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Chapter Four: Linto
**Milton**
Five Days Earlier
After the attack on his person by the little girl, he had milled about the shack, sorting through his things and pondering the situation.
It had gone badly, but he wasn't expecting anything less.
Oddly enough, the one thing that was weighing on him was reconstruction, mending the damages done, getting into Woodbury to repair the damages done between their people.
War was a funny thing, people often held grudges long after it was over and no one ever gave any thought to the reconstruction period.
Scoffing, he realized the irony of another reconstruction period happening in modern day Georgia.
Wandering across the lawns, he approached Merle and the others as they prepared to leave for the mall to retrieve Rick and the others from their group.
"Merle?" He asked.
The burly Dixon turned on him. "What?"
"I'm going with you."
"Yeah, right, and I enjoy wiping my ass with my right hand," Merle scoffed, turning back to loading the weapons into the back of the blue pickup.
"No, I'm serious. You're passing through a small town with a local library and I'd like to stop to gather some supplies."
Once more Merle turned to eye Milton, sneering at him. "I ain't got time to babysit your ass on—"
"I'm going too," Carl spoke up from the other side of the truck.
"Hell no," Merle stated.
"I don't trust you to find my dad," Carl replied.
"You're not going, end of discussion. Neither of you," he growled turning on Milton again.
"I'm a grown man, Merle. I go where I want, either you take me or I leave on my own."
Merle snorted. "Yeah, good luck then."
"I'm going with you, Merle or you're not going at all." Carl stated, placing his hand on his pistol, striking a gunslinger pose like the young man was straight out of a spaghetti western.
"Kid, I will knock you on your ass and make you cry, now get the fuck out of my face. Go play with some toys somewhere, stop trying to take charge."
"Fuck you, Merle."
"Fuck you back, you little asshole," Merle muttered.
Carl went to open the door to the truck and climb inside, when Merle grabbed him by the upper arm and yanked him out, throwing him onto his ass on the ground.
The young man pulled his 9mm on the older Dixon brother and Milton took a nervous step back from the action.
Merle stared the young man down calmly.
"Well, pull the trigger then," Merle barked. "Grow some balls and pull that trigger, but you'd better not miss, because I'll knock your teeth down your throat if you do."
"You shoot Merle on my convent grounds, Carl, it won't prove anything," Grace stepped in physically between Carl and Merle. "You two had better learn to cohabitate before you both do something stupid."
Carol moved in to help. "Carl, Merle knows what he's doing. We need you here," she said softly.
"You don't know jack shit," Carl growled. "Merle's just some dumb assed redneck who doesn't care about my dad! I wouldn't trust him to take care of the fleas on his ass!"
"Hey! Don't you talk to her like that!" Merle growled.
Flipping Merle off, Carl stormed away, shaking his head.
Milton watched the young man march off quietly.
"That little shit needs his ass whipped until it turns inside out," Merle growled.
"He's hurting, Merle," Carol pointed out.
"I don't care, my brother's laid up in the infirmary, do you see me acting like a little pecker?"
"Though to be fair, Merle," Milton pointed out, shielding his eyes to watch Carl as the young man turned the corner around the church and disappeared, "would one be able to tell if you were acting out since you're always in a state of irrational rage?"
"I'll knock your fat head off your shoulders, if you talk to me like that again," Merle stated.
"Case in point," Milton replied, hopping into the truck cab beside Sasha.
He spied Merle pulling a face at him, but pointedly ignored the man, closing the door stubbornly.
..-~-..
..-~-..
**Tyreese**
Five Days Earlier
They stepped into an old wooden, dilapidated garage where someone was hunched over a half-finished coffin wearing a pair of faded blue coveralls.
"Tyreese, this is Jack Bloom, Jack I want you to meet Tyreese Williams," Delgado introduced.
Setting down a plane, the man turned from his work and shoved a pair of safety goggles up to rest on top of his head. He was a very average looking man, not tall or short or fat or thin. The only thing Tyreese took note of about the man was the scar that ran from his upper lip to his nose. "Are we taking in more strays, boss?" The man asked calmly, holding a hand out to Tyreese.
Tyreese took it carefully, shaking once before releasing.
"Jack, I want you to keep an eye on him, he's just a guest until I have a chance to meet with his leader." Delgado ordered. "Can you do this?"
"Sure, I have more time on my hands then necessary since we repaired the barn and doubled up the fences."
"What's with the coffin?" Tyreese asked, a little nervous about it.
"Bloom builds coffins, it's what he does," Delgado pointed out. "Among other things."
