peonies01 - Aw, the Lt. is oddly much beloved by people. Honestly wasn't expecting so much love for an OC.
Laura - Haha! I know, they're more alike then either would ever admit...well the Lt. would probably admit it, but only to torment Daryl.
Brooklyn'sRoisinDubh - The Lt. is a fairly easy going man, isn't he?
itsi3 - Aw, it's sweet that you get so involved with the OC. ^_^
Brazen Hussy - Bwahahahaha B'wana Beast! But how can you feel that way? His helmet is FAB-U-LOUS! Ah, fellow comic book geeks please me, especially DC fans.
HGRHfan35 - Well, if the acid in the stomach actually leaks into the chest cavity, then yes a stomach wound can be a huge fucking bitch and basically deadly without proper medical care. (Did her research). *smug mode*
MollyMayhem84 - Oh, believe me, I'm working on getting Andrea bumped off...bitches days are coming to an end soon.
Merle's Right Hand - Hey, babes, you know I have nothing interesting to say really. But I adore you. If I could be kick ass like you, my life would be boss. That is all.
Lilone1776 - God, character deaths are horrid little shits, aren't they? Like a bird crapping on a Buick Riviera, it's gotta be illegal to kill beloved characters.
Ms Q - The world of TWD is a hard one, isn't it? People die so casually and you never get proper time to grieve. Well, let's hope no one you love dies in this story.
ldyjaydin - Walkers can smell blood like hounds, can't they? Poor guys are going to be facing shit all around them.
GG - It's shockingly true though. I speak Quebecois French because it's what I grew up with in Canada, but when you hear people speaking Parisian French it kind of shocks you. They sound so similar, but the words hold different meanings. For example in Cajun French you'd say 'foutre' if you stubbed your toe, in Quebecois it'd be 'tabernacle'...yes, the swears are basically my extent of knowledge when it comes to French. ^_^
SilverWolf84 - Thank you. I hope you don't hate me when I kill some people...
Surplus Imagination - Fay is a soldier, he's probably used to sacrificing himself for others. But yeah, he does seem to be intent on dying, doesn't he?
Supfan - Thank you! ^_^ I appreciate all the support you've given me through kind reviews.
Aphrodite2 - Geez, sorry about that wasted day. I often feel that way when I sit down to write a chapter and one chapter becomes three and I've gotten nothing done. I'm glad you at least think the wasted day was worth it. ^_^ Thanks a lot for your review! It means the world to me.
rosesoul - I shall try to write as much and as often as possible. But thanks for the review. I love each and every one I get.
Axelrocks - Yeah, that Governor asshole needs to die soon, don't he? ^_^
Anyways, I may have some hate mail coming my way after this chapter...please be kind in your death threats at least.
Chapter Seventy-Five: Defan
**Daryl**
Under the Kevlar vest Daryl's shirt was soaked with blood and it clung to him in a sticky sheet of gore.
He was losing too much blood, too fast and it was beginning to take its toll on his ability to function properly.
Kneeling he stooped over to vomit up onto the forest floor, before his forced himself to press on, his trembling legs threatening to give out on him.
Cursing their decision to hunt far to the north, he paused against a tree, holding himself up with difficulty, his vision focusing then blurring as the trees began to dance around on him, the forest floor rolling and bumping.
Taking a step away from the tree, he staggered and collapsed into a heap, curling up in a fetal position to fight off the chill that was creeping up on him.
He should have known this was going to happen. Like he'd be lucky enough to have an easy, happy life, like hope would give him one fucking break.
"Get up," he ordered himself. "Get up."
Staggering to his feet, he stumbled and fell, but got up again, fighting the dancing trees to get his bearings.
He didn't even hear it until it was upon him, all gnashing teeth and clawing hands.
..-~-..
..-~-..
**The Lieutenant**
"Do you know why you're here?"
Blinking awake into a blurry, dim world, the Lieutenant spied a form hovering over him, offset by the white ceiling.
Struggling to focus, to comprehend where he was, the man blinked rapidly.
His head felt like someone slammed it hard with a scoop shovel, his shoulder burned white hot fire and he couldn't be entirely sure, but it felt like one of his ribs was broken.
