Look kiddos, I don't do trigger warnings, because if I did I would be here all day. Just know that this story deals with death, assault, violence, car crashes, rape, parentless children, abuse (physical, mental and emotional), walking dead people, guns and all sorts of things which could trigger all manners of horrible memories for people. You have now been fully warned. I don't want to ruin anyone's day or even life by any of the things I write for entertainment, so please, if you're sensitive to any of this, read at your own risk. You know I love each and every one of you readers out there and I really don't want to harm anyone by anything in this story. Thank you.
Chapter Forty-Seven: Krabinay III
**Carol**
Time seemed to crawl as the women, a few of them casting worried looks at each other, but so far unnoticed by the men, slowly cooked their porridge and poison meal for the men.
As they did so, a few of the bikers roared back into camp and the sound of rumbling motorcycles almost made her itch to go and greet Daryl.
Her mind, obviously, wasn't completely on her surroundings.
It was strange to her, waiting for men to be served the methods of their demises, but as she stood beside Adele, as she quietly stooped to her own campfire to cook a large camp pot of her own porridge, Carol realized that she had never really seen how cyanide kills a man.
Sure on movies and television before it all ended, she had seen several actors portray poisoning, but she had never witnessed it first hand and in high definition reality.
She wondered what it would look like, wondered if it would stick with her for life or if she could fool her mind into believing the men simply 'fell asleep'.
A few more bikers rumbled up, coming home for their midday meal and Carol, sticking close to Adele, watched as they strolled into the camp and seated themselves in a circle nearby.
Thankfully, every man she eyed looked grunt and lean, like they didn't eat properly often and with luck there wouldn't be a single bowl rejected.
As the first of the bowls of steaming porridge were being spooned out and passed around, Carol felt numbness in her hands. Whether it was from the bindings or from nerves, she refused to work her fingers to get circulation back, preferring – instead – to remain stone faced and grim in the sight of the mass execution.
One by one, Adele moved across the short distance towards the bikers with hot bowls of porridge and Carol began to search about her for the first signs of the poison working amongst the first men to eat.
Moving back, Adele took Carol by the arm and pulled her into her tent.
She was about to cut the bindings to free her for the task of putting the poisoned men down for good, when Carol heard a vehicle pull up.
Adele paused, back straightened like a meerkat on the African Serengeti, sensing danger.
"Adele?" Carol whispered.
"I thought papa would be gone longer," the woman cursed softly.
Carol could see in her eyes the remnants of shame and hesitation over her father's needed end and she frowned.
"He set off to find your people, I thought." Shaking her head, she whispered. "It can't be him back so early."
"Adele," Carol began warningly, raising her hands.
But the woman was already moving to the tent flap to poke her head out.
Carol eyed the faded khaki green of the military tent they were in and sighed. There had been a musty smell to the tent when she first arrived, but now it was more of an oil or gas smell the more she got used to it.
Outside men were about to die and she was thinking about old canvas and rusty metal poles.
Adele scurried back into the tent quickly as Martin Deveau entered looking dour.
"Daddy, we're just serving lunch," Adele said a little too quickly. "Would you like a bowl?"
Carol froze in her spot as Martin breezed by her, a duffle bag in hand.
"No. Go out and serve the men, I'll watch the woman," he growled.
Adele began to look nervous then and she fidgeted with the hem of her flowy white shirt. It was a frayed and faded hippie style peasant shirt, probably the only one she could find at the time that covered her pregnant stomach.
"What did you find out there, daddy?" She asked, stalling for time, looking helplessly at Carol would was still bound at the wrists. "I mean, you were gone for a bit, were you looking for food or—"
A thought occurred to Carol at that very moment, when Martin leveled a dark, warning look on his daughter, that the poison could very well take a long time to take effect. She knew nothing of poisons or what they did or how they even acted when inside a human.
"Adele, get outside this tent and serve the men," her father growled, advancing on her.
She cowered a little, bowed her head and scurried out, leaving Carol alone with Martin.
What felt like hours, Carol stood in the middle of the tent, studying Martin as he calmly moved about his day. She struggled to find any of that warmth and comfort she often found in the Lieutenant's presence.
Thoughts of the man came to her and brought with them thoughts of Daryl and the others.
It was funny how badly one could miss people. A motley collection of stragglers and survivors who had become like family was all that was on her mind at that moment.
The little things, like how Merle would sometimes come and sit, not close to her, but just far enough away to make the excuse that he was only there because it was the nearest shade or the closest patch of grass that didn't have 'no bastard itch weed to stick in my ass'. Or how Rick would sometimes look at her like he was suddenly seeing her for the first time, like he hadn't ever noticed Carol had short, curly grey hair or blue eyes. Or how Glenn would often come and help her in the kitchen when it was just the women, how he'd bring her whatever little treats and candies he could from one of his runs, because he showed affection by showering the people he cared for with comforts from a past life.
