Chapter Thirty-Three: Pie II
**Kowalski**
The explosion sent him rocketing out of the bed, slamming hard against the wall nearby and tripping over his pack, scattering a mass of things across the infirmary floor. Collapsing hard, gripping the windowsill to keep himself upright, he quickly spun on the room and found the curtain being drawn back and the man from chair standing there.
He said something to Kowalski, which –oddly enough – literally fell on deaf ears.
Breathing heavily, the young soldier, blinked away ghost remnants of desert sand from his eyes and calmed himself enough to stoop down and collect his belongings, stuffing them back into his pack, embarrassed by his nightmare.
This, he reminded himself, is why you don't sleep, asshole.
Shouldering his pack, he decided he had enough rest and wanted to poke around Vancoughnett's place, see what he could make of it, find some tactical dirt for Delgado.
Turning, pulling his helmet low over his eyes, he found the man still there. Again he said something to him, his mouth moving slowly.
Not wanting to be talked down to or patronized by someone, he pushed past the man, heading for the doorway.
A strong hand fell down and pressed against his chest and Kowalski stopped short, looking down at it, then over at the man.
He said something to him.
Looking down at the hand again, Kowalski scowled, realizing the situation.
Yeah, he was really going to go out there and cause some shit. Like he didn't have more pressing matters on his hand, he was going to parade out into the wild beyond the infirmary and punch the mama bear while trapped in a cave with her family.
Brushing the man's hand off his person firstly, Kowalski turned on him made a couple of nonsensical signs with his hand, before shifting his hand quickly one way, drawing the man's attention in that direction long enough for him to slip past in the opposite direction.
He made it to the door, before the man caught up with him, but he only stayed on his ass, not trying to stop him again.
Outside the rain had finally stopped and the world was shimmering with damp. In the west the sun was about two hours from setting and the sky was clear, showing promise for a dry night.
Kowalski took in the convent grounds now that things had seemingly returned to normal.
A handful of people walking the wall, one at the gate, on the lawn, under a peach tree, a little girl was running around and around with a small Bassett Hound on her heels, being watched over by a young blonde girl, the old woman from the church stoop and an old man who looked like Santa Claus.
The little girl spied Kowalski emerging from the infirmary and with wide, excited eyes, dashed towards him, slipping out of the grip of the blonde girl who made to stop her.
Sliding to a stop on the wet grass, the little thing looked up at him, her mouth moving at a speed that not even an expert lip reader could keep up with, her little hands gripping the skirt of her plain black dress and holding it out, she swayed idly.
Pushing his helmet back further on his forehead, Kowalski looked down at her as she went on, the blonde woman moving to stand close behind her protectively, the old man moving to stand behind the blonde with the same cautious eyes.
Kneeling in the grass, brought Kowalski a little closer to the girl as she went on talking, stooping down and plucking a dandelion to hold out to him with a bright grin.
Charmed by the cute thing, he angled his head, before accepting the gift.
Okay, so he didn't mind kids. They weren't huge pains in the ass for him, he didn't have to raise them or wipe their noses. Besides, this one reminded him of his baby sister when she was that age, hopelessly adorable, but with the devil in her eyes. His mother had her late in life, so he had been quite a bit older than her, in grade twelve when she was about six. He had never really been one of those older brothers who hated their baby sister, Claire was always his favourite person, she told good jokes and used to make origami out of any piece of paper she could find.
Moving the dandelion to his mouth, he pretended to eat it, palming it in reality and 'pulling' out from the little girl's ear.
Her eyes lit up and she clapped her hands, her mouth moving at the speed of light now. Yeah, his sister loved that trick too.
Tapping the girl on the nose with the dandelion, he pushed to his feet and found the old man saying something to him.
Pulling his helmet back down, Kowalski moved off again, tucking the dandelion into the band of his helmet beside his NVG mount and ignoring the old man. He would have thought these people would have gotten the hint that he couldn't fucking hear a thing they said by now.
By the time he reached the first building he was intent on exploring, he found that not only had that old man taken over the watch from the man from the infirmary, but the little girl, the blonde and the old woman had trailed behind him.
Plus a woman passing on the wall nearest them had taken an interest in his movements.