Of course, he wouldn't know, because he had been strapped down so tightly to the table he was lying on that he could barely breathe.
The man standing over him smiled. It seemed insincere and fake.
"Hello there," the man began again. "Do you know why you're here?"
Smacking his cottony mouth, the Lieutenant coughed, feeling the blood in his head throb in his veins.
"I shot your men," he finally said.
"Yes." The man returned, still smiling his crocodile grin. "Yes you did."
"They fired first," he muttered.
"Did they?" Taking a seat at his bedside, the man sighed. "This isn't the wild west," he went on. "You can't shoot people without repercussions."
"It was self-defence."
"Well since you're the last man standing I guess we'll never know. The fact of the matter is you're about to face your judge, jury and executioner."
"Speaking of the wild west," the Lieutenant said.
The man chuckled. "Welcome to Woodbury, soldier, they call me the Governor."
"That's one hell of a name," the Lieutenant replied. "Your daddy hate you or something?"
Reaching up the man turned an overhead light on the Cajun, blasting his sensitive eyes cruelly.
"No, nothing like that." The Governor said. "See, the people here seem to think I'm the right man to lead them. They kind of look up to me."
"That explains why you're my judge, jury and executioner, then."
"Hate to do it, but fair is fair. But don't worry, every man has his day in court here."
"No offence to your wild west justice, Texian, but there's a reason you're keeping me alive long enough to give me the glare down, yeah?" The Lieutenant asked.
The man nodded. "You're a sharp man. Lieutenant, is it?"
"Yeah."
"Well, Lieutenant, I just need a little bit of information from you before your day in court."
"You have my complete attention, bibitte tête."
"If you're from this area, you must have been by the prison just over yonder, am I right?"
"Sure, big place, good hunting north of her."
"You know the group living there?"
"I knew a group was living there, but I kept my distance from them. Learned the hard way how people have become since the world went to shit."
"You know anything about where they went? See anything? Find anything interesting?" The Governor asked, pulling out a pair of scissors from a drawer nearby.
The Lieutenant eyed them cautiously, breathing only once the man pulled out some fine fishing line and a set of medical needles.
"Mais, not really. I've had my head buried in the proverbial sand since last fall, but I figured something was up when the game around there got thicker for the picking."
Easing up beside him, the Governor smiled. "So," he began casually, "it's just you? One lowly soldier on his own? Hell of an army we have remaining."
Remembering the horror stories Merle had told him of the Governor's love for military rations and weapons, the Lieutenant tilted his head. "My platoon slowly dried up during the fall until it was just me and the uggies." He winced as the man stuck the needle into his arm to begin sewing up his wound. "Course by the looks of your men, there isn't much military training among them. Boy had his barrel to my head like he was in a Tarantino film."
"Well, all my best men got killed by the prison group," the man said. "We had to recruit a few of the…less capable men around here."
"Like a teenage boy? What is he? Fourteen? Sixteen?"
"Noah's eighteen, I believe."
"Bet his mama isn't happy with the new arrangement."
"She'll get over it. We all have to pull our weight these days."
"Amen to that."
The two men were silent, Lafayette struggling to come up with a plan, any plan, of escape.
"So, how do you do it here? Firing squad? Feed me to the uggies at the gate? Appease your pagan God by burning me alive in a wickerman?" The Lieutenant asked.
The Governor smiled almost serenely at his work. "Oh, don't worry about that yet. You still have a trial to live through." After a long pause, the man looked up from his work with his remaining blue eye. "You're not…with the prison group, are you?"
"See, that's an unfair question, bibitte tête," the Lieutenant said. "I answer you honestly, you'll stab me with those scissors, I answer you falsely and you'll do the same. There won't be a trial, there won't be a firing squad, just you and a pair if itty bitty scissors."
"Then there's no harm in giving me the truth," the man said with a smile. "Because either way you're going to lose, you may as well help me take down a group of terrorists first."
"Will that get me into heaven? I really want to go there." The Lieutenant returned. "You make my death fast and I'll tell you the honest-to-God's truth."
