I'm going to keep this short (so many lovely reviews again). Let me just say to all my readers, reviewers, followers and those who have put this story in my favourites, if it wasn't for you supporting this story it wouldn't have gone beyond the first two or three chapters. You've all be very wonderful, lovely people and I want to thank you from the very bottom of my squidgy little heart.
(P.S. - Brazen Hussy - probably one of my most favourite bits from the Monty Python movies was the 'bring out your dead' bit, right after the UFO/You lucky bastard scene in Life of Brian.)
Chapter Seventy-Seven: Avalasse
**Merle**
"The Governor has eight men who are like his dogs at his beck and call," he said as they tore down the highway in one of the trucks, crammed together in the cab, Carol between Merle and Michonne. "Martinez, Shumpert, Clarence, Justin, Pascal, Sharon, Miller and Novak" he listed them off. "If ol' Phil hasn't left for the mall, these are the men you need to watch out for."
"One woman," Michonne purred.
"Novak has tits too, calm yours down," Merle growled.
"What kind of guns can we expect on the wall?" Carol asked.
"Depends, if Phil took the bait and left, if the Lieutenant had time to give him the bait before they dumped him, then we can assume that—"
"Dumped him?" Carol asked. "You don't think he's alive."
"No. Phil'll be over cautious now, he won't risk another 'terrorist' infiltration, plus the man's mad as a coonhound foaming at the mouth." Merle glanced over at her from his seat on the passenger's side. "Sorry if that isn't what you want to hear."
"Then why are we going if you think he's dead?" Michonne asked.
"Because while I think there's a good chance he's dead, I'm not one to underestimate the crafty nature of a coonass," Merle replied. "Might be dead, might not be dead. Couldn't hurt to poke around for him, least we can do is drag his corpse home to his nun."
"Never took you for a romantic, Merle," Michonne growled.
The man beamed at them. "During times of war a man's heart always seeks out the promise of a happy ending and this time I ain't talking about the one that comes at the end of a twenty dollar rub down."
"That could have been such a nice sentiment to take with me to the grave," Michonne replied.
"Nah," Merle grunted. "Today isn't your day, brown sugar. We'll all get back home before dark."
"Never took you for an optimist, Merle," Carol said softly.
The older Dixon brother eyed her quietly for the longest time, before growling. "Ain't no one dying today, but the Governor and his boys."
Carol turned her shining, wide eyes on him and he sneered a little in response, because it wasn't fear or pity or even rejection he saw in her eyes, but that same glimmer she looked at his baby brother with.
Merle wasn't sure how he felt being held up in the light like some kind of shining do-gooder. It may have been his baby brother's gig to play, but he didn't like being relied on so heavily.
So he grunted, clearing his throat and turned to face the window. "You two drive a bullet into any asshole who comes at you with a gun," he said. "And if you come across any booze at Woodbury, it's got property of Merle Dixon stamped on it's ass end."
At the end of the day, if he was still alive, he was going to get shitfaced drunk and make a pass at anything with curves just to prove to himself that he wasn't a little fucking punk assed bitch like Daryl.
Fucking hot dog lying in that bed.
"Jesus," he cursed, not so much angry at his brother, but angry at the situation.
..-~-..
..-~-..
**Carl**
His father left him in charge.
A pat on his head, a quick 'take care of your sister' and he was gone.
Despite his protests that he could help, despite everything he had proved to his dad about being capable, he was still stuck behind to watch over the others like some shepherd watching over a flock of sheep.
Pacing on the wall, rejected and pissed off, Carl eyed the surrounding woods, glaring at them.
Glancing down the wall toward the corner where Sister Joan was standing, Carl scuffed his shoe against the stone of the wall. If no one came back, they'd be fine, he'd take over from his dad. Maybe that was why he had been left behind.
He took a quick look towards the infirmary where Sister Mary Claire was scurrying back towards the campfire for more hot water and clean linens for bandages, Carl winced at the blood on her hands.
