Chapter Thirty-Nine: Sobo
**The Lieutenant**
Kneeling behind the tractor, he spied Daryl duck into the house, making sure he made it before trying to discern the men attacking them from the darkness of the night. With his bare eye he could only make out their positions by the blazing of gunfire, so he raised Marie and peered down her night scope as a bullet whizzed past his shoulder.
His ribs were probably rebroken by now and it hurt like hell to move or breathe, but the adrenaline seemed to numb a lot of it, so he managed to get a lot more accomplished than he thought.
Down his scope he spied two heavy duty vehicles parked haphazardly in the driveway, another one driving full force up it, which didn't reassure him of numbers. If he were leading a charge like that he'd send men in the back way as well, so with Kowalski covering the drive, he waited for a chance, dashing out into the open and heading for the barn to give their asses some cover.
Inside the hayloft, he found Michonne crouching, watching the back for them, cutting a terrifying figure with her strong form and sword.
She glanced over at him in acknowledgement as he eased down in the open doorway and reaching out, she shoved the winch for the bales aside to give him a better line of sight as he pulled the silencer for his rifle out of his pocket. He didn't like keeping it on Marie, it dulled her firepower, but he figured it didn't make much difference here. He wasn't dealing with one mile shots, this was only a matter of a couple hundred yards and with no other gun to give him back up, he didn't want to give away his position.
Lying on his belly again, peering through Marie's scope, ignoring the hell that was happening behind them, he scanned the open pasture land behind the barn and along the treeline for threats.
In the woods random explosions from the direction of the minefield gave him a fair enough warning of oncoming threats and he narrowed his eye down the scope, in edge, ready to pull the trigger at the first sight of movement.
Eventually a small trickle of men came out of the woods, crouching low in the weeds around the pond, but the Lieutenant spied all six of them with ease. "Six," he muttered to Michonne, blowing the brains of one of the stragglers out the back of his skull with a stroke of his finger against the trigger of Marie.
Below them three mounted riders emerged from the barn on beautiful white horses and tore off in the direction of the men coming out of the woods.
"I want a horse," Michonne purred and pushed away from his side, presumably to get herself one somehow.
"There could be more," he warned her in the dark. "I'll give you coverage, best I can."
Picking off one of the men as he raised his pistol to fire on a horseman, the Lieutenant caught another in his sights, in time for him to be knocked down by the hooves of one of the white horses.
The horse trampled the hell out of the man, as the rider kept commanding it to rear and fall again, raising a pistol and firing at another man.
Somewhere from the front of the barn an explosion shook the earth and a corner of the barn roof caved in as something tore through it.
Ducking and covering from the debris that fell on top of him, he realized that this wasn't just a few men looking to recover one of theirs, this was a death squad sent in to seek out and destroy opponents. They either could care less about their man or were fucking insane.
By the time he scrambled out from under the boards and shingles of the roof cave in, he found one of their riders was missing, his horse galloping wildly back in the direction of the barn, heading for safety. It passed by Michonne, who was tearing out on another, her sword raised, but there were no more men out back to fight.
She met up with the others as they paused to retrieve their fallen comrade and the three horsemen headed for the barn with the limp body of the fourth.
Not sure whether to continue to provide rear coverage, but figuring there were no more to shoot at, Lafayette grabbed his rifle and scrambled over the debris from the roof to give those up front some back up. The stairs were covered completely, so he went to the other opening and peered out at the devastation below.
The tree Kowalski had made his eagle's nest in was blazing with fire and smoke, the vehicle that had been driving up the lane was crashed into the base of it and everywhere below in the farmyard people were running and gunning, while a few assholes from the other group were cutting the wire to the fence line, chasing the cattle out.
Raising his rifle, he pegged off a few of them before they could cut the last wire and hoped the cattle were smart enough to stay inside the fence. Delgado's group wouldn't survive winter without their livestock, they didn't have the garden the convent did.
Another explosion near said garden had the Lieutenant convinced that the men were lobbing grenades and he hoped they had a limited supply.
Scrambling back over the roof section, he shouldered his rifle and grabbing the winch for bales, swung out and over the ground, hitting the side of the barn, he hoped sliding down it would slow his fall, as he released the winch and scraped his body down to the ground.
Tucking and rolling jarred his ribs and he winced, sure he'd puncture a damned lung before the week was out.
Limping around the barn carefully, rifle raised, he scurried between the chicken coop and the south side of the huge building, hugging the shadows. Collapsing to the ground as another part of the barn splintered and rained down, he found himself lying beside a corpse.
