A Walking Dead fan fiction, revolving around Merle and Daryl Dixon, and my made up character Amber Hayes. The story takes place before the start of Season 1, and continues along with the rest of the seasons. This fanfic should not be taken seriously, whoever does so is clearly unaware of what fan fiction is. Chapters will continue to be posted as usual. If you don't like it fuck off =)
I stopped writing because I went on vacation and then had my family visiting. It's been hectic so I've had no time BUT I will continue to write =) Thanks for reading my fanfic, and I'm really happy you enjoy it!
I've been working on a lot of things lately and I haven't had time to write chapter 27 of Stuck With The Rednecks. I'm sorry for taking so long! I promise it will be up eventually, but I can't really say when that will be. Probably in January when I come back from vacation. Chapter 27 is about Merle and how he ended up in Woodbury and all that, so I really wanna write that for you guys.
rememer that time i started to write a jdate/spn/wtnv cross over fic where sam and dean go to investigate nightvale but they get there and its just john and dave triping out and cecil and carlos are like “can someone PLEASE get them out of here” and sam and dean just dont even know where to start with all of this mess
Once he has recovered he pushes me to spend more time with the group. I go with him, but I don't interact much with anyone. I voice my thoughts only to Daryl and Shane, Dale and Glenn too sometimes, but no one else. I remain kind to Carl and to Carol, but stay away from everyone else. Rick hasn't approched me in days, but I catch him looking my way often enough to know he's got something to tell me. Beth must have complained about my teaching methods one too many times by now; maybe Rick want to "fire me". I wouldn't really care if he did, the shooting classes have gotten boring since Beth started hitting the targets. As we sit amongst the trees and tents, eating in silence Glenn stands up to talk. He tells us all that the barn is full of walkers. All heads turn towards him except for Shane and me. We look at each other, as if communicating telepathically. Rick suggests we all go check out the barn as casually as possible so we don't alert the Greene's of our new found knowledge.
The barn is very old looking and bare. No red paint for this essential farm structure. When we are finally close to it we remain silent, listening to the sounds from inside. The walkers aren't aware of our presence, but you can still hear faint growls and the disrupting of hay from their shuffling steps. Shane walks forward to look into one of the gaps between the wood planks forming the walls of the barn. I follow him. The barn is very dark inside, but you can still see the walkers stumbling around, walking in circles. Waiting for their next meal to come. Shane turns and walks back towards the others.
"You cannot tell me you're alright with this!" he says to Rick.
"No, I'm not," says Rick, "But we're guests here. This isn't our land."
"This is our lives, man!" yells Shane.
"Lower your voice," Glenn says to Shane nervously.
"We can't just sweep this under the rug," says Andrea. I can't help but feel she's taking Shane's side because of what happened between them.
"It ain't right," I say, "Not remotely."
"Ok," Shane says walking towards Rick, "We've either gotta go in there, we've got to make things right or we've just got to go. Now, we've been talking about Fort Benning for a long time."
"We can't go!" Rick snaps.
"Why, Rick?" says Shane, growing angrier, "Why?"
"Because my daughter's still out there," says Carol.
Shane covers his face in exasperation. Him and I have already lost hope of finding Sophia alive. I hope that he wont say this to Carol, but when Shane gets in one of his moods he tends to be too harsh with the truth.
"Ok," he says exhaling a long breath, "I think it's time that we all start to just consider the other possibility."
"We're not leaving Sophia behind," says Rick sharply.
"I'm close to finding this girl!" Daryl says in anger."I just found her damn doll two days ago!"
"You found her doll, Daryl," Shane says now turning towards him, "That's what you did. You found a doll."
The tension between Shane and Daryl has been building up for days now. I get tense, I feel like they might start fighting anytime soon.
"You don't know what the hell you're talking about!" yells Daryl drawing closer to Shane, getting ready to throw a punch. Rick holds up his hand, trying to keep Daryl back.
"I'm just saying what needs to be said!" Shane replies loudly. I agree with him, but I'm hesitant on taking his side. I don't want Daryl to think I'm against him. He wants to find Sophia more than anything. I walk up to the three men, getting ready to possible stop a fight. Shane continues saying "When you get a good lead, it's in the first 48 hours."
"Shane, stop!" pleads Rick. But it's too late. Shane has been holding this in for way too long, and he's tired of everyone not coming to terms with the truth. The dam has been bombarded. It's all pouring out now. I can't help but feel responsible for the rivalry that's been forming between my two friends.
"Let me tell you something else, man," says Shane, "If she was alive out there and saw you coming all methed out with your buck knife and geek ears around your neck, she would run in the other direction."
