Chapter 38: The Vatos - Part 1
Sunday Afternoon - 2:33 PM
The nursing home looked abandoned from the outside. Peeling paint, boarded windows, parking lot full of bodies that hadn't reanimated yet. But the cameras mounted on the corners were too clean, too well-maintained. Someone was watching.
Rick raised his hands as we approached the entrance. "We're not here to fight. We just want our friend back."
Felipe appeared in the doorway, AR-15 raised. Behind him, three more men with weapons—all young, Hispanic, moving with coordination that suggested training or experience. "Your friend trespassed. That has consequences."
"What consequences?" Daryl demanded, crossbow aimed at Felipe's chest.
"The ones we decide. Maybe we keep him. Maybe we trade him. Maybe we kill him to send a message."
"You touch him, you die," Rick said flatly.
"Threats? From the people outnumbered four to one?"
More Vatos emerged from the building—at least a dozen, all armed, all flanking us. We were surrounded, outgunned, and Glenn was still inside somewhere.
[ TIMER: 46:47:09 ]
Less than two days. The headache was constant now, a dull throb behind my eyes. I'd need to reset soon. But not here. Not yet.
"Can I make a suggestion?" I stepped forward, hands visible. "Before this turns into a bloodbath nobody survives?"
Felipe's rifle swiveled toward me. "Who are you?"
"Medical resident. I've got skills, supplies, knowledge. And I'm tired of everyone defaulting to violence when negotiation exists."
"We tried negotiation. Your friend was scouting our territory. Checking defenses. That's hostile action."
"Or he was lost. Separated from his group. Looking for help." I gestured at the nursing home. "You're protecting something. Something valuable enough to risk confrontation with armed strangers. Let me see what it is. If I'm impressed, maybe we can work something out."
Guillermo emerged from the building—late thirties, solid build, leader's bearing obvious in how everyone deferred to him. He studied me with calculating eyes.
"You want to see what we're protecting?"
"I want to understand. You're not random thugs. The way you're positioned, the way you communicate—this is organized. Professional. That means you have something worth protecting."
"And if you're not impressed?"
"Then we fight and probably all die. But at least we tried talking first."
Guillermo looked at Rick, then back at me. "Weapons stay outside. All of them."
"Not happening," Daryl said immediately.
"Then neither is this conversation."
Rick made the calculation—trust or conflict, negotiation or bloodshed. "Sidearms only. Rifles stay out here."
"Fair enough." Guillermo gestured. "Follow me. Try anything, your friend dies first."
[ TIMER: 46:33:18 ]
We surrendered the rifles—AR-15s, Daryl's hunting rifle, the shotgun T-Dog carried. Kept our pistols. Felipe's people frisked us quickly, professionally. Former cops or military, definitely.
Inside, the nursing home was functioning. Clean floors, working lights, air conditioning humming. And in the common area: elderly residents. Maybe twenty of them, wheelchairs arranged in a semicircle, oxygen tanks hissing, confused faces staring at us.
"Jesus," T-Dog breathed.
An old woman reached out, grabbed my hand. "Roberto? Is that you? Did you bring the medicine?"
Her grip was weak, her eyes clouded with cataracts. I recognized the signs—advanced diabetes, possibly Alzheimer's. She was dying, just slowly.
"I'm not Roberto," I said gently. "But we'll get you medicine. I promise."
She smiled—toothless, trusting. "Such a good boy. Your mother raised you right."
My chest tightened. She reminded me of someone. My grandmother, maybe, in the life before. The one I barely remembered now.
Guillermo watched this exchange. "Everyone else ran. Families abandoned them, staff evacuated, government forgot they existed. We're all that's left."
"Why stay?" Rick asked.
"Because someone had to. These people can't feed themselves, can't defend themselves, can't survive alone. Someone had to stay."
[ TIMER: 46:18:44 ]
Felipe appeared with Glenn, hands bound but unharmed. "He's been fed, given water. We're not monsters."
"Could've fooled me," Glenn muttered.
"You were scouting our defenses," Felipe countered. "What would you do if someone did that to your camp?"
