Part Seven
"Christ, boy. Keep the noise down, why don'tcha? We ain't gonna catch a damn thing the way you're tearin' the place up with your boots." Merle eyes the kid, just barely repressing the snarl he wants to aim his way. He hates being sent out to hunt with babysitters. This one was just fucking insulting—a kid, barely wet behind the ears and his clean face still smooth as a baby's behind, sent out to keep tabs on a man approaching his fifties. Merle spits viciously at the ground, stretches out the muscles of his neck and shoulders and takes comfort in the fact that this kid knows fuck all about what he's being used for. With the kid being oblivious, Merle is still able to feel relatively free now that he is outside the walls of Woodbury—and if a walker bites the kid's ass, well, it'd serve Phil right. No one will miss the kid—he seemed to be alone within the town in a similar way to Merle, and the kid is as tight-lipped as he is himself. Merle thinks he might be impressed if he could just dredge up the energy to give a shit.
"Sorry," the kid says, the apology tumbling so swiftly from his lips that Merle suspects he is extra used to saying it, like he is always fucking shit up and on the wrong side of blame.
"What's yer name anyways?"
"Jody."
Merle stops suddenly, swinging back to stare at the kid, his eyes narrowed. "The fuck kind of name is Jody? Did your mamma hate your guts or somethin'? She lose a bet?"
Jody shrugs, his eyes growing distant and his pretty boy good looks slide into one of cold acceptance. "Probably."
There was pain there that Merle is ignoring like his life depends on it. For the good of his own psyche. "Well, you ain't the only kid in the world whose mamma had better things to do than care about the needs of her brats." Merle has already lost interest, his gaze drawing back to the deer tracks he's been following since not long after first light. They are deep in the woods now, and it's dangerous, with biters wandering from out behind trees without a moment of warning. Crisscrossing behind, beside, in front of them in a dizzying display of unnatural coordination. Merle's used to it, anticipates every sudden appearance and dispatches each one with a minimum of fuss. It's like a sixth sense now, an inherent strategy toward self-preservation and he finds he's hardly ever in trouble. The kid doesn't have it, though, and Merle hisses angrily every time a walker gets too close and he's expected to kill it while the kid shuffles around pathetically, trying not to scream out his fear while waving his useless knife around like one of those street gang bitches that don't know fuck about landing the killing shot.
They both see the curl of smoke through the thicket of trees at the same time, Jody's whole attitude switching at the sign of others, a big smile on his face as he goes to rush forward. Merle snags his arm and violently shoves him back behind him, glaring at him. What he really wants to do is kick the kid's teeth in for being so fucking stupid as to go running straight toward people that were more than likely prepared to gut them on sight.
"Fuck," Merle hisses at him, flinging the kid away as he grasps for the gun poking out of the waistband of his pants. "You fixin' to get yourself killed? What do I tell the Gov'ner then? Huh? I should just shoot you right between the eyes right now, save those fuckers the trouble," he says, jerking his head toward the campfire up ahead, hearing the subtle sounds of human inhabitation as Jody shrinks behind him, acknowledgement made with a terse nod, even though the kid is pissed off. Not that Merle cares any.
Soundlessly, Merle stalks forward, stalks these strangers like prey, and only once he's right there, all of them stupidly oblivious of his presence, does he intentionally step on a twig. They jump into action as the snap of it echoes in the space around them, weapons swinging confidently toward him and Merle whistles at their firepower, his hand and stump raised immediately in capitulation. He's already tucked his gun into the back of his pants, hoping for an opening should he need it.
"Hey, don't go gettin' all excited. I ain't plannin' to do any harm to y'all. Just out huntin', tryna teach the boy some survival skills and shit."
They are Latino, and even though it is the end of the world and his own kind are whittled down to just about no one left that he knows, Merle can't control the curl of his lip. He despises Latinos. Doesn't trust them as far as he can kick them.
"Who've you got behind you, amigo?" says the one with a heavy duty rifle that Merle wants to rip from the spic's hands and ram it into his head.
"Merle," the kid hisses behind him and it's all he can do not to jab the little shit's brains out with his knife.
"Shut the fuck up," he orders, his voice a low, menacing growl. He doesn't bother to look back, the kid is on his own now as far as he's concerned. He's so unskilled in survival the little fucker deserves to get eaten.
"Did he say Merle? G, didn't that redneck say his brother's name was Merle? And look, he's missing a hand. That motherfucker threw a hand at me when they held me captive." A younger Latino, equally stupid about keeping his mouth shut, steps forward and unwittingly gives Merle the leader's name.
Merle's eyes narrow with interest, his pulse quickening at the implication that these people have known of Daryl in the past, and as far as he's concerned, it's the thing that decides him to allow them to live.
"You've seen my brother?" He's suspicious when the one called G steps forward, but he breathes more easily when the rifle is lowered, the barrel now pointing at the ground rather than Merle's face.
"He was with the Sheriff that gave us these guns," G confirms and Merle nods, wanting more information, more hope that his brother is still alive.
