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Milton's Historical Logs #290
Sunday, January 25, 2016
Born late yesterday evening at approximate 7:34 to Grace and Lafayette one male child, mother had some difficulty due to her age, but both came out of it strong and healthy thanks to Hershel and some old fashioned farm birthing techniques. 8 pounds, 1 ounce and 24 inches. Named Lafayette Herschel Vancoughnett V. (Personal note of Milton Mamet, author of this log: the baby boy was named after his father's family name and Herschel who saved both mother and child with a split decision caesarian.)
Blue came to the convent today with word of some strange army truck driving around the area. He said his kids spied only three people driving it, said the back was full of junk and that the side was painted with a large white peace sign and the words 'willing to trade'.
The convent is torn between making contact with these people and eliminating a potential threat. We've finally settled on sending out a small group to meet with them, to feel out these outsiders.
On a personal I've decided to take Toby under my supervision and tutelage. I feel he has the makings of a great scientific mind. I don't want to use the term 'father' but with none of his own left alive, I suppose the role has fallen on me. This decision has nothing to do with Daryl talking to me, encouraging me in his quiet, backwoods sage way to adopt the boy. But…Daryl can relate a great epic without ever saying a word and I respect that about him. He holds his tongue, but he knows the world.
Current population: 37 (Blue is still here, so I suppose he counts.)
Current forecast: 14º, Flurries
Current mood: Irritated (the Lieutenant won't stop bragging about his newborn son.)
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**The Lieutenant**
"Naw, she's still out, put her in."
The two men huddled over the crib, Daryl easing his baby girl inside to lie beside the Lieutenant's new son, both daddies smiling down broadly at the two squirming little pot roasts.
"You know, cabri—"
"No," Daryl stated. "My girl's smarter than that."
"What are you trying to say, goat-breath?" Fay demanded, still grinning at his son and Daryl's little girl.
"Ain't no girl of mine gonna let no half Cajun spawn touch her."
Even as Daryl said this, his baby girl jerked her little arm out and smacked Lafayette V in the chest.
"Looks like she's the one doing the touching," Fay teased.
"Yeah," Daryl snapped, "she's already smacking your kid into place."
"What are you two giggling about over there?" Carol demanded as she entered the infirmary with an armload of clean blankets for the closet.
"Nothing," Fay said a little too fast, earning a suspicious look from the woman, behind her Annie and Olivia skittered, tip-toeing up to Grace's bed, eyeing her quietly.
Moving to scoop up Annie, the Lieutenant kissed her cheek and said, "she's still sleeping. You two go on out and play now, I'll come and get you when she wakes."
"Is she really?" Annie demanded, critically eyeing her mama.
"When have I ever hornswaggled you, boo?"
The girl turned those critical eyes on him.
Leaning in, he blew a raspberry on the side of her neck, causing the girl to giggle and squirm until he released her to the floor.
The two girls grabbed hands and raced off outside, leaving the adults alone.
"You find people to go meet with those traders?" Daryl asked, his hand in the crib wriggling at his little girl's own chubby digits.
"Of course, always people willing to help out," Carol said. "Now, asking them to do their own damned laundry…"
"Should put a tariff on random work done for others around here," Grace murmured from the bed.
Lafayette was on his knees at her bedside in a flash, head nestling down beside hers on the pillow, hand moving for her hand.
"How are you, my love?" He asked, not even noticing Carol and Daryl slinking out with their little girl.
"My mouth is dry and my stomach feels like a timber wolf tore into it," his girl replied.
He reached for the glass of water on her bedside table and helped her take a drink. "They had to cut into you to get him out."
Grace's eyes widened in panic. "Is he?"
"Fine, he's fine. It's a he, a tiny little, soft boy." He replaced her glass and took her hand again. "I'm sorry, I mean, all this trouble, but—"
"Oh, shut up, bring my baby," Grace waved him in the direction of the crib.
He could tell by the shine in her eyes that she wasn't at all upset about anything, she was happy, she was elated, she was shining bright and he had never seen her brighter.
Carefully he moved to pluck their son out of his crib, bringing him to his mother.
Grace took the baby with a broad grin. "Oh Lord…" she gasped. "Oh, he looks like a little angel! Well," she dropped solemnly, eyeing the Lieutenant, "he looks like you."
"Perfect little ange," he teased. "Beautiful like his mama," he lied. Truth was Gracie looked like she went through the wringer a few times and still came out damp. Her hair was sticking up in places, a thin sheen of sweat still coated her pale skin and her eyes had grey bags hanging from them that could knock an elephant on his ass. But to him she was never lovelier holding their son.
Grace was still, eyes on their baby, mouth a thin, taut line.
"You alright?"
"Um-hm, my first baby," she whispered.
"Mine too," he confessed with a small grin.
"I should hope so, you dog," Grace stated with some of her old fire.
Cringing, he laughed and stood up. "I'm going to get the girls in here," he said. "They've been worried about you."
Grace nodded, still unable to tear her eyes away from her son.
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Outside he approached the wall, where Merle and a few other stood, rifles and guns in hand.
By the tense posture they held, he got the feeling something was on the other side of the stone, something he couldn't see.
"What's going on?" He asked Andrea who was standing below Merle on the wall.
"Shufflers," Merle said.
Frowning, the Lieutenant hopped the wall and peered down at a mass of rotting corpses quietly.
"We haven't seen any for months," Sister Joan said from the other side of Merle. "Now a whole herd of them?"
"If there's this many," Merle said. "I don't want to shoot them down from the wall, if there's more out there we can't see."
