LaurenEmilyxx - I feel like God when people give me reviews like that. O_o Thanks for the review! ^_^
Jack And Honey - Appreciate the reference to my favourite Doctor. Thanks for that!
Brazen Hussy - Terry Pratchett wouldn't approve, but I do.
ImOrca - I appreciate that character analysis of Merle. It was beautifully put, I honestly think it was the nicest analysis I've yet to hear on the man.
HGRHfan35 - I feel your desire to sleep curled up with any one of those men. I really do.
itsi3 - Haha! I love it! Like a whole bunch of 'nope' from Woodbury and the squealing tires was them peeling out the way they came.
MollyMayhem84 - Don't worry, I'm thinking it may just be a solid friendship the likes of which could influence Merle to find that good man we all know he has locked up inside. Then again, things could change...honestly I never really plan ahead in the way of characters making friends and having relationships, it all just sort of happens. Que sera, sera, right?
basically-a-fangirl - Maybe some vegetable Daryl. Does that count?
Newsqueen123 - I like Sasha too. I honestly think she could be a strong female character who isn't too over-the-top.
eieball326 - Is your sister a nun? Are you a nun? No...probably not, but that would have made my day. XD Thanks for the review and the chuckle!
Supfan - I hope it literally explodes, if Michael Bay has taught me one thing it's that a crappy plot is made better with an explosion (yes, I just called my plot crappy, I roll that way).
GG - I love that you catch all these subtle things I put into my chapters. Yes, it was taking a terrifyingly long time with Daryl, wasn't it? Hmm...
Whooptiedoo - Merlagnes? Mary Merle? Merly? I enjoy this mashup game! Thanks! I'm glad you enjoy my change of style for each POV, it's something I've never been complimented on, so it's lovely to hear. ^_^
Merle's Right Hand - Admit it, if you knew the Lt. in real life you'd make him your hump buddy. Don't deny it, I know you.
SilverWolf84 - No worries, my friend. I'm just glad you're still with us. This story is getting long though, I sure hope it ends before it reaches 100 chapters...
Surplus Imagination - I want to make Beth a little more of an ass kicker now that Maggie is gone. Beth needs to step up.
God, I'm not even in this story and I'm sick of all this rain. Daymn.
Chapter Eighty-Three: Espoir
**Rick**
The Mall
He was sprinting through the underbrush of the forest, keeping his head low enough to avoid trouble, his .357 in his hand, his knife in the other.
Fuck, he should have dragged people in long before it got dark, because with the rain, the lack of lights and the dark he could barely see anything.
Feeling his heart palpitating wildly in his heart, he kept moving, heading for the sound of the gunshots.
His clothes were plastered to him, absolutely soaked right through from the rain, his jeans weighing him down by about ten extra pounds just due to water alone. If he survived the night he would be suffering serious chafing in the morning, but he supposed that was the least of his worries.
Colliding head on into a walker, he back pedaled, knife out before him, and waited until it lunged after him to ram the blade up and into the soft underside of the walkers chin. It dropped heavily and he kept on, if there was one, there'd be more.
He pulled in to a complete stop at the sound of tires squealing and gunshots, far too many and far too rapid then the rifles Andrea and Tyreese had with them. Too rapid even for the semi-automatic Alan had been given for his treetop perch.
Deciding to risk it, he dashed out from the cover of the woods, heading in the direction of the sound. It had to have been the Woodbury men, they finally arrived.
Knifing a walker that appeared out of the rain, heading for nowhere in particular, Rick carried on, purposely striding towards his death. He wasn't merely being poetic or dramatic when he said it ended tonight, it would end come hell or high water, he would claw and drag his corpse if he had to, but it would end. He was tired of his people running, of being looked at by the others as another disappointment in a long line of disappointments. He was tired of seeing the hope die in their eyes.
They loved the convent and he'd be damned if he let Woodbury or the Governor or any asshole chase them out of yet another home. Walkers could go fuck themselves, the Governor could be tossed into the river for all he cared, he wasn't going to roll over, not anymore.
More gunshots and he turned left, taking him through the soupy rain, still on the parking lot pavement.
He knifed another walker, and another, but the more he strode towards the sounds of gunshots the more walkers he found emerging from the grey.
Rick raised his gun and began knocking infected on their asses, blowing their brains out casually. It wasn't the dead he was afraid of, not here and not now.
A military truck not unlike the one's they arrived in loomed out of the rain and darkness, the headlights on and calling to him like a lighthouse in a thick fog and he made his way there cautiously, his own gunshots blending with the ones he already heard. He didn't see any living creature, but he heard the gunshots coming from the back of the vehicle.
