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Chapter Eight: Bade & Sogbo
**Daryl**
"Where are you off to in the middle of the night like a sneak thief?"
The convent had long fallen silent and dark in the still of the night and the Lieutenant was lightly dozing under an open book, when Daryl decided to get off his lazy ass.
Daryl eyed him quietly. "Never mind, go back to sleep."
"You heading out?"
"Just mind your own business."
Frowning, the Lieutenant pulled a face at Daryl. "If you're leaving I want to go too."
"No, just stay put, you're not in any shape to wander around, besides how are you going to go anywhere with them chains on?"
"I'm in better shape than you, couyon." He replied.
"Yeah, well, what are you going to do if I leave your ass behind? Scream like a woman?"
"Yeah, I will," the other man replied, "hold on."
Rubbing at the wound that was irritating him, Daryl watched as the Cajun removed his right arm from his sling leaned down towards the foot of the bed where the chains had been wrapped around the metal rods and with a his left hand and a flex of military muscle that surprised Daryl, the man yanked out the ones that he was chained to.
"You mean you could have done that at any time?" He demanded.
"I didn't want to cause any undo fuss," the Lieutenant pointed out, carefully pushing to his feet. "Besides, I'm going to have to repair it when we get back. I was hoping to avoid it."
"That woman of yours will beat you with it, you know that right?" Daryl growled.
"Oh most definitely." The Lieutenant said, shaking his leg to rid himself of the chain. "But riling her up is half the fun. So where we sneaking off to?"
"I'm going to find Rick."
"Oh, a dangerous mission at any rate, have you put any thought into the fact that neither one of us is battlefield ready? I don't know about you, but my ribs feel like they're going to collapse on me like a star going supernova."
"Then stay behind," Daryl growled as they reached the door to the infirmary.
"I'm good."
Carefully poking his head out, Daryl spied Sister Mary Elizabeth sitting up on watch outside their door, gazing up at the stars in the night sky.
Ducking back into the infirmary, he pondered his options, before moving towards the barricaded window.
Yanking the bed which had been thrown against it haphazardly, he carefully lowered it to the ground and peeked out the broken window. The infirmary was about a couple of feet from the west wall and he didn't want any of the wall walkers to come across their escape.
Finding the wall empty for the moment, he quickly and quietly knocked the broken shards that remained implanted in the window sill out and dragged his carcass up and through, wincing as his stitches pulled.
Even slower, the Lieutenant dragged himself through behind Daryl, mindful of his ribs.
Daryl would image the man was in more pain than he was due to his ribs, but said nothing, waiting crouched in the shadows patiently for him.
Slowly making their way towards his shed in the darkness of the wall, he wasn't surprised at how quietly the Cajun moved. He was Marine Recon, good at creeping up on people.
Scampering out of the dark at the right moment, they made a beeline for the frat house first. Pausing there long enough in the shadows, before darting out for Daryl's shed.
Pausing at the door, Daryl quietly lifted the latch and opened the door, peering into the darkness long enough to allow his eyes to adjust, before finding the shed empty and moving inside, the Lieutenant at his heels.
In the darkness of the shed, without the aid of the candles Carol had put up around the place for light, he searched for his crossbow, knowing she would have put it in there with their things.
Finding his bag in the dark, he fumbled through it for supplies, before his hand found a small leather pouch and he pulled it out.
It was the Cajun's mojo bag, the one he had put away carefully due to the gold rings inside.
Not one for superstitions, at least out loud, he glanced behind him, finding the Lieutenant rubbing at his ribs idly, waiting for Daryl, he quickly pulled the mojo bag over his head and tucked it under his shirt.
Couldn't hurt.
Picking up his bag, slinging it on his back and grabbing his crossbow, he motioned for the Cajun to lead the way out of the shed and they scurried back into the night.
Remembering the Cajun said he had to add something meaningful to him to the mojo bag in order for it to work, he plucked a rose off the vine as they passed by the small flower garden he was slowly transplanting for Carol and shoved it into the bag under his shirt quickly.
