Lovely reviews from lovely people. Too many to reply to.
I've been getting some flak off you guys for Rick being either alive or dead, so here's another chapter that tells you nothing. Enjoy!
Chapter 6: Petit Pierre
**Merle**
Five Days Earlier
When they pulled up to the parking lot of the mall, they were greeted with the stench of rotting flesh and burned plastic.
Circling the mass of tangled vehicles that Sasha had left when she crashed the military truck she had been driving, the woman pulled their smaller blue truck to a stop somewhere near the pile of walkers left rotting in the sun and the four of them emerged. Merle hopping out of the back, eyeing Milton as the brain counted the rounds in his weapon for the eighth time since they set out.
"Bullets don't regenerate magically," Merle said to him, eyeing the area.
"I keep thinking I miscounted," Milton replied, awkwardly positioning his pistol back into the holster at his hip.
"Best use a knife or something anyways," Sasha said as the four of them headed for the mall. "Don't want to attract more attention than necessary."
"I don't know how," Milton confessed.
"You can't shoot or fight, why'd you come along?" Glenn demanded.
Milton eyed their surroundings carefully, looking for signs of survivors. "Because I had to see firsthand what happened to my people."
"Your people are lucky we don't rub the rest of them off the face of the earth," Glenn replied coolly. "Remember that the next time you want to start shit with another group."
Merle scowled. "Yeah, and what happened here is murder too, remember that the next time you get on your high horse."
"Fuck you, man! We were protecting our people from yours," Glenn argued. "We wouldn't have had to do this if it wasn't for your people striking first."
"We did this?" Merle demanded. "Seems to me that Rick did it, you ran away with your tail tucked between your legs."
Stopping at the edge of what was left of the husk of the mall, Merle wasn't expecting the fist that came swinging at his head until it connected with his temple, the smaller Asian launching himself at him.
Collapsing onto the ground, Merle twisted so Glenn fell beneath him, using his heavier frame to press the man into the asphalt.
"You'd better learn to control yourself, little man," Merle snarled as Glenn launched a few more counterattacks, the blows from his fists glancing off Merle's shoulder and face. "I'll knock your ass out."
"Jesus," Sasha growled, standing over top them. "You two fucking amateurs want to shut the hell up and stop scratching each other's eyes out?"
Gripping Glenn's wrists until he heard a pop, Merle beamed at the little man beneath him. "We're doing fine, honey, why don't you just keep an eye out for biters while I adjust this little punk's attitude."
Kicking out, Glenn's boot hit Merle just inside his thigh, very close to where he was sure the man was aiming and Merle scrambled off him.
"You fight like a little bitch," he growled, holding his thigh where a deep ache was setting in.
Getting to his feet, fists still clenched, Glenn eyed him. "Keep your distance from me, Merle."
"Hell I don't want my hair pulled, princess," Merle replied, scooping up the pistol which had fallen from his pants during the fight.
"I was pondering irrational childhood behaviours earlier this morning," Milton began as they started to poke around at the rubble of the mall, looking for signs of Rick and the others. "But I understand now that these behaviours never fully leave certain adults."
"What's that supposed to mean, twerp?" Merle demanded.
"Merely thinking out loud," he replied.
Irritated, Merle made a low sound in his throat and stooped to shove aside a piece of half charred tar paper from the rooftop. "We're never going to find anything in this rubble pile."
"I agree," Sasha replied. "We could sift through it for a week and find nothing."
"Hell, if they were inside the building, there'd be nothing but teeth and gums left."
Stopping, Glenn eyed the woods around them.
"You want to search the whole world before you look in the haystack for the needle?" Milton asked. "Seems like it'd be easier for us to sift through this rubble first."
"And what are we looking for, Milt?" Merle demanded. "At the high impact this explosion caused? The hellfire and brimstone, what would be left of a body?"
"Bone fragments," Milton replied.
"Exactly, so enjoy and get digging." Dusting off his hands, Merle hopped off the rubble where he made a path and started towards the woods.
"Where are you off to?" Sasha demanded.