"I promise," the Governor said. "You tell me the truth and I'll let it be swift and relatively painless."
A lifetime he would never live passed through the Lieutenant's mind. Summers spent with Grace under the peach tree, Annie growing up, demanding to be called Anne as it was much more mature sounding, her finding her first love and losing it just as quickly.
"You seem like a good, honest man," the Lieutenant said softly.
"I try to be."
Inhaling deeply, the Cajun nodded. "Yeah, don't we all." Swallowing the fear of death back, the Lieutenant sighed. "Will you promise to do me a favour when I'm dead?" He asked.
"I promise."
"Take my dog tags and give them to my little girl?"
"I thought you were alone."
"I lied. Sorry."
"Where's your little girl, Lieutenant?"
"A few months ago the remains of my platoon holed up in this mall nearby, just the four of us and their families. I want you to promise me you'll get my dog tags back to my little girl there. It's the Westgate Mall, just off the highway."
"I know the mall, I promise I'll get word back to your people."
Feeling tears prick his eyes, the Lieutenant swallowed again, thickly. "Tell her that I love her more than I love anything, you tell her that, yeah? That she's the smartest, prettiest girl in the world and no man will ever be good enough for her."
"I will."
"And you tell my wife that I never got around to telling her how much life she breathed back into me. That she's the one thing in this world that gave me pure joy."
"I'll make sure your people get taken care of properly," the Governor said. "Don't worry. It'll all be over soon."
"I don't know nothing about your prison group," the Lieutenant went on. "But I can tell you that a few days ago a couple of people came to join us at the mall, they wouldn't say where they came from, just that they were tired and hungry. If they're terrorists, maybe you could at least save my people from them. Maybe I can make myself useful, at least, for my family's sake."
Nodding, the Governor stood up. "I hope we can get to your people in time to save them," he said.
..-~-..
..-~-..
**The Governor**
Stepping out of the clinic, he wiped the blood off his hands onto a handkerchief and jangled the dog tags in his other hand, before tossing them down the corridor as far as he could fling them.
Noah eyed him from beside the door quietly.
"Don't let anyone inside until Shumpert and I get back. When he turns, put him into the holding cells with the others."
"Is he dead?" Noah asked.
Turning to face the boy, the Governor smiled broadly. "He's a terrorist, son, don't worry about him. You just watch the door, keep it locked until we return, that's all you have to do."
"Yes, sir."
"Noah, I'm going to need you to follow these orders," the man said, clamping his hand on the boy's shoulder. "We're depending on you to keep Woodbury safe."
"I promise, sir."
The Governor beamed at him. "Good boy, you wait here and we'll be back as soon as we can." He started walking away, before stopping and turning back to face the young man. "Want anything from the mall, son?"
..-~-..
..-~-..
**Little Missy**
Playing under the shade of the walnut tree, pushing her doll on the swing, Annie hummed to herself, purposely ignoring the chalkboard beneath the tree.
She was supposed to be practicing spelling, but she didn't want to, so she wasn't. If Mother Mena got mad, well the worst the woman seemed to do was huff and puff like the old wolf in the three little pig's story and that wasn't at all scary.
"Get help," someone croaked from beyond the nearby wall.
Wandering over to the wall carefully, Annie eyed it.
"Who's there?" She cooed.
"Get help," the person replied again softly.
"Why?"
"I can't move."
"Mr. Daryl?"
"Get help, Annie."
"Okay!" Turning from the wall, Annie looked for whomever was closest, coming up with Father O'Rourke on the wall heading their way.
"Father O'Rourke!" She screamed, racing for him. "Father O'Rourke! Father O'Rourke!"
He knelt on the wall. "What is it, sweetheart?"
"Mr. Daryl says he needs help!"
Standing the man looked about. "Where is he?"
"He's in the wall! Over here!" She raced back to the wall by the walnut tree, pointing the whole time in the direction.
Father O'Rourke followed her on the way patiently.
"There! He's in there!" She pointed to the area where Mr. Daryl was talking to her from.
As the man approached on the top of the wall, his face shifted from mildly curious to absolute horror.