She thought of Grace, who seemed so lost, despite how strong she forced herself to appear, the woman would sometimes walk about barefoot, seeking comfort like a child by chatting with Carol about the smallest, silliest seeming things. The conversations Carol had with Michonne, the seemingly closed mouthed woman with the great fount of soul and heart.
Carol's mind wandered over memories of laughing with the Lieutenant's gentle teasing and that shine that came to his beautiful grey eyes when he was happy, or feeling safe and warm in Daryl's rough, but comforting embrace. She knew come winter, if she saw the next winter, she'd be grateful for his sudden decision to hold her hard and tight at night like she was a teddy bear.
A thought came to her that she didn't know what she offered him. She had no real beauty or talent, she survived up until this point by sheer luck, though Daryl said she was a good shot, Carol firmly believed that there were others, stronger and more useful to the group than her, who didn't make it.
When she came back from her thoughts and memories, she found Adele had returned and was hovering about Martin, almost over compensating for what was about to happen.
Carol sincerely hoped regret wasn't in the woman's mind.
"Everyone fed?" Martin demanded.
"Yes, daddy." Adele murmured.
"That woman give you any troubles?" He demanded.
"No, I told her right out I'd knock her head off," Adele said.
The man angled his head to her and for a moment Carol spied that familiar twinkle of impish mischief in the man's eyes, as he barked, "suppose you've been planning a little escape while I was away, hm?"
Carol frowned. "No. The exchange is happening in less than an hour, I'm not going to be stupid and take a risk."
It was another agonizing few minutes before Martin eased onto his cot and peered up at both Carol and Adele with stony grey eyes. "You two look like a couple of hens when the door to the coop's been flung open," he remarked. "What are you planning, ange?" He purred.
Carol wished the man would call her anything but 'ange' that was the name the Lieutenant had given her. Grace was everything endearing and more, but not once did Carol hear the Cajun purr 'ange' to anyone but her and to have this man, this lesser man calling her by the Lieutenant's pet name was just sickening.
"To go home," she sighed heavily. "To eat a good meal and go to bed."
Martin scoffed. "Isn't that everyone's dream these days? We're all eking out a living in these dark and desperate times. Adele, you can tell the women they can eat now," Martin said. "Get yourself some."
The young woman blinked. "Yes, dad—"
"Martin!" Someone shouted out from the world outside the tent.
Leaping to his feet, Martin Deveau grabbed hold of Carol roughly and pushed her out with him and Adele.
Before them lay a scene from a medical film or crime drama, men were getting up from their seats only to drop again, gasping, choking, vomiting pink, foamy expectorant onto the ground, before collapsing into it.
A few of the late comers to the meal were getting to their feet in shock and horror, before one or two caught on to what must have happened and turned on the women.
By then the females were already picking up discarded guns, turning in defence of themselves on those remaining, but even they were staggering and falling, choking, struggling to breathe.
Martin whirled on Adele immediately, his eyes wild.
"What have you done?" He spat, yanking her and Carol both into the tent.
Flinging Carol hard onto the ground where her head struck an old, metal cooler, Martin was already laying into Adele good when she got back to her feet.
Dazed by the blow to her head, Carol staggered for a moment, before her mind caught up with her of the situation and she quickly cast her eyes around for a weapon as Martin pummeled his daughter in white hot fury.
Grasping a heavy metal ammunitions container, Carol swung it, grazing the back of Martin's head, sending the man sprawling forward onto his pregnant, bloodied daughter.
With a fury of her own she had forgotten she possessed, Carol kicked and clawed at the downed man, but her head injury made her dizzy, weak and easily over taken as he gripped her bound wrists so hard she felt a pop.
Adele lay prone on the floor of the tent as Carol cast her a worried look before Martin tore her out of the tent into the open air.
With his free hand he took a couple of shots at the women who were now moving among the men putting them down and the women scattered, not used to being under fire or even shooting guns of their own.
Carol, helpless in Martin's firm, painful grip, was dragged to a nearby SUV and thrown into it hard, her already injured head making contact with the door opposite and she collapsed onto the seat as a throbbing pain rippled through her.
Her last thoughts were that they were moving, the vehicle was bumping and bouncing over rough terrain and then the grey that was edging her vision shifted to black, before taking over her entire sight and she slipped into unconsciousness.
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**The Lieutenant**
They were heading out to the camp on horseback. Four snipers creeping in close to the camp in the quietest way possible.
He wasn't too sure about the horse thing, having never ridden on one and with the reins in his hand, he stood eyeing the beast with a small frown hidden beneath the grease paint he had smeared over his features to give him better camoflague.
"Ever been on a horse before?" Daryl asked from his side.
"Naw."