"I'm going to look for a trail - if there is one - before it gets cold," he shouted back.
Jumping down from a nearby piece of brick wall, Milton approached him. "I'll go with you."
"Hell no, I ain't babysitting your ass."
"I guess I'll have to risk being in a friendless environment then," the little nerd replied.
"Your choice, but you screw up and get me in danger and I'll gut punch you with my right arm." Merle snapped.
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**Carol**
Five Days Earlier
Dipping her hands into the clear, clean warm water, she drenched the rag she had been using and wrung it out gently, picking up Daryl's arm to run the cloth over his flesh. She had bathed him after his surgery, but wanted to keep him clean to avoid infection, keep the area and the infirmary as sterile as possible if she could help it.
Lovingly, almost reverently, she cleaned him, running the rag over his flesh, making note of his scars.
She had taken note of them before, all forty-eight large, dark, roughly healed scars that streaked across his torso this way and that, but this time she studied them carefully, realizing that every one of the scars must have been a very bad, very sore, open wound at one time.
Looking up at his face, she tried to imagine him as a little boy and it broke her heart to realize that he probably had a look of innocence and open emotions.
Bowing her head back to her work, she decided there was no point dwelling on the past and things she couldn't change. But the mother inside her raged at innocence being destroyed by the cruelty of an unjust world.
Someone bumping the door of the infirmary against the wall behind it startled her and she turned, hand tightening on the porcelain bowl of warm water, prepared to heft and use it if she had to.
Inside the Lieutenant stood there, swaying on his feet, looking pale and pained.
"What are you doing out of bed?" She asked softly.
"Sorry," he said. "Am I bothering you?"
"No."
"I can't find my dog tags," he explained swaggering into the infirmary on unsure feet.
"Does Grace know you're out of bed?" Carol asked, turning back to her task.
"Hell no, if she did she'd be riding my ass," he returned.
Behind her there was a thump and she spun around again, finding the man supporting himself against the wall, looking shocked as he held the wall with his good arm.
"You'd better sit down before you fall down," she said, pushing to her feet to help him to the cot beside Daryl's.
The Lieutenant was shaking and she could feel how weak he was just by touching him. "This was," he broke off to inhale deeply, "probably the worst trip I ever took."
Helping him onto the cot, Carol pulled a face at his stupidity. "You should be more careful."
"Hm."
Sitting back down at Daryl's side, she resumed her work in silence.
"How's he doing?"
"Fine," she replied, "he's just fine."
"Bien," he sighed.
"I know what you did for him," she said. "They would have killed him on sight. You saved him."
The Lieutenant was quiet for a moment. "I'm not a hero, ange," he confessed softly. "I'm just a mindless drone who was carrying out his mission objective. I saw the opportunity and I took it."
"You're not a mindless drone, Lieutenant," she argued.
"Oh, I am, ange, a drone through and through, such is the powerful training of the US Marine Corps." He smirked to himself.
Carefully daubing Daryl's chest dry, she moved on to his neck and face. "You shouldn't have done that to Grace, though. Everyone thought you were dead."
"Yeah," he said after another moment of silence. "There are three things you learn when you go into battle, Carol," he began quietly. "One, every life is expendable, two, you do what needs to be done and three, nothing's poetic or beautiful about death. You scream and plead and beg, snot runs from your nose, tears from your eyes, then you void your bowels and then you're gone. Ain't pretty, but it's reality."
Carol diverted her entire attention to him, blue eyes blinking, her tongue unable to process the words her mind was screaming. She wanted to scold him, to shame him for the pain he caused Grace just by being reckless, but she found she didn't have the heart.
"I'm so glad I didn't void my bowels," he remarked. "Would have put a barrier of tension as thick as a healthy woman's thighs between me and everyone else if they had to witness that," he scoffed. "Grace and Annie were the last things I thought about," he admitted. "They brought me peace."
Realizing the reason why she didn't scream or berate him for what he put Grace was because her tongue understood what her mind couldn't. That the Lieutenant was bearing a part of him that he probably would never share so openly with anyone.