As he leaned against the side to give him better protection from the rain, he stuck his hand against a piece of tarp which had been carelessly tacked up on the side of the truck.
He stepped back to eye it and found his plans for no mercy shifting and adjusting, he wasn't clear on what to do now, whether it was a trick or sincere.
The tarp fluttered, the black spray painted words which had obviously been scrawled in haste and probably in the back of the truck out of the rain, wrinkling. For one moment the tarp seemed to smooth perfectly and he could easily read the words 'peace talk?' which had been written on it in letters at least two feet high.
Rick scowled at the tarp, ducking it as it fluttered again. Reaching the back of the truck, he peered around the corner, finding about five or six men standing there gunning down walkers. He glanced into the back of the truck and found himself meeting the single blue eye of the Governor, the man trussed up, his knees looked broken and bloody.
For a moment Rick raised his pistol, thinking he could just shoot the bastard then and there, but he paused. Was this supposed to be a peace offering from the Woodbury men? Was this a trick?
Suddenly confused and reworking his plan, he backed away, deciding to give himself some time to think things over at a much safer distance. He'd meet up with the others and work on a plan from there, because he wasn't going to let something like this slip through his fingers, but he sure as hell wasn't going to just trust the Governor's men. It would feel like rolling over to him.
This put a fucking kink in his plans. Things were easier when it was just about killing, but peace talks? Didn't sound like something he could do anymore. But if they were serious it could mean an end to this. But if it was a trick, if this was just a plan to stall or to lure them into a false sense of security…could he really just let it go? Would he be able to rest easily knowing they were still out there? Still a threat? Hell he had to look over his shoulder enough with the walkers, never mind watching his back for Woodbury.
Fuck it, he had to find his people first and foremost.
..-~-..
..-~-..
**Grace**
The Convent
She was returning from calming Annie from her night terrors, about to head into Sister Gertrude's room where she wanted to keep an eye on the Lieutenant, when she spied Herschel and the elderly woman stepping in from the rain.
Gripping the simple white nightgown she had borrowed from Sister Gertrude's chiffarobe in mild embarrassment, she approached them, eager to hear the update.
Herschel eyed her with his kind eyes. "He's resting now, when I did a probe of the wound the spleen was nicked, but it wasn't obliterated, I was struggling to find a way to remove the spleen initially but due to the placement of the organ under the ribcage, I figured it'd have to be a stich job through the entry wound, of course then I struggled to stitch it properly, but we eventually got it stitched up using a pair of long forceps and we got his entry and exit wounds finally closed. In good time too, he was struggling for a bit there and we were running low on blood for him."
"He'll be fine?"
"He'll live, he has his spleen, though we'll have to keep a close eye on him for a few days, Milton Mamet's in there right now watching over him, but I was hoping to find someone to cover for Carol, she'll probably want to take over that job," Herschel said.
Grace nodded. "I had hoped and prayed he would come through. You look worn, get some rest, I'll get Carol and give her the news."
"What about your man?" Herschel asked. "I hear he came back in relatively one piece."
Smiling, Grace bowed her head. "My man," she mused, "my man is lucky he came back in such rough shape, because I would have slapped his face for putting us through what we went through. Of course," she added sheepishly, "I'm grateful he came back to us at all."
"I can keep an eye on your man for you," the old woman said kindly. "If it'll put your mind at ease while you're out."
"Thank you, um…"
"Barbara Douglas."
"Thank you, Barbara."
The woman smiled. "I sort of feel a little responsible for that boy anyways, he came very close, got very lucky."
"He's always been that way," Grace replied. "I'm going to put some clothes on for the wall, excuse me."
..-~-..
..-~-..
**Tyreese**
The Mall
They didn't even slow when the military truck appeared out of the grey, heading straight for them, he just pushed Andrea's limping form ahead of him and continued on into the trees.
Now they were somewhere in the woods, near some trees and walking on fucking leaves and shit. Yeah, like he had his bearings right.
"Come on," he growled to himself, eyes darting across the ugly, dark assed, rainy forest for a hint as to which direction to head in.
Andrea staggered and fell and without thinking he grabbed her by the ass of her pants and dragged her to her feet, she flashed him a mildly annoyed look, but recovered enough to keep moving.
Wiping rainwater off his face with his free hand, he took a step to his left and found there wasn't anything to meet his foot, just air.
Sliding down the muddy bank, he collapsed in a heap at the bottom of a steep hill. Feeling around for his gun, he paused as Andrea's screams pierced the night air, coming in clear over the rush of the rain.