"Talk to them first."
"We're talking now."
I moved through the common area, examining the residents. Two had pressure sores—bedsores from sitting too long without proper care. One had a raging infection in his leg. Another was having trouble breathing—emphysema, probably, without proper medication.
"You're losing them," I told Felipe quietly. "The infections, the lack of medication. Another week and half of these people will be dead."
"You think I don't know that?" His voice cracked. "I was a nurse before. I know what they need. I just don't have it."
"What do you need most?"
"Antibiotics. Insulin. Oxygen refills. Blood pressure medication." He laughed bitterly. "Everything. We need everything."
I looked at my medical bag. The supplies I'd been hoarding since LA. Antibiotics, syringes, bandages. Not comprehensive, but useful.
These are guilty people. Wife-beaters, criminals, threats. Not elderly people who can't hurt anyone.
These supplies might save your life later. Don't waste them on strangers.
But the old woman was still holding my hand. Still smiling like I was her grandson. Still trusting me to help.
[ TIMER: 45:47:09 ]
"Rick," I called. "Can we trade?"
"Trade what?"
"Medical supplies for Glenn and information. They know this territory—walker movements, safe routes, supply locations. That's valuable."
Guillermo crossed his arms. "Your supplies for your friend and a map. That's the offer?"
"Plus alliance. We don't raid your territory, you don't raid ours. We share intelligence, warn each other about threats. Survival's easier with allies."
"Or allies become liabilities."
"Not if everyone benefits." I pulled out my medical kit, opened it on a table. Antibiotics, insulin I'd been saving, bandages, painkillers. "This is what I have. Not enough to cure everyone, but enough to buy time."
Felipe's eyes went wide. "That's... that's at least two months of supplies."
"It's yours. In exchange for Glenn, the map, and peace."
Guillermo studied the supplies, then me. "Why? You don't know us. Don't owe us anything. Why give away resources you might need?"
Because an old woman smiled at me like my grandmother used to. Because I'm tired of only seeing people as assets or threats. Because maybe, just maybe, doing something decent won't kill me.
"Because you stayed. When everyone else ran, you stayed and protected people who couldn't protect themselves. That's worth something."
Guillermo was quiet for a long moment. Then he extended his hand. "Deal. Your supplies for your friend and our knowledge."
We shook. Felipe immediately grabbed the medical kit, started organizing supplies, calling out medications. The other Vatos moved among the residents, explaining that help was coming, that they weren't forgotten.
[ TIMER: 45:33:18 ]
Rick cut Glenn's bonds. "You okay?"
"Yeah. They actually treated me pretty well. Better than some of our own people." Glenn watched the Vatos distribute medications. "They're good people. Just trying to survive."
"Most people are," I said. "Until they're not."
Daryl was watching me with an unreadable expression. "You gave away your medical supplies. For strangers."
"For allies."
"That's not like you. The Jax I've seen doesn't give things away without expecting return."
"I got Glenn back. Got a map. Got an alliance. That's return."
"That's justification. What you really got was a chance to help people who can't help you back."
I didn't respond. Couldn't explain the impulse even to myself. The old woman was still smiling at me, still calling me Roberto, still believing I was her grandson come to save her.
When did I start caring about that?
Felipe returned with a hand-drawn map—detailed, annotated, showing safe routes through Atlanta, supply caches, where walkers concentrated. "This is everything we know. Use it. Stay alive."
"What about you?" Rick asked Guillermo. "You're running out of time here. Eventually, the supplies run out."
"Then we adapt. Find more. Or we die protecting them. Either way, we made our choice."
"If you need help—"
"We'll manage. We've been managing this long." Guillermo looked at the residents. "They deserve dignity. They deserve care. Even if the world's ending, they deserve that much."
[ TIMER: 45:18:44 ]
We left the nursing home as the sun started setting. Walked back to the van through streets that seemed quieter somehow. Or maybe I was just processing.
Glenn climbed into the driver's seat. "That was... unexpected."
