The next morning the group headed out bright and early. To Merle's unspoken relief he saw Glenn get into the box truck with Sinclaire. He returned her wave as she drove off and then turned to observe the group he'd been left with. Merle sighed. He should have gone with Sinclaire.
"What we need to do," Shane began.
"Who the hell put ya in charge?" Merle barked. "If anybody's gonna give orders around here it's gonna be me."
"Why you?" Shane asked, crossing his arms.
Merle spat casually and hooked the fingers of his remaining hand in his belt as he said, "My land, my rules."
"Ain't just your camp anymore though," Shane answered.
"Is this conversation really beneficial?" Dale cut in, watching the men step closer to each other. "All we really need to do right now is go about our daily activities. Our hands are tied until they get back with the supplies."
"That's right," Andrea agreed. "Why don't we get a fire going and some water boiling? Carol? You mentioned laundry right?"
Carol nodded and Merle shrugged magnanimously as he said, "Whatever ya wanna do then."
Sinclaire put her blinker on out of habit when Daryl's truck made a sharp left. When she saw Glenn smile out of the corner of his eye she grinned back.
"Old habits die hard," she said.
Glenn had proven to be good company. He talked a good bit, but he was obviously intelligent so the conversation was good. He'd filled her in on what had happened at the CDC, told her Daryl's reaction to losing Merle, and shared the story of, as he put it, "Walking Among the Dead" covered in "zombie guts."
One of the stories she wanted to hear would be impossible to tell however. She wanted to know how far Shane and Lori's relationship had gotten. Partly because she wanted to know how it would affect the group dynamic and partly because there had been no good gossip for almost two months.
The story, however, was not to be heard because Rick was sitting beside Glenn, chiming in from time to time. Sinclaire liked Rick. He seemed nice, level-headed, and his eyes were so damn understanding! Oh well, maybe she could pawn him off on Daryl on the way back and get the dirt.
Daryl tapped the horn and she glanced right. The Home Depot in all its orange glory stood in an empty parking lot.
"Hey it doesn't even look like it's been looted," Glenn said in enthusiastic surprise.
"I can't imagine that it would be," Rick said. "From what I saw it was mainly gas stations and grocery stores that bore the brunt."
Sinclaire pulled up next to Daryl and T-dog and shifted into park. The doors were closed and locked obviously, but Glenn handled that with no problem. Sinclaire spun the silencers onto both guns; Daryl cocked the crossbow and they went inside.
"Totally creepy in here when it's quiet," Glenn whispered.
"I'd rather it be quiet," T-dog said. "Then you can hear 'em comin'."
"Got the measurements?" Daryl asked, grabbing one of the lumber carts, shoving it toward Glenn and gesturing to T-dog to do the same.
"Yeah," Rick answered.
"Should we split up?" T-dog asked.
"Are you crazy?" Glenn asked. "Have you ever seen a horror movie? The minute we separate we're dead!"
Sinclaire gave Glenn a thumbs up. Daryl coughed the word paranoid.
"So…lumber," Rick said.
They loaded up the carts and, even though Glenn gave a dark look, they separated to gather up the odds and ends. Rick, Glenn, and T went to gather nails, bolts, and screws, along with the appropriate hand tools. Daryl headed for the plumbing section so Sinclaire went with him.
"You're really going to be able to fix the tub?" she asked.
"Ya think it's the kinda thing I lie about?" he returned.
She laughed and said, "That'd be a weird quirk. I mean what are you going to do?"
"Hook ya up a drain. Make it easier to empty. Fillin' it'll still be a bitch though."
"Beggars can't be choosers," she shrugged, taking the pipes he handed her and laying them across the lumber. "So how long do you think the whole remodel will take?"
"Whole thing?" he repeated, rubbing his chin. "About a week if we all do nothin' but that."
Sinclaire sighed.
"I guess Merle was wrong then."
"Happens more than ya'd think," Daryl replied. "'Bout what?"
"About last night being the last night in the truck," she answered with a smile.
"Hell, ya can still sleep in there. I'm gonna. Ya'll can just put yer sleepin' bags…"
"Sleeping bags!" she cut in. "That's what I was forgetting!"
"See, that's why I don't like Yankees. They always interrupt ya."