"Jesus," he whispered, crossing himself, before hopping off the wall out of sight.
Annie hopped up and down, trying to see what was happening on the other side.
"What's going on?" She asked. "Father O'Rourke? What is it? Father O'Rourke?"
Scrambling up the walnut tree, scraping her hands and knees in the process, Annie climbed high enough to find Father O'Rourke already scurrying away from the wall, Mr. Daryl pressed limply against him.
"I need help!" Father O'Rourke shouted over the wall.
Seeing no one nearby, Annie slipped down from the tree again and rushed off with Boo at her heels. Mother Mena would know what to do or Carol.
She turned the corner of the church and nearly collided with Mr. Rick who was doing that staring thing he sometimes did.
Grabbing hold of his hand, Annie tugged it. "Mr. Rick! Mr. Rick! Mr. Daryl was inside the wall and he said he needed help and then Father O'Rourke said he needed help too!"
The man frowned down at her, before rushing off in the direction of the gate, leaving Annie to continue onwards, racing to get everyone she could. The more hands, the more help.
"Ms. Sasha!" She shouted to the woman on the wall. "Mr. Daryl was in the wall and now Father O'Rourke needs help too!"
Skidding to a halt at the edge of the garden, knowing how Mother Mena would huff and puff if she stepped one foot into it, Annie waved her arms and hopped up and down to get attention. "Mother Mena!" She shouted. "Carol! Mr. Daryl was in the wall and needs help!" She screamed.
All the women weeding the garden looked over and up at her.
"What?" Mother Mena asked.
"Mr. Daryl was in the wall and then he needed help and now Father O'Rourke needs help too!" She repeated. "And Mr. Rick and Ms. Sasha are going to help too, but they probably need help!"
There was a small beat of time that passed, before Mother Mena and the other women in the garden dropped what they were doing and raced for the gate.
Annie carried on, passing Mr. Merle and Mr. Milton who were fighting over how to fix the hand wringer.
"Mr. Merle! Mr. Milton! Mr. Daryl was in the wall and needs help!" She screamed on her way past, heading for the infirmary where Ms. Michonne and Ms. Andrea usually spent their days.
Bursting into the infirmary, she collided with Ms. Michonne.
"Mr. Daryl was in the wall and needs help!" She exclaimed.
The woman frowned at Annie, but the little girl was already on her way out, heading for the gate.
She staggered backwards onto her rear inside the infirmary when she came face to face with a very bloody Mr. Daryl being held up by several people.
Annie eyed the blood quietly from where she sat on the floor by the door, watching silently as the procession passed her by.
"Were you bit?" Mr. Rick demanded.
"Where's the Lieutenant?" Mr. Tyreese asked.
Annie was suddenly scared and looked around for someone to keep her safe.
A strong arm wrapped itself around her middle and picked her up off the ground.
"What type blood is he?" Mr. Herschel demanded, limping towards the group as they headed into the infirmary.
"Don't know," Mr. Merle replied, still holding Annie off the ground with his good arm.
"We need a type O negative," Mr. Milton stated. "Is someone type O negative?"
"He's lost so much blood," someone muttered.
"I'm type O negative," Sister Mary Elizabeth said.
Squirming in his arm, Annie turned to bury her face against Mr. Merle's neck, crying softly, eyes still on Mr. Daryl's bloody body.
"Where's Lafayette?" Mother Mena asked.
"They have him," Mr. Daryl muttered. "He'll lead them to the mall, you have to get there."
"What do you mean have him?" Mother Mena demanded.
There was no response.
"Can I get some damned room?!" Mr. Herschel snarled. "Get that woman prepped for blood!" He snapped to Mr. Milton who nodded quietly and began to tend to Sister Mary Elizabeth as Mr. Merle took Annie away from the infirmary.
She kept her eyes on Mr. Daryl's pale face until the very last, wanting to remember him the way she remembered her mommy. The Lieutenant would make everything better when he got back, he'd hold her and save Mr. Daryl and no one would be sad.
The Cajun Dialect
Defan – Saintly departed. Deceased.
Bibitte tête – Dick head (basically)