sammipoop - You're too kind. And sweet. Thanks. I hope I continue to give you joy at least once every three or four days. ^_^
LampPostInWinter - I know, it shocked me too. Apparently there's this whole video they make you watch in Health Class...and ugh...XD Thanks for the review!
skittletitz - Anything that unnerves the un-nervable is okay by me too. (un-nervable isn't a word, don't try to use it seriously...XD)
Surplus Imagination - Michonne in my story is still coming around to the others...I think once she settles in I may have time to develop her better. I agree with you though, the writer's didn't do much with her once they brought her in. I think it was just to appease the 'there's no strong female character' nagging types. To be honest, though, I'm not a huge Michonne fan. The writer's made her too bad ass, it's almost to the point of being unbelievable. But then again if they developed her better it might not be...whatever I'm ranting. Apologies all around. ^_^
Lilone1776 - I am hoping to give the Lt. and Michonne more interactions, but it's so hard with so much going on for him to have a good rapport built up with everyone. I do enjoy the thought of them making some kind of connection...
Brazen Hussy - No kidding! I'm working on building her up a little. Again, it's hard with so much going on. But I think there's a really kind side to her that can come out eventually.
GG - It's funny you mention preserving the meat. The topic comes up in this chapter...I like the idea of self sustaining communities (it comes from being raised on a farm, I suppose). So I have been researching several good ways of preserving food for them to set up. Also, the red thing will be passed around for a bit...don't worry we haven't seen the last of it. XD
HistoryBuff101 - ^_^ You can half now and half later. Ha! Thanks for the review!
Axelrocks - I like to think the Old Missy went beet red from the tips of her toes to the roots of her hair. Then got mad...^_^ Anyways, you'll see soon enough just how irked she gets.
TwilightEclps - Thanks for the review! Reviews like yours keep me going!
AFishNamedSushi - Haha! I'd be tempted, but I'm not sure how one would even get Merle into that thing...it'd be much too small and he'd put up a good fight...like trying to give a cat a bath...
MollyMayhem84 - I know. I hated Carl in the first two seasons, the little ass basically got Dale killed (well, not really but kind of)...but this season he's seemed to have finally got some sense in him. I actually don't mind him this go around.
Hey, just want to thank all the reviewers and readers of this story. You cats are classy as all hell. But seriously, I wish nothing but good things for you and yours, because you're all beautiful people.
Chapter Thirty-Three: Déchirer
**Merle**
The skies had finally cracked open that night, sending a torrent of water down on the earth, lashes of lightening snapping and cracking across the night sky like the ends of a whip.
Sitting in the corner of the garden shed where he made a little nest for himself, Merle struggled to learn how to tie his boots himself with one hand. He had just left them untied when he couldn't find someone to help him, but he figured he'd eventually need to learn how to do it himself. It wasn't something he needed to concern himself with before, but now he had the time he figured it couldn't hurt to practice.
The door to the shed cracked open and the Lieutenant entered from his turn on the wall, his entire uniform soaked through.
"I feel a cold coming on, goddamned Georgian weather." The man complained, setting his rifle beside the door to shed his jacket and shirt to wring them out. "Catch the death of me."
Eyeing the man with a small glower, Merle continued working on his boot laces. "You bitch like a woman." He pointed out.
Draping his wet clothing on the shelves to dry, the Cajun placed his hand on his hip for a moment.
Wondering what the hell the man was so deep in thought over, Merle looked up.
Hell, the soldier was scrawnier than he thought; the uniform jacket must have made him look a lot brawnier than he was. But then again the dumb assed Cajun was the only one among them who found Georgia cold enough that he always wore layers.
Standing in the middle of the room shaking due to the cold, the Lieutenant shook the water out of his hair, before stooping down to dig through his pack for a dry shirt.
A dark patch on the man's trim stomach, just to the left of his belly button caught Merle's attention.
"You inked, Cajun?" Merle demanded gruffly, mildly shocked. The man didn't seem the type.
"Why, Merle, are you eyeing me when I'm indecent?" The other man taunted, moving towards his cot, dry shirt in hand.
"Trying to figure out where you put all that food you eat."
"You mean that venison that I caught?" The Cajun declared proudly.
"Are you ever going to shut up about that?"
Tugging the shirt on with a shake of his head, the Lieutenant eased onto his bed. "Naw, that was a year maker there."
"You know if you dug a cold pit root cellar here, we wouldn't have to eat all that meat up." Merle went back to working on his laces.