Patting the ground until he found his gun, he fumbled his way up the embankment back to the woman, scrambling over the edge to find her collapsed under three walkers.
Raising his rifle, he took the first two shots, before deciding the third was too risky, before he could reach for his knife, Andrea shoved her own into the walker's temple.
"Are you bit?" He demanded, hurrying to her side.
She shook her head. "No, I turned to see if you were okay and they launched themselves at me."
"Can't see much around us in this dark and rain," Tyreese replied. "We should find a tree and wait it out, maybe."
Andrea nodded. "Thanks for the save."
"I just hope you remember me when my time comes," he replied moving on.
..-~-..
..-~-..
**Carol**
The Convent
"He'll be okay?" She asked just to clarify what she thought she heard.
Grace smiled. "Herschel says he should pull through, but to watch him carefully for a few days."
Touching a hand to her stomach which was suddenly fluttering in a rush of pent up nerves, Carol beamed. She had no idea how knotted her guts had been until Grace came up to her, until the tension wore off and she was suddenly reminded of what it was like to not feel so clenched up. "I should go and watch him, in case he needs me."
"I think Mr. Mamet could use the relief as well," the former nun replied.
Exhaling deeply, Carol pulled Grace in for a hug, gripping the woman tightly. "Thank you."
"I didn't do anything, honey," Grace replied with a wide grin. "Go on now, I'll make sure there's someone to cover your shifts on the wall and your chores until Daryl recovers."
Nodding, Carol adjusted the strap of her rifle and hopped off the wall carefully, mindful that the wall didn't seem as high as it was, mindful of the fact that she wasn't as young as she'd like to think she was.
Landing on the soggy grass, she headed straight for the infirmary, trying hard not to break out into a run, but still trying to make good time.
Reaching the medical building, she pushed open the door and stood dripping in the front area until her eyes adjusted to the near dark. The lights had been turned out, save for one hanging over Daryl's bed, the equipment he was hooked up to making soft beeps.
In a chair by Daryl's bed Milton Mamet sat, reading what looked like an ancient copy of Field and Stream magazine.
Carol approached quietly and he looked up only when she stopped at the side of the bed across from him.
"He's lucky," Milton began, closing the magazine and standing up. "Herschel is a surprisingly adapt veterinarian."
Gazing down at the pale Dixon in the bed, Carol smiled a little, watching his chest rise and fall.
"We, ah, didn't really have anything to put him under with, but Herschel rigged us up some kind of anesthetic using something he called 'field spray', don't ask. It should wear off by morning, but try to keep him still, if those stitches tear all our hard work will have been in vain." Milton added. "I'm going to head in," he said, "if that's okay with you."
She nodded. "Thank you."
The man pushed his glasses up with the knuckle of his forefinger against the bridge. "I honestly didn't do much else but provide what little knowledge I had of the human anatomy."
"You don't even know him," she said.
"By the way things got around here when he was found I took a wild guess that he's pretty important, but then again I always thought all human life was. Call me a poetic soul," he admitted. "Did your people find that soldier?"
"We did, he's recovering in the dorms."
"I'm glad. I hoped they would." Milton paused. "Truth is I'm terrified of the way humanity has fallen, not because of the infected, but because man is now facing a re-establishment of tribal territories. This ugliness between Woodbury and your people is only the beginning. If history has taught us anything, the strong will devour the weak and they will be the men to rebuild civilization as we knew it."
Carol looked up at the man with shining blue eyes.
"It'll only get worse before it gets better," Milton stated.
"So what are you going to do?" She asked.
"Keep the records." Milton backed away from the bed. "I'll bring you something to read while you sit here."
Waiting until she was left alone with Daryl, she eased onto the side of the bed, her hip brushing against his.
Quietly, carefully, she covered his scarred chest with the light blanket, he wouldn't want to be on display to anyone who would just wander in. She wouldn't want him to feel that vulnerable, it was going to be hard enough keeping him in the bed come the morning, never mind having him squirm about in discomfort should anyone wander in to pay him a visit.
Taking his rough hand in hers, she clenched it tightly and stroked his hair off his face, it didn't matter how short she chopped it his hair still fell boyishly across his forehead.
Carol smiled. He was such a wild thing. Always scruffy, always dirty and constantly on the move.
Which was why it was so hard to see him like he was. Pale, still, surprisingly clean as though someone had scrubbed him down quickly after or before his surgery.
Bringing his hand up to her face, she rested her cheek against the back of it and finally began sobbing, releasing the pent up horror and sorrow she had kept inside for so long. It didn't matter if she cried now, but she felt like she'd get sick if she kept it in any longer.
The Cajun Dialect
Espoir – Hope