You have picked the option A. It's nice to see you all starting to have some faith in Gertrude; So let's dive back into it.
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"Hold them dead bastards off! We gotta find this medicine!" Shane practically yodels at the top of his coarse lungs.
"I'll help her." Merle rushes out of the creaking pharmacy door on fleeting feet, flinging his rifle from over his shoulder and skidding at Gertrude's side.
"Ugh, too heavy to fire standin'...help me up on here." Gertrude implores as she climbs onto the bonnet of the Honda, immediately pouncing to the roof as Merle hands her the big baby. The huge, black rifle strains his biceps.
The dark-haired, party girl has a look of pure determination in her peepers as she lies prone on her belly, feet down like a pro and adjusts the bi-pod. "First one's mine." She growls much to Merle's amusement.
"I wouldn't have it any other way, sugartits! Pull that trigger and make these fuckers go boom, baby!" As soon as Merle's rasping, suggestive voice dies, Gertrude fires a perfectly aimed shot. The 50. Cal round hurdles at lightspeed through the night, and vaporizes the bag of pus and guts ambling towards them.
"How about a bit of competition? Whoever has the most kills wins! You buy me dinner and take me to a movie." Gertrude's eyes are alight as she smiles with her pointy little teeth. The eldest Dixon letting his eyes roll over her splayed curves shamelessly.
"Deal sweetheart. And if I win..." the beatnik's eyes sparkle as he rapidly adjusts his scope and belt. "... Well, I can't think about it right now, a hard-on ain't conducive to killin' biters, sweetheart. Heh, I suppose I could just whack them over the head with it, it's pretty b-" Merle's salacious teasing is cut off by the monster gun, when Gertrude starts to fire.
And the night is alive with the thunderous discord as the bullets rained; spent casings falling like metallic ashes on the cracked concrete.
"Nine! Ha! I'm winning, old man!" Gertrude's cackle melts into the racket, inspiring the beatnik to shake his head, repressing his beam. "Only one behind ya. I got my fingers crossed!"
The herd is thinning. Headless torsos pile up and the air is thick with their necrotic scent.
Daryl, Negan, and Shane buzz like frenetic bees back inside the pharmacy, their arms overspilling with bottles of medicine. "I think I got em'! Amoxicillin...penicillin, we got em' all! Shit, we're lucky. This is the last of em'!" Shane pants breathlessly, a shiver snakes up his spine each time he hears the lashing of the guns outside.
"Yeah, they should do! We better hightail it out." Daryl grips Negan's shoulder.
The tall-bat swinger still clawing at the CD box, thrashing the white box one last time in utter frustration.
