Chapter Fifty: Dinclusin & Chalotte
**The Lieutenant**
He was within sight of the town when the bike he was riding began to jolt and wiggle, before it rolled to a stop.
"Oh, you've got to be shitting with me, God," he murmured, hopping off the bike and letting it drop heavily onto the pavement, choosing instead to use his Marine training and run the last couple of yards into the town under the sixty plus pounds of gear on his back.
While the threat of uggies had been dwindling in the last few weeks, he still moved cautiously through the town, heading for Main Street.
Fire departments were usually on Main Street in small towns.
Sprinting down Main, holding his aching side, he headed for the building that sported the old horse drawn water cannon, figuring if it wasn't the fire department then the town was run by dangerous couyons.
He gripped the door handle, pressed the plunger down with his thumb and yanked.
It didn't give.
"Sure," he growled, backing away from the building to eye it, "end of days and you lock up."
Kneeling, he pulled out his combat knife and began working on the hinges of the heavy steel double doors.
He had one set off on the bottom of each door, before he realized the doors had those little steel shafts that locked them in place in the top and bottom of the doorframes.
"Dangerous couyons," he confirmed, stepping back again, heading around the building, hoping to find an in somehow.
He circled the building four times, before backing away, eyeing the doors. Glancing around to ensure he wasn't being snuck up on, he spied a beat up old Chevy parked in front of the bar.
Moving across the street, he lifted the hood on the vehicle, pulled a few wires here, removing his pack, tossing it into the truck, he hopped into the cab and connected a couple of wires there, before she rumbled to life. Gripping the steering wheel, he inhaled deeply.
"Oh, this is going to hurt," he muttered, buckling up for safety and pulling on his helmet, securing it tightly.
Exhaling, he jammed his foot down on the gas and the truck fishtailed towards the fire department, heading for the garage door.
Hitting the curb, the truck flew up and Fay felt another rib snap as the truck slammed into the metal garage door, then rammed smack into the front of a shiny fire truck. Holding his ribs and balling up that searing pain like a good Marine, he leapt out of the truck with his pack in hand and hurried to the side of the firetruck where the Jaws of Life was usually stored.
The side panels were locked and Fay, holding his wounded ribs cursed.
He dropped his pack and headed for a little office-y looking place tucked into the corner of the wide open garage, inside he tore through the desk drawers, coming up with nothing but a handful of paperclips, some HB pencils and a skin mag, which he idly tucked into one of the many deep pockets of his combat pants, just in case he needed to trade with Merle at some point.
He spied a ring of keys hanging on a peg on the corkboard and snatched them up, tearing back into the main room to check for a jaws of life.
The keys opened all the compartments and it was only in the second last one he checked that he found it. Locking the compartment back up, Fay tucked the keys into his mouth, grabbed hold of his pack and tossed his gun on his back, before climbing up into the fire truck.
There was only one fast way to get the hell out of the place.
He paused, spying a last minute find on a peg by the firemen's gear, before clamouring out of the truck and heading for the serious looking medical emergency kit that was hanging on the wall in a large duffle bag beside a board stretcher.
Grabbing both, he made his way back to the truck, stopping dead in his tracks at the sight of an uggie climbing in through the gaping hole the Chevy had left in the wall.
By the way her dress sagged voluminously about her withered form, he figured she survived by having a lot to survive on initially.
"Oh, honeychild," he said sheepishly. "You seem to have caught me with my pants down and no weapon to show for it." He set the medical duffle down slowly, keeping his eye on the uggie who was moving between him and the fire truck where his weapons were.
Gripping the board stretcher with both hands, Fay watched the uggie draw in closer, weak from hunger, one of her eyes gouged out and hanging by the vein, bumping against her chin.
She caught his scent suddenly and leapt, yellowed teeth clacking and gnashing at him.
Swinging the board hard, he knocked her head back like he was connecting with a solid homerun, using the ass end of the board to crush her skull once she was on her back.
Holding his side tightly, Fay stooped in pain over the corpse.
"Ted Williams," he panted to the uggie with the crushed skull, chuckling to himself.
From out of nowhere something slammed hard into him, knocking him over onto the medical bag he had set down.
