Chapter Fifteen

After a little while, Rick walked out of his tent in his cop uniform, buttoning up his shirt. I overheard him and Shane talking as I stood next to Daryl, polishing my gun.

"So that's it, huh?" Shane asked. "You're just gonna walk off? Just to hell with everybody else?"

"I'm not saying to hell with anybody—not you, Shane; Lori least of all." Rick started to leave Shane's side.

"Tell her that." Shane snapped. Rick turned and looked at him.

"She knows." He started to leave again. Shane followed him.

"Well, look I—I don't, okay, Rick? So could you just—could you throw me a bone here, man? Could you just tell me why? Why would you risk your life for a douche bag like Merle Dixon?"

"Hey." My uncle snapped. "Choose your words more carefully."

"No, I did. Douche bag's what I meant." Shane snapped back. I tried to hide my smile. "Merle Dixon," he muttered. "The guy wouldn't give you a glass of water if you were dying of thirst."

"What he would or wouldn't do doesn't interest me." Rick said. "I can't let a man die of thirst—me. Thirst and exposure. We left him like an animal caught in a trap. That's no way for anything to die, let alone a human being." He began to walk off.

"So, you and Daryl, that's your big plan?" Lori asked.

"Megan's going too, aren't you Megan?" Rick looked at me.

"I am?" I raised my eyebrows.

"You better be. He's your father." Daryl snapped at me.

"Sperm donor, thank you very much." I corrected him.

"I don't care what you think, that man still gave you life."

I rolled my eyes.

"Okay, so just you, Daryl and Megan?" Lori asked skeptically. At this, Rick looked over at Glenn, who looked like he'd rather die than go.

"Oh, come on." He groaned.

"You know the way. You've been there before—in and out, no problem. You said so yourself." Glenn took his cap off and flattened his hair as Rick spoke. "It's not fair of me to ask, I know that, but I'd feel a lot better with you along. I know she would too." Rick motioned to Lori.

"That's just great. Now you're going to risk four men, huh?" Shane griped.

"Woman." I corrected him.

"You know what I meant, Dixon." At this, I narrowed my eyes.

"Five." T-Dog spoke up. My uncle huffed.

"My day just gets better and better, don't it?" he asked, rhetorically, cleaning his arrows off.

"You see anybody else here stepping up to save your brother's cracker ass?" T-Dog snapped.

"Why you?"

"You don't even begin to understand. You don't speak my language."

"That's five." Dale spoke.

Shane shook his head a bit. "It's not just five." He said. "You're putting every single one of us at risk. Just know that, Rick. Come on, you saw that walker. It was here. It was in camp. They're moving out of the cities. They come back, we need every able body we've got. We need 'em here. We need 'em to protect camp."

"It seems to me what you really need most here are more guns." Rick argued.

"Right, the guns." Glenn agreed.

"Wait, what guns?" Shane asked.

"Six shotguns, two high-powered rifles, over a dozen handguns. I cleaned out the cage back at the station before I left. I dropped the bag in Atlanta when I got swarmed. It's just sitting there on the street, waiting to be picked up."

"Ammo?"

"700 rounds, assorted."

"Oh, hell yeah." I muttered.

"You went through hell to find us." Lori said. "You just got here and you're gonna turn around and leave?"

"Dad, I don't want you to go." Carl, who was sitting next to his mother, added.

"To hell with the guns, Shane is right. Merle Dixon? He's not worth one of your lives, even with guns thrown in." at this statement, Rick began to leave. Lori stood. "Tell me. Make me understand."

Rick walked over to her. "I owe a debt to a man I met and his little boy." At this, Lori began to look royally pissed off. "Lori, if they hadn't taken me in, I'd have died. It's because of them that I made it back to you at all. They said they'd follow me to Atlanta. They'll walk into the same trap I did if I don't warn him."

"What's stopping you?"

"The walkie-talkie, the one in the bag I dropped. He's got the other one. Our plan was to connect when they got closer."

"These are our walkies?" Shane asked.

"Yeah..."

"So use the CB. What's wrong with that?" Andrea asked.

"The CB's fine, it's the walkies that suck to crap—date back to the '70s, don't match any other bandwidth—not even the scanners in our cars."

Rick looked at Lori again. "I need that bag." He left her side and knelt down in front of his son. "Okay?" At this, Carl nodded his head slightly.

"Well," I sighed. "Let's get going. Don't got all day."

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"Rumor is you have bolt cutters." Rick, T-Dog and I walked over to Dale and Jim, who were hanging out by Dale's RV.

"Maybe." Dale said.

"Yeah, we get to that roof, we'll need to cut that chain and the handcuffs." T-Dog explained.

"Since, you know, the key's a no-go." I added.

"I never like lending tools. The last time I did—" he looked over at T-Dog, pointing his finger at him, "—and yes, I am talking about you—let's just say your bag of guns was the only bag that was dropped. My tools got left behind with Merle."

"We'll bring your tools back, too. Think of the bolt cutters as an investment." Rick promised.

"Oh, great." I muttered.

"Sounds like more of a gamble." Dale seemed rather annoyed with the idea, but went over to the toolbox and took the bolt cutters out anyway. T-Dog reached for them, but Dale didn't hand them over just yet. "What do I get in return?"

"What do you want?" Rick asked.

"How about one of those guns you bring back? My pick."

"Done."

Jim cleared his throat. "Dale, let's uh... Sweeten the deal a bit."

"Seriously? We gotta go." I snapped.

"Hold your horses, Megan. Now, that cube van of yours—"

"What about it?" Rick sighed a bit.

"The RV's radiator hose is shot. That's a problem if we need to get somewhere and wanna get very far. And the hose on that van is just about a perfect match—well, enough that I can make it fit."

"Tell you what, when we get back you can strip that van down to the bare metal." He promised. Before anyone else could say anything, Daryl began honking the horn, agitated.

"Come on, let's go!" he yelled. Rick took the bolt cutters from Dale.

"Thank you." He said, making his way over to the truck with T-Dog and I right behind. Shane followed us.

"Hey, Rick, got any rounds in the Python?" he asked, setting the bag down on the steps of the van. I hopped onto the back, my feet dangling.

"No."

"Last time we were out at the gun range, I'm sure I wound up with a few loose rounds of yours."

Rick got a small smile on his face. "You and that bag—like the bottom of an old lady's purse."

"Just worse." I piped in. Rick laughed quietly. Shane, who wasn't smiling at all, looked at us.

"I hate that you're doing this, man." He said. "I think that it's foolish and reckless. But if you're gonna go, you're taking bullets."

"I'm not sure I'd wanna fire a shot in the city, not after what happened last time." Rick told him.

"It's swarmed, Shane. It seemed like the only people that were actually alive was us. That's it. Shooting a gun in Atlanta is like ringing the dinner bell." I said.

"That's up to you." Shane took the few rounds he had out of his bag. "Well... five men, five rounds. What are the odds, huh?" The three of us sat there in silence for a moment. "Well, let's just hope that—let's just hope that five's your lucky number, okay?" he gave Rick the rounds.

"Thank you." Rick said.

"All right."

And with that, we got into the van. Glenn started the truck, and we drove off.