Watching the woman as she quickly gripped the kettle and a new batch of linens, he breathed easy as she hurried back towards the infirmary.
Daryl was still alive, but Herschel was still in surgery with him.
Carl didn't know how much blood a person could lose before they died, but Daryl had lost a lot apparently and Sister Mary Elizabeth was on standby to donate what little more she could give in the event they needed it.
At the gate Father O'Rourke stood with Sister Mary Agnes passing near on the wall and Carl sighed.
The only people he hadn't seen for a while was Grace, his sister, Annie and Andrea, everyone else was pulling wall duty or helping with the surgery.
He assumed Andrea was sitting with Grace, keeping her company as the woman watched over Judith and Annie in Carol's absence.
..-~-..
..-~-..
**Noah**
His head was throbbing and he felt dizzy, but it wasn't until he was halfway to fetching his mother that he faltered.
Maybe he shouldn't.
The Governor intended the Marine to die, if he returned and found him still alive, he didn't know what would happen, but this was the first time he was entrusted with a rifle and placed with the men.
Noah's feet stopped their hectic pace at the edge of the sidewalk, the toes of his dirty sneakers peeking over the edge.
He glanced over at the wall, holding the back of his head where the lump he got from the counter was forming.
The men and women on the wall, at the gate, they were held in such honourable positions at Woodbury and he thought for a moment how cool it'd be to be one of those men. Protecting Woodbury.
He always wanted to join the army as a boy, but his asthma put a kink in all of his dreams. He couldn't play sports like the other kids without needing to stop now and then for a huff from his inhaler, it got to the point where the coach strongly advised his mother that maybe sports wasn't for her son.
And his mother, the ever cautious, protective woman that she was, listened.
But things were different.
Thinking of the army, Noah envisioned the Marine on the table in the clinic, dying from a pair of scissors to his throat and took a step off the sidewalk, heading for his mother once more.
He didn't like to think of it as going to mommy for help, but she'd know best what to do.
God help anyone who accused him of that.
Bursting into the old laundry mat where a few of the others were doing laundry on machines hooked up to the Woodbury generators, he paused to take in the eyes that looked up at him in shock, forcing himself to calm down, marching towards his mom.
"Noah?" She said. "I thought you were watching the prisoner."
He glanced about, a few of the Woodbury residents seemed interested in their conversation, so he grabbed gentle hold of his mom, tugging her out into the street with him, her basket of laundry still in hand.
"Noah?" She protested.
"Mom," he said. "You have to help me."
"Do what?" She demanded. "Stop pulling me."
He released her. "Just come with me, okay?"
Frowning, she nodded, setting her laundry basket down on the street and hurrying after him.
Eyeing the two at the gate, Noah made sure they were still looking outwards for oncoming threats, ushering his mother into the clinic and racing down the hall towards the room with the Marine.
Stepping aside, he presented the soldier to her nervously.
The man was breathing, but they were ragged and erratic breaths, blood still trickling out of his throat wound, around the scissors.
"Jesus," his mother muttered, hand to her mouth. "Who did this?"
"The Governor, he just…he left him like this, mom. What do we do?"
Stepping towards the man on the table, Karen touched a hand to his bare stomach gently, feeling it rise beneath her touch. "Go get Barbara Douglas."
"Mom she's, like, eighty."
"And she was an ER nurse for forty of those eighty years, go!" His mother ordered.
Nodding, Noah turned and raced off again. He didn't know where he'd find Mrs. Douglas, but he knew where to start looking. She liked to feed the birds behind the old town hall sometimes, even though no one liked that she did that as the birds shit everywhere.
..-~-..
..-~-..
**Rick**
There would be no pre-war speeches.
He wasn't Patton and the Governor most certainly wasn't going to get the dignity of being referred to as a war criminal.
The man was a beast, an animal, basically he was an asshole who liked to take things. A schoolyard bully who suffered from nearly all seven of the deadly sins.