"I haven't made one southern joke, but I might start."
"Make all the jokes ya want; ain't nothin' like a southern man."
"That point is impossible to argue," she conceded. "But what I was getting at was that Lori mentioned mattresses…"
"Mattresses?" he questioned.
"We're getting mattresses?" Glenn's voice came from around the corner.
"No, that's crazy," Sinclaire laughed.
"Ya lost me," Daryl said.
"Okay, not real mattresses. But air mattresses. Those would be nice don't you guys think?"
"Where would we get them?" T-dog asked.
"There has to be a store for that around here somewhere right? We could look for one of those little street maps…"
"Street maps?" Rick repeated.
"Sure!" she headed up front confidently. "There has to be one around here somewhere. Sort of like a "you are here" deal in the mall."
"Southern towns don't have those just sittin' around," Daryl informed her.
"They are all over Atlanta," she said, holding the door for Rick and T, who were pushing the carts.
"Small Southern towns," Daryl stressed. "Look around. All the shit ya don't see is those things."
Sinclaire glanced around for the look of the thing, but the expressions on the men's faces had already told her she was dead wrong.
"Well isn't there some kind of signage? A…a…why are Southern towns so hard to navigate?"
Glenn pointed and Daryl aimed the bow, a dull 'twang' and a wet 'thud' told Sinclaire that their conversation hadn't gone unheard.
"Good shot," she admitted, eyeing the corpse.
Daryl walked over, stepped on the zombie's head and pulled his bolt free.
"We'll be near a town," he explained. "We could keep goin' that way and see if there's some kinda campin' store. Oughta be, this close to a campground."
"I'll follow your lead then," she said, as they began loading up the trucks.
He grinned at her and they headed out. About twenty minutes later they found what they were looking for, a Grady's in a small strip mall.
Sinclaire fist bumped Glenn and they got out.
"Go in slowly," Rick cautioned. "The door isn't locked."
They opened the doors slowly and, to their shock, they heard a cheerful female voice ring out, "I told her it wouldn't take you long!"
A young blonde woman walked around a tall display of camping odds and ends and then stopped in shock when she saw them.
"Just stay calm," Rick said, "We're not here to hurt you. We're just looking for supplies."
"Carrie what…" another young woman, this one dark haired like Sinclaire, stepped up. "Oh my God! Who are you?"
"My name is Rick Grimes," Rick said.
"You're a cop?" Carrie asked. "Is it over?"
Her voice has trembled with so much hope that Sinclaire felt bad.
"No," Rick answered. "I'm afraid not. We were just out looking for supplies."
"Well, we've got plenty of that!" Carrie said, "Ya'll help yourselves."
"What?" Sinclaire was so shocked she couldn't stop the question.
"Yeah, well, maybe not food," the woman amended. "We don't have much of that. But what were ya'll lookin' for?"
"Air mattresses," Sinclaire answered.
"Knock yourselves out," the other woman said. "I'm Tiffany by the way. Nate is going to flip."
"And just what do you mean by that?" Daryl asked.
"He won't shoot you or anything," Tiffany answered. "He'll just yell at Carrie for not locking the door. She should have done that when he went hunting."
"I got distracted!" Carrie protested. "Come on, I'll walk ya'll back to the mattresses."
The store had been looted of course, but mostly all people had taken were the food packs and water bottles. There was still a good cache of air mattresses and sleeping bags. Apparently no one had expected to have to ride this thing out in the great outdoors.
"So how long have you been here?" Rick asked the women.
"Not too long," Carrie answered. "We were in one of the camps…but somehow the infection spread through it…"
"People hid their bites and scratches," Tiffany cut in. "That's how it happened. Nate got us out when things got bad. We came here. I don't know how long it's going to last though, he says the hunting isn't good around here."
"We're staying in a bar called The Last Chance," Glenn said.
"Jeez Glenn!" Sinclaire dropped her head into her hand.
"I mean…we were…" Glenn stammered, clearly trying to recuperate. "Not anymore though! Now we're at…the…um…"
"You're a shit liar," Daryl snorted. "We got work to do and if we don't get ya back soon, my brother's gonna lose his shit," he continued, pointing at Sinclaire.