Rick gets between Shane and Daryl as Daryl covers the short distance separating them. I put a hand on Shane's shoulder and I try to keep him back without actually having to hold him down. They're all shouting amongst themselves and trying to get at each other. I tighten my grip on Shane as they start to get violent. They others join in to separate them as they keep shouting at each other. I don't even know what their saying anymore, I'm too busy concentrating on keeping Shane away from Daryl. Daryl is strong, but he wouldn't win a fight against Shane. Shane is much bigger, much stronger, and more violent and out of control. It takes me a moment to notice that no ones trying to hold Daryl back, everyone is gaining up on Shane all at one. Instead of trying to keep in away from Daryl now I try to keep the others away from him. I pull him back as the others advance, all yelling at once. Lori tries to calm him down but he tells her to keep her hands off him. I loosen my grip on his shoulder and let my hand slide down his back as he walks away.
"Now let me talk to Hershel," says Rick to Shane's back, "Let me figure it out."
"What are you gonna figure out?!" Shane yells as he turns to face his best friend. Lori gets between the two of them, trying to hold Shane back with one hand on his chest. I walk over to Daryl, not sure of what to do anymore. I can't help Shane, but I wont stand against him either. And if he feels the need to tackle Rick to the ground and start punching him, I will not be the one to stop him.
"If we're gonna stay," says Rick, "If we're gonna clear this barn I have to talk him into it. This is his land."
Just then Dale stepped in and informed us all that the walkers inside the barn had been Hershel's family. He seems to think that they are still alive somehow.
***
It wasn't long after that that even Daryl stopped looking for Sophia. I never knew exactly what happened, he just told me that the "Stupid Bitch" had told him to stop looking. From the context of the things he said I gathered that the "Stupid Bitch" he was talking about was Carol. It was a big surprise to know she felt that way, but I guess she could see things more clearly than Daryl. He didn't seem to be too happy after that. I understood why, but I also knew that those kinds of feelings had no place in this world. Not anymore. Later that same day Shane came to talk to me. He seemed very emotionally distressed. At first I thought it was because of the walkers in the barn, but when I asked him his answer was shocking.
"Lori's pregnant," he said, with a distant look in his eyes.
"And you don't know if it's yours?" I asked, remembering the day I'd seen them kissing passionately in the woods.
"What if it is?" he asks me with a frown.
"I'm sure she'll decide whose it is for you, Shane. But I don't think she's going to say it's yours now that Rick's here."
"You think she'd lie and say it's his even if she knew beyond a doubt that it's mine?"
"I'm sorry Shane, but I do."
"Amber," he said after a long silence, "Why do put up with my shit? I know that if it was anyone else you woulda just tossed them aside. So why is it so easy to talk to you?"
"Because I'm the only person here who doesn't think you're a lunatic... and you're the only one who doesn't think I am too."
"You think I should go talk to Lori?" he asked me with a scared look in his eyes.
"I think you shouldn't," I tell him, "But I also think you should do whatever it is you need to do to get over this, if that's even possible."
After Shane left to go talk to Lori I wandered around for a bit. I had no real direction, I just followed my feet and walked wherever they took me. I thought about Jack, and inhaled the sent of his skin briefly in some sort of phantosmia. I missed him more with every passing day. I missed his scent, and his voice, the softness of his hair. The more I think about Jack, the less hope I feel of reuniting with Merle.
Before I knew where I was I heard voices. The fog of memories clouding my sight lifted much like a spell, and I saw I had arrived at the barn. Andrea and T-Dog where walking towards the others standing outside Hershel's house. I followed them and arrived just in time to hear Daryl complain about no one taking shit seriously.
"What's going on?" I asked him confused.
"These guys are suppose to be out there looking or Sophia!" he says with anger, "But Rick's been missin' for a couple of hours already."
"Missing?" I ask, more to myself than anyone else.
At that moment we all see Shane heading towards us, the bag full of our weapons swung over his shoulder. He carries a shotgun in his hand, a look of purpose in his eyes. Something's about to go down. I take the strap of my AK off my shoulder and I hold it down on patrol ready.
"What's all this?" asks Daryl.
"Are you with me, man?" Shane asks, holding out the shotgun for Daryl to take. He looks at me, sees that I'm ready and he gives me a nod, "Time to grow up." He says to everyone.
No one moves but Shane still starts handing out weapons. Not everyone takes them, and when he tries to give one to Carl, Lori opposes. That's when we hear the others coming. They step out of the cover of the trees, they're bringing walkers with them on catch poles. Shane leading the way we all run towards them. Shane is the one who talks to them, yelling over the growls of the restrained walkers. Daryl and I stand with our weapons ready as Shane circles around the group viciously. Every time I see him he seems to get angrier and angrier. I can't blame him, I'd be angry too if I was the voice of reason and everyone treated me like a maniac.