"They're real prissy bitches," the younger Dixon remarked.
Reaching out a tentative hand to touch the velvet muzzle of the white horse, the Lieutenant yanked it back as the thing snorted.
"They don't…bite do they?" He asked.
"The kick like sonsabitches."
"Maybe we should walk in."
"That'll take too long," Delgado said, mounting his horse easily. "Come on, Sarge. It's just like mounting a lady."
"I don't know what you think hetero sex is like, Delgado, but it doesn't quite work like that." The Lieutenant argued, grasping the horn of the saddle like his Marine friend had done and struggling to pull himself up onto the saddle, his ribs not liking this movement at all, but the duct tape keeping them in check for the moment. Perching high on the horse, the Cajun shifted uncomfortably, trying to adjust his ribs properly. "Mais yeah, just like sex," he remarked sarcastically.
"Must be like sex," Merle remarked moving to stand with Daryl as the horse tamped the ground nervously, "because she doesn't seem to want you riding her either."
With Kowalski, Delgado and Dolly's daughter Vivian (who was apparently a crack shot despite her seeming revulsion over the weapon on her back), flanking him, the Lieutenant moved to the mouth of the driveway.
"Alright," Rick said, moving to stand before them. "We'll send Daryl on when the time comes."
"We'll hold our positions until he shows up," the Lieutenant assured him. "You take care of yourselves, Rick."
"Don't take any risks, man," Daryl warned him softly.
"And you," the Lieutenant returned.
Taking his cue from Delgado and the others on how to get his beast of burden moving, the Marine gave his horse a little nudge and headed off after them, watched for the longest time by everyone left behind.
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The orders were to tie the horses up to a tree near where they were going to be, but to tie them loose enough. The horses, he was told, were able to stand without needing to be hitched, and if they were loose they could bolt should anything get after them and head for home.
Parting from the others at the place where they left their mounts, Fay crept through the woods alone, humping the ground, using every bit of his training to move without sound towards the camp.
He suspected that the closer he drew to the camp, the more risk he had of coming across a guard, so he kept very alert.
Nothing came to his mind but his task, he was trained to go into this state of absolute predatory instinct, he didn't like it when he came back from the hunt, but it saved his ass more than once to disconnect from everything but his mission.
As he crept he found not one guard, but two among the sea of green, both of them smoking and chatting, not at all really paying much attention to the area.
They were, from what he gathered from Daryl and Merle's map, quite far from home, but he figured they were slacking off, maybe trying to avoid actual work.
Didn't matter, concealed in the thick underbrush as he was, he settled down to wait for his chance to take them out, quick and quiet.
Listening to their banal chatter for about thirty minutes, he patiently timed his heartbeats, keeping time, remaining calm and evening out his breathing.
"I have to take a piss," one of the men finally announced and headed off in the direction of a little stream which Fay had just crossed in the south.
Waiting a moment until the man was out of sight before creeping around a thick tree trunk, the Lieutenant crept up on the remaining man and moving in behind the trunk, he carefully stood up enough to reach around and drive his combat knife into the back of the man's skull, holding him up with the other arm so he didn't drop to the ground. Then swinging the dead man around the tree, the Lieutenant kicked a branch off from the lower portion of the trunk and shoved the man on it like a human shish kabob, before slipping back into the underbrush to lie in wait for the other man.
Holding his arm tucked against his side, he watched the trees, mindful that the man could very come back from any direction, but hoping it was the same direction he had gone off in.
Presently the man came back from that very direction, zipping up his jeans.
"Jesus Christ, Tommy," he said, spying the dead man's shoulder and arm sticking out from behind the tree trunk. "I hope to God we catch us a fat assed deer soon, I'm craving meat like a son-of-a-bitch. It's man's nature, you know," the man continued as he passed by the cluster of ferns and rose bushes where the Lieutenant was crouched. He got up and followed him quietly, mindful of the leaves, keeping right behind the man at all times.
"Hey, Tommy, figure we get some fresh tail this week, that'll make you happy," the man went on, rounding the tree.
The Lieutenant eased up close behind him, just as the man found the body and stuck his knife deep into the base of his skull.
The fellow twitched, then fell slack.
Easing him down onto the forest floor, he looked about, before going through the pockets of both corpses for helpful things, bullets and weapons mostly. As he pocketed the ammo he found and tucked the rest of his findings into his pack, he stood up, only to find three uggies facing him down from across the clearing.
They looked fresh and seemed to have come from the direction of the camp.
Quietly, the Lieutenant got to his feet and slipped behind the tree.
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**Daryl**
His position, until that fancy assed guy from Delgado's group rode over to give him the warning that the exchange was made, was in a gas station on a dead stretch of secondary highway.
The place looked as though it had been abandoned long before the walkers had a chance to clear it. A layer of dust covered the old counter and plumed up from the floor as he tread over it.
