The morning sun lazily spilled over the mining site, gilding the rusty mining equipment with a layer of gold.
Shane crawled out of his tent and stretched comfortably.
He glanced back into the tent—beneath the thin quilt, the curves of Lori Grimes's body were faintly visible.
She was still fast asleep, her blonde hair scattered across the inflatable pillow, her breathing even.
Shane looked at the sleeping Lori with a complex expression; he had slept with his good brother's wife and felt extremely guilty.
At first, he only wanted to help his good brother Rick's family escape; he never expected things to develop to this point.
When he wanted to take Lori and Carl away to escape, Lori insisted he go and bring Rick, who was lying in the hospital, along with them.
He also remembered Rick in the hospital and ran there to save him, but an explosion caused the hospital to lose power, and the emergency backup power automatically engaged.
He had seen the heart rate on Rick's monitor turn into a flat line and heard no heartbeat.
He didn't know if Rick was dead or alive, but given those crazed, resurrected things, he didn't dare take a Rick like that out with him, so he could only assume he was dead and leave him in the hospital.
Lori was very sad after knowing Rick died, and as a good brother, he had to help take care of his brother's wife.
Although he knew Lori had entered into a relationship with him for the sake of her and her son's survival, he couldn't help but be unable to control her passion.
Lori needed someone to take care of her.
Carl needed someone to take care of him.
He was just doing what he had to do.
"Good morning, Shane."
A gentle voice interrupted his thoughts.
Shane turned his head and saw Dale Horvath walking towards him.
The old man was wearing his signature fishing vest, a kindly smile on his face.
Shane didn't have any ill will toward Dale, but the old man was indeed a bit annoying at times—always worried, like a fussy mother hen.
"What is it, Dale?"
Dale approached, the smile on his face fading slightly: "Shane, supplies are running low. When do you plan to organize a team to scavenge?"
Shane's face darkened.
Here we go again.
"We just scavenged four days ago."
His voice sank: "They're gone already?"
Dale spread his hands helplessly: "There are too many people, Shane. Over a dozen mouths to feed every day, and those canned goods and crackers, how long can they last?"
Shane took a deep breath, suppressing the irritation in his heart.
He knew Dale was right.
But he also knew what the situation was like outside—those man-eating things were everywhere, and every time they went out to scavenge, they were risking their lives.
And what about the people in the camp?
Did they know how to conserve?
Did they know how dangerous it was out there?
No, they only knew how to open their mouths and wait to be fed.
"I'll figure something out."
Shane said, his tone stiff.
Dale nodded and turned to leave.
Shane stood in place, looking at the crude camp.
A few tents were scattered across the mining site, and an RV was parked in the corner—that was Dale's, now serving as a communal kitchen and storage room.
The embers of a campfire were still smoking.
A few early risers were packing up their things.
This was his territory.
His kingdom.
A group of people who needed his protection.
Damn it.
Shane scratched his hair and walked toward two people chatting next to a pickup truck.
Glenn, a young Korean-American man, wasn't tall, but he was agile and fast; he was the best scout in the camp.
T-Dog, a young black man, was quiet but quite skilled with machinery.
"Glenn."
Shane called out.
Glenn turned his head: "Hey, Shane, what's up?"
"That village nearby."
Shane pointed toward the east: "Are those Walkers still there?"
Glenn nodded: "Still wandering around the same spot. Unless someone lures them away, they won't leave."
Shane frowned.
Lure them away? Easier said than done.
Those things never get tired.
Drive to lure them? If the car is too fast, they can't keep up; if it's too slow, you're easily surrounded.
Plus, once the engine roars, things from all directions will swarm over.
Being a leader like this is really fucking annoying.
Just as he was about to ask something else, he suddenly heard a shout from the top of the RV:
"Hey, Shane! A vehicle is coming! An armored vehicle!"
Shane turned his head sharply.
On top of the RV, Morales was pointing nervously in the direction outside the camp.
Shane looked in the direction he was pointing—
A black armored vehicle was driving toward the camp.
The whole vehicle was pitch black, and the windows reflected light, making it impossible to see inside.
There was some kind of logo faintly visible on the body, but it was too far away to see clearly.
Shane's heart jumped into his throat.
He had seen military armored vehicles.
In King County, when those hummers drove by, all the survivors in the hospital died.
He didn't know how those people died, but he knew that when the military came, nothing good ever happened.
"Everyone, hide!"
Shane shouted, drawing his glock from his waist at the same time and hiding behind a pickup truck.
The camp was instantly in chaos.
Women held their children and scrambled into tents, while men grabbed whatever weapons they could find—shotguns, pistols, even baseball bats—and found cover.
The armored vehicle stopped at the entrance of the camp.
The engine cut off.
The doors opened.
One by one, dark figures jumped down.
Fully armed.
Black tactical gear, bulletproof vests, helmets, masks.
Everyone held an M4, their movements uniform and synchronized, quickly spreading out on both sides of the armored vehicle, their muzzles aimed at the camp.
That was the stance of professional soldiers.
In reality, it was all because Wu Fan demanded they train like this; it didn't matter if their aim was off, they had to project the right aura.
Shane's palms were sweating.
Then, a man in a suit stepped out of the armored vehicle.