They paused at the dorms, long enough for the Lieutenant to duck inside for his gear and when the man emerged with his gun, but no Kevlar vest, Daryl pulled a face at him.
The Lieutenant rubbed his ribs as a silent answer and they moved on, heading for the east wall where it was easier to scale without being noticed, easier on their bodies too as the east wall had a couple of old wooden crates stacked up against it for shorter people like Carl and Grace to get up onto it.
Glancing down the wall one way and then the other for traffic, Daryl spied his moment and took it, hopping onto the crate and leaping onto the wall, gasping as he felt a stitch pull, he wasn't sure if it tore, but he wasn't about to stop and check, so he dropped over the wall gracelessly, landing in a scurry of limbs on the forest floor.
Above him the Lieutenant was having a harder time get up and over the wall, having to bang his ribs against the stone capping at the top in order to pull himself up and over.
Daryl winced in sympathy as the man slammed hard against the top of the wall, his face contorting in pain, before he scrambled into a sitting position and eased off the wall with a little more grace than Daryl had.
Hearing the rustling of leaves nearby, Daryl looked over to find they had fallen about a couple of feet from Milton's pet walker and she had noticed their movements.
He motioned towards her and the Lieutenant nodded, pushing to his feet to scurry over and untie her from the tree.
In their condition it was probably best to have some added protection, he decided, watching the Cajun secure the walker's chains to his waist and leading her into the woods, Daryl bringing up the rear.
..-~-..
..-~-..
They were keeping just off the highway, heading in the direction of the mall when the sun came up.
During their journey they had come across only one or two walkers, but keeping their heads down, shuffling with Milton's lady friend, they managed to get close enough to quickly and quietly take them out. By the time the sun was just over the trees in the distance, the Lieutenant was beginning to lag.
Daryl could tell the upright position was wreaking hell on his ribs, the man's usually graceful, cat-like, prowling gait was beginning to become a little more stilted, a little more pained with each jarring step.
Easing into a crouch, he waited for the Cajun to do the same. He wouldn't say it, but he was taking a break for himself too, all the walking and the sweating, was rubbing the gauze of his bandages against his wound, the friction working his skin into a raw, painful state.
The two men eased onto the ground, back to back, covering each other as they rested leaning back on the other. Neither one would admit it was a bad idea, both were too stubborn. Nearby Milton's lady walker tugged idly at the chain, not too interested in much anymore, not even them it seemed.
"There were three guys talking in a bar," the Lieutenant began quietly.
"Two of them were talking about the amount of control they had over their wives, while the third remained quiet.
After a while one of the first two turns to the third and said, 'well, what about you, what sort of control do you have over your wife?'
The third fellow said, 'I'll tell you. Just the other night my wife came to me on her hands and knees.'
The first two guys were amazed.
'Wow! What happened then?' They asked.
The third man took a deep gulp of his beer, sighed and uttered, 'she said, 'Get out from under the bed and fight like a man.'"
Daryl scoffed.
"Hell of a day for a mildly sexist joke," the Lieutenant mused.
Eyeing the trees around them, listening to the rush of the wind through the leaves, Daryl sighed. If this wasn't the end of the world, if they were just two men out hunting or relaxing, he'd be happy.
Of course he was never fully happy, content, not displeased, but never happy.
Closest he came to happy was with Carol. She made him feel like everything would be okay, like he was on the right track to doing something right.
Fidgeting with his hand on his crossbow, Daryl squinted at the sun that was blazing down on them through the trees. "Hey, Fay?"
"Hm?"
"Y—" he hesitated. The truth was he trusted the Cajun, but he didn't want to seem like a loser who couldn't do things on his own. Deciding the Lieutenant would never mock him for asking a question Daryl exhaled and tentatively went on. "You're good with women, right?"
"Depends what you mean by good."
"You get them, don't you?"
"What's on your mind, cabri?"
"You think Carol's happy? I mean with me?" He waited a full four seconds in utter terror, hating himself for asking the question, hating that he was so afraid of the Lieutenant laughing at him or mocking him, something he knew Merle would have done.