She could see the fear, the sorrow and the darkness that touched him as he spoke to her and she understood why she knew he needed silence before she even registered it.
"I'm scared that I'll never be able to really say to them how much I love them and need them in my life," he added so quietly she nearly missed it. "I've never been good when it came to serious discussions of love and family."
Reaching over, she fumbled for his good hand, gripping it with hers tightly, offering him comfort.
"I saw her smile once," he said. "Made me feel like I was worth something to her."
"Lieutenant, you are worth something. You're worth the world to them." She replied.
He offered her a weak smile, looking worn out and tired. "I'm glad Daryl's okay," he said. "Not just for my own selfish reasons, but because you two are stronger together. That boy loves you something fierce, doesn't even have to say it, I just know. He needs you."
Carol smiled. "I need him."
Releasing her hand, the Lieutenant adjusted his position uncomfortably on the bed. "Yeah, so when's the wedding? A Cajun loves a good wedding."
"I don't see us doing that," Carol said. "This world, it seems unnecessary."
"Hm, true, but it might be nice to have a good celebration of life for once, not just a funeral."
"Why don't you get married, then? Give us something to celebrate?" She asked.
He grinned slyly. "Yeah, I'm working on it."
"You would marry her, wouldn't you?"
"In a heartbeat."
"Why? Why so eager?"
"Eager? Ange, have you seen her? Grace is a jolie catin, she's a pretty little doll, 'course catin also means whore, which she isn't, so…don't tell her I said that." He had no sooner finished saying this, then the door to the infirmary bumped against the wall and Grace marched in, rifle slung on her shoulder, face grim.
Behind her Annie lingered in the doorway, Beth with Judith in her arms beyond.
The poor girl was beaten from her car accident, but she was still in better shape than Daryl and the Lieutenant.
"Do you worry me on purpose?" Grace demanded of the Lieutenant.
"I love it when you get strapped up," he returned with a cheeky grin. "Nothing sexier to me than a woman with a gun on her back who means business."
"Even if she's almost hotter than the devil?" Grace asked, checking the Lieutenant's wounds to see if he pulled any stitches loose.
"Well, I don't find the devil half as hot as you, cher, especially when you turn on those feminine wiles of yours." He retorted.
With her cheeks tinting pink, she poked his chest hard with a finger. "One of these days that forked tongue of yours is going to get caught in a gin mill of trouble."
Turning to face Carol, the Lieutenant beamed. "She likes to pretend she's angry, but there's velvet behind that rough touch of hers."
"You're a horrible man," Grace stated.
"How about a kiss for good health?" He returned.
"Did you hear what I said? A horrible man."
Carol hid her smile with her hand, trying hard not to encourage the Lieutenant.
"One kiss," he said.
"No, I'm not giving you a reward for being a simple minded thug who doesn't listen to reason," Grace insisted.
"Thug?" The Lieutenant inquired, before his smile fell and he winced, hand gripping at his sternum. "Ah."
Grace immediately perched on the side of his bed, eyes solemn. "Are you alright?"
"No," he panted. "I think…my heart…"
Suddenly worried, Carol too leaned forward, ready to make a mad dash for Herschel.
"I think you broke it, cher," the Lieutenant ended with a proud grin.
"Oh, good Lord," Grace exclaimed, pushing to her feet. "I wash my hands of you," she stated. "If you want to wander the earth in your condition, I'm not going to concern myself any longer." As Grace stormed out, the Lieutenant grinned widely.
"She's so pretty when she's angry," he stated.
"You think maybe she's genuinely angry with you?" Carol suggested.
"Of course she is, it's fire I'm playing with there, but," he beamed, "I can't help myself. Short of throwing her onto a bed and ravishing her, I have to make due with working her into another sort of passion."
"Well, keep pushing, she's going to chain you to a bed eventually," Carol said.
The Lieutenant chuckled. "Sounds like a successful Friday night to me."
The Voodoo Dialect
Petit Pierre – Petit Pierre is a lesser known loa who generally likes to eat, drink and pick fights with people. He is considered more of a trickster spirit then a deity.
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The Cajun Dialect
Bien - Good