"Officer Friendly's real generous when he's not handcuffing people to pipes and leavin' 'em to biters on a roof." He's pissed. Whoever the fuck that cop was that came at their group out of nowhere, Merle wants to run his knife into his brain. He has to find Daryl first, though, and this is his first real lead in almost a year.
G steps forward, his hands held up before him to show he's no threat. "They told us some of what went down. They went back for you, amigo, but you'd already cut off your hand." He waves at Merle's stump and the raw, serrated flesh of his wound throbs in memory of that day. "Not long after they left we were invaded, all the old people we were watching out for murdered and all our supplies raided. We barely made it out."
Merle knows this story, and while he can't definitely say Phil is behind any attack on these people, he can't be sure that he isn't. The truth of the Woodbury leader sits heavily in his gut and he blinks before tightening his jaw.
"El bastardo," the younger man with G growls, his tone full of hate and disgust as he spits to the ground. "Called himself the Governor."
"That's enough, Miguel," G commands, and the boy actually listens. Merle wishes his own little puppy follower would take notes.
A gasp slices the air behind him. He stiffens, thinking fast. The kid has heard it all, that the Governor is responsible for killing a bunch of old people, that he's raided another group and stolen supplies in order to make sure Woodbury continues to flourish, but Merle doesn't give a shit that the kid's cherry has been popped to the evil on his doorstep. He couldn't give a flying fuck if the kid runs back and tells the whole damn town what their leader does to other survivors. But…he doesn't want Phil to know he's run into people that knows his brother. He wants to know more, hear more about what Daryl did in those days when Merle left, how he was when he discovered his big brother gone. Jody knows the connection, and Merle needs to decide what he's going to do about it.
G hangs his head and Merle can see the sadness, the guilt that he wasn't able to keep his people safe and Merle hates it, hates seeing that responsibility for others, hates that he doesn't care about anyone but his brother. Hates that he lives in a town ruled by an evil, conniving fucker that is planning to dry up the earth of survivors one old person at a time.
"My brother…Officer Friendly…they tell you where they were plannin' on goin'?"
"Merle!" The kid shouts his name urgently and it stretches his last nerve to breaking point. He whips around to give the little shit a piece of his mind and comes face to face with him fighting off a biter, its tattered form grappling with his arms as the stupid little fuck slashes the air around him instead of burying his knife in the biter's eye. Merle steps forward, his knife zeroing in on one milky eye and spears it straight through, parts of its skull caught on the tip. Merle shoves it off as another comes at him. The moaning that had crept up on them while he was thinking about Daryl reaches a crescendo and everywhere he turns now Merle sees more of them gathering, collecting together and zeroing in on the scent of their life. One harried look around and he can see the Latino group scattering, seizing their own weapons and packs as more biters materialise from the other direction. The camp is scrambling, panicked and Merle growls in frustration, spearing another walker skank as she stumbles into him from behind. He thanks whoever is looking out for him that she fell before setting her jaws into him as he stomps his boot down hard on her face.
Jody is almost crawling up his ass when he turns back around, the kid trembling with fear as he holds a smaller knife, continuing to slash the air in front of him as more walkers advance. The Latinos are cutting and running and Merle knows what he has to do. His only chance to get away as more biters converge on his location is to give them something to feed on, something to divert their hunger from the tasty morsel he is. He considers for only a second how he'll explain his singular return to Phil, but he has confidence in his ability to bullshit. Phil hasn't caught onto him yet. The only thing he gives a shit about is surviving. Just hearing that his brother had come for him, risked returning to Atlanta to drag his ass off that roof gives Merle more hope than he's had in months. Daryl may well be dead by now, but Merle doesn't think so, however he knows he is about to be if he doesn't move his ass out of these woods fast.
The Latino group is almost out of sight when he does it. Grabbing Jody by the back of his shirt, he holds the kid in front of him as he retreats. Suddenly the kid's own sense of self-preservation kicks in as he realises what Merle is up to and tries to fight it. Even with only one hand to secure him, Merle is stronger. He's more calm, more focused, more deadly, and, as nearly twenty biters close in, he stabs his knife through the kid's back, the tip of it jabbing through flesh and his heart, protruding glistening and bloody out the kid's front. Jody weakly turns back to face him, stares at him in shock as a thin trail of blood dribbles out from between his lips, his mouth moving but incapable of emitting sound. Merle isn't looking at him, though—he's staring at the hungry eyes that are now focused on the boy, frantic arms reaching forward to snag hold of his flesh. Merle lets him go, shoves the kid hard, screaming silently, into the groaning, famished mass of walkers. He turns his back on the frenzy, remorse dismissed as he bursts into movement and runs.
AN… Just trying to round Merle out. Hmmm, I'm thinking this is going to make it difficult for Carol to cross over to his side. What do you think?
Also, just want to say, this fic may not have a huge number of readers, but those of you who review are simply the best reviewers in the fandom. You all rock and make me love writing this even more. I didn't think it was possible!