"They're not people! They're dead!!" he says to all of us, then he turns to Hershel as he takes out his handgun, "Let me ask you something. Could a living, breathing person, could they walk away from this?" He shoots at the walker Hershel is restraining three times in the chest. Rick and Glenn yell in protest, but Hershel just looks stunned.
"Stop it!" yells Rick.
"Those are it's lungs, it's heart!" Shane yells as he continues to unload rounds into the walking corpse, "Why is it still coming!?"
"Shane!" yells Rick, "Enough!"
"Yeah, you're right, man." says Shane, "That is enough."
He blows the brains out of the walker he's just shot. It collapses to the ground as Hershel still holds the catch pole. Everyone falls silent in shock except for Daryl and I who still hold our weapons up.
"Enough risking our lives for a little girl who's gone!" Shane says now, "Enough living next to a barn full of things that are trying to kill us! Rick, it ain't like it was before! Now if y'all want to live, if you want to survive, you got to fight for it! I'm talking about fighting right here, right now!"
Shane runs towards the barn doors as Rick tries to give his catch pole to Hershel, who is still unresponsive. Shane starts slamming down on the lock holding the barn doors close with a pickax. No one tries to stop him, the only one who dares is Rick, and he's still holding on to the catch pole, yelling at Shane "No! Don't do this brother! Wait!" But Shane wont listen. He gets the lock off the doors and opens them up, banging on the wood to draw out the walkers. He stands alone with his handgun aimed at the barn, waiting for the undead to start pouring out. I hurry towards him, my rifle held at the ready. When they start coming out more people join us with their weapons, getting ready to shoot.
One comes out, then three, then six, then a hell of a lot more start heading our way. Dead men and women of all ages and shapes start escaping the barn, their hunger visible in their contorted faces. We shoot them all down and when we think there's none of them left and we put down our guns and look around, out comes a small arm, a child's arm. And as the small walker steps out into the light we all see that it's our own Sophia. I can't bring myself to aim my sights on her. I lower my AK and I let this sink in. I knew she was dead, but seeing her turned is something very different. My brain fires off memories of her. I see her father trying to pull her back into the tent, I see her coming to see if I'm ok after the bobcat attacked me, I see her taking the knife I'd given her in her hands and looking up at me with fear. And now I see her dead, and rotting, and hungry.
"Sophia!" Carol calls out in despair running towards her daughter, "Sophia!"
Daryl catches her before she gets too close and holds on to her as she falls to her knees. I exchange a look with Shane and he reaches out to hold my arm. I see Andrea shoot me a dark look before we both turn towards Sophia again. We listen as Carol cries for her baby. Sophia slowly steps closer, making her way towards us among the wasted remains of her barn-mates. No one wants to be the one to shoot her, the only one to raise their gun is Rick. The person who lost her, the person who worked to look for her, and now the person who kills her. I closed my eyes before the gun shot thundered. I heard the faint thump of her small body hitting the ground, but I still didn't open my eyes. Shane's grip loosened on my arm, his hand slid downwards and his finger tips brushed against my forearm and the palm of my hand. For a second I felt the urge to hold on, to not let his fingers slip from my hand...but I let him go.
Made this Shane Pizza/Chase Williamson pop art, fan art, thing last night and I really liked it so I thought I’d share it.
Please don’t re-edit this, don’t steal it, just share it as it is. Thanks ”)
Ever since he was young he's always been on the so-called "wrong side of the tracks", but that was the life he had been born to live. His parents were neglectful at best; his mother being a drunk and a chain smoker, and his father, Will, being an abusive drunk. By the time he was in his teens he had already been incarcerated multiple times in juvenile institutions. His mother died while he was in his teens too. She had gotten so drunk one night that she had passed out with a lit cigarette in her hand. The whole room went up in flames along with her. He was left to suffer the abuse of his father, and to take care of his little brother Daryl. He'd never been a good brother. He'd hardly been around at all, what with his crazy friends and the trips to court and to jail. Not to mention all the drugs. When he was old enough to leave home that's exactly what he did, leaving Daryl alone to deal with their drunk and abusive father.
He yells and calls out to Daryl. Maybe God will carry his voice to his baby brother. Maybe he will come help him soon. Then they can just roll up to Officer Friendly's camp, wreck some havoc, and drive off along with Amber. Merle lays back his head and closes his eyes. How in the world he ever got to kiss that woman was beyond his understanding. He sent a silent prayer to God, that if Daryl doesn't come, she will. Dying handcuffed to a pipe is not really the way Merle had imagined his life would end. Though he had lived with his hands tied since very young, he had always thought he'd be free in his last moments.