The caravan of two military trucks tore down the Georgian highway, the mall coming in sight quicker than he expected, not used to measuring time now that they drove however the hell fast it took.
He slowed cautiously, worried that the Governor had arrived before them, hoping that they had enough time, that the Lieutenant actually had time to send the Governor their way.
Seemed hope was a bigger player in their lives than he thought.
Finding no evidence of any life at the mall, Rick pulled the trucks up to the front. He gave them twenty minutes to clear out the remaining walkers, to unload the missiles, to set up the explosives which would trigger them.
Twenty minutes didn't seem like enough time, but it would have to do.
But they still couldn't get sloppy.
Stepping out of the truck cautiously as the first few spittles of rain peppered the pavement at his feet, Rick moved around to the back of the military truck, opening and pulling the tailgate down.
"We have twenty minutes," he said as the others gathered.
Pulling out a crate of explosive devices, he handed them off to Sasha, as Glenn and Alan took out a few walkers who were heading their way.
"Be careful," he went on, handing off another crate to Beth. It was her first real time out and he promised Herschel he'd take care of her, Beth wanted to help and Herschel wanted him to have the extra pair of hands, though Rick understood the man's displeasure at the idea, he was grateful Herschel tamped it down for the occasion.
"Stay in pairs," Rick went on, motioning Glenn over to help him with one of the moving dollies to load a missile onto it for easier, smoother transport, while Alan and Tyreese kept lookout for the Governor or walkers. "It's ending today," he went on. "Kill anything that comes at you, gun or no. We don't take prisoners from the armed Woodbury men."
"Rick?" Tyreese asked, confirming if he heard right.
"No prisoners. These armed men are the enemy we need to kill."
The black man looked unsure, but nodded after a moment.
"Be alert," he repeated to Sasha as she returned for another load.
When they were scouting the mall the first time around they had cleared it out, it was only a tiny outlet type mall, but he didn't want them to get comfortable thinking it was walker free.
Ensuring Tyreese and Alan were still on watch, he grabbed an armload of supplies and headed inside himself, handing them off to Beth and she moved down the dim hall after Glenn and the missile.
Stepping back outside, he eyed his surroundings for threats as the spitting rain began to pelt down on them. They'd have to move the trucks before the dry spots gave them away when the Governor and his men arrived.
Just one more reason they needed to hurry.
Moving to the back of the second truck, just as a blonde head popped up and Andrea, still with her crutches and cast, struggled to get out.
Rick stepped back, hand on his gun.
"Jesus," he cursed at her.
"I want to help," she insisted. "You need all the guns you can get."
Glancing over at Tyreese and Alan who were both as surprised as he was, Rick leaned in close to Andrea to hissed.
"Are you fucking kidding me?"
"Look, I'm not here to talk, okay, you want to kill Philip, fine. But you need the help."
"You can barely walk," he growled. Seeing that they didn't have time for her shit, he sighed heavily.
"I can limp on my foot, okay? Look," she tossed the crutches away. "No crutches."
Rick watched as she painfully, stubbornly hobbled about, proving she was fine to walk.
"We're not carrying your ass," he snarled. "You want to tag along, hide in the back of our trucks, fine. But I'm not risking my ass for yours, got it?"
"I'm not a child, Rick. I know my limits, and I can help here." She stated. "For God's sake if you're going to kill people to protect our group, then shouldn't you have as many hands as you can get carrying rifles?"
Reaching into the truck, he pulled out a box, somehow a little pleased that it was heavier than the others and handed it off to her.
"Carry this inside," he commanded. "Alan, you go with her."
The man nodded, taking another box on his way past.
Rick exchanged a glance with Tyreese, running his hand over his face. It was already slick with the rain.
"I don't know about you, but if I live to see the night, I'm getting loaded." Tyreese said.
Rick scoffed. "Now there's an idea I can get behind."
The Cajun Dialect
Avalasse - Downpour