Hey, just a friendly reminder to those shy readers who may not review, but whom I love all the same. ^_^ Thanks. Also, throwing some love out in all directions to those reviewers of mine who come back chapter after chapter and haven't left me hanging high and dry on the love. You're all beautiful people.
Chapter Fifty-One: Congo
**Kowalski**
He was woken rudely from where he had drifted to sleep in a chair by the makeshift incubator by the old woman who helped with the baby and the faded blonde, as that gruff alleycat with the one hand barked out to the others in the infirmary.
Without the preamble of them even trying to communicate with him, he was pushed and nudged out the door with the woman on crutches, the geeky-type fellow and Kate, who was handed over more gently to her concerned daughter who must have been spending the night at her mother's side.
Everyone who wasn't bad off was basically kicked out of the infirmary and the buzz of activity gave him the feeling that something was brewing.
Milling about in mild confusion, those in exodus from the clinic looked about amongst themselves, before Kowalski sniffed, shrugged and took off for the bell tower. Mae and her mother caught up with him, Mae chirping something to him, before pointing at herself and her mother.
He didn't get what she was gunning for, so he slowed his pace to a crawl and leaned in towards the girl in the hopes of catching something with the ear that could still hear the low tones.
That didn't help either, so the girl motioned to him, and then tucked her two hands to her cheek mimicking sleep.
He nodded.
She shook her head and motioned to him, then made the sleeping motion, then pointed to the dorm building.
He shook his head, pointing at the bell tower.
With a frown, she grabbed hold of his hand and with her mother on one side and Kowalski on the other, marched both towards the dorms.
He went out of sheer amusement, allowing the girl to tug him into the building.
Inside the small room, her mother flopped immediately onto the lower bunk of a metal frame bunk bed, obviously drained completely for life.
Mae motioned for him to take the top, indicating she'd sleep with her mom on the lower bed.
Chucking the girl on the chin playfully, he dropped his gear and hopped up onto the top bunk, before he could settle in, the girl hopped up to join him with an old journal and a couple pens in hand.
Confused, he perched there with her at his side as she wrote on the page.
Today's my birthday, I think.
He eyed her quietly. Everyone seemed to have lost track of time, though he thought that geeky man was fiddling around with a homemade calendar earlier.
How old? He wrote back.
Thirteen. How's Carter?
Kowalski shrugged. They had left him steaming mad back at the farm, who knew if he stayed or got out to cause mischief and mayhem.
How old are you? She wrote in inquiry after a moment of consideration over her brother's condition.
He had to think. The days were jumbled, but he didn't think his birthday passed him by yet.
Twenty.
Mae frowned, tucking glossy dark hair behind her ear, shedding light from the flickering candle on a nearby table onto the freckles that splashed across her nose and cheeks.
You're young. She mused on paper.
Older than you, brat. He shot back with a nudge to her ribs as he handed the journal back.
She seemed to take deep exception to being called a brat, because her brow darkened and she turned hurt eyes on him.
Kowalski wondered if her brother never teased her as he did with his sister, he frowned too.
What she wrote gave him the clue that he was reading her reaction wrong.
Don't you have family anywhere?
He scowled at those words, the pen in his hand hanging limply for a moment, before he shook his head. The family he had left when they shipped him overseas was probably long dead, he held no hope that they survived.
Mae's dark eyes filled with tears then and she shed them quietly at his side.
Worried, Kowalski did what he used to do to his sister whenever she cried, he reached over and bumped her chin up with his finger.
Grinning impishly, it faded as soon as he realized the girl was seriously sad.
What's wrong? He struggled to write on the journal page she held tightly in her lap.
She couldn't write in her condition, her tears soaking the paper, blurring what they had already written.
Turning her face to him, she said something, but he missed most of it with her crying. He caught one word enough to know what the tears were about. Dad.
Quietly, Kowalski shifted on the bed and reached into one of the pockets on his jacket, pulling out a well-worn, dog-eared photograph.
He pointed out his father among the large family of eight.
The warm, down-to-earth looking fellow with the bright, shy grin and boyish good looks seated in the centre of the family portrait looked like the type of rancher who didn't own a suit, but in his good button up and grey slacks was trying hard to be dressy.
