Chapter Thirty: Pie
**Rick**
Holding Annie until she was all cried out, reminded him of just how much he enjoyed being a father. It pained him to think Carl was cutting himself off, was forced to grow up and away from him and how every time he held Judith, despite trying hard to just be her father without question, how deep down inside, he wondered. That niggling feeling of whether or not he was actually her father or if she was Shane's.
All his shortcomings seemed to flash across his mind as he stroked Annie's hair and her back until she stopped crying and calmed enough to pull back from his damp shoulder, her beautiful little face flushed from her tears. Rick could see that given time and the right amount of nourishment, the little girl would bloom one day into a very beautiful young woman, she just had that spark about her.
"Better?" He asked.
Rubbing at her eyes, she shook her head.
Thinking of Sophia, Rick swallowed hard and pulled Annie against him again.
Among the sea of regrets that was growing daily, Sophia was one of his biggest. Leaving her alone in the woods as he did, just leaving her there was his biggest regret. There wasn't a night that went by that he thought of Sophia's frightened, freckled face peering out at him from that hole, the image flickering before his eyes in the quiet moments before sleep, always prolonged his rest.
He didn't know how Carol could even stand to look at him, didn't understand how she had forgiven him for it.
Jesus, how did a man claw his way back to redemption from that? It was almost too late at this point.
Resting his cheek on the top of Annie's head, Rick held her tighter, his thoughts turning to the women of the group. They had been little girls too, they all had been children once. Where was the comfort for them during the end of the world?
Hell, where was the comfort for any of them?
He thought of the scene from the morning, envisioning a little boy sitting on the wall with scruffy dark blond hair and a little mole to the left of his mouth, teasing a scrawny, rail thin Cajun boy. He imagined a young Asian boy in a baseball cap, eagerly helping out an older boy with closely cropped hair and a baseball glove on his right hand, they were loading up bicycles instead of a truck. Two girls sitting on the front stoop of the dorms, playing cat's cradle, one of them with big blue eyes and a little flower tucked into her short, gently curled hair, the other wearing Mary Jane's and a little puffy black dress with a white lace collar. And then on the wall a girl playing with a wooden sword was walking, keeping watch over a boy with glasses as he removed the stuffing from a teddy bear eagerly.
These people, his people, they were still children. He still needed to keep them safe, but what he needed to do for them more than anything, was comfort them.
But safety was comfort, wasn't it?
He realized what the group needed wasn't a leader or a dictator, but a father. Gentle guidance, protection, comfort, they needed to play and enjoy life, because children needed that. His people, his children, needed words of wisdom and patience.
Turning his thoughts to his son, Rick sighed heavily. How could he provide the group with fatherly protection and guidance if his own son was running amok, pissing people off and disrespecting everyone?
A form eased onto the bench beside him and Rick glanced over to find Herschel there, wearing an old straw hat to keep the Georgian sun off his head and settling his crutch to one side. The hat must have become a force of habit for him now, as the skies overhead were grey and promised rain, though Herschel still wore it.
Even as Rick though of this, he could have sworn he felt the trickling drops of rain spitting at him from the murky skies overhead.
"That Mamet boy sure enjoys his dissections," the old man greeted.
In his arms, Annie turned her head and chirped. "Hi, Grandpa Herschel."
"Hello, pumpkin."
"Is he finished, then?" Rick asked.
Herschel nodded. "He's handing it over to Michonne and Karen to drag out back to burn."
"So? What's the conclusion?"
"They won't live forever, but because of degradation in the brain, Milton thinks that they could be more dangerous now. Less like hunters sniffing the air and stalking their prey and more like rabid raccoons, turning on anything that moves."
"Worse than before, huh? Well, that's good to know."
"But there hasn't been a sighting around here since that one or for a short while before."
"Meaning?"
"They're dying off, maybe? They headed West and got lost out in the desert? Hell, all the gun toting cowboys in Texas could have done most of them in before they even reached the coast. Pick any or all."
Glenn, skittering dangerously around the corner of the church, hopped the short little wrought iron fence that separated the cemetery from the rest of the churchyard and skidded to a halt before them, eyes wide.
"Rick, there's someone coming up the road."
"What? A vehicle?"
He shook his head, puffing. "No, just someone walking."
Standing up with Annie in his arms, Rick scowled. "Just one? Are you sure it's not a walker?"
"It's a man, can't make him out through the binoculars yet."
Setting Annie on her feet, Rick nodded. "Merle on it?"
"Yeah, he wants you with him." Glenn said.
"Herschel—"
"I'll take the little lady inside." The old man said.