Feeling that familiar desperate grabbing and struggling with him from the ground, he fought hard to turn enough to face the hungry uggie who had tackled him from where it must have been hiding just behind the ass end of the firetruck.
Using the board to keep the thing's teeth from getting at him, he wrapped his arm around enough to punch the uggie in the side of her head, knocking her with force off him enough to get away and to his feet.
Grabbing the board, he swung again and clocked it hard on the back as it tried to get up on its hands and knees, knocking her face first onto the cement floor.
Smashing her skull with his boot hard, he staggered and dropped to one knee between the two corpses, holding his ribs in pain.
No uggies for days and suddenly a Hudson sister tagteam.
Finding himself looking down at the face half of the last uggie's shattered skull, he reached down and tapped her on the cheek with his free hand.
"At least you still have your looks, cher."
After recovering from the intense pain in his side, he painfully gathered the duffle bag, which felt heavier than it had been before and dragged it and the board towards the fire truck, shoving both up into the cab with difficulty, tucking them behind the front seat in the small jump seat area for the firemen to sit, before climbing into the cab himself.
Firing up the engine proved a little hard, the truck balked a bit from sitting so long, before it finally growled and snorted brimstone, rumbling like a jungle cat.
"Le feu d'enfer!" Fay exclaimed happily, gunning the truck, nosing the Chevy out the gaping hole and onto the street with the front of the heavy duty firetruck.
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**Kowalski**
He waited outside the medical building for nearly an hour, watching the buzzing and thrumming of the hive activity, before realizing no one cared he was still there.
Figuring their lack of care meant he wasn't needed for anything important, he decided to find a quiet place to bunk up for the night. Deciding the bell tower where he had camped out before wasn't terrible, he headed for it, entering the church.
In one of the front pews he found that woman who seemed to be in charge of the place kneeling in prayer. She had moved out of the infirmary when the ordeal ended and while Kowalski didn't know the end results, he figured it couldn't have been bad. No corpse was taken out to put down.
Kowalski slowed, hesitating, eyeing the stairs up to the bell tower longingly, but not wishing for someone to chat to him without him being able to hear. It seemed people just didn't seem to get that he didn't get what they were spewing.
He skirted around the pews, clinging to the outer wall of the church, hoping he could scurry up the steps before she noticed him.
With one boot on the bottom step, he found it was too late, a hand was gently touching his shoulder and he turned, forcing a plastic, closed mouth smile on his face.
Are you hungry? She asked slowly, making a spooning motion to her mouth.
She looked tired, worn out from witnessing the birth, but her eyes shone kindly and figuring he could eat, Kowalski shrugged, before nodding.
Taking his hand boldly, the woman led him out of the church and towards another building, the dorms as he recalled.
Inside the kitchens she settled him down and moved to the stove where a meal had been prepared earlier, spooning him out what looked like pasta and a canned sauce of sorts.
He dug in happily, nodding his thanks after the first three mouthfuls.
Glancing about, he realized Kate's little girl was standing by the sink helping another woman do up some dishes, Kowalski pointed his spoon almost accusingly at her.
Mae beamed and waved back at him.
He offered her a warm smile in return, before growing serious for the woman who was joining him with a pad of paper and a pen.
She scratched on it.
Are you injured anywhere?
He shook his head, still eating. If he pointed to his bruised testes, the woman might get the wrong idea.
That woman you brought had a baby girl, both are healthy. She wrote again. You saved their lives getting them here quickly.
He saluted her casually. All in a day's work, he figured.
Did you see Lieutenant Vancoughnett? The woman wrote, her eyes nervously darting from the words to Kowalski's face as he read the message.
He nodded, giving her the okay sign.
Thank God, he saw her mouth to herself and frowned curiously.
Motioning to the man's name on the paper and then to the woman, Kowalski made a heart shape with his hands, the spoon sticking out of them accidentally but almost appropriately as an arrow.
She wriggled her hand from side to side indecisively.
Looking to Mae to see if she noticed his inquiry, the younger girl nodded with a sly grin, having caught everything.
Kowalski's eyebrows rose and he grinned cheekily at the woman.
She pulled a bit of a sour face, before nodding. Taking the pad of paper, she scribbled, Daryl? Carol?
Pointing at Daryl's name, Kowalski gave thumbs up, Carol got a wiggly hand.
