After a while, Sinclaire pulled over and poked Merle in the shoulder.

"What?" he mumbled.

"We need to make a plan," she said, wondering if he was actually in any state of mind to do so.

"Thought we had a plan. Thought we was findin' the caravan."

"We are. But we can't just drive around this town yelling for Daryl. We need supplies, especially gasoline."

"Yeah well what the fuck you want me to do? Snap my damn fingers and…"

"No," Sinclaire cut him off, getting a squinty eyed look of irritation, not that she gave a damn. Sarcasm was her thing and she'd be damned if he'd poach on her territory. "I was part of the company that was supposed to hold the city. We had a shit-ton of stuff, fuel barrels, water, food. It was more than I could carry with me, but I'd bet it's still there. We could fit it in here."

"In Atlanta? With the fuckin' swarm of those things?"

"Two people might be able to get in and out. If I know you're up for it."

As she'd planned, the challenge had him sitting up straighter as he said, "Give me a gun sweetheart and I'll get ya whatever we need."

"Not yet," Sinclaire shook her head firmly.

"Why the fuck not?"

"Because you're going through what withdrawal from what looks like a pretty damn serious cocaine addiction," she snapped, decided that she would play straight with him. "And I don't trust you with a gun. Can you even shoot left handed?"

"I bet I can," Merle snapped back.

"But you don't know and until you do, the guns stay with me."

Merle muttered something; Sinclaire shrugged. "Better a living cunt than a dead one. That's my motto."

He closed his eyes again, wondering what the hell the point to any of it was. Maybe he oughta just lay the fuck down and die. Daryl couldn't survive without him, not in a situation like this. Merle was sure of it. He'd always handled everything for Daryl.

"So, new plan," Sinclaire sounded determined. "We go and check out the former base."

"Might as well die with you as by myself," he muttered.

Was she doing this on purpose? Was she trying to get him killed? Why else would she be leading back to the city they'd just left? He thought about asking her, but another wave of exhaustion swept over him and he didn't bother.

She tried to think of the least direct route back to the base that wasn't blocked off. She was so busy worrying about it that she almost hit the car in the road. She gasped and turned the wheel, pushing the brakes just a bit harder than she should have, slinging Merle forward.

"The fuck?" he bellowed.

"People," she answered, pointing out the side window.

"I know them."

"They're part of the caravan?" she couldn't figure out why they were all alone if that was the case.

"Shoulda been," Merle opened his door and she followed him out.

A man sat with his back to a vehicle and his head in his hands.

"Morales?" Merle barked. "What the hell's your problem?"

The blood splattered over the back windows told Sinclaire all she needed to know.

"Bitten," the man said. "I thought it was wrong…I thought it was wrong of Rick to go…to head there…pointless. I did what I thought was right."

"Go where?"

The man ignored Merle's question, looking down at his bloody hands.

"It happened almost right away," he went on. "My wife…my daughters…I wasn't fast enough…" the man began to sob.

Merle saw red. Why the hell was he crying over what was done? Why wasn't he giving him the information he needed? Morales' family was dead as doornails, but he still had a chance to get back to his brother. Suspicion swelled up inside him again. Maybe they were all in this together. Maybe they were distracting him, keeping him from finding Daryl. He no longer wondered why it would happen. He just knew that it was happening.

"Listen you fuckin' spic!" he reached down and yanked Morales up, slamming him against the vehicle and holding him there. "You fuckin' tell me where they went or I swear to god I'll kill you right here!"

"Merle," Sinclaire kept her voice level, but it didn't work this time.

"Fuck you!" he yelled over his shoulder. "You're in on it all ain't ya Yank?"

"In on what?" she asked, edging closer, she recognized this as further symptoms of his withdrawal, but she wanted to keep him talking to her.

"I wish you would kill me," Morales interjected. "Go ahead! I wanted to kill myself but I couldn't goddamn do it! I can't pull the trigger! Do it redneck, finish it!"

"You fuckin' wetback sonofabitch!" Merle raised his hand and then his world went black.

Sinclaire watched him fall and figured she had a good bit of time before he woke up. She'd actually hit him a bit harder than she meant to, but the "wetback" comment had sort of pissed her off, even if it wasn't directed at her. The other man slumped back down too and she saw a long series of scratches down his arm.

Fuck. Was she dealing with two delirious men? She knelt in front of the man Merle had referred to as Morales and eyed him for signs he was going to leap for her. He looked much too defeated though.

"I'm sorry about your family," she said honestly. "And Merle's a bastard. But we really need to know where the others went. I made him a promise. It's sort of my fault he and his brother are separated. Will you tell me…"

"The CDC," the man cut in. "The rest went to the CDC. Daryl flipped when Merle didn't come back."

"Yeah. The Dixon brothers don't seem to handle stress well," Sinclaire gave the man a smile. "That a zombie scratch?"

He looked at it and nodded. "Yeah. I don't want to turn…but I can't…I could kill them but I can't kill myself. What does that say about me?" He didn't wait for her to answer before he held his gun out. "Will you do it?"

Sinclaire rose without taking the gun, "I need help getting him into the truck. I'd rather do it while he's out cold."

"But…"

"Hey, you help me and I'll help you," she cut in.

They maneuvered Merle into the passenger seat and Sinclaire turned to Morales.

"You're sure?" she asked, spinning the silencer onto her M9. It wouldn't eliminate the noise, but it would help.

"Yeah," he scrunched his eyes shut.

"Second thought, will you get that other gun? I wouldn't mind having it," she said quickly.

"What?" he opened his eyes. "Oh. Yeah sure."

He turned to get the gun. Right before he bent to retrieve it she shot him in the head. It was better not to anticipate death.

With a sigh she got into the truck and headed into the city. The CDC. What the hell? It was bound to be overrun by now, just like this whole city, but she had made a promise. She didn't consider herself a girl scout or anything, but if a person still had family left, she didn't want to be the reason they were kept from it.