In his terrible state, with the confusion of the heatstroke, he had forgotten something important. He reached down to his boot, stuck two fingers inside his sweaty sock, and pulled out a baggy of coke he'd taken from Amber's stash. He had put it there out of habit, and he laughed at his good fortune. He opened it and took two hits, one for each nostril. He snorted it and sighed in relief. At least there was still one good thing left for him here. The cop might have taken his meth, but at least he still had this.
The effects of the cocaine don't take long to feel. Within seconds his mouth starts going numb, his heart starts beating faster, and his ears start to ring. This shit sure was good, none of that cheap bullshit cut with Novocaine you find selling at a corner in the ghetto. This here was some top notch blow. He closed his eyes and a memory popped into his head. He could see the back of the Tahoe very clearly, just as clearly as he could see her bright blue eyes right across from him. Amber takes a swig from the whiskey bottle they'd been sharing, and hands it over. Merle feels like he's no longer in that rooftop. He's in that truck with Amber, Daryl asleep in the driver's seat.
"Y'know," he said to Amber, "I was in the military too. Wen' up to the recruitin' office as soon as I left home."
"Hooah," said Amber as Merle drank from the bottle. She smiled at him, "Good to know I have a Battle Buddy with me then. How was it?"
"Ah, y'know how it is," he said handing the bottle back to Amber, "People like me don't do too good in there. I punched some good for nothing sergeant, and that got me dishonorably discharged, court-martialed and sent to prison for sixteen months."
"Shit," said Amber, looking at Merle with pity in her eyes, "What happened? Why did you punch him?"
"Just told him the truth," chuckled Merle, "That he was a stupid, good for nothing nigger that didn't deserve to be sergeant in the first place. And that I wasn't gonna take shit from him. I'm dammed if I'll let some africoon give me orders." Merle laughs, "I showed him. I got up in his face and I said: That's right. You heard me, bitch. You got a problem? Bring it on if you're man enough, or take it up the chain if you're a pussy. You heard me, you pussy-ass noncom bitch. You ain't deaf. Take it up the damn chain of command, or you can kiss my lily-white ass."
"Whaaat?" asked Amber laughing, "You really said that shit to an NCO?"
"That's right," he said laughing, "That's what I said, you heard me. And then this idiot, he takes a swing, you know, and well..." he bursts into hysterical laughter, "Oh, you should've seen the look on his face when I punched out his front teeth."
"Oh fuck, man," Amber said laughing and trying to drink at the same time, "Did you knock out some damn teeth?"
"Yeah, five or 'em. Pow! Pow! Just like that... Oh my God," he laughed again, "Sixteen months in the stockade, oh that's what them teeth cost me. That was, that was hard time, but by God it was worth every minute of it just to see that prick spit his teeth out on the ground. Yes, sir. Worth every minute."
The wind blows and thunder rumbles in the distance. Merle looks up at the sky and all of a sudden he's not with Amber anymore, he's in the rooftop still. His hand firmly restrained to the pipe. He starts freaking out, yanking at the restraints with no avail.
"God!" he cries out, "God! No! No no, merciful Christ! No! God help me! Jesus, please! Jesus please! Help me! Come on now! Help me." his voice softens as he looks up at the clouds overhead. Although Merle's never read the bible, he's always been careful to respect his forefathers religion. Especially in times of need. Just when he thinks his situation is bad enough, walkers push against the door and growl. His talking must have attracted them up to him. He lays low to the ground hoping they wont see him there, and he mumbles to himself softly, "Oh my God, shh shh shh. No, Jesus, Jesus" he says crying. He doesn't wanna die here. He doesn't wanna go out with so many dirty deeds unforgiven. He doesn't want to go to Hell.
"Please. I didn't behave, I know. I know I'm being punished. I know, I... Oh, I deserve it. I deserve it. I've been bad. Help me now. Show me the way. Go on, tell me what to do. Tell me, tell me!" he cries in desperation and bangs his head against the ground yelling for God. But God is not there to answer. If he really is being punished for his misbehavior, his sins, then why would God care? He never helped him before. He's been in bad situations, and no one but himself got him out of there alive. Merle needs no God to save him. He needs no Daryl, no Amber. Merle saves Merle, that's how shit goes.
He looks up with determination. He will not die. Not here, not today, not until he well damn pleases to drop dead. He will die whenever he wants, and no man or walker or God will change that. He starts looking around for his belt. He will continue to try to reach the handsaw until he succeeds. He's been trying to reach it since the others left, thinking of cutting through the chains on the handcuffs of the pipe. Cut through anything so long as it gets him free and out of this shit. Officer Friendly will get a little visit as soon as freedom has been acquired. Calmly he grabs his belt, laying down underneath the pipe for further reach.