Seated beside his father was his mother, the petite little woman with beautiful strawberry roan hair pulled back into an intricate braided bun, smiled softly, with a mischievous twinkle in her green eyes as behind her the youngest son rested a hand on her shoulder almost protectively.
Kowalski could still remember his mom scolding the five boys just an hour before that picture session, none of them were dressed yet and his oldest brother Mike had hidden their baby sister's dress. She had been a surprise birth, born when the youngest son was ten. In that picture she would have only been three, sitting on dad's lap, squirming most likely, giving the photographer hell.
Jordan and Tom had been off fighting in the yard in the hours before that photo session took place, while Ryan was still out hunting rabbits and coyotes on their sprawling Wyoming ranch. Charlie, the youngest and quietest, was hiding in his treehouse reading Batman comics. He didn't want to wear his good shoes, they pinched his big toe at the joint when he walked and he could remember the awkward way they squeaked.
His poor mother had a hell of a time with the boys, but she held her own.
Hell, he could still hear her voice ringing off the hills and valleys of that Wyoming countryside, cursing the boys and swearing on God's name that they'd be the death of her.
His father, in contrast, would only need to wander into the room, stay a few words in that solemn, quiet, deep tone of his and his boys would be set right.
But, he thought, there was no hope for them being alive in Wyoming. No point in risking his life to see their corpses and the ruination of his father's empire.
Beside him Mae had stilled, eyeing the photograph quietly.
She pointed him out immediately and he beamed shyly at her.
In that photograph, he would have been her age.
Handing him off the photograph idly, Mae frowned and hurried to the door looking out into the hall. Unable to hear what she must have, he followed, tucking his picture away and hopping off the bunk bed.
They moved down the hall and out into the yard of the convent, standing with a few others who were watching as men moved across the lawns carrying someone on a stretcher.
Beyond the wall was parked a tall vehicle, in the dark Kowalski couldn't make it out, but he figured from the lights it was a Mack truck or something like it and from the struggle the driver was making to get it backed up, Kowalski figured it had a hell of a time getting up the narrow cattle trail.
Motioning for Mae to stay where she was, Kowalski moved across the dewy night grass, heading for the infirmary to peek curiously into the window.
Outside that nun from the church was holding a desperate conversation with the Lieutenant from the looks of her face and the man was trying hard to calm her. Inside, he couldn't see who they had brought in on the stretcher as the figure in the bed was being hovered over by four people.
There was a lot of blood soaking up gauze and discarded bandaging on the floor and by the activity in the clinic, he figured it was bad.
Pulling back from the window, he turned and eyed the Lieutenant who was still trying to calm the nun down. As his eyes darted about the grounds, he spied a figure under a nearby peach tree, lit up by the lights coming from the infirmary.
Kowalski wouldn't have noticed him if it wasn't for the fact he was kicking the hell out of the tree's trunk and nervously pacing back and forth like a caged beast.
Figuring none of the action had anything to do with him, he headed back for the dorms. Tomorrow he'd head back home and things would return to normal. This convent group had their own problems.
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**The Lieutenant**
"Do you have anything to say for yourself?" Grace demanded, her face a myriad of emotions, most of them in the range of hate, anger, disapproval, rage and above all else love.
Fay smirked, hoping to charm her. "Mais, in spite of the fact that I'm Cajun, my last name isn't French it's Dutch."
"You don't tell anyone what's going on, you're gone for days, Carol comes back in critical condition," Grace was working herself up. "What the hell is going on here?!"
Holding his ribs tightly, he stood back and enjoyed the way her chin set in hard and sharp as a diamond when she was angry, trying hard not to show how badly every little movement hurt him. He had felt something else snap as he was rushing Carol into the infirmary and now there was something digging hard into him inside, he could feel a pinching sensation deep in his side.
Realizing she was more scared than angry, he gripped her with his free hand and squeezed her shoulder gently. "I'm sorry." With nothing else to really say to her that would make the situation better for her, he wandered off, heading for Daryl who was working himself into a lather under the peach tree. He knew she was following him, but he paid her no attention in favour of dealing with the more important situation first.