The woman crossed herself quickly and Kowalski's chin jerked to his chest at that. He pointed subtly to her, asking Mae across the room what was up with the crossing.
Mae frowned, motioned around them, then made a praying sign and dragged her hands down the sides of her face making a veil.
Glancing at the woman and finding her busy writing, he motioned to Mae a heart in inquiry, pointing to the woman. But she's in love.
The young girl drew her mouth grimly and raised both brows. Draw your own conclusions.
Growing sombre again as the woman pushed the pad towards him, he took the pad professionally and read it.
What happened to Carol? Do they know? Anything? Where's Rick and the others?
Kowalski shrugged.
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When he finished his meal and being questioned by the 'nun', Kowalski hauled his well-fed ass across the lawns towards the medical building, peeking in to see what was what with that lady and her baby.
The fact that the woman back in the kitchens was a nun had stunned him a bit, he knew the place was a convent or religious commune of sorts, but he wasn't expecting any to have survived. Although the stone wall around their place was a pretty good defense against the shuffling infected hordes.
Moving past Kate who was sleeping on her cot nearest the door in the infirmary, past a blonde woman with a broken leg who was reading, past a nerdy looking geek-type who was adjusting himself on his cot, Kowalski paused at the foot of the woman who sacked him in the jewels' cot.
She was sleeping, her face looking worn and exhausted beneath the severe bruising and gashes, damp, sweaty hair plastered to her pale forehead. Amazed that such a tiny woman got such a good wallop in with him, he turned to the haphazard incubator the woman's baby was in, studying the tiny thing with a small, contented smile.
He wriggled his pointer finger at it through the clear plastic which had been draped over the old pram to give the premature child protection from the elements.
Like an animal in a zoo, he studied the kid. Never had he seen a pot roast so fresh from the oven. It was red and angry looking, kind of ugly in a shaved monkey kind of way.
Well, now he could say he saw one.
Glancing beside him as a faded blonde woman joined him, he realized he had seen her with the Lieutenant's people at the farm and knew the others had returned.
She seemed to be checking in on everyone, rifle still slung on her back.
Concentrating on her lips as she spoke slowly to him, Kowalski struggled to read them. Finally she looked about for something to write with and spoke to the blonde in the bed.
The woman patted around her hip for a crossword puzzle book and a pen.
The faded, older blonde scribbled something onto the inside cover and flashed the book at him.
Once the women are looked over, Grace says you can go home in the morning.
Kowalski shrugged. To hell with that, he was going home now.
Delgado decided to take in the women from the Arkansas group. The blonde wrote underneath it. You'll have to take them with you in the morning.
Well, shit. He was stuck there for a few more hours then.
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**Daryl**
He was growing impatient.
The longer he waited, the more Carol bled out.
"Fucking Cajun," he cursed, checking on Carol once more.
From above, a haze of lights lit up the sky, peeking over the edge of the steep inclined ditch and Daryl heaved a sigh of relief.
"Daryl!" Someone called out into the still of the night.
"Rick?" He called back up recognizing the voice.
Of course, he had left his bike on the side of the road. That was how he must have found him.
Sliding and skidding down into the ditch, Rick, Glenn and Merle approached him.
For some reason Daryl felt that fear he had been fighting leave his body as he exhaled and greeted them stoically.
"What happened?" Rick demanded.
"What's it look like?" Daryl snapped.
"Where's Martin?" Glenn asked.
"Gone, shit I don't know, he wasn't here when we arrived."
"And the Cajun?" Merle questioned.
"Went into town to find us a jaws of life to get Carol out, she's pinned."
Taking a close look at the situation, squatting by the open passenger door, Rick sighed.
"Merle, you take the truck, head back to the convent and let them know what we have here. They can be prepared for our coming. Glenn, let's see if we can gut this vehicle more, give Daryl and the Lieutenant more space to work when he gets back."
Glenn nodded.
"Carol," Rick called out. "Carol, we're going to get you out, just stay with us, okay?"
"Just like a cop," Merle said, clapping his baby brother on the shoulder, before heading off for the truck.
That was his brother's best effort in comfort and Daryl took it. It was better than nothing at the moment.
"Are your arms getting tired?" Rick asked as he and Glenn lifted the driver's seat out of the vehicle.