"That's ok," he yells to God as he keeps tossing the belt buckle towards the saw, "Never you mind silly Christ boy. I ain't begged you before. I ain't gonna start begging now. I ain't gonna beg you now!" he yells to the sky furiously, "Don't you worry about me begging you ever! I'll never beg you! I ain't gonna beg you! I never begged you before. Oh shit!
He's too far away to reach it, he looks at his right hand, still attached to the pipe as the walkers at the door become more restless and hungry. All his screaming and yelling has made them eager. In his desperation he starts to see that the only way out of this roof, is to leave behind his right hand. He curses at the sky again and yells in frustration. He strains against his right hand, a couple of inches further and he can reach the saw. He pulls, and pulls and pulls until his bones break. His scream is deafening and the pain extreme, but he still tries for the saw. He misses one, two, three times; the pain getting worse with every attempt until finally on his fourth try the buckle catches the blade.
"Fuuuuuck!!" he yells, pulling the saw towards him. The pain of his broken right wrist now unbearable, but the saw is finally in his hand. He cries out for God when he sits back against the pipe.
"You see!," he yells at the heavens, "I don't need no ones help! You see that, God!? I don't need your help!"
He repeats this, mumbling it to himself as he ties the belt around his right arm, using it as a tourniquet. He pulls it as tight as it will go, the belt clamped between his teeth. The saw isn't as sharp as it should be, so it was a very good thing that he broke his own wrist. This saw would have never been able to cut bone. It's asking too much of it to even cut flesh. Merle places the teeth of the saw on his skin, breathing hard and fast, getting ready for the next wave of pain. He pushes down on the saw and start cutting.
Merle's screams echo through the deserted streets of Atlanta. It doesn't take long for the pain to be so great and prolonged, that it becomes bearable. His screaming stops half way through, his breathing still fast and heavy. There's not much blood thanks to the tourniquet, but a small puddle stains the ground, and some spatter covers his right arm and his pant leg. When he finally cuts he last bit of skin and muscle he wraps the belt tightly around his arm and secures it. He's feeling dizzy and weak. He reaches for the baggy of coke and snorts some more. This gives him enough energy to stand up and escape.
***
The smell of cooked meat still lingers in the air as Merle does his best to bandage his stump with one hand. Cauterizing the wound was a very lucky break. Without doing this Merle would be exposing himself to severe blood loss, and a higher risk of infection. Now that the stump is burned and bandaged in ripped up rags, Merle can plan his next move. He wants to go back to the camp for revenge, and for his brother and Amber. He needs supplies for the journey, which he has no time to gather now. The sun is fading, and it's not wise to travel on foot during the night. He decides to wait until morning to make his way back.
***
The streets are crawling with the abominations. Merle might as well be the last living person in all of Atlanta by now. Even injured he gets through the walkers unharmed. He takes caution; being alone gives his the advantage of stealth, silence, and speed. He might not be at his best, but there's not much Merle can't do without two working legs. On his way he raided a mini mart, a pharmacy, and a vending machine at some Laundromat. Now all he needs is a way out. He looks for a car, any car that can still ride.
The others had left in a hurry, and the car engines he heard from up on top of that roof had not been of Amber's Chevy Tahoe. This lead Merle to the assumption that the truck was still where they had left it the day before. He made his way to the street where Glenn had parked and sure enough the truck was still there. Some walkers stood too close for comfort, right next to the driver's side door. Thinking fast Merle grabbed an empty glass bottle from the street and tossed it as far away from the truck as he could. It shattered against a wall, the sound drawing the walkers towards it. He sneaks into the car and finds the keys still in the ignition. He turns them and the engine roars to life. The walkers turn around and start heading back towards the car, but before he can be surrounded he puts the truck in reverse, and speeds off outta there.
As he travels the labyrinth that is now Atlanta, he has the misfortune to find that the tank is running out of gas.
"C'mon you, son of a bitch!" he yells to the truck as he comes to a stop, "That chink bastard couldn't even bother to check the damn gas tank!"
Merle brings the truck to a stop next to a wreckage of cars. He grabs the red gasoline container from the trunk, along with a tube. He will siphon every single goddamn car here if he has to, so long as he gets enough gas to get the fuck outta here.
***
It took a very long time to gather just a small about of gas. Merle's patience wearing thin, and the pain of his injury getting the best of him, he decides to hit the road before it starts getting too dark. He can always find more cars to siphon gas from on the way back to the quarry. He has no idea that by the time he gets there there will be no one to greet him, and Daryl and Amber will be long gone.