"You're going to kick all the blooms off," he greeted the young Dixon boy. "Then Grace'll knock your ass around from North to South."
Beside him, the woman pulled her sweater closer around her to ward off the chill of the night.
Daryl flashed him a dangerous warning look not to torment him and Fay held up his hands. "Alright, I won't flap my gums," he said. Watching as Daryl continued to pace, he sighed and leaned his pained body against the tree trunk. "How's your stitches?"
"Fine," Daryl growled.
From the looks of the blood running from Daryl's chest, soaking his shirt, the Lieutenant decided one of the stitches had pulled and made a face. "You so sure?"
"Don't matter," Daryl snapped. "And shut up, anyways! Goddamned talking, always talking."
Grinning at the man, he nodded, not expecting anything less than anger from him. "She'll be fine, cabri."
"Yeah, you a doctor?"
"Look, she was in a car accident, of course it's serious, but she was still chatting it up in the firetruck, yeah? She's just getting patched right now."
"Man, fuck you! You that goddamned father of yours," Daryl stated, pointing threateningly at him, still pacing like a jungle cat.
"Yeah, I know."
"You don't know shit," Daryl went on.
"Daryl," Grace said after a quiet moment, moving in close to him and touching his arm. "Why don't you come inside the kitchen for some leftovers? You must be hungry."
He shrugged her hand off and flashed furious eyes at the Lieutenant. "No," he ground out between clenched teeth, storming off into the night.
Grace eyed Daryl's retreating back as it disappeared into the shadows of the side of the dorms, before turning to Fay still leaning heavily against the tree. "What's this about your father?"
He pushed off from the tree and smiled down at her sadly. "You still want to marry me, beb?"
"Of course, but please just…tell me what's going on? I'm so confused."
Seeing he wasn't about to explain, she added hopefully.
"I'm scared, Fate," she whispered.
"Don't be scared, girl," he assured her. "You're safe, but I have to go."
It was a full minute before she responded. "Go?"
He sighed. "I need you to tape me up, and then I need to get gear and go."
"Go?" She demanded again. Gripping his upper arms with strong little fingers. "Go where? Why? Honey, you just got back to us!"
"Le vieux, the old man," he explained. "My daddy is out there and he's dangerous. I need to stop him. It has to be me. Do you understand?"
"Your father?"
Fay inhaled. "He's a rapist and killer and I'm sorry that I never told you about him until now, but honey he's out there, whether he's turned uggie or if he's still alive, I have to end him."
"End him?" She repeated. "That's patricide…oh honey, you can't do that!" She gripped him harder. "Don't go, please?"
"I have to," he said. "I'm responsible for anything he does. I can't have that on me."
"But you're not, Lafayette," she pleaded. "Whatever he does…whatever he's done…"
Gathering her tiny hands from where they gripped him, he kissed the tips of her fingers and smiled. "I need you to let me do this, give me your pardon, my girl. I need your strength, yeah?"
She shook her head.
"Mon précieux," he purred. "I need to do this. I'll never be right for the rest of my life."
"And if you don't come back?" She whispered, tears forming in her eyes.
Fay couldn't remember if he had ever seen her cry and it tore his heart to shreds, but he swallowed this down, remaining firm in his decision.
"I'm buying the cow, beb," he assured her with a somewhat forced grin. "Of course I'll come back. Don't cry. I can't see you cry. Just tell me you'll be here for me when I come back, because I'll need you. Yeah?"
Despite his request, tears began rolling down her cheeks and she hurriedly smudged them away in shame.
He felt tears prick his own eyes, but remained still. "You have to tape me up, girl. I need to be taped."
Quietly, she nodded and led him into the dorms, into her study where she scurried off to get some duct tape, while he eased into her chair and enjoyed the solitude with shaking hands. It was hard, but he knew what he had to do. Every man had a duty and this one was his. It had to be. There was just too much of a coincidence seeing old Deveau again. No, he had to kill him. Undead or alive, he had to end him.
When his girl returned she was calmer and accompanied by a small little creature who launched themselves into his lap happily, jarring his ribs, causing him to both hiss in pain and draw her in closer.
Rubbing at her bleary eyes, Annie sniffed at him. "I knew you'd come back."