Throwing pieces of the barn off it, he rolled it over, ensured it wasn't one of his people, before killing the brain with his knife.
Kneeling beside the chicken coop, in the dark, Lafayette glanced at the building, before frowning. If those other men were determined to destroy the livestock lines for Delgado's people they'd go after the chickens soon enough.
Grabbing a chicken cage from the little alley he was in, he checked his position, before dashing into the coop.
A few of the chickens were dead where they stood, probably scared to death with all the excitement, but he managed to grab up a rooster and a couple of hens, shoving them into the cage, before ducking out again.
With no real safe options to stash the chickens, he hurried out into the pasture, jumping the wire fence and hurried towards the pond, where he tucked them into the little dinghy there and set them afloat. At least Delgado's men had something to rebuild from if the coop was taken and if an infected got past their barriers now with them in shambles, they wouldn't be able to get the chickens until the boat hit land again, which – hopefully – wouldn't be until Delgado's men could collect them.
Of course, that's if the chicken's ever laid again. His Mamere had chickens, and once they got scared or startled, it was a hit or miss whether they'd lay again.
Hurrying back to the action, he got there just in time to see Michonne on her horse, swinging her sword and lopping off heads left and right in the thick of the action.
He gave her coverage from his spot between the coop and the barn, but in the darkness, even with his night scope, it was hard to tell which side was friendly and which wasn't.
It was too many men, more than Cash said there'd be and the Lieutenant began to think that maybe the people after Cash was the entirety of their group, that they were wandering, taking things and killing people.
Roamers were something he wasn't prepared for. Wasn't hoping for. It meant if this group was roaming three states away from where it started, then others would be roaming, pillaging and ravaging.
The infected may be dying off, but now it was man they had to fight and man was far deadlier with their sharpened wits.
This wasn't just a skirmish, this was a fucking war.
..-~-..
..-~-..
**Daryl**
He was at the broken window in the parlour, keeping the men from storming the house.
Mrs. Hollander had led the little ones up into the attic, while the women of the house and Mr. Hollander defended it.
But those dipshits were throwing grenades, not at buildings, but at things, sending all manner of shrapnel their way.
Earlier, during the fight, he had heard one of the men shout not to hit the buildings as the man they came for could be in one of them.
Yeah, Daryl thought, well if they survived this he'd go out and brain that asshole himself.
Other than Glenn, who had gone to guard the backdoor from attack, Daryl didn't know where any of his people were. He assumed they were scattered out in the warzone the barnyard had become.
And then someone at the top of the stairs in the house shouted, "pipes out!"
At the window beside him, Mr. Hollander hit the floor and pulled Daryl down as well.
"What the hell does that mean?" He asked the old man.
"Our last resort, BFPB, big fucking pipe bombs," the old man shouted over the gunshots. "Duck and cover, boy."
"What about my people? They don't know what the hell you have planned!" Daryl objected, before he could do anything, three or four massive explosions hit the ground in the barnyard, the blast bursting the glass out of most of the windows in the house.
Daryl, with his ears ringing, staggered to his feet in confusion, pulled down by the old man again as another couple of explosions hit the barnyard.
It felt like he was at ground zero to an A-bomb attack, he was disorientated and pissed right the hell off.
As his ears stopped ringing, he realized there was nothing from the barnyard, nothing but the sound of eerie silence. He waited for a moment, before turning to the old man.
"You'd best hope my people got cover in time!" He declared. "I'll fucking tear this place a new asshole myself!"
Inching up to the window, he peeked out at the dead barnyard full of twisted metal that had once been vehicles and tractors, at the devastated barn that lay smouldering and roofless. It looked like hell with all the smoke and flames.
In the dim light of the half moon, he couldn't make anything out, nothing moved and then from out of the smoke and flames, a group of three, maybe four figures emerged, moving amongst the debris, checking behind it for survivors and enemies.
"Their ours!" Someone called down from the top of the stairs. "Looks like one from the Lieutenant's group, and Kessler, the boss and Harkness."
"What about Bloom? Kowalski? Where's Burke?" Mr. Hollander shouted up.
Running in from the kitchen, Vivian approached them carefully, minding the windows. "Burke's down, he's bad."
Deciding he had enough waiting around and figuring that if those out in the barnyard weren't being shot at, Daryl pulled away from the window and crawled to the kitchen, passing the bloody man who was being tended to by Eve on the very island where earlier he had a sandwich snack, heading out the back door to scan the area. Shouldering his crossbow, knowing he wouldn't have enough time to reload it in case he needed to, he pulled out the 9mm he kept in his waistband and carefully moved around the house for the gaping wound that had once been a barnyard.