He's thirsty. So goddamn thirsty. At least back at the Fontana Police Station rooftop he'd had plenty of alcohol to drink, and also the liberty to leave whenever he wanted. He yells profanity into the air, and curses the damn son of a bitch pig who's responsible for his current predicament. He pulls at the handcuffs violently in desperation, yelling at the sky, but he's so exhausted already that his attempts are futile. This has always been Merle Dixon's greatest weakness. Imprisonment.
Excerpt from Chapter 25. It's about damn time Merle made his way back into this fan fiction. There's much to tell from his side of the story. I hope to post it by next week.
Rick and Shane had set up a small shooting area for people to learn how to aim and shoot. Rick had invited me to help train some of the folks, but my heart's never been in education or in training. I've never been happy showing people how to do things, I lack the patience for it. Still, something about today made me reconsider his offer. I went out with them, telling Rick that I wanted to see how the place was set up before I gave him my answer.
It was obviously a very simple set up, just some cans and glass bottles on top of one of the farms wood fences. I stood back and watched everyone else start getting ready. I could see Shane a few yards away, extremely concentrated in everyones progress. I felt like he was avoiding me. I probably deserve it for being such a dumbass, and failing to see something so obvious. It didn't take Rick long to come back to me and ask me if I was in. I wanted to make him regret choosing me for this. I wanted him to feel, to know, that I am not one of them, that I don't play nice with others. I studied the crowd of newbies for my new "student". My trainee would get a taste of what it's like to be mentored by the military. I set my eyes on a skinny, weak looking girl with long blonde hair. Beth Greene, Hershel's daughter. She would be easy.
Rick agreed, not realizing what my request really meant, and I headed over to Beth's side. She looked nervous, and she didn't look too thrilled to have me as her instructor, but she have me a small reluctant smile before turning away to look at the targets.
"Ok Blondie, take your weapon," I say to Beth, handing her one of Ricks handguns, "That there's a 9mm, not much kick, not much power, but it will do the job if you aim it right. This here is a magazine," I say, holding it up, "You've been saved the hassle of loading it today, but don't get used to it. Now load your weapon trainee."
"How do I do that?" she asked confused.
"You put the magazine inside the handle of the gun!" I saw sharply, "Haven't you ever watched a movie? Come on, load your weapon!" Beth fumbles around with the 9mm and the magazine, but she gets in it quickly. She looks at me for further instruction.
"What are you looking at?" I ask her, "I said load your weapon! Is this weapon loaded? Do you have a round in the chamber?"
"I don't know what I'm doing!" she snaps, "I've never shot a gun before."
"Yeah, no shit princess," I say taking the gun away from her, "I will show you this once, and once alone, d'you understand?" Beth nods and I continue, demonstrating each step while I explain it to her, "This button here next to the trigger is the Magazine Release, you push that with your thumb and the magazine pops out. To load your weapon you slap on the magazine, and you pull the slide back. This feeds a round into the chamber. Now all you do is aim and fire." I aim the gun and quickly fire a shot, hitting one of the cans on the fence. I release the magazine, rack the slide back to eject the live round in the chamber that replaced the previous one, and I hand the gun back to Beth while I insert the loose round into the magazine. I hand her the magazine and say, "Your turn."
Beth fumbles with the gun and the magazine again, getting the magazine in. When she tried to rack the slide back she starts having some trouble. I say, "What's the problem, but pull it back!"
"I'm trying!" she says frustrated, "It's really hard!"
"You know what's harder," I tell her, getting right next to her hear, "A bite from one of those things is harder. Loosing your father, or your sibling to one of those things because you couldn't load your weapon is harder! This isn't hard little girl! Now put your back into it and load the goddamn gun!" In her frustration and impatience Beth fumbled with the gun some more, trying to pull the slide back, and at one point she carelessly pointed the muzzle to her left, right at my chest. As soon as it happened I grabbed the weapon from her hand and pulled it away. My right hand went straight to shoulder, my thumb on the center of her collarbone, "What the fuck are you doing!?" I snap at her, this gets everyones attention, "You never point a gun at anything you don't intent to shoot! The barrel of the gun is always pointing down range!"
Beth's shoulders are tense and the look on her face is of both terror and anger, "Let go of me!" she snaps and pushes my hand away.
"Hey!" comes Shane's voice from behind us, "What the hell's going on here?"
"She pointed the gun right at my chest!" I tell him, "She needs to learn this isn't a damn toy!"
"I know it isn't a toy!" she yells.
"You have to listen to Amber, Beth," says Shane, still not looking at me, "She know better than you. Keep the gun pointed down range at all times." I watch him walk away and see Rick looking my way. He nods at me, a subtle way of asking if things are ok, I nod back and turn towards Beth.