Dressed in a suit and leather shoes, he looked completely out of place in the apocalyptic environment.
He scanned the camp, his gaze lingering for a moment on the people behind the cover, and then spoke:
"Who is in charge here? Come out and talk."
Shane gritted his teeth and stood up from behind the pickup truck.
"It's me."
He held his gun, not putting it away: "Who are you?"
The man in the suit—Wu Fan—walked toward him.
Two armed personnel followed behind him, their muzzles slightly lowered but ready to be raised at any moment.
"Wu Fan, supervisor of the Umbrella Corporation Atlanta branch."
Wu Fan took a card out of his pocket and waved it in front of Shane: "And you are?"
"Shane Walsh."
Shane didn't reach out, staring at the card: "Umbrella Corporation? Never heard of it."
"You will soon."
Wu Fan put the card away: "I came to find you because you have something I need here."
Shane sneered: "What thing?"
"People."
Shane was stunned.
Wu Fan continued: "All of humanity is facing an extinction crisis. That virus—the Walker virus—is sweeping across the entire world. Atlanta is finished; millions of people have turned into Walkers. It won't be long before they spread to every corner."
He pointed at the camp: "With such crude defenses, how long can you hold out here? A day? A week? A month?"
Shane's face was livid, and he didn't speak.
"I need to concentrate survivors."
Wu Fan's voice became solemn: "As the last spark of humanity, we have a base at the CDC with complete facilities and a research team working on a vaccine, but we don't have enough manpower—especially security personnel."
He pointed at the fully armed people behind him: "See them? A week ago, they were just ordinary survivors. Now they are Umbrella Corporation security personnel. They have food, shelter, and medical coverage. They don't have to sleep in the wind and rain, and their wages are paid in points—the more you work, the more you get."
He turned to the survivors hiding behind cover, who were listening intently, and raised his voice:
"Are you willing to join us?"
Silence.
Then, whispers erupted in the crowd.
"The CDC? They have a base?"
"Medical coverage... isn't that better than here?"
"Food and housing provided? Is that for real?"
Shane's heart sank.
He saw the look in their eyes change.
From fear to longing.
"Wait!"
He shouted, suppressing the discussion: "Everyone, listen to me! This guy is not to be trusted!"
The crowd quieted down and looked at him.
Shane pointed at Wu Fan: "Look at them! Fully armed, driving an armored vehicle, suddenly appearing here and saying 'come with me'—how can there be such a good deal? There must be a conspiracy! Maybe they want to trick us into being cannon fodder! Maybe they want to use us as test subjects!"
The whispering started up again.
Wu Fan sighed.
He waved at the armored vehicle.
An armed person handed over a laptop. Wu Fan took it, opened it, and turned it toward the crowd.
The screen was playing a video.
The streets of Atlanta.
Dense crowds of Walkers.
They packed every road, every open space, every corner.
They were wandering, roaring, searching for living things.
Occasionally, one or two people could be seen resisting, but they were quickly submerged in that gray wave.
"Atlanta, one week ago."
Wu Fan's voice was calm: "Millions of people, now all turned into Walkers. It won't be long before they spread out, to every surrounding town, every village, every corner."
He looked up, watching those terrified faces: "Do you think this place—this mining site with nothing—can hold back millions?"
No one spoke.
A few women held their children tightly.
An old man's face was deathly pale, his lips trembling.
Shane opened his mouth, wanting to say something, but couldn't say anything.
He knew what Wu Fan said was the truth.
He had always known.
He just didn't want to think about it.
Just then, two blonde girls walked out from the crowd.
"We'll join."
Everyone was stunned.
Shane's eyes widened: "Amy? Andrea? Are you crazy?"
T-Dog panicked, rushing forward to try and hold them back: "Hey, you'll be sold off! Don't be fooled! My ancestors went through this kind of thing—"
Andrea shook off his hand, looking at him coldly: "I've had enough of life here. Even if it's a trap, I don't want to go on living like this."
She took her sister Amy's hand and walked toward Wu Fan.
Amy glanced back at T-Dog, a trace of apology in her eyes, but she still followed her sister.
Wu Fan watched them walk up to him and nodded: "A wise choice."
He took two contracts out of his briefcase pocket and handed them to them: "Sign your names, and you are employees of the Umbrella Corporation."
Amy took the contract and signed it without even looking.
Andrea read it carefully and then signed it too.
Wu Fan put the contracts away and said to the people behind him: "Take them to the vehicle."
Two armed personnel escorted the sisters toward the armored vehicle.
Wu Fan turned to the remaining survivors: "Anyone else?"
Silence.
Shane stood in front of the crowd, his chest heaving violently.
Behind him, Lori had woken up at some point and was standing at the tent entrance, watching this scene.
Her eyes were complex, with surprise, hesitation, and a trace of—longing?
"Don't go."
Shane said in a low voice, not knowing if he was speaking to himself or to the people behind him.
But in the crowd, people were already exchanging glances.
Wu Fan looked at them, then at Shane, and finally smiled.
"You will thank me."
He said.
Then he turned and walked toward the armored vehicle.
The doors closed, the engine roared, and the black armored vehicle sped away, disappearing at the end of the dirt road of the mining site.
Leaving behind a group of silent people.
And Shane's livid face.