Making his way through the shadows, knowing there could be anything out there now, Daryl headed for the barn where the roof was still smouldering.
As he moved through the darkness, he kept his gun up and pointed at ready. The problem wasn't only the men after them, but now, with all this destruction, he wouldn't doubt if a few accidental kills resulted in some quick rising walkers.
Daryl had no idea where Merle had gotten off too, no idea where Michonne or Fay were, but he'd find them.
Joining the others out front, he nodded in greeting to Delgado as the remaining assholes tore off down the lane into the night in one of their last remaining vehicles.
"Should we go after them?" One of Delgado's men on a white horse asked as he struggled to keep the spirited animal from sprinting off into the night with a strong arm.
Standing against a very familiar sight of a burning barn, the leader bowed his head, kicking the ground idly for a moment, before saying, "no." He inhaled deeply and looked about. "We need to regroup, secure ours."
Exchanging a glance with Michonne, Daryl took a quick look at the barn which was now catching fire from all the smouldering and sneered.
"Sid, you and Harkness round up the cattle, we need them come winter," Delgado ordered. "I'm going to check this place for stragglers."
"What can we do?" Michonne asked softly.
Delgado looked over and up at her mounted on a beautiful white horse and scoffed. "You did enough, just clear this place out of remaining threats, then we'll meet up inside."
She nodded and set off.
Daryl lingered, eyeing the burning barn and the quiet soldier, before walking off into the night to help clear the place. He had an uneasy feeling that these kind of occurrences, whether they wiped out this group or not, would be a regular feature in the world now.
It was almost enough to make him miss the walkers.
He found Kowalski standing in the darkness under his singed and half burned tree, eyeing the distance down the lane with steely eyes in the night and moved carefully into his line of sight.
The young soldier looked singed and half burned himself, a nasty looking burn flamed up from the front of his chest, his gear taking the brunt, licking up his neck with deep red, inflamed looking blisters beginning to rise, but he looked otherwise fine, hands on his rifle, keeping guard once more at his post like a faithful dog.
He nodded stoically to Daryl and Daryl offered him a quick nod in return, passing by in his quest to secure the place and track down his brother and Fay.
Somewhere in the darkness of the tall grass of the pasture, Daryl came across Merle who was kneeling beside a corpse, sorting through its belongings.
"Merle," Daryl greeted softly, so as not to startle him.
"Ran out of bullets," Merle said simply, pushing to his feet. "Chased this dipshit down, thought he might have some on him."
The two brothers stood in the darkness, watching as a few figures tried to put out the barn blaze in the distance.
"Everyone make it okay?" Merle asked.
"Can't find Fay," Daryl replied. "Kowalski's over by his tree keeping guard."
Merle nodded. "Yeah, saw the little shit jump clear before that tree got hit, it was close though."
"He's singed, but looks fine. Come on, we need to clear the area," Daryl urged, nudging his brother with his elbow.
Quietly Merle followed, keeping Daryl's back.
As they hopped the last remaining wire to the pasture's fence and approached the farmyard, Daryl spied Fay talking lowly with Delgado near the building where the prisoner was kept, Delgado had his 9mm drawn but it was resting limply in his hand.
Fay seemed intent on whatever he was saying, as he didn't notice Daryl and Merle sidle up for the longest time, until Daryl was right beside him.
"At the very least," Fay was saying, "you'll have chickens and your cattle come winter. Look, Corporal, these men have mass and muscle on their side, but they obviously aren't thinking, working tacticians. They're sloppy."
Looking over he spied Daryl and nodded in silent greeting, saying, "the garden's decimated."
"Yeah, well, them assholes kind of ruined a nice thing here," Daryl said. "Kowalski's up and running, by his tree," he went on.
A muscle in Delgado's jaw twitched and the man nodded, before calmly moving into the building that held the prisoner.
A few seconds later the sound of a gunshot had Daryl tensing before he realized it was friendly fire coming from the building. He was still in battle-mode.
Emerging from the building after a few minutes of the three men outside standing in the wafting smoke of the extinguished barn, Delgado emerged, checking his clip, before tucking the gun back into his holster.
"Okay," he said. "That's one thing dealt with, what next, Sarge?"
Fay shrugged. "Don't know, it's your group, Corporal, your call."