Running behind Glenn for the front of the church, heading for the north wall, Rick grabbed up a rifle from Karen's hand on the way by as she held it out for him from the back of the truck they were loading and jumped onto the top of the wall to kneel beside Merle who was peering through a pair of binoculars at the speck on the road in the distance.
Silently he handed them over for Rick to get a glimpse of the figure.
"That ain't no biter," Merle said.
Rick squinted into the binoculars, but couldn't make out the man at all, dropping them into Merle's hand, he turned to Glenn who was waiting below for orders.
"Get the Lieutenant up in the bell tower, we need a sharpshooter in case this is an attack and let the others know they're on lock down until we get this sorted."
"One man?" Sister Joan asked from nearby where she knelt with her rifle raised in preparation as well, by now the rain was spitting a little harder and Rick could smell a storm in the air.
"Could be a trick of sorts." Rick murmured, checking his rifle quickly, accepting more cartridges from the nun with a nod of his head, tucking the spare ammo into his shirt pocket. "I don't like the idea of just one man walking down the road like this. Joan, hurry to the others on the wall, tell them to get down off it until they hear gunshots, we don't want to be sitting ducks up here."
The nun nodded and hopping down, scurried off to relay his message.
With a rapidly beating heart, Rick eyed the figure as it made its way up the road, still looking like a fly speck.
"Dad," Carl said from below. "Give me my gun back, I can help."
"Carl, you go into the infirmary and keep watch over Andrea and Cash." Rick ordered.
"With what kind of weapon?" His son demanded.
"Get inventive," Merle growled.
"He has to know he's a sitting duck out in the open like that," Rick commented. It was the reason why it sat uneasily in his gut, why he was convinced someone was screwing with them.
Merle raised the binoculars up.
"Friendly face?" Rick asked.
"Nothing yet."
Glancing behind him, Rick spied Daryl and the Lieutenant emerging from the dorms, the Cajun with his rifle in hand, heading for the church to give them an eye in the sky, Daryl with his crossbow, slinking off to give them coverage in the back. Carol and Grace came out a while after, both women armed and spreading out.
Turning his face back in the direction of the figure parading up their cattle trail, Rick found Merle thrusting the binoculars at him. "He familiar?"
Rick looked through them.
In the distance walked a young man, dressed head to toe in full military combat gear, heading up the trail, gun shouldered, hands in full sight, one at his side, the other clutching the strap. As he tilted his chin up to take in his surroundings, Rick caught a glimpse of his face, it was fairly clean shaven and young, but unfamiliar.
"Soldier?" He muttered as the skies opened up and dumped load of heavy drops of fat rain on their heads.
"Anyone can wear combat gear these days," Merle returned.
"It's not Delgado, is it?" Rick asked, raising his rifle to ready himself for a fight.
"No, this a little white boy," Merle said. "Delgado is a big mother fucker."
"Any of his people?" Rick went on.
"I don't know."
As the figure drew close enough that Rick was sure he saw them on the wall with him in their sights, the cheeky little asshole paraded right up to within ten feet of the wall, before eyeing them all quietly.
"Who are you?"
The soldier blinked at them, still holding his hands where they could see.
Rick raised his rifle higher. "Who are you?" He demanded.
Carefully turning around, the soldier flashed a large paper sign pinned to his pack like one would to a child, which read 'Delgado sent me'.
Cautiously, Rick adjusted his rifle as the soldier turned again and with his eyes locking on Rick, reached for a note from within his many pockets, held it up for them to see.
"How'd you find us?" Rick asked.
The soldier, turned around to blink at them, hands and letter still in the air.
"How'd you find us?"
With an almost long suffering look, the soldier pointed two fingers at his eyes.
"Are you alone?"
The soldier shook the letter in their direction.
"Are you with anyone, dumb ass?" Merle barked.
Squinting, the soldier shifted on his feet, still holding the letter out to them.
"Are you deaf, idiot? Where's the men you came with?" Merle shouted.
Sighing, the soldier balled up the letter and threw it at Rick, who caught it one handed, rifle still held up with the other.
He glanced over at Merle, telling him wordlessly to give him cover as he smoothed the wrinkled, water dampened note and opened it.
Glancing over the letter, Rick looked up at the soldier, quietly observing him.
"He is deaf, Merle," he said. "Apparently Delgado's people caught a prisoner, they want to know if he's one of ours, because he won't talk."
Merle pulled a face, before shrugging. "Doesn't mean he has to act like a retard."
Ignoring Merle's insensitive comment, Rick held up one finger and asked slowly. "Alone?" He pointed at the soldier and again held up one finger.
The young man nodded.
Shoving the letter at Merle, Rick shouldered his rifle and motioned the young soldier in the direction of the gate.