He was almost tempted to go back to the infirmary to hide out of sight again, but pressed on.
The first building he came to was a one story thing, old stone masonry work on the outside, and rich wood panelling on the inside.
Opening the door, he found himself facing down a long corridor lined with doors and stepped inside.
The old man placed a hand on his shoulder and said something to him.
Kowalski eyed the hand and brushed it away like one would chase off a fly. He didn't give a rat's ass what the man was saying, he was on a scouting mission now.
Wandering slowly down the hall, he eyed little pieces of statuary on pedestals as he passed, pausing at one bust in particular to pick it up. It was of a woman, but her eyes were gouged out.
Jesus, that wasn't full on fucking creepy at all.
Turning the piece over, he read the inscription in the base. Apparently it was a replica of the Holy Mary of Urakami, a reminder of the grim toll of the bombings in Nagasaki, Japan.
Pulling a face at the horrible thing, Kowalski glanced over to find the old man now standing there alone, watching him. He blinked at him, putting the bust back, turning her so that no one had to look at the freaky thing, feeling like he was doing the world a huge fucking favour.
Subtlety he used his boot to scoot a nearby fern closer to the thing, hoping to mask most of it from sight. No one should have to deal with that, icon or not. He'd rather have a mounted infected head chomping at him from the wall then that dead eyed thing staring out at him.
Wandering the corridor like a hitchhiker backpacking across Europe, Kowalski studied the paintings and icons, but mostly he was taking a head count of people he spied in open doors, people, he noted, who came to stand at the doorway as he passed, curious about him.
Glancing behind him, he realized he was getting a little sick of Santa following him around like he was a kid playing pocket the prize in a corner grocery store, so he decided to lose him.
It wasn't really hard, the man had one good leg and a crutch and looked like he wasn't up for a foot race, so all Kowalski had to do was make a short, quick burst for an open space to the right, halfway down the hall.
Inside the open space were two doors, he took the one to his left, beyond a long dining table and rushed into a kitchen just as someone was coming in from the backdoor.
A larger, older woman women dropped a jug of water to the ground in shock at his quick entrance and leapt back defensively.
Kowalski eyed the mess she made, before shrugging, he was trying to lose the old man and didn't have time to care much for her mess, brushing past her, out the door and into the sunshine of the early evening.
Behind the building he emerged from, he found himself with an open patch of grass and a water pump from a well to his right and what looked like an abandoned flower garden to his left. He took to the garden, it gave him more cover, and keeping low, hurried to dive onto a stone bench, situated between a hydrangea and a lilac bush.
He decided he didn't really want to stir too much shit, so he opted to just taunt the old man a little, waiting for him to emerge and offering him a rigid salute as Santa finally poked his head out of the backdoor.
The old man hobbled towards him, easing onto the bench at his side and sitting there with his mouth shut.
Kowalski sat there for a moment, enjoying the peace of the backyard flower garden, ignoring the fact that the bench was still damp and was soaking his ass. He liked the idea of the walls, it gave this place a paradise feel compared to the worry of the farm.
Safe. It felt safe for once.
He sat there on the bench until the sun died in the west and darkness fell over them.
What he missed, what he remembered most from before the war, was the sound of crickets at night.
Kowalski wondered if they were chirping, he wondered if the breeze was rustling the leaves in the trees, if somewhere in the distance a whippoorwill was crying out for love.
Hank Williams had never seemed so prophetic than he was at that moment.
Recalling sitting on the hood of his daddy's '54 Pontiac as he fixed her up, Kowalski yearned for his childhood again, when people walked by on the street outside his father's garage where the old man fixed up classic cars. In those days they were people who weren't on the hunt for flesh, people who stopped and waved and smiled.
Mouthing the words to the song to himself, Kowalski rubbed his hand against the large scar that lay just under his shirt and Kevlar vest, the one that festered and didn't seem like it would ever heal.
The moon just went, behind the clouds, to hide its face and cry. He mouthed.
In his mind's eye his daddy scooped him up off the car and deposited him on the ground as the ice cream man went by, ringing his little bell.
Remembering the old man at his side, Kowalski glanced over and found him patiently sitting there, watching the stars overhead.