"My call? Gun down every last one of those sons a bitches," Delgado snarled. "My call right now is red hot, Sarge."
Nodding slowly, the Cajun kicked at the dirt. "I see that, Delgado. Alright, let's round up your cattle and collect the pieces of your livestock, then when you're cooler you make that call."
Standing before the decimated chicken coop, Daryl touched his hand to his hip as Delgado gawped at it for a moment, before the tall, broad shouldered soldier bowed his head and laughed.
"I salvaged a couple hens and a rooster for you," Fay said. "Put them adrift in a boat out back."
Delgado still laughed almost insanely. "Fuck it, Sarge. We have a whole batch brewing in an incubator in the storm cellar. If those assholes think they have us licked, they didn't think we prepared for this."
Still Daryl and Merle exchanged doubtful looks. Without a garden, without vegetables neither Dixon was sure Delgado's people would last out the winter, especially if it was a harsh one.
"Still think the rooster could be useful to your lot," the Cajun said with a worried look on his face. "If the hens won't lay, at the very least you'd have a rooster and some fresh blood."
"Boss," one of Delgado's people, the cowboy who didn't get injured, jogged up on his long legs, face drawn and grim. "We took a head count, Bloom, Russell and Burke didn't make it. Those fuckers got Burke, boss."
Delgado shifted on his boots, before laying a hand on the Texan's shoulder. "I'm sorry, Pace, we'll bury them come morning."
"Yeah."
"You get Dolly and Eve, butcher up these dead chickens, we may be able to can the meat at least. May need whatever we can for winter."
As the cowboy nodded and moved off, Delgado's shoulders slumped again, seemed he was up and down all night with the good and bad news.
"Shit," he muttered, "they got our medic. Kate's going to take it rough."
Daryl winced, touching a hand to his stitched side and idly rubbing at it.
"It'll pull together, Corporal," Fay assured his friend. "We'll help you out if we can, we have a few medical marvels with us."
"We'll hang this group by its balls for you too," Daryl broke in. "If you need. Assholes piss me off anyways."
As Delgado moved off, his back painfully straight, his gait purposeful, Daryl and his brother turned quiet eyes on the ruins about them, Fay moving to stand with them.
"Behold, I send you out as sheep in the midst of wolves; therefore be shrewd as serpents and innocent as doves," Merle mumbled bitterly.
Daryl quirked a shocked brow at his older brother as the man's square form lumbered off into the night on enraged booted feet.
Beside him Fay shifted uncomfortably, muttering, "but beware of men; for they deliver you up to the courts and scourge you in their synagogues."
Watching Fay move off as well, Daryl kicked a nearby hunk of twisted metal which had dropped from one of the many explosions which ravaged the yard and sniffed. "A-fucking-men," he grumbled, wondering where the hell everyone was learning to talk like a bunch of preachermen.
Sobo (Sobo Kessou): Loa of strength. Sobo is a very powerful loa and well known for his bravery as a warrior. When he possesses someone, that person must dress up like a general in the army. When he addresses the congregation during a mounting it is like a general addressing his troops. Sobo is considered an important figure in voodoo mythology. He is the symbol of strength, the ideal of voodoo priests who want to be respected figures in their communities. Because of the strength he procures for his followers, Sobo's presence is continually requested to bring security and protection to the congregation. He who is with Sobo is protected against wild spirits.
Sobo is said to have healing power and is often called upon to cure illness of the supernatural origin to his devotees.
He dines upon goat meat and mutton, and often lives under trees. His servitors wear kerchiefs of white and lemon, his favorite colors.
..-~-..
..-~-..
Merle's Right Hand - I think you and Fay would both be pretty fun to be around if the shit ever hits the fan.
vickih - I'm guessing Delgado had to do that a lot in the corps.
Whooptiedoo - I need to fantasy cast Kowalski...thanks for the reminder and the review. ^_^
Claire Randall Fraser - You basically summed up my entire family. XD
itsi3 - I wonder if anyone's noticed I based Eve off Yvette Nicole Brown yet...
DarylDixon'sLover - Yo.
Brazen Hussy - I bet Merle's got quite a chomp on him...that went to a weird place.
Girl in a White Dress - MmMmm Nescafe...
HaloHunter89 - Well, at least the Lt. is honest about his sexual prowess, as for Daryl I'd imagine he would be quite shy about his looks and having attention drawn to them.
Surplus Imagination - Hmmm, Carl and Mae, huh?
Yazzy x - I wish one of my talents was hillbilly voice. All I can muster up is a redneck drawl. ^_^