Turning to find Carol striding towards them, rifle in hand, he waited for her decision.
Daryl was nowhere in sight, probably holed up with the baby.
"Chance it," she said. "If there's more, we only have to worry about the gate."
Merle exchanged a look with Sister Joan, before shrugging.
"Cut 'em down!" He commanded the others on the wall.
Leaping down after those on the wall shot down the uggies, he approached Carol.
She looked worried, but only for him, as Glenn joined them, she offered the young man and kind smile.
"Probably just roamers," she assured him.
Glenn furrowed his brow, but didn't argue, choosing instead to go cover the gate in case there were more.
"I wonder where such a large group is coming from," Carol mused to him.
"I don't know, but I can find out for you," he said. "Just give me the order, General."
She smirked at him. "Grace just had a baby, Lieutenant, let one of the others go."
"The only person here who can track is Daryl," he pressed. "Him or me?"
"I'll get Daryl to—"
"Me it is!" He broke in. "I'll get my rifle and get on it!"
Turning at the peach tree, he shouted. "Don't worry, General, I'll be back in time for dinner!"
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Sending the girls in to see their mama, he grabbed his pack and Marie, before heading out.
Carol stopped him as he left the dorms, her hands adjusting her rifle on her back, her face grim.
"General," he greeted, moving past her.
She caught up with him.
"Something more?" He asked her.
"I'm coming with you," she said.
He stopped. "I'm torn between arguing that point and keeping my damned Marine mouth shut, General," he continued to tease.
She shifted on her feet. "If we'll be back for dinner…with Grace out, I'm in charge and it's my duty to know exactly what's going on. I can't send you out without offering you back up."
"I'll take Merle, then, or Glenn or Tyreese," he offered.
"You're taking me," she said.
He shifted on his feet. "I don't know…if there's uggies out there…"
"We'll take them down and get to the bottom of this new surge of walkers," she stated firmly.
"Does Daryl—"
"Would I be walking this way with you if he did?" She asked. "Let's get it over fast enough and get home."
"Well," he began, "you know saying it like that…it's a sure sign that something's going to happen…"
"Let's hope it doesn't."
"I feel like I'm in one of those war movies," he confessed as they got Glenn to open the gate for them.
"The General in those is usually some big, burly Idahoan with a cigar in his mouth," she pointed out, eyes on the cattle trail and the woods around them, just in case there were lingerers. "I'm decidedly not that."
"No," he admitted, eyeing the shuffle marks the uggies left in the ground and trying to source out a direction they came from. Uggies moved in packs, so it was safe to say they migrated as a herd.
He motioned them in a direction and they headed into the woods, off the trail, heading west.
"We see an uggie, you let me get it," he whispered to her. "I have the silencer on Marie."
She nodded and moved in close to him, covering his ass.
He paused at more disturbed leaves and motioned them to the north a little, heading for the highway.
They both stopped short at a crashing coming from up ahead and he raised his rifle.
Three uggies came barrel assing out of the woods and he shot them down, but four more followed and he barked to Carol, "climb up a tree, ange, let me handle this!"
She gave him a hard look and took out her knife, running at the uggies.
He shot one down as it made for her, keeping them off her ass as she stabbed two in the face, turning on a third as more poured from the woods.
Running low and not wanting Marie to run dry, he paused long enough to load her, but found them on him too fast, so he used Marie's barrel to knock the assholes down.
Smashing in the face of one uggie, he found Carol launching herself to his rescue, finishing the job.
They both stood back-to-back, ready for another onslaught.
When none came, he paused to properly load Marie, while Carol eyed the bodies.
"Do we keep going or turn back?" She asked him, covering a little girl corpse with a jacket from her own shoulders.
Frowning at the woman who was baring herself in Georgian winter, he dropped his pack to remove his jacket for her, eyeing the woods around them.
"I'm going to keep on," he said, wrapping her up in his jacket. "I want to know where the hell these uggies are coming from."
"We could be traipsing all the way to the Arctic circle for all we know," she pointed out.
"If that's what it takes to figure out just what the hell is going on…"
"We'll hit the highway," she said. "If we can't figure it out by then, we go home."
He nodded. "By your orders, General."
"And knock that off," she suggested, leading him through the woods like she knew what the hell she was doing tracking the uggies.
He smiled and caught her by the upper arms, turning her down the right direction, following the disturbed leaves on the forest floor, allowing her to lead them since she had it in her head to do that anyways.
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Merle's Right Hand - No, but you have no idea how much I missed you, girl. You're like a slice of lemon meringue pie on a dark, dreary winter morning.
itsi3 - Thanks!
vickih - You know they'd make the best leaders anyways. Women get shit done right.
Yazzy x - Yeah, I'm the same way. For a big tough guy, Merle really is a softie at heart. Deep, deep down there somewhere...he's got one and it's huge. That...could be taken wrong...I was talking about his heart...his...in the chest...O_O Okay, I'm just going to go stand over here now...
Brazen Hussy - If you're happy, I'm happy. ^_^
Claire Randall Fraser - Dean is a little Daryl-ish, isn't he? Only, I like to think that the devil on his shoulder leads him more often than not...
jaibhagwan - LOL! I had to look that one up! Love it! Perfect! Thanks for the laugh!
Ciao Bella - It's funny from a distance...I'd imagine everyone started to head for the hills when Grace came around after that. ^_^
Surplus Imagination - Well, I'd imagine with nothing better to do during winter, there were plenty of people volunteering to make costumes...I like to think people are getting cabin fever from just waiting around for spring to plant crops and such.