Daryl, who had been supporting Carol's spine since the Lieutenant left, shook his head. "Naw." He wanted to take the small, strong hand that was resting on her stomach, but he could only provide her comfort through the reassurance of his presence.
By the time Rick and Glenn got the backseat of the SUV out, Daryl spied more lights over the embankment.
"Hey," he said to Rick and Glenn, motioning with his chin to the lights.
They dropped the backseat where they stood and moved up the incline, just as Fay stumbled over the edge with a heavy duffle and stretcher. The Cajun nearly went ass over tits down the hill, but was caught by Glenn, who took the stretcher from him.
"What the hell took you so long?" Daryl demanded as Fay joined him in the SUV, climbing in with the duffle.
"I cornered on Elm going full steam and nearly tipped the whole damned rig," Fay explained.
"Rig?" Daryl demanded.
Glenn joined them with the stretcher and Rick moved in beside Carol in the SUV on the driver's side with the jaws of life.
It was a heavy looking machine that resembled an alligator and even Rick seemed to strain with the weight of it.
"Carol," Rick said, "when we get the jaws of life going, it might hurt like hell, but just stay with us, alright?"
"Couldn't hurt any more than it does now," she panted.
"Alright, Daryl, you keep her spine still, Lieutenant get her neck."
"Do you know how to use that thing?" Daryl asked Rick who was fiddling with the machine.
"Sure," he said. "We had training in its use."
"Did you pay attention?" Daryl snapped feeling like he was useless to Carol and needing to do something for her.
"Of course," Rick argued.
"Daryl, did you have any troubles while I was gone?" Fay asked as Rick pulled the throttle on the machine and it rumbled to life.
Distracted by the question, Daryl took his anger off Rick and concentrated on keeping Carol's spine still as Glenn prepared to slide the stretcher under her from the empty back space of the SUV.
Focusing on Carol and Carol only, Daryl didn't realize she had been freed from the dash, until Rick was throwing the jaws of life out of the vehicle and moving in to help them get her on the stretcher with as little movement as possible.
Once she was on the stretcher, Rick swung in with gauze enough to pack the nasty tear to her shoulder as Fay began strapping her in tight against the board. She looked like she took a head dive into the dash, which made Daryl worry that maybe her head trauma would be worse than the shoulder, but he shoved that thought aside in the flurry of the moment as everyone began moving.
Daryl backed off, worried that if he touched her he'd do more harm than good, feeling more anger rise for his helpless position.
Glenn too seemed unsure of what to do, standing beside him until the other men were done, prepared to help them haul Carol up out of the ditch and away.
Taking a look around, feeling like he should do something, Daryl stood guard until Carol was strapped in.
"How are you doing, Carol?" Fay asked after he rocked back onto the heels of his feet as he squatted in the SUV with her.
"Still living," she murmured.
"Yeah, well, you still have your looks, ready to be moved?"
Daryl glanced back and frowned.
"Better now than never," she returned.
"Alright, Daryl come get her head, here," Fay hopped out of the vehicle. "We'll slide her out feet first in case Glenn drops her."
At the foot of the board, Glenn mocked laughter, trying to mask his nerves as he took hold of the board with Carol on it and began sliding it out.
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The Voodoo Dialect
Dinclusin & Chalotte - These two loa are among the French "mysteries." People mounted by these gods talk perfect French and seem to be unable to speak Creole normally or properly. Chalotte often demands upon the most defined forms of ritualistic protocol. Dinclusin can be recognized by his habit of pocketing everything given to him.
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The Cajun Dialect
Le feu d'enfer - Hellfire
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Claire Randall Fraser - Thank you! I missed my readers and reviewers too!
DarylDixon'sLover - I may or may not. Playing God is fun! ^_^
Merle's Right Hand - God damn you're beautiful. *smooths back hair* Hey, baby, is that a mirror in your pocket because you must have fallen from heaven...wait...dammit!
Yazzy x - Almost sister-in-law is my new favourite thing. Thanks for that! ^_^
itsi3 - Thanks! I'm glad you like old Charon, he'll be around for a bit...unless he gets torn apart by walkers. O_O...you never know.
And to my two lovely guest reviewers, sorry I am so slow to update and also thanks for giving me a new nickname. I'll wear bitch with pride! ^_^