"Are you pissed, Blondie?" I ask her
"Stop calling me that!" she yells.
"I want you to take all that hate you feel for me right now and rack this fucking slide back," I give her back the gun, "Stop being a pussy and fucking do it."
At the end of the training the one to make the most progress was Andrea, which Shane would now take under his wing for more advanced training. Beth had done ok, even with my yelling and pushing. I told Rick not to expect me back, I've had my fun and now it had grown old. As I made my way back to my camp I found Glenn sitting by the RV with an acoustic guitar. This made me redirect my path towards him. I hadn't seen or touched a guitar since that last night in Atlanta. The night Jack had died.
"Do you know how to play?" I ask him as I sit down next to him.
"No," he says looking down at the strings in disappointment, "Dale found it and gave it to me. He thought I played, but I've never been good at music."
"Can I see it?" He hands it over without hesitation or protest. Merle and Daryl were the only ones I ever told of my musical background. I didn't like everyone knowing everything about me, but having a guitar in my hands I really couldn't stop myself from playing it. The song started playing itself before I knew what it was, like my fingers had a mind of their own. It was the Flogging Molly song "If I Ever Leave This World Alive". I sang along while I played.
If I ever leave this world alive
I'll thank for all the things you did in my life
If I ever leave this world alive
I'll come back down and sit beside your feet tonight
Wherever I am you'll always be
More than just a memory
If I ever leave this world alive
If I ever leave this world alive
I'll take on all the sadness that I left behind
If I ever leave this world alive
The madness that you feel will soon subside
So in a word, don't shed a tear
I'll be here when it all gets weird
If I ever leave this world alive
I stopped short when I saw the crowd that had gathered around Glenn and I. I handed him back the guitar and walked away.
"Amber!" Glenn called running after me, "Wait!"
I stopped to talk to him. He still had the guitar in his hand, everyone behind him looking at us.
"I didn't know you could play, or sing!" he says with a look of wonder in his face, "That was great, but why did you leave? I'm sure everyone wants to hear more."
"I don't want to be everyones entertainment," I say to him, "I have to check on Daryl anyway."
When I reached my tent I found I didn't want to go inside and face Daryl. So I went back out into the woods, without telling anyone. I didn't do much, just walk around and try to find some edible plants and mushroom. I came across a large section of ground covered in fiddleheads, which I took and snacked on while I made my way back to camp. I had so many that it really didn't matter if I ate 10 of them by myself. I'd eaten them before, sauteed in garlic and butter, seasoned with salt and pepper; but never raw. When I got back to Daryl, I prepared them with some salt and pepper from Dale's RV, and some wild mushroom and garlic that I'd also found on my walk. I set up a pan on the fire I'd build next to the tent. Daryl sat across from me as I made the vegetable dinner. He wasn't suppose to be out of bed yet, but the night had grown chilly, and he felt better beside the fire.
As soon as the food was cooking, I ran back to Dale's RV and asked him for an extra blanket or sheet that he could spare, but all he had was an old coat. It was two sizes too big for me and Daryl, and it was heavily worn, but I took it anyway. When I got back to Daryl I moved the tent closer to the fire. When he had laid down inside again I pulled my blanket off my cot and set it on top of him to keep him warm.
"What about you?" he asked me with a hint of concern.
"I'll be fine," I said, "Let me get you a plate, and some water."
I served Daryl up some of the food and went back into the tent. As he ate I searched through my bag. I didn't know if what I was looking for was still inside, but I was lucky. In my small collection of drugs I found the baggy of weed I'd been searching for. Before taking it I must admit I felt very tempted to trade it for some of the heroin, but I was too scared of nodding off and leaving Daryl unprotected. I grabbed the weed, tore off a piece of blank paper from my All Quiet On The Western Front book, and rolled up a doobie. Daryl watched me as he ate.
"You're gonna smoke that shit?" he asked me apprehensively.
"Yes," I say as I finish rolling the joint, "Might as well, before it goes bad."
"You're being stupid," he said, "Don't smoke that shit. What's the point?"
"Well I guess the point here is that I'm as stupid as you think I am."
I stepped outside quickly, not giving Daryl a chance to say anything else. I sat back down next to the fire and lit the tip of the joint with the flames. I ate and smoked by myself for only a few minutes; until Shane showed up. I saw his faint shape take form as he got closer to the light of the fire. His face looked troubled, as it often did when he came over to chat with me.
"Well hello there, stranger," I said when he had reached me, "Want some hot chow?"
"What is that?" he asked watching the smoke escape my mouth, the joint still resting between my fingers. His expression on the brink of anger.
"Medicine," I say, taking a puff, "Want some?"