Tugging his pack off, he dug through it quietly, still enjoying the night around him with the sound on permanent mute. Reaching the bottom of his pack, he withdrew the heavy, rusted old hood ornament of a '54 Pontiac that he had taken from a junkyard during the 'violent' year of infected and running and handed the plane-like ornament over to the old man quietly.
He took it in shock, as Kowalski closed his pack again and pushed to his feet.
Maybe if he left enough reminders of the old world behind him like a trail of breadcrumbs he could go back in time and reclaim some of America again.
He decided he'd climb into the bell tower of the church. The world looked better from up high, less like reality.
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Inside the bell tower, he found a wide assortment of ammunition, a couple of high powered rifles, one .50 calibre rifle and a bunch of military junk, all piled neatly in wait.
Settling down on the floor, knowing full well that old man had passed the buck to someone who could climb the ladder in order to watch him, Kowalski rest his hands on the ledge of the short brick gunwale that pushed up from the floor and peered down at the grounds below quietly, resting his chin over top quietly.
This was what he wanted, a bird's eye view to separate himself from the others, to overlook the area.
A form settled on the floor behind him and he yawned, glancing over his shoulder to find that blade handed fellow there, watching him with narrowed eyes.
Sensing no threat from him, Kowalski turned back to watching the grounds. He'd sit there in that position until sunrise, it was comforting to him.
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When morning finally came around, when that Vancoughnett fellow finally poked his head up into the bell tower and emerged from the ladder dressed in his complete collection of gear from head to toe, looking very much like the officer Delgado said he was, Kowalski was so moved that he reflexively saluted him.
The man moved slowly, like he was in pain, but covered this with a broad grin, nodding in greeting to him with a tilt of his head and saluting him languidly.
Kowalski eyed the worn uniform the man wore, it looked like it had been through hell and back. The rifle he had slung over his shoulder had definitely seen action, the tightly laced boots well-travelled and the helmet hooked onto the pack at his back was covered in dirt and mud and stripped of most of the added extras the corps thought the modern soldier needed.
Coming to stand beside him at the barrier between the bell tower and the massive plummet to the ground below, Vancoughnett eyed the waking world around them with eyes the colour of a stormy sea being tossed against a rocky shoal and Kowalski suddenly was struck with admiration for the tall soldier.
Gone was the dope who stood around with no shirt on from the day prior and in his place stood a commanding officer. A true Marine. A man any common gunny would follow to hell and back if only he commanded them to.
Kowalski wondered how often the man showed this side of himself since the world went to hell. All he had seen the day before was an easy-going radio tower of a man who looked battered and bruised from some kind of ordeal he'd gone through before his people met with Kowalski's.
For a moment the congenial blue-grey of the man's eyes turned electric, the blue fading, the grey popping and the soldier at his side shifted on his feet, his sharp jawline dropping for a moment, before levelling at the horizon.
This man deserved every pip a Lieutenant's rank afforded him and Kowalski regretted that he ever doubted that.
Turning, Vancoughnett eyed him with a gentle look, before he reached out and gave Kowalski's helmet a friendly tap, something he found Marine's had a habit of doing in effort to show brotherly affection, something Kowalski actually missed about his time spent serving.
Hitching his thumb in the direction of the ladder, Vancoughnett silently inquired if Kowalski was ready to head out and he nodded, following the man to the ladder, passing the blade handed man who had found himself busy trying to tie his bootlaces one handed. Whatever Lieutenant Vancoughnett said to the man was answered with a careless wave of the man's blade in the direction of the ladder and a snapping remark that soured the man's face.
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missdaryldixon - I don't think the Lt. gets in enough trouble from Grace. He gets away with too much. ^_^
Claire Randall Fraser - Daryl would ambush a lady with something like that.
vickih - And neither of them really planned it. ^_^
Merle's Right Hand - Not going to lie, but I imagine a pissed off nun would make anyone panic enough to scatter like buckshot.
itsi3 - He does kind of let a lot of things slide. Unless someone's threatening his nuns, then he gets all grumpy mother bear with them.
Brazen Hussy - Sorry no Merle yet...hopefully when I return. After all, he needs to hook up with his nun, right? Show some tenderness, maybe get a nice reward for his efforts?
DarylDixon'sLover - Thanks!