"Actually," the man said, "I used to embalm the dead, but I've recently been made redundant. Got to find something to do and we are none of us going to live forever. May as well spend eternity in comfort and class, right?"
"Yeah, that's top of my list," Tyreese replied.
The man chuckled.
Delgado hovered for a bit, before nodding. "Alright, you need anything Tyreese just make sure Jack knows where you got off to, okay?"
Deciding to just go along with whatever the man said for the time being, Tyreese nodded. "Yeah, sure."
"Good, I really don't want to have to cause any undo strife among another group, honestly, it's good that you're trusting us enough to just go along with me."
"Whatever, man. I'm outnumbered here, can't be stupid enough to want to cause shit."
Nodding one last time Delgado wandered off.
"You ever woodwork before?" Jack asked.
"I used to work construction some," Tyreese replied.
"Ah, but it's not the fine art of hand lathing, is it?"
"Probably not."
"Then you're in luck, we don't have any of that left to do, just screwing on the handles."
Picking up the fancy brass handles, Tyreese scowled. "Where'd you get these, man?"
"Hardware store, you'd be amazed at the amount of crap people don't need when they're grabbing generators and sleeping bags, the store had a whole pile of these left." Jack picked one up and studied it. "They're drawer pulls, but they do the job. So tell me, Tyreese, what's your group called?"
"What?"
"Just screw them on where I marked," Jack said, handing off a screwdriver to him. "Your group, it has a tribal name, right?"
"Not that I know of."
"Really? Hm, interesting."
Gauging the man working at his side, Tyreese quietly observed him, trying to read him as a threat or not.
"You know it's funny," Jack said. "One day you're draining Mrs. Simpkins of her bodily fluids and shoving a plug into her ass, the next her daughter is trying to chew on your face."
"Maybe it was the plug thing she took issue with," Tyreese replied.
Jack laughed.
"So what are you people? Militant? Your leader says he's USMC," Tyreese urged.
"Not all of us, the Hollander's own this place, their son-in-law Sid runs it, was a breeding ranch for fancy assed horses of some kind, liposuction's or some such breed. Sid's a real piece of work, but he has his reasons."
"Wife?"
"Yeah, two days before I arrived. The Brooks were passing through on the highway, ran off into the woods, found this place, Dolly and Eve came at the same time as Tucker and Pace, the two cowboys were heading through Tennessee for a rodeo in West Virginia, got chased down south by a big group of those things and found Eve with her kids and Dolly along the way, came across us eventually."
"And that man in the tree?"
"Kowalski? Came with the boss around the same time I did, he crawled into that tree on the first day and I've never seen him come down since."
"Ever? I don't believe that."
"Well, he comes down to piss, I hope, but if he does it's at night when it's dark and we're all at our own posts. Usually Eve just hands plates of food up to him. All I've ever seen is an arm and a hand."
"You're shitting me," Tyreese stated.
"Yeah, a little bit," the man replied. "Saw a foot once, but just the tail end of it climbing back into the tree in the early morning."
Still casting sideways glances at the man, Tyreese shifted on his feet. "Hey, that Delgado, he ain't…I mean your people aren't—"
"We're not rapists or murderers," the man replied calmly, eyeing Tyreese with an open, honest look. "I can see where you'd think that, though. You came through the forest of the damned and I know what's out there for survivors. Woodbury's bad, but they at least have some semblance of civilization left in them. There are worse people left alive in the wilderness…"
"What?"
"I'm assuming," Jack replied with a grin, "probably nomads out there; roving gangs, dirty survivalists, hunters and killers and gamblers and sinners and everything over, under and in-between. Pass me the wood glue, please."
Eyeing the man for a moment, before reaching for the glue, Tyreese scowled at his work. "Your people ever meet other groups?"
"No, we're very secluded here. The trees give us a lot of cover."
..-~-..
..-~-..
**Old Missy**
Five Days Earlier
"What are you doing?"
She was checking in on things around the convent, when she came across the Lieutenant sitting on the edge of her cot, struggling to tie his boots, unable to reach them due to his broken ribs.
"Dividing cells even as we speak," he replied.
"You can do that lying down," she remarked, moving to pull his boots off his feet.
"I'm fine," he stated. "Little banged up, but fine, I can at least walk a wall."
"Honey" she cooed, easing onto the cot beside him, "you've been shot and stabbed, you have two broken ribs and a concussion, I think you'd do more damage than good on that wall."
"I also jammed my pinkie on something, but you don't hear me complaining," he replied stubbornly.