Fay shot Grace a stern look over Annie's head, knowing the woman was using sympathy warfare with him in order to get him to change his mind.
"I have to go soon, though," he said to the child.
"Why?"
"Because there's a bad man out there and I have to get him."
Annie scrunched her nose as her dog pushed its way into the study and flopped onto the rug at Fay's feet wearily.
"Annie, I have to patch him," Grace said softly, standing at her desk with her back to them. "Give him a kiss and then get back to bed."
Pulling an unhappy face, Annie leaned up and gave him a kiss and a hug. "Will you be here tomorrow?" She asked.
"No, honeychild," he said.
"When will you be back?"
Fay cringed. "I don't know, but I will be back."
Annie looked doubtful.
Removing his dogtags, he slipped them over her head and tickled her ribs playfully. "You be good while I'm gone, yeah?"
"Yes, sir."
"Help out with chores," he went on.
"Um-hm."
"Go on now," he patted her knee. "Get to bed, yeah?"
"Do you have to go?" She asked, sliding off his lap.
"Yeah."
Annie hesitated. "You won't come back." She stated, before racing off angrily, Boo the Dog on her heels.
Glancing over at Grace who was approaching him with the duct tape, he scowled. "That was dirty pool."
"She was up," Grace stated. "I wouldn't wake a child just to trick you into staying. Take your shirt off," she ordered sternly.
"I like the anger better than the tears," he purred, pushing to his feet to painfully struggle out of his gear. When he got down to the grey undershirt, he lifted it halfway, before wincing in pain and halting in mid tug.
She took the scissors in her hands and cut into the bottom of the shirt before he could protest.
"I liked this shirt," he pointed out.
"There are forty billion like it in the world," she snapped, tossing the rag aside. "You'll find another. Turn around."
He did so, smiling over his shoulder at her. "I kind of like you being all dominant like this and—ow! Foutre!" He cursed loudly as she touched a hand to his bruised side.
"I'm sure that's a cockeyed Cajun swear, so mind your language," she said in a clipped tone, still feeling his ribs.
He endured in silent pain as she poked and probed.
"Your entire right side feels like Rice Krispies," she stated. "You are aware?"
"Rice Krispies aren't so bad, it's when they feel like grits that—fuck me!"
She hit another sensitive spot with her small, but brutal hand and he stood up to get away from her.
"Language," she warned crossly, gripping his hips and preventing his escape.
He was reminded of one of their first meetings in the study, the first time she clucked her tongue at his cursing. It scared him then, now it sort of turned him on.
Maybe it turned him on a little then too. She was so dainty and demure in her habit, like a little porcelain commemorative doll of the Catholic faith. But he didn't see much beyond the habit then, only the nun. She seemed older then, less fun.
She de-taped him quickly and painfully, but effectively, removing the old tape with a sick smirk of pleasure as she did so. It had split sometime during his final hours, which explained why his ribs were hurting and grinding again.
"Thank God I'm not a hairy man, eh?" He teased her after she pulled the last piece of tape from around him and tossed it onto her desk. It hurt to laugh, so he decided not to make any more jokes until she was finished.
Taping him up was even more painful than the first time, because she was angry and doing a better job, making sure his ribs wouldn't move an inch.
"So this is a corset, yeah?" He said when she finished, nicking the tape with her teeth and tearing it off the roll. "No wonder women wanted the vote."
She tossed the roll of duct tape onto her desk with the discarded tape and her scissors and stood before him. Moving away, he thought she was going to just leave, when she closed the door to her study and turned back to him with soft eyes.
"Don't go," she said gently.
Easing onto the chair, he patted his knee. "Come here, beb," he invited her with a smirk.
She took him up on his offer, slipping onto his lap and winding her arms around his neck and pressing against his good side.
"Is there anything I can do to make you stay?" She asked, hand running over his bare chest.
He swallowed thickly, knowing exactly what point she was driving at. "You," he began with a squeak, clearing his throat he went on. "You wouldn't ask that if you knew how badly I need to do this."
"I wouldn't offer if I didn't want you to stay with us so badly," she whispered.
"Wouldn't offer ever?" He joked.