"Wasn't much left to eat anyways, not after all mouths were fed," the Lieutenant replied, resting his back against the wall behind him. "And what is left will make a good leftover breakfast for when Rick and them return. I'm sure they'll be hungry."
"But we could catch more, stock up for the leaner months." Merle pointed out. "Cold pit cellars…maybe construct a small building to cure the meat in…"
Scooping up a magazine, the Cajun prepared to settle in for the night with it by the light of the votive on the frame brace two by four at his head. "Alright, Texian, when this is all over and done you and I'll work on getting some of this up and running, I'm sure the sisters will go along with the plans. They have been worried about not being able to find canning supplies in a few more years. Glass lid jars are practically extinct and the lids we have been finding are fewer and further between."
Rapid knocks on the door had the Cajun bouncing off the bed and dashing to the door to open it.
From where he sat Merle could see the Mother Superior standing there in the rain, holding a soaking, red piece of lady's intimate apparel on a heavy duty looking wooden spoon in front of her.
"I suppose you think this is funny, Lieutenant?" The Mother Superior demanded.
Chuckling, the Cajun backed away from the door to let her inside before she got chilled in the cold rain. "I have no idea what you mean, cher." He replied. "Must be the devil's work, because you claimed to have burned that, didn't you?"
Quick as a viper she dropped the red thing onto the floor of the garden shed and snapped the spoon across the knuckles of the hand that held the magazine the man was holding.
"You're a wicked dog," the woman stated firmly. "The note was in that half English-half illegible chicken scrawl of yours."
Sucking air through his teeth, the Cajun dropped the magazine and shook his wounded hand. "Ah, foutre!"
Brandishing the spoon, the woman scowled. "That had better not be foul language coming out of your mouth!"
"No," the Lieutenant grunted, his voice strained, holding his hand. "It was a prayer for my hand."
In the corner of the garden shed Merle was laughing so hard he was coughing at the man being victimized.
Pointing the spoon sternly at Merle the woman shut him up with an acidic look, before pointing to the wet pile of red on the ground. "Burn that thing tomorrow, Lieutenant." She ordered.
The soldier nodded, still nursing his hand, curling in on himself.
Waiting until the woman slammed the door to the shed, the Cajun let loose a bilingual stream of profanities that would make a sailor blue in the face.
Merle began laughing at him again, this time softer.
"It's not funny, couyon," the Cajun snarled, holding up his assaulted hand to show three of the knuckles on his left hand were split open and trailing blood. "That was my trigger finger that took the brunt."
"Well, that'll teach you to mess with her," Merle stated. "Shouldn't be fooling around with that thing anyways," he went on.
Toeing the scrap of red lace, the Cajun kicked it in Merle's direction. "Have at her, Texian."
Shaking out the lingerie, Merle smiled at it. "We should do something interesting with this."
"You're not going to wear it, are you?" The Lieutenant grumbled, easing onto his cot to tend to his bloody knuckles. "Because I like you, but not in that way."
"Shut up, dummy." Merle snapped. "No, we should—"
"Lieutenant!" Sister Mary Claire burst into the garden shed. "Sister Joan wants to see you on the wall!"
Merle stood up with the Cajun, tossing the red scrap of cloth aside as the soldier got the candles, blowing them out quickly in the event of disaster. Both men moved to the door, dashing outside into the rain behind Sister Mary Claire.
They raced across the grounds, heading for the north wall, mounting it to stand beside Sister Joan who was pointing into the distance.
Through the haze of the rain they could make out forms, at first only a small handful, but the numbers grew.
Merle was confused at first, as more biters seemed to seep out of the woods onto the road that lead to the main highway.
"What are they doing?" Sister Mary Claire could barely be heard over the noise of the rain.
Sneering at the dumb bastards who seemed to be moving into the open just to stand in the rain, Merle frowned. "Where are they coming from?"
"Sister Mary Claire you take Sister Joan and get everyone armed and in the church, I want half the able bodies out here with us, half with the others in the church. Nobody goes anywhere without a partner, yeah? Get someone into the infirmary to watch over Andrea, but keep the doors barricaded." The Cajun commanded.
"Yes, Lieutenant."
"Hit up the men at the gates, tell them to keep clear of the bars, but stay at the gate. Anything happens, head for shelter, but don't make a sound. It'll only attract more of them your way, yeah?"
The nun nodded.
"Alright, go!"
Merle didn't once take his eyes off the biters that were coming out of the woodwork, not daring to.
"You ever see a group this big?" Merle demanded.
"Yeah," the Lieutenant replied. "They tore apart a squad of Marines in twenty seconds flat."