"Okay, so what about that sling you have your right arm in? How do you propose to hold a rifle on the wall?"
"I'm a southpaw, cher, and luckily enough they make this kind of weapon called a handgun…"
Seeing that he wasn't going to cave to her orders of bed rest, Grace decided on a different tactic, one she knew women had perfected over the centuries.
Placing her hand on his chest, she gently stroked it, leaning against him with a small grin. "You know, there are benefits to staying in bed, darling," she purred.
He eyed her quietly, grey eyes narrowing suspiciously. "Really?"
"Hmm, I've never practiced them, but I've heard good things," she whispered, hooking a leg around his playfully.
Smirking, the Lieutenant tilted his head down towards hers. "Oh? Then maybe you should practice, yeah?"
"I'd need someone to show me a few things first," she said. "Want to volunteer?"
"Mais, yeah," he replied, breath fanning across her lips.
Grace smiled a little and closed her eyes, pushing up to meet his mouth, only to find nothing there.
Her eyes popped open and she found the Lieutenant leaning back from her with a grin. He tsked at her and shook a finger. "Trying to manipulate me with your feminine wiles, you little viper." Untangling their legs, he pushed to his feet unsteadily and paced the room slowly, on shaky legs.
Grace eased back onto the bed and watched him quietly, before kicking his boots towards him. "Alright, you want to walk the wall, you'd better put your boots on."
The Lieutenant eased against the wall and eyed the boots quietly, he already looked pale and drained of all energy.
"Go on, I'll even give you a hand up onto the wall if you can put those boots on and lace them up properly," she urged.
He eyed the boots, then her.
Knowing she didn't have much to offer, but willing to bluff her hand to win the game, Grace pushed her breasts up, arching her back. "Or you could call it a day and come back to bed with me."
"Your attempts at seduction are adorable at best," he replied smoothly, still torn between the boots and the cot with her on it.
"Fayette," she teased, "I'm a religious woman. I would never seduce a devil like you."
Quirking a brow at her, he made a move towards his boots where they had tumbled into the middle of the room.
Awkwardly he began to bend backwards a little to pick them up, but winced and shook his head once.
Grace pushed up onto her elbows to watch him patiently. She could tell he was in so much pain just from being upright, but she refused to concern herself. He brought it on himself and the sooner he learned to just lay his fool head down, the better.
Toeing a boot, he tried to flip it up and catch it, but nearly fell backwards.
She gasped a little, tensing to catch him, but he regained his balance and scowled at the boot which had slammed against a nearby wall.
Angling his head to face her, he glowered, mildly perturbed. "Enjoying the struggle?"
"No," she replied honestly.
Sighing wearily, he winced and headed for the cot, easing down onto it beside her quietly.
"Okay," he muttered, "I'll be good."
Cupping her hands to her face, she giggled at his dejected, lost little boy look. Slipping in against him, never so in love with him as she was in that moment, she pressed her face against his wounded shoulder gently, Herschel had put his arm in a sling so that he wasn't tempted to move it and pull the stitches loose. Using his shoulder to stifle her chuckles, she prayed he didn't realize just how close she was to doing whatever it took to get him back on the bed.
Feeling his good arm crossing his body, she felt his hand pat her knee affectionately and beamed up at him.
His eyebrow jerked as he gazed back at her. "I hurt all over," he confessed.
"Lay back, darling," she whispered. "I'll stay with you a while."
"I believe there was talk of bedtime benefits," he mumbled as he allowed her to press him back onto the cot gently.
Grace moved to lie down at his side, hand on his chest, head against his good shoulder. "That was before you decided to grow some intelligence, darling."
"You're a wicked tease, cher," he replied. "And yet," he added with a voice like the misty grey rain that had fallen the night before, "you're all I want."
Slipping her arm around his waist to avoid his ribs, she squeezed him gently in response and smiled. Stubborn he may be, but she couldn't say she blamed him. Being stubborn probably kept him alive this long.
Thinking of Daryl Dixon, she wondered if either man realized just how alike they were when it came to certain things.
Fate may have had more social graces, but deep down he was a survivor just like Daryl and she had to admit it was an endearing trait.
The Voodoo Dialect
Linto – Linto (or Ghede Linto) is considered the child spirit. He induces childish behavior in those mortals he inhabits. They walk much like a toddler taking his first steps. The company Linto keeps often teases him but only in good humor. He is well mannered and docile and while he is considered the child spirit, he is often represented as an old man. He can smell trouble six months away and can help you prepare for it.