nearby pew, shaking on stubby little legs, whimpering pathetically.
"What's the plan, Texian?" He asked, kneeling to inspect the dog that had brought hell upon them.
He wasn't really sure of breeds. Couldn't tell a beagle from a poodle, but whatever kind of dog it was seemed unscathed and had ears almost as long as it was tall. Reaching out, he stroked the dog's muzzle cautiously, worried that it may have been bit in a place that he didn't see. It looked young, maybe just out of the puppy age and came up to his mid-shin, maybe lower.
The thing nudged its nose into the palm of his hand. It was scared nearly to death.
"Wait it out maybe?"
"What if all their fussing and hollering draws more our way?" The Lieutenant asked, pushing to his feet. "We'd be sitting ducks. Naw, best to let me do my thing."
"Naw, gunfire will only get the same results."
The Lieutenant chuckled and dropped his heavy bag on the floor of the church. "I have more than one ace in my hand, couyon." Reaching into his bag he pulled out a couple of tins the size of chaw tins and held one up for the redneck to inspect. "Blue grease," he stated. "Before we left logistics in Albany they were passing this out like food stamps."
"What is it?"
"What isn't it? Highly stable, highly incendiary compound that turns any party into a hell bath." The Lieutenant stood up with a grin. "You're not attached to this building are you?"
"No."
"Well, I'm going to hell for a number of sins, the most recent being theft, I think I can handle burning a church…for the cause."
"Burn it? And how do you expect us to get out, dumb ass, there's no backdoor."
"But there are windows."
Daryl studied the gunk in his hand, then the windows. "What's the plan?"
Kneeling, the Lieutenant inspected the puppy dog a little more, before scooping it up and tucking it into his bag, swinging it onto his back.
"What are you doing?"
"Can't leave a man behind, Texian."
"That dog is going to get you killed," Daryl growled.
"Semper fi, petit cabri. I got a code to adhere to. Now, you find a window that's furthest from the door, I'm going to spread some of this goop around."
Sneering distastefully, Daryl moved off to peer out the windows, looking for an uggie free one near the back, while the Lieutenant knelt to spread some of the blue grease around the floor in front of the door and on the pile of detritus they had stacked up in against it with a scrap of cloth he tore off the bottom of his shirt.
In his pack the dog shifted, but was otherwise silent. It was probably scared so badly it was in shock.
Dragging some of the red carpet up to rest against the pile of crap, the Lieutenant smothered it in the blue grease as well, careful not to get any on his hands or his person. It was stable, but they had said back at logistics that once fire fell on it the crap burned like the fires of Hades.
They hadn't had a chance to use the blue grease yet and he wasn't sure just what it did, all the told him was that it burned and burned and burned, and not sand, nor water could extinguish the flame until it ran out of either oxygen or combustible materials. He didn't want to be the couyon who found out the hard way just how hard it was to extinguish.
Daryl dragged a pew over to the area just under the window he chose and stood on the armrest to peer out, giving the all clear to the Lieutenant who nodded.
"Alright," he said. "I'm going to set this stuff on fire, you break the window and make a run for it back to the highway."
"What about you?"
"I'll stay behind long enough to let the uggies in, make sure they're heading inside here and walking through the fire, then I'll be right behind you."
Daryl sneered. "Fuck you, Cajun. I'll be the bait."
"Fuck you back, couyon. I've got longer legs to make the dash faster. 'sides," he added with a smirk. "I kind of want to see how this stuff burns, I've been waiting months to use it."
"Fine," Daryl snarled. "But I'm waiting at the tree line for you. Running like a pussy wouldn't make me feel very comfortable in this situation."
"Your choice, I suppose. But if we get separated for any reason, we'll regroup at the highway, yeah?"
"Deal."
"Okay, then. Oorah, Texian."
"Whatever." The man grumbled, stalking over to his chosen window.
..-~-..
..-~-..
Waiting until he heard Daryl break the glass, the Lieutenant pulled some of the blockade away from the door, enough to give him some time, but also to allow the uggies to push open the door a bit.
He pulled out his matchbook and tore one off.
Striking the match, he inhaled to calm himself.
"Marie, jolie catin, give her hell, cher." He prayed softly to the Voodoo Queen, before flicking the match at the pile of junk in front of the door that the uggies were now pushing open even further.
The instant the flame licked at the blue grease covered pew near him, it went up, every inch coated with blue grease flared up, just as the first uggie pushed into the church through the door.
Nimbly, the Lieutenant dashed back, heading for the altar, leading the uggies deeper into the church after him.
The first five caught fire instantly as their feet dragged over the blue grease coated floor, their drying, decaying bodies going up like tinder.
Waiting calmly until a good amount of the things were inside, heading his way, he hopped over to the pew and leaping up, hopped onto the sill to perch, making sure the rest or a good amount of uggies were inside.
As the nearest uggie reached his location, he hopped out and down, landing on the grass and high tailing it for the woods, glancing over his shoulder to ensure he wasn't being followed.
So far so good.
Sliding to a halt on slippery leaves as Daryl suddenly appeared before him just inside the treeline, the Cajun chuckled. The redneck looked unimpressed, blue eyes narrowed, mouth drawn grimly.
"I'm not going to apologize," the Lieutenant bragged a little. "That plan was pretty cool."
"Come on," Daryl ordered.
"Never burned a church before…don't tell the Old Missy…"
..-~-..
..-~-..
Back at the truck, they regrouped mentally, changing their plans as the Lieutenant fed the dog some of his rations.
The thing looked like it had been through hell, a mud puddle, two briar patches and a whole mess of leaves as it still shook from fright, but it ate his rations hungrily, coughing as it ate too fast.
Daryl, looking at the map, sneered at it.
"It's a bad idea," he stated.
"Probably, but if it does get us in trouble, I'll take the teeth. Can't just leave the poor little thing out here with these monsters." Stroking the dog's head, the Lieutenant smiled. "I'm going to call him T-Bert."
"You're fucking naming it?" Daryl growled.
"Sure. Needs a name."
"I think you're living in la-la land, Fay. That thing is trouble."
"This thing is a dog and he's scared…and looks like my Uncle T-Bert."
"Well, sorry to disappoint you, Fay, but without balls I'd say T-Bert is a terrible name for a girl."
Leaning so that he could peer at where balls would be on a dog, the Lieutenant sighed. "Maybe he's sans balls, Texian."
"She doesn't look old enough for anyone to have the time to take her to a vet. I'd say your harem of women just grew by one, dumb ass."
Sticking out his chest a little affronted by the man's tone, the Lieutenant turned soft eyes on the dog. "Well, you're beautiful anyways, cher. I'm going to call you…" his mind drew a blank on a girl's name. "I'm going to call you something lovely when it comes to me."
"Come on, we'll head up to the farm to check for them there. Then we'll go back to the convent."
The Cajun Dialect
Passe' – Go away, dog!
Detritus – Trash, garbage (this is actually a common word in English as well, but I did want to point out that Cajun's use it almost exclusively to mean garbage, trash and junk).
Jolie Catin – Pretty whore (Catin is actually a term of endearment in Cajun, despite it meaning whore in French, Cajuns often successfully refer to wives and girlfriends as 'jolie catin's' without getting their asses whooped).