Guillermo's fists clenched so tight his knuckles went white. Veins stood out on his forearms. But with a gun pointed at his head, he forced the rage down.
"We do not have any more food. You took a whole shipment last week."
"That was tribute to the Lord!" The leader flicked off the pistol's safety with his thumb. "Seems like you forgot the doctrine. You hand it over now, or you and these worthless old fucks can face judgment together."
In the shadows, Glenn's face went pale.
"What are they doing here?"
Then the memory surfaced. Martin's notebook had contained a list of collection points, and the nursing home had been marked among them.
Beside him, Lucien was watching the scene with narrowed eyes.
"If we had known they would show up today," he said quietly, "Miranda would not have needed to put herself at risk."
Glenn stared at him for a moment. "Yeah, that is... convenient."
He tried for a grin, but it felt forced. "So I guess you have a plan?"
Lucien was already scanning the courtyard.
"Their formation is loose. Two are guarding the truck. The others are focused on Guillermo and his group. All of their attention is on the hostages."
He pointed toward a section of overgrown bushes that ran along the fence line. "You cover from here. I will circle around through those bushes and deal with the two sentries by the truck first."
"Then what?"
Lucien laid out the rest of the plan. It was straightforward and left little room for error.
He finished with, "Ideally, we keep a few alive for interrogation."
"Wait. When you say keep a few alive, what exactly does that mean?"
Glenn was staring at Lucien, hoping desperately for an answer he could live with. Something like knock them out. Disarm them. Tie them up.
Lucien looked at him, and Glenn knew what was coming before he said it.
"If we cannot capture anyone alive, killing all of them works too."
Glenn felt like someone had punched him in the chest.
"What is wrong?" Lucien asked, though the look in his eyes suggested he knew exactly what was wrong.
"I..." Glenn turned away, pressing his palms against the wall. "Nothing."
He squeezed his eyes shut.
This was not supposed to be his life. He was a delivery guy. He ran supplies and scouted routes and tried to keep people from starving. And he was not a killer.
But the world had changed, had it not? The dead walked. Lunatics with guns were threatening old people in a nursing home. And somewhere in all that chaos, lines that used to be clear had gotten blurry.
He thought about what those men would do to Guillermo and the others if left unchecked.
His hands were shaking.
When he turned back around, the easy-going expression he usually wore was gone.
"The plan is solid. But if we move too fast or make too much noise, they will pile into that truck and get out of here. The moment they go mobile, we lose any advantage."
He forced himself to focus on tactics. On the problem in front of him. Not on what solving that problem would mean.
"Look at that truck." He pointed. "Those two guards are focused on the yard. They are not watching the rear at all. I can circle around the wall and get behind it. Slash the tires, maybe. Once their escape route is cut off..." He did not finish the sentence.
Lucien nodded. "That is better."
"What about you?"
"I will create a distraction."
Glenn took a breath, held it, and let it out slowly.
"Alright. Let us do it."
They split up.
Glenn moved along the fence line, keeping to the shadows and using abandoned debris as cover. He had been in tight situations before. He had slipped past walker hordes and made his way through buildings that could collapse at any moment. But this was not about avoiding danger.
This was about choosing it.
He reached the back corner of the nursing home and paused, checking the courtyard. The cultists were still focused on Guillermo. The two guards by the truck were alert but looking the wrong direction.
He swallowed and started his approach.
---
On the opposite side of the courtyard, Lucien had positioned himself behind a pile of rusted junk and abandoned furniture. From here, he had a clear view of the second floor window.
He pulled his wand from his sleeve, keeping it concealed against his palm.
In the courtyard, the leader was still ranting at Guillermo.
"You think the Shepherd is patient? You think he will just forget about you? Last chance. Where is the—"
Crash!
A flowerpot crashed onto the concrete less than six feet from the leader, shattering on impact. Clay fragments scattered in every direction as a cloud of dry soil burst into the air.
Every cultist spun toward the noise.
"What the fuck was that?!"
"Second floor! Eyes up!"
The leader was already moving, using Guillermo as a human shield while he scanned the building's upper windows. "Someone check that out!"
One of the cultists started toward the building entrance.
On the windowsill, the second flowerpot shifted. The scraping sound of clay on concrete was clearly audible in the sudden quiet.
All eyes went to that window.
Which meant no one was watching Glenn.
He slipped behind the truck, keeping low. The two guards had their backs to him, both staring up at the building with their weapons half-raised.
Glenn dropped to his stomach and slid beneath the truck's rear axle. He pulled out his knife and pressed the blade against the rubber. The rear tires were massive, built for rough terrain with thick, reinforced sidewalls. He adjusted his grip and drove the knife in.
The resistance was fierce. For a heartbeat, he thought the blade would not penetrate. Then it tore through the rubber, and he felt it sink deep.
Hisssss.
Air started escaping immediately, but the sound was masked by the scraping flowerpot above and the cultists' shouted orders.
He jerked the knife free and shifted to the second tire, repeating the motion with less hesitation this time. He did not stay to watch them deflate. Instead, he rolled clear of the undercarriage and rose into a crouch along the passenger side.
The door was unlocked.
His pulse jumped. He eased it open and looked inside.
Two rifles rested on the bench seat. Beside them sat a canvas bag swollen with loaded magazines.
He seized both weapons, slung them over his shoulder, and grabbed the ammunition bag. After gently closing the door, he retreated back into cover.
From his new position, he caught Lucien's eye and gave the signal.
---
Lucien watched the cultist who had been sent to investigate reach the building's entrance. Any second now, that man would be inside and would find nothing.
He shifted position, letting his shoe scrape against a piece of metal debris.
The sound was small. But in the tense silence, it carried.
"Over there!"
One of the cultists spun toward the junk pile, rifle coming up. "Who is there? Show yourself!"
Lucien raised his hands and stepped out slowly, doing his best impression of a terrified child. That was not particularly difficult, because part of him was afraid.
"Do not shoot! Please, I was just... I did not mean to..."
"Where the hell did you come from?!" The leader swung his pistol toward Lucien. "You little shit, you better start talking or—"
The third flowerpot fell.
This one did not miss.
It struck the leader squarely on the crown of his head with a sickening crunch that made everyone in the courtyard flinch. The man's eyes rolled back. His knees gave way beneath him, and he collapsed. The pistol slipped from his limp fingers and clattered against the ground.
For one heartbeat, no one moved. Then everything happened at once.
The two cultists nearest to Lucien started to raise their weapons.
Lucien's hand was already in motion.
The steel spikes he had prepared left his hand in quick succession. The throws were not perfect. His form was shit compared to an actual knife thrower. But at this range, with targets frozen in shock, they did not need to be perfect.
The first spike struck the nearer cultist in the throat. The man let out a choking sound and collapsed, his hands clawing at the metal lodged in his neck.
The second spike hit the other cultist just below the left eye. The angle was imperfect and the spike glanced off bone rather than penetrating cleanly, but the force of the impact sent him staggering backward with a scream as blood poured down his face.
Guillermo and his people stared in shock.
The remaining cultists were shouting.
"What is happening?!"
"They are attacking! Get to the truck!"
Guillermo snapped out of his shock first.
He surged to his feet and tackled the nearest cultist, driving the man into the ground. Felipe and the others followed his lead, throwing themselves at their former captors.
The cultists attempted to retreat, but Guillermo's people were already closing in. In such tight quarters, gunfire would have been reckless.
Two of the cultists managed to break away and sprint toward the vehicle.
They wrenched the doors open and threw themselves inside, reaching instinctively for the weapons that should have been waiting for them.
But there was nothing.