Instead the Cajun shifted calmly behind him. "Yeah, I think you make her very happy. Think you make her very proud too."
Pondering this, he wasn't sure just what he did to make her proud of him, but he'd try to continue to do it. He wanted that, for her to be proud of him, he liked the idea.
"You know though, she's not going to be pleased with you for this stunt."
"Yeah, Grace is going to be pissed at you too."
"Sure enough."
"Then why'd you come?"
The Lieutenant shifted, trying to find a comfortable position for his ribs. "The book of Ruth, Daryl, one-sixteen: whither thou goest, I will go and where thou lodgest, I will lodge."
"Didn't take you for a bible thumper," Daryl teased.
The Cajun chuckled. "Ah, well, it was in the drawer by my bed in the infirmary, thought I could skim through it for my girl. It's poetic enough and there's good advice in it, but then again there are words of wisdom on loyalty to friends in every religious tome and manual across the world. The Hindus have their tale of Rama and Lakshman, Buddha had Ananda, the Jewish have their tale of Jonathan and you have me. Semper fidelis, brother, always loyal."
"If you're so smart," Daryl snarled, trying to ignore the fact that the Lieutenant's words actually impacted on him hard, "then how'd you end up in the corps instead of a college or something?"
"Couldn't afford it, plus I dicked around in high school, so my grades were never high enough," the Cajun said. "But I'm happy enough doing what I do…what I did, I guess. I like protecting people, keeping them safe. No child nor woman nor any man should suffer the indignities of the world's darkest corners."
Smirking, Daryl was about to retort something back, but the sounds of a vehicle approaching on the highway caught his attention, it was distant at first, but making its way closer at speeds only the devil could keep up with.
Both men got to their feet, stooping low in the underbrush to poke their weapons out, looking down their scopes in the direction the sound was coming from.
Over the sounds of the roaring engine came gunfire and squealing of tires, as around the bend of the highway a '72 grand prix came tearing up the asphalt, a heavy looking suburban on its ass, two men poking out the back windows, firing at the car as it dusted them.
The car seemed to fishtail as it wove around a couple of abandoned vehicles, blowing past them at an incredible speed. The steel grey car was gone, the suburban still on its ass, the men still unloading rounds of bullets into its back window.
"What the hell?" Daryl muttered, eyeing the vehicles as they skidded around another bend. "Are they looking to attract walkers?"
"Mais, it's becoming the wild west around here," the Lieutenant added.
"Come on, we should head after them, it could have been Rick."
"You'll never catch them, cabri. That car was going at least 90."
Across the distance put between them and the vehicles, the sound of rubber skidding across asphalt and twisting metal bombarded their ears and Daryl winced.
"Come on, haul ass, sounds like they caught up."
Hanging the chain to Milton's walker in the branches of a tree to retrieve later, in too much of a hurry to drag her slow ass behind them, the Lieutenant followed Daryl, moving as quickly and quietly as he dared.
..-~-..
..-~-..
By the time they reached the scene of the accident, creeping through the trees as quickly as they could, they found the men from the suburban already had a man pulled out of the Grand Prix, beating the absolute shit out of his face, restraining a screaming woman.
"That ain't Rick," Daryl whispered, eyeing the Muslim woman who was being dragged off by a handful of the men, back towards the suburban.
"You think Carver is just going to let you walk off with his property, Cash?" One of the men asked, giving the man on the ground a jarring kick to the ribs.
Beside Daryl the Lieutenant winced in empathy.
The man on the ground muttered something.
"What was that, Cash? Can't hear you through the blood coming out of your fat mouth."
"People aren't property."
"We tracked you across three states. You think we weren't serious, dipshit?"
"That's interesting," the man on the ground replied, spitting out blood from his mouth in a fine spray onto the asphalt, "how many states does your mama travel to give a free blowjob?"
The large man who seemed in charge slammed his fist into the back of the man's skull, knocking him onto the ground. "Keep it up, Cash."
On the ground the man spit out more blood, allowing it to pool beneath him as he knelt prostrate before his attackers. "Last I heard it was nine, shortpants."