"Yeah," Rick agreed. "Vatos aren't what I expected."
Daryl was still holding his brother's wrapped hand, silent. T-Dog looked thoughtful. And I sat in the back, feeling something I couldn't quite name.
"You were right," Rick said, looking at me in the rearview mirror. "About them not being evil. About negotiation working."
"Sometimes it does."
"You gave away most of your medical supplies."
"They needed them more."
"That's not the Jax I know. The one who calculates everything, who sees people as assets."
"Maybe I'm tired of calculating. Maybe I wanted to do something decent for once."
Rick studied me. "You're not what you pretend to be."
"None of us are."
We drove through Atlanta as dusk fell, navigating by Felipe's map. The routes he'd marked were clear, safe, exactly as described. The Vatos had been honest. That was almost more surprising than their compassion.
Daryl spoke up from the back. "You think Merle would've done that? Given away his supplies to help strangers?"
"No."
"You think I would've?"
"Before today? Probably not."
"Then why'd you?"
Because an old woman smiled at me. Because I'm tired of being Patient Zero and nothing else. Because maybe doing something good doesn't make me weaker—maybe it makes me human.
"Because it was right. That's all."
[ TIMER: 44:47:09 ]
We reached the quarry camp around 7 PM. The sun had set, the fires were burning, and everything looked normal. Peaceful, even. Like the nightmare was somewhere else, somewhere far away.
Shane met us at the perimeter. "You're back. Glenn's alive. That's... that's good."
"It is," Rick agreed. "Everything quiet here?"
"Yeah. No problems. Ed caused some trouble earlier, but we handled it."
"What kind of trouble?"
"The usual. Beating on Carol again. I separated them, put Ed in his tent. He'll cool off."
Rick's jaw tightened. "We need to deal with that. Permanently."
"I know. But one crisis at a time."
I climbed out of the van, felt the night air on my face. Cool, clean, carrying the smell of the fire and cooking food. The camp was alive, functional, surviving.
And my timer kept counting down.
[ TIMER: 44:33:18 ]
Alicia found me unloading supplies. "How'd it go?"
"Glenn's safe. Made some allies. Gave away my medical supplies."
"You gave away—" She stopped. "Why?"
"They needed them more. Nursing home full of elderly people. The Vatos were protecting them."
"And you helped. Without getting anything in return."
"I got Glenn back. Got intelligence. Got allies."
"That's not what I mean. You helped people who couldn't repay you. That's... that's not like you."
"Maybe I'm changing."
"Are you?"
I didn't know how to answer that. The old woman's smile was still in my head. Roberto. Such a good boy. Your mother raised you right.
"I don't know," I said finally. "But I hope so."
Alicia touched my arm—brief, warm. "Me too."
She walked away. I stood there holding empty duffel bags, processing the day. No infection. No reset. No guilty targets to justify the virus's demands.
Just an old woman who'd mistaken me for her grandson. Just a group of people trying to protect the helpless. Just a choice to do something decent without calculating the return.
And somehow, that felt more dangerous than any walker horde.
The camp settled into evening routines. Dinner, watch rotations, stories around the fire. Normal. Human. Fragile.
I sat at the edge of camp, watching the tree line, waiting for the attack I knew was coming. Not tonight—the show's timeline said it would be soon, but not yet. Tomorrow, maybe. Or the next day.
But it was coming. The walkers would find the camp. People would die. And I'd have to choose—again—between who to save and who to sacrifice.
[ TIMER: 43:47:09 ]
Less than two days. The headache was constant now. I'd need a target soon. Ed Peletier was the obvious choice—wife-beater, abuser, guilty by any standard. But he was also vulnerable, isolated, easy prey.
Would it even count as justice? Or just convenient?
The night was quiet. Too quiet. Like the world was holding its breath, waiting for something to break.
And in my bones, I felt the timer tick down toward crisis, toward the moment when Patient Zero would have to infect someone again or lose everything.
The infection count was twenty-one. The timer was forty-three hours. And somewhere in the darkness, the apocalypse was preparing its next lesson in survival's cost.
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