Shane took four long strides to get to me, his big hands going for the joint, his face contorted in exasperation, "What the fuck are you doing smoking that shit?"
I moved quickly, stood up holding the joint behind me. As soon as Shane reached me I was ready to draw him back. I grabbed him by the shoulder with one hand and pushed him back as hard as I could, "Calm the fuck down!" I said to him aggressively. He seemed shocked by my display of force, and it made him back away.
"You know as well as I do that shit's no good now," he says, keeping his voice down so Daryl wont interfere, "You start getting fucked up there ain't nobody looking after either one of you out here."
"Please," I say sarcastically, sitting back down, "Like I haven't done this a million times. What the fuck do you think I did while I was deployed? It's never interfered with my performance. Not my aim, or my senses. This here's child's pay."
"I can't let you keep that," he said shaking his head.
"What are you gonna do? Arrest me?" I said laughing, "Calm down man, have some food."
I served Shane the last of the fiddleheads, while he stood there staring into the fire with that troubled look still painted on his face. I offered up the plate to him, and he took it from my hand without saying anything. I took a long pull from the joint and resumed eating my dinner, while Shane continued to just stand there.
"I fucked Andrea," he says after a moment, his food still untouched.
"Oh," I say trying to hide my surprise, "Why are you telling me this?"
"I don't know," he says, rubbing the back of his neck and finally sitting down, "I feel like you're the only one I can be honest with."
"Do you like her?" I asked after a short pause.
"I don't know," he says with a sigh, "It happened so fast, it wasn't something I planned, or even saw coming. As soon as we got back it was like Dale could smell it on us. He wants me to leave. He's wanted that for a while now."
"Are you?" I ask, afraid of the answer he might give me, "Leaving?"
He finally looked up from the fire and met my eyes. After a couple of seconds of silence he said, "No." I had to restrain myself from showing how relieved I was. I took a puff from the joint and then I offered it to Shane again. He looked at it, and then at me, and after a chuckle he took it in his fingers and took a drag. We ate and smoked until there was nothing left.
That night I dream about Jack. I dream about the day we met. It had been at a Halloween party hosted by a mutual friend of ours called Andrew Lane, who was dressed like Saul from Pineapple Express. Andrew and I had served in the Army together. I had always liked Andy, and he had always liked me. I never really knew why we didn't get together. I'll never know now. Chances are he's probably dead. Probably everyone I ever knew is dead.
I've never been too enthusiastic about Halloween, or costumes, but I got myself one anyway. I went as Julia Carpenter, from the Marvel Comics. The costume was spandex, arms and legs in white, the rest in black with a white spider on my chest. I got into comic books once I had left my parents house (my father had never approved of them, said it was a waste of money to buy them for me), I always thought her costume was the raddest. I was having a small dart throwing competition with some friends when Jack showed up late to the party. He was dressed as Ron Burgundy, with the red suit, stripped tie and white shirt. He even had a big, fake mustache on. A nice looking one too. He had sat on the couch with a bottle of beer, sipping at it while he watched us throwing the darts.
As people lost the game they went back to their spot on the couch, or on the floor. At the end of the game I had to face off with Andy. He was good a darts, but somehow I still beat him. Sometimes I think he let me win, but I don't know why he'd ever do that. When I stepped outside for a smoke Jack showed up with a bottle of beer for me.
"Nice game," he said as he offered me the bottle.
"Thanks, Ron Burgundy," I said, taking the bottle from his hand, "Cheers," I said touching my bottle to his. We both drank.
"That was pretty impressive back there," he says, "I've never met anyone who could beat Andrew at darts."
"I just got lucky is all," I say finally looking at Jack and really seeing him. I remember thinking he was really good looking, you could tell even when he had that stupid mustache on. "How do you know Andy?" I asked him, curious to know more about him.
"We went to high school together," he said pulling out a cigarette from his pack and lighting it, "What about you?"
"We went to the Army together."
"Hey guys, look," said Andy, clearly very intoxicated, leaning on the door frame for support, a bottle of vodka 1/4 full in one hand, his other hand in his pajama pants, his thumb protruding from the crotch opening, "It's like my thumb's my cock!" He laughed hysterically and went back inside the house.
"Has he always been this way?" I asked Jack when we had stopped laughing.
Jack and I talked all night long. When it was time for me to leave, he walked me to my apartment. When we finally got to my door we both decided to just go to some 24 hour diner for coffee and pancakes. He took his fake mustache off before enjoying his food, which let me see his face. He was so pretty. By the time we left the diner at 5am I was irrevocably in love with him. When we reached my door for the second time we stood outside and kissed. He left, only to come back that night to cook me dinner.