"Aww, you think he's worried about me?" she asked.
"He's protective of ya," Daryl said. "Got everything ya want?"
Everyone nodded in affirmation.
"Well," Sinclaire said, "It was nice…and surreal…to meet you."
"Ya'll too," Carrie waved and gave Daryl a smile, apparently missing the smile Glenn was giving her.
Sinclaire considered it a good thing that they wouldn't be living together.
The knot in Merle's gut unraveled when he saw the box truck pull into the campground. He was so relieved that he chewed out both his brother and Sinclaire.
"Ya fuckin' get lost?" he asked, the minute Daryl's feet touched the ground.
"No," Sinclaire answered, hopping down out of the box truck. "He actually…"
"And ain't it just like a woman to take half the damn day shoppin'?" Merle drawled. "People here waitin' on ya, and ya just takin' yer merry fuckin' time…"
"You did miss me!" she shot him a smile and jerked her thumb at the truck. "You could get started unloading. We got it all, including," she raised her voice so Lori could hear, "Air mattresses and a few manual pumps."
"Really?" Lori's eyes went wide. "I can't believe it!"
"We got sleeping bags too," Sinclaire said. "Now we just have to build a house to go around them."
"Let's get started!" T-dog said enthusiastically.
Daryl and Merle managed to put their heads together and come up with a list of things that needed to be done and the order they needed to be done in, and people chose the jobs they were best suited for.
Some people painted and then boarded over the windows and all the exits except the back porch door, others began sawing lengths of wood for the partitions. Since Daryl was the one who knew plumbing, after Shane, T, Rick and Merle moved the bathtub onto the porch he got started on that. They had actually found enough lumber to do everything they wanted, including closing in the back porch.
Sinclaire, Lori, Carol, and Andrea stocked the kitchen with all the food they had collectively and dug through the bar pantry for anything else edible. There were a few things, pretzels, peanuts, pork rinds and the like, but it was something different than MRE's at least. Sinclaire wasn't really used to the companionship of other women, but she actually liked these people so far.
Lori wasn't like the image she'd painted in her mind. The woman was a little uptight, sure, but she didn't seem like a whore. And she'd thought of mattresses. If she hadn't mentioned it, Sinclaire never would have thought of it, and then she'd be sleeping on the hardwood floor. That alone was enough to make her like Lori.
Carol was nervous, jumpy, and timid. It made Sinclaire feel protective. She'd have to tell Merle to tone down his assholey-ness around the woman or risk a kick to the nuts.
Andrea seemed most likely to survive on her own. She told Sinclaire that she'd learned to shoot fairly well. Lori cut in and said Andrea was a natural and a good fisherman as well.
Even though everyone worked hard that day, they obviously didn't sleep in separate rooms that night and with the construction going on, no one wanted to risk inflating the air mattresses and having them get popped by a stray nail or a splinter, so Merle and Sinclaire climbed into the truck bed again when night fell.
"Night Yank," Merle said sleepily.
"Wait just a second," she protested. "Tell me about the group."
"What the fuck do ya wanna know about 'em? I put in a long ass day, woman, and I just wanna get some sleep before my fuckin' brother wakes me up at the goddamn crack of dawn," he grumbled.
"Why is Carol so…"
"Skittish?" Merle finished. "Her husband…now that I think about it, that jackass must be dead…beat her every damn chance he got."
"Glad he's dead," she answered. "Saves me the trouble."
"You'd've straightened him out?" he asked, propping up and looking at her, he hadn't ever heard her sound like that before.
"I would have gone hunting with him and shot him in the back of the head," she said, trying to keep her voice from shaking with the anger that always overtook her when she encountered situations like this. "And I would have said he got bitten."
"Did it happen to you?" he asked. "Your daddy…"
"No," she interrupted. "No, never. Conrad Lewis would never have hurt a woman or a child. He never hurt anybody."
"He's gone?"
"When I was eight years old he died of an aneurysm. It was very sudden," Sinclaire cleared her throat. "Anyway, I just wondered. You better be nice to Carol or I'll reintroduce my knee to your balls."
"They still remember it pretty damn well," Merle remarked. "Don't think we need to worry about settin' up another meetin'. Night Yank."
"Night Merle."