"Get the chains," the bigger man ordered. "We're going to grind him up."
"I don't like the sound of that," the Lieutenant whispered.
Daryl eyed the scene, he wasn't sure who was in the right, didn't like to involve himself in someone else's mess, but he wasn't about to let them kill someone.
"You get up high, find a good view," the ordered the Lieutenant. "I'm gonna head out."
"I got your back, cabri."
..-~-..
..-~-..
Strolling along the centre line of the highway with his crossbow slung on his back, he approached the men as they strung heavy looking chains to the back of their suburban.
"Hey," he called out.
They turned on him, weapons drawn.
Daryl held up his hands. "Whoa, easy," he said. "I'm just passing through."
"Yeah, well keep walking, redneck," one of the men said.
The large leader came around the ass end of the suburban, dragging the Grand Prix driver roughly by the arm. The man was limp and near passed out.
"Who the hell are you?"
"Just surviving, man." Daryl said. "I don't want no trouble."
"Well you're going to get my boot up your ass if you don't keep moving, hillbilly," the big leader snarled.
"Fair enough, I don't want no piece of what you have going there," he replied. Spying the woman chained up in the backseat of the suburban, weeping and slamming her fists against the window, Daryl decided it was safe enough to make his move.
Narrowing his eyes at the man being chained, Daryl scowled. "Wait…you son of a bitch!" He growled, launching himself at the man, knocking the two of them onto the ground beside the suburban, clear of the line of shot.
Behind him, as he forced the man under the vehicle with him, he heard gunshots being fired and bodies dropping.
Grabbing his crossbow, he struggled to get it off his back in the cramped space under the vehicle, but managed in time to fire a bolt into the head of a man who was dropping to his knees to follow them.
The pause in gunfire let him know the Lieutenant was reloading and Daryl checked his left quickly, before rolling out from under the suburban, keeping low, he reloaded his crossbow, searching around for remaining men.
Spinning around, he took three quick steps towards the hood of the vehicle in time to find another man peeking up over it. Daryl shot him with another bolt ending his threat effectively.
After a moment the Lieutenant emerged from the treeline, looking pale and tired, his shoulder wound seeping blood through his shirt, giving Daryl the all clear.
He moved around the suburban, finding the man from the Grand Prix out cold half under the vehicle, face down on the asphalt.
Opening the backdoor, he ducked as the woman kicked out at him. "Jesus! Calm the fuck down!"
The Lieutenant joined him as the woman went into a wild frenzy, kicking and clawing and screaming at them in a strange language.
"What the hell is up with her?"
The Cajun frowned. "She's Muslim," he said, pointing to her headscarf, "that's a hijab she's wearing, but I don't understand her…must be Iranian, maybe?" The Lieutenant pointed to his eyes. "Hey, look here, honeychild," he cooed soothingly. "Hl tfhm 'erby?"
The woman stilled, blinking at him.
"Think she got the gist of that," the Lieutenant said. "Rafik," he went on, touching his chest.
"Are you really our friend?"
The two men turned, leaping clear of the door in case the woman decided to attack.
A young boy stood there, big brown eyes peering up at them, solemn and calm, despite the bloody gash to his forehead and the blood that streamed from his nose.
The Voodoo Dialect
Bade – Bade is the loa of the wind. He is the inseparable companion of the loa of lightening, Sogbo.
Sogbo – Sogbo is the god of lightning and the protector of flags. He is also the brother of the three-horned Bosu. Sogbo is always accompanied by his companion Bade, who is the loa of the winds. Those possessed by Sogbo throw polished stones down onto the ground, these stones are collected by followers and used as symbols of the loa. When the loa throws these stones to the ground during a lightning strike, they must lie there on the ground untouched for a year before a houngan (Voodoo Priest) may to touch them.
..-~-..
The Arabic Language (The Lieutenant was speaking Arabic because it's the universal language of the Middle East, though there are some who may not speak it, in the military, overseas he was bound to pick up enough Arabic to get by)
Hl tfhm 'erby – Do you speak Arabic?
Rafik – Friend