Due to the rain Merle could do a decent head count of the biters who were gathering, there could have been twenty, there could have been a hundred of them hiding in the mists of the rain.
"Okay, we better get down from the wall before they see us." The Cajun muttered, sliding down off the wall, safely on the inside.
Merle followed.
The two men stepped back from the wall as though expecting a barrage of the assholes to suddenly pour over onto them.
Nothing came.
A small handful of people moved to stand behind the Lieutenant, armed with what they could find.
"Alright, we're going to pull it in. Head off for the church, keep our heads down until morning. Can't see anything in the dark with all this rain no point in bothering, we'll only get our asses handed to us. I want two or three of you to head to the infirmary. Barricade yourselves in, keep it quiet and keep it subtle. Merle, you're with me. We'll pull the gatekeepers in, before heading for the church."
Taking note of who went where, Merle watched Carol and Carl duck off for the infirmary to barricade and protect Andrea and who he assumed would be Michonne, before the others scurried back to the church with their weapons.
The Cajun darted ahead of him, quiet as a rabbit in the night, keeping to the shadows of the wall, but far enough from it that if something somehow found its way over the top, there would be time to put it down.
Reaching Father O'Rourke at the front gate who was watching the world beyond it from a safe hiding spot just to the right of the gate, the Cajun motioned to the church and he nodded, but took off in the direction of the space between the side of the church and the back gate.
Merle and the Cajun followed the priest halfway, still hugging the wall as close as they dared, struggling to see through the rain.
Catching a glimpse of the priest getting Sister Mary Agnes from her spot at the back gate, they watched until the two ducked into the church, before giving the front gate one last look and following.
Inside the church the Cajun did a head count, thirteen of them inside the church, four in the infirmary, leaving the only ones missing - the six who went to the prison. Everyone was accounted for.
Pulling pews to barricade the main doors and the side door, the group huddled in the middle of the church, while the Lieutenant made a motion up to Sister Joan and Father O'Rourke, before motioning for Merle to stay with the others.
Merle nodded, watching the three others go through a small door and up a set of narrow, spiral stairs.
Well, shit, he didn't want to be waiting around all night to find out if he was going to be a biter burrito or not.
Slumping onto a nearby pew beside Beth, Merle eyed the young blonde and the baby she held tightly.
"What if she cries? I left her formula in the kitchens." Beth asked softly.
"She won't cry," Merle replied. "If she does we'll just have to snap her neck."
Across from them on another pew, Herschel frowned. "That ain't funny, son."
"It is to me," Merle replied. "Like I give a good goddamned about Officer Friendly's little brat. Won't be pulling him any favours any time soon."
Chuckling as Beth moved away from him, Merle put his feet up on the spot she vacated and grinned. Noticing Mother Mena a few feet from him, cupping her hand over Annie protectively, Merle spied a look of extreme disapproval in her eyes and shifted, before dropping his feet.
He was going to go stir crazy sitting in a goddamned church with a bunch of assholes and Catholics. Damned brother of his left him with the feeble and the old when he could have been out there with them poking around and whipping ass.
Pushing to his feet, Merle decided to pace the floor, it was better than just sitting around waiting.
He moved from one end of the church and back again.
Sister Joan raced down from what he assumed was the bell tower, face wan. "A couple of skinnies got in through the bars in the back gate." She explained softly, afraid of being too loud. "Only two of them, but be alerted that there are abominations inside the walls. The Lieutenant says to stay inside and stay quiet. We have to wait until morning to see the extent of the group, but he says we'll be fine if we stay quiet."
Nodding to the nun who hurried back past him, Merle eyed those he was left with, before sighing. "Okay, everyone get down and get away from the windows." He commanded.
At first he received blank stares, before they quickly and quietly obeyed him, moving to the centre aisle of the church to huddle together.
Fuck, they left him with a baby and a goddamned dog, either one of them could make a noise at any time.
Running a hand over his face, he moved in to sit close, but not with the group.
Drawing his knees up he noticed that his fucking boots were still untied and set about practicing tying them one handed.
May as well do something while he was waiting.
Overhead a gunshot popped, followed by another and soon rapid fire was coming from the bell tower. The Cajun would only open fire under one circumstance.
Merle eyed the ceiling over his head, thinking if he stared hard enough he could see the Cajun and the others up there. "The biters have broken the gate," he stated calmly, knowing that the rusty old back gate was the weakest part of the convent wall. "They're coming in."
The Cajun Dialect
Déchirer – To tear up into shreds or pieces.