Easing up onto the counter, he sniffed and idly rubbed at his bullet wound.
The stitches were pulling taut in all the excitement, but he didn't feel like any inside or out had given yet, though it itched like hell and he wasn't sure if it was from the sweat and the rubbing or from an infection which was setting in.
He hoped to God it was the former.
Pulling out the last cigarette he had from Delgado's group, he lit it and eyed the shithole with his sharp eyes.
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"We ain't going start taking in strays, are we?"
Carol, who had been kneeling down by the bowl and the pile of discarded, flat old pillows she had scrounged up for the dog, smiled up at him. "Why not? I happen to like strays."
He scoffed. "Yeah, I get you."
Dusting her hands off on the ass of her jeans, Carol smiled at him with a tricky little twinkle in her eye and wrapped her arms around his neck. "You know, I heard Beth and Karen talking about how we don't seem like a couple."
"What would they know? Just cause I don't grab your ass in public that that dumb ass Cajun tries with his woman," he returned, sliding his hand down her back and giving her bottom a gentle squeeze.
Carol laughed, burying her face in his neck. "I guess young people expect more PDA."
"What the shit is PDA?" He snapped.
"You want me to show you?"
His eyes narrowed. "Not until you explain it to me."
"You don't trust me?"
"Not when you get the devil in your eyes like that, woman." He rocked her on her feet, trying to manipulate her closer to the bed.
She beamed up at him. "You think this is it? We'll be here until we die?"
"Don't know. We ain't settled, shit could happen," he returned, still moving her towards the bed.
They both tripped over the damned dog and Daryl shifted them so that it was his ass that hit the workbench instead of hers.
"Damned dog!" He growled.
The grey wolfhound eyed him with his beautiful sad eyes and Carol tsked.
"He adores you." She defended the creature. Removing her arms from him to kneel and snuggle the beast, pushing her face into Clyde's thick fur. "I read a story once," she began, pulling away from Clyde and eyeing him, "about a dog who visited his master's grave every day until the day he died. Think it was in Scotland." She stroked Clyde's large head and gave him a kiss right between the eyes. "That's loyalty."
Daryl frowned. "People die. You move on. That's life."
"Wouldn't you miss me?" She asked, looking up at him tentatively, as though embarrassed to ask the question.
Not wanting to eat his words, Daryl drew his mouth up at one corner and drank in Carol's open features. Her bright, shining eyes, that calm, almost wise way she held her mouth, ready to smile at an instants notice, ready to speak some kind of soft, sensible wisdom. "For a while," he murmured.
Distracted by the dog, or maybe distracting herself with the dog to look nonchalant, Carol smiled softly. "I'd miss you."
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Suddenly aware he was finished his cigarette, Daryl stamped it out on the counter beside him and dropped into a pit of self-loathing.
"Dumb ass," he cursed himself.
This was why he was trying to distract his stupid ass back at Delgado's, because when his mind began wandering it was a filmfest of all his stupid shit.
When he got Carol back, and he would get her back, he'd tell her he fucking loved her and that he was a supreme idiot. Maybe try a little of that PDA shit if he needed to.
Hell, when he got her back, he could very well throw her up against the nearest hard surface and kiss her breathless so there was no doubt in her mind that he'd miss her. That he needed her.
Deciding he needed a distraction, he hopped off the counter and paced the old store, kicking trails in the dust and generally looking for stuff to salvage.
Not that he had high hopes for anything, in the back room, slumped against a wall, was the skeletal remains of what he assumed had been a walker, the skull was crushed, almost obliterated and in the sunlight which streamed in from the window and the open back door, he assumes were the reasons for such a healthy amount of decay.
"Not your year, huh, man?"
Spying something glinting in the light, Daryl plucked up a wedding band and diamond ring off the floor where it must have slid off the bony digit and spun it around and around between his fingers.
"Sorry, ma'am," he murmured, carefully slipping the rings back on the finger they fell from.
With nothing better to do than wait and needing a distraction, he set about looking around the place for a shovel to bury the bones with.
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DarylDixon'sLover - Sorry, kid, think Carol might save herself in this.
georgiapeachs - Merle is perhaps the best character to write for me.
Kabrinastar - Ehehe! Caught that didja?
Merle's Right Hand - Mah, sorry you're missing me toots. I miss you too.
Yazzy x - Oooh, yikes...seems I may have disappointed you a bit there.
Surplus Imagination - I'll post a link to the Scottish folk song the joke comes from in my profile, how's that?
Brazen Hussy - Some Merle coming up in the next couple of chapters...so keep an eye out.
itsi3 - But Corpus Christi looks so purdy! My dreams of visiting are crushed. :(
Guest - Thank you! I take that to be a handsome compliment! ^_^ Thanks for the review!