"What are doing?" Merle demanded.
"If we're going to be allies with this group, we may as well give their messenger a hot meal before sending him packing again. Keep your eyes out, just in case," Rick said.
On the wall, Merle sneered, but remained kneeling, keeping a watch for others.
At the gate Rick hopped down as Noah opened it for the soldier to come through, holding out his hand to the young man tentatively. The soldier was young, very young, fresh faced with big green eyes and a peppering of dark freckles scattered across his cheeks and over the bridge of his nose.
Motioning to his rifle, Rick said slowly, not sure if the man could read lips or not. "I want you to hand over your gun. Okay?"
The soldier frowned, unclear about what he was being asked.
"Noah, find me a pen and paper," Rick asked.
The young man nodded and took off for the nearest vehicle to go through the glovebox.
"Can you sign?" Rick asked the soldier, again going slowly, holding his hands up and making nonsensical signs.
He shook his head.
"Here," Sister Joan said, moving over with a small notebook and pen in hand. "I sometimes like to keep it on me for religious musings."
Rick thanked her and scribbled on the paper, asking the young man to hand over his gun to the gatekeeper, assuring him of his safety.
The soldier frowned delicately, but offered up his rifle, a handgun from his waist, another from his leg and a combat knife as well.
Scratching out 'hungry?', Rick handed the notebook over to the soldier, who nodded.
"Thank you," he muttered with difficulty, almost shyly looking over at Sister Joan who stood nearby, as though embarrassed by his condition.
Leading the man through a throng of curious onlookers, Rick motioned him towards the overhang of the church. The soldier removed his helmet and used it to perch on once they reached the safety of the overhang, brown hair falling over his eyes like a shaggy dog as he took in those who surrounded him cautiously.
"Can we get him something to eat?" Rick asked Carol who had come over to stand beside him with Grace not far behind.
"I'll see what I can find to warm up for him," Grace said, offering the young man a kind smile.
"Vancoughnett?" The soldier asked, once more in a slow, unsure tone.
Rick nodded, motioning towards the door to the church where the Lieutenant was just emerging behind them.
Sister Mary Elizabeth hurried over with a bottle of water for the soldier, offering it to him with a sweet smile.
He took it with a grateful nod and a mouthed 'thank you'.
"From the bell tower the area checks out," the Lieutenant said as he arrived. Rick could see the Cajun had only thrown on his camouflaged jacket over his bare torso, so he assumed he had been roused out of bed by the ordeal. "But I spied Daryl and Tyreese heading over the wall to check on things from the ground."
"He says he's from Delgado's group," Rick said.
Slowly easing into a kneeling position before the soldier, the Lieutenant beamed. "You must be Kowalski," he greeted the young man slowly.
The soldier nodded, it was a dip of his head.
Rick couldn't shake how young the boy looked, like he was just out of high school. It didn't help that the freckles reminded him of Carl and it crushed his ribs a little against his lungs and heart to think that Carl looked old enough or the soldier before him looked young enough, to be nearly identical.
The scruff the soldier had, was actually a comfort, it gave him a few more years over Carl, at least.
"He says they have a prisoner, wanted to know if he was one of ours," Rick went on explaining as a few nuns and Beth knelt down to offer the young soldier various things. He almost wanted to chase them off, but they seemed determined to coddle him from his 'harrowing' journey.
The Lieutenant shrugged. "I think all ours are accounted for."
Sasha, moving over with her rifle in hand, addressed them. "Tyreese headed over the wall with Daryl, says they're going to search the area, just in case."
Rick nodded.
"If they think we sent men after them?" Glenn broke in, moving up beside Rick. "Then why would they send just one man in?"
Studying the way the young man sat, looking about tensely, eyeing everyone around him, stone deaf apparently, in the middle of a camp of potential enemies. Rick frowned. "It was a suicide mission."
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The Voodoo Dialect
Pie – A grave soldier loa who dwells at the bottom of lakes and rivers, he's responsible for bringing the severe rain and floods.
..-~-..
vickih - I'm voting for Merle killing Cash at this moment. ^_^
itsi3 - Thank you.
HaloHunter89 - Oh, well at least then you could have pretended to be crazy at a doctor's office...or suffering from laugh tourettes.
Merle's Right Hand - Seems like you like Cash...am I reading that wrong, babes?
Girl in a White Dress - Thanks. I was trying a different pov and was actually nervous about it, so thanks for the support of it.
GG - Yes, Nadir's mother is pretty isolated right now, isn't she? It's a shitty thing to be at the end of the world, but even worse if you don't speak the language, I'd imagine.
Brazen Hussy - Soon, my friend. Soooooon. ^_^