"One night?" She pleaded, kissing him with a tenderness he had believed her incapable of, her hand sliding down over the tape gingerly, heading for his lap between them.
Where a nun learned to move like she was, was completely beyond his comprehension, but goddamn was he glad she had the instincts of a secular woman.
He caught her hand with a grin and kissed her palm. "You're good, cher," he said softly. "And I hate myself for this, but I can't."
The woman squirmed on his lap in just the right way and his hips bumped up purely on instinct as she leaned down and kissed him again, pressing her breasts against him invitingly. God she was warm and soft and he thought about just one night. What harm would one night do?
"No," he moaned against her lips, turning his head. "I have to go now."
She leaned back and undid the first three buttons on her pretty little white blouse, revealing the very tops of her softly rounded breasts, tucked so prettily into a white lace bra. Pulling his hand up to rest against the soft skin of her clavicle, her mouth moved back to attack him. "I won't even make you do any of the work," she purred, resting a hand gingerly over his taped ribs.
"Girl, you'll be the death of me yet," he murmured against her kisses as they consumed him.
Grace shifted her hips again and he felt his resistance fading, his hand sliding around the delicate bones of her shoulder to grip it, his other moving to undo a few more buttons on her blouse.
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**Daryl**
He stomped around the cemetery for a while, before taking a tour of the garden, mindful of the damned bird bath, tip toeing like a cat through the darkness, wallowing in his own self-loathing and stewing in his rage.
Finally settling himself sullenly in the branches of the peach tree by the infirmary where he had a good view of those inside working on Carol, Daryl allowed himself to be tormented in this manner as a form of punishment for letting Carol come to that frail looking thing on the clinic bed.
There was so much blood.
That was all he could think of as Herschel and the others continued to tirelessly work on Carol.
Daryl noted that sharp featured asshole from the Arkansas group was heading them all and while he didn't like the idea of him touching Carol, he seemed to know what he was doing.
With his eyes on the infirmary, he took notice of something weird draped in plastic just off to the left of the window, almost out of sight and it intrigued him, so he adjusted his spot on the branch to see it better.
The plastic masked whatever was under it and he frowned. It hadn't been there before the left for all he knew.
Getting off the branch, dropping to the ground he approached the infirmary window, peering in to see what was under the plastic.
It looked, from his point of view, to be a baby or something like that, squirming and kicking in sleep.
"Adele had her," Cash said from where he was skulking in the darkness just off to the side of the infirmary, behind a juniper bush. "Named her Celeste."
"You still alive, dipshit?" Daryl snarled.
"Easy now, Cleetus," the man said. "Just trying to communicate with the wildlife."
Daryl flashed him a curious look. The man's accent was just as thick, if not twangier than his, so he didn't know where this superiority bullshit came from, but if he wasn't careful Daryl'd solve his arrogance with a solid left hook.
"So what are you going to do with Adele?" The blond asked.
"Do I look like her fucking father?" Daryl demanded.
"Hey, did you guys ever catch up with him?"
"Who?"
"Martin, Adele's daddy. You gank him? Did he squeal like a little bitch? That asshole deserves nothing less than pain and misery."
"Martin Deveau?" Daryl snapped.
"Jesus fuck, you hillfolk are thick. Yeah Martin Deveau, you nab him?"
"Martin Deveau is that woman's daddy?" Daryl went on.
"Yeah, that's his precious girl. Kept her in the tent with him at all times, pretty protective of her since that dumb ass attacked her. Treated her like property, though. Ask me, the apocalypse is no place for a lady. But then again I'm old—"
Daryl, processing this information, suddenly turned on his heel and headed back to his tree, tucking himself up into the branches and mulling the information over. If that girl was Martin's daughter, that would make her Fay's half-sister, but there was no point telling him until he knew for sure if Adele was really Martin's daughter.
Twenty minutes later Mrs. Douglas was taking a step outside to get some fresh air and Daryl was hopping out of the tree, approaching her.
"Carol's stable," she assured him. "But that shoulder still needs work. You know her blood type?"
Daryl shook his head.
"Well, there's no serious head trauma other than a nasty concussion, but that's pretty mild considering what it could have been." The old woman gripped him with a bloodied hand. "Get some rest, sweetie. She'll pull through."
"I can't," he admitted softly.
The woman gave him an understanding squeeze. "At least throw a sweater or jacket on," she said. "It's cold out tonight."
As the woman ducked back into the infirmary, Daryl reluctantly turned from the door back to his tree, finding Carol's shaggy grey dog sitting just behind him, watching him with big brown eyes.
Flopping onto the stoop of the building, Daryl lay his head back against the door and sighed heavily, the dog moved to join him, lying his huge, heavy head on Daryl's thigh and huffing.
Burying his hand into the fur of the dog's neck, Daryl idly stroked the beast.
Throwing his legs up onto the stoop sideways, he leaned his cheek against the dog's side and decided on a quick nap, maybe just shut his eyes for a few minutes.
He awoke to find Herschel, Mrs. Douglas, Milton and that fellow from the other group standing over him, the door to the infirmary open. Sitting up quickly from where he had fallen asleep on the dog, Daryl tried to gauge the time by the sky, but it was hard to tell if it was midnight or those dark hours before dawn.
"So?" He snapped, getting to his feet.
"She's stable," the sharp featured man replied. "But will have some limited mobility in that right arm of hers, for a while with therapy, if she works at it, she might regain full mobility again. She has a serious concussion, but no spinal injury apparent, your female companion is actually pretty damned lucky."
Daryl turned his eyes on the man he trusted, and Herschel smiled gently. "She's resting right now, son. But you can go in and sit with her, if you want."
Shifting on his feet, Daryl ordered the dog to go lay down and it took off for the dorms where it probably hoped to find refuge. Eyeing the group from under a sweep of shaggy hair, Daryl coughed uncomfortably, before saying simply, "thanks." He ducked into the infirmary past them before anyone could say anything back.
Walking the dark infirmary where only soft lights above each cot shone, he slipped into a chair at Carol's right side, between her and that Adele woman's beds.
The curtain had been drawn between them, but Daryl could hear shifting coming from the other side of the curtain and knew Adele was awake.
Studying Carol's face for signs of serious trauma, he found her sleeping almost peacefully, a small grin playing at the corners of her mouth and it made him smile a little as well.
Only Carol would have a nice dream after the hell of her ordeal.
"Is she going to be alright?" A soft Cajun accent cooed out from behind the curtain.
Daryl hesitated, before saying roughly, "yeah."
"I'm glad. Carol's a kind woman." Adele returned. "Are you her husband?"
"Not really."
"Her beau, then?"
"Something like that."
The curtain moved and Daryl glanced over his shoulder to find a big grey eye peering out at him, around it was a deep purple bruise. "I'm Adele," she introduced softly.
"Daryl," he returned, eyeing her quietly.
She opened the curtain a little wider and held out a small hand.
He must have looked at the offered hand a little too long, because soon it was drawn back and the woman retreated back behind the curtain shyly.
Daryl scowled at himself. He didn't mean to insult her, he just didn't like touching people he knew, never mind strangers. Wallowing in his own guilt over insulting the woman, he moved his chair in closer to Carol's bed.
Milton returned to the infirmary presently and Daryl watched as the geeky man settled into his own bed, squirming to get comfortable in the hard old hospital bed, before turning off the light over his head with his good arm.
Resting his hand over Carol's on the bed beside her, Daryl pondered changing sides, he hadn't realized he had taken a seat on her bad side when he sat down. Instead, he leaned back in his chair, with his hand over Carol's and settled in for a nap.
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The Voodoo Dialect
Congo - A handsome but apathetic loa. Content with any clothing and eats mixed foods with much pimiento, and is fond of mixed drinks.
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The Cajun Dialect
Mon précieux - My precious(ssss).
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Merle's Right Hand - Well, we all have our gold and for Merle it's titty mags. I kind of appreciate the Lt's knowledge of this weakness and his constant vigilance in keeping currency on hand.
auntheddy - I'm glad to be back! And thanks for missing me! ^_^
Surplus Imagination - Adrenaline is your answer. The Lt is pumped full of it now, wait until it wears off.
itsi3 - I hope this chapter fulfilled your desire to have the Lt get taken care of. Ehehe. ^_^