Inside the armored vehicle.
Morgan Jones sat on the metal bench, his hand still tightly clutching his son Duane's shoulder.
The child was skin and bones, but his eyes were exceptionally large, and he was currently surveying everything inside the vehicle with a mixture of terror and curiosity.
"Relax."
Sandra put away her gun and sat back in her original position. "The Boss said to let you on the vehicle, so nothing will happen. By the way, my name is Sandra."
"I, I am Morgan Jones."
The middle-aged black man swallowed, his voice somewhat hoarse. "This is my son, Duane."
Duane huddled in his father's arms, not speaking, just nodding.
Morgan surveyed the interior of the vehicle.
Metal armor, weapon racks, communication equipment, and those few heavily armed people—there was a red logo on their uniforms, an umbrella.
He had never seen this kind of attire before. It wasn't the National Guard, nor was it the military.
"Which department are you from?"
Morgan couldn't help but ask, "Has the government started to stabilize the situation now? Those things—are they almost cleared out?"
Sandra and Brock, sitting opposite them, exchanged a glance and didn't speak.
At this moment, the door at the front of the cabin opened, and Wu Fan walked in.
Seeing this man in a suit, Morgan immediately became tense.
Duane even shrank completely into his father's arms.
"Morgan, right?"
Wu Fan sat down opposite him, his tone peaceful. "I am Wu Fan, the supervisor of the Atlanta branch of the Umbrella Corporation."
"Umbrella Corporation?"
Morgan frowned. "I haven't heard of it... Is it part of the government?"
"A private enterprise."
Wu Fan leaned back against the chair. "Biological research, vaccine development. Before the outbreak, we had cooperative projects with the government."
Morgan's eyes lit up. "Then what about now? Has the government started to counterattack? Is the military almost done cleaning those things up?"
Wu Fan looked at him, silent for two seconds.
Then he shook his head.
"Morgan,"
His voice softened a bit. "Atlanta is finished. Millions of people have all turned into Walkers. The few things you saw are just the tip of the iceberg. The entire East Coast, perhaps the entire United States, and even the entire world, have already fallen."
The hope on Morgan's face shattered bit by bit.
"Then you... what are you still doing?"
"Gathering survivors."
Wu Fan said, "As the last spark of humanity, we have a base at the CDC, and we have a research team working on a vaccine, but we need manpower—security, logistics, all kinds of work."
He leaned forward. "Join us, and you will have a safe place to live, medical support, stable food and water. Wages are paid in points; the more you work, the more you get."
Morgan lowered his head, looking at Duane in his arms.
He didn't want to be constrained by others. He was used to being free his whole life; suddenly having to listen to someone else's orders made him uncomfortable just thinking about it.
But Duane...
He was only twelve years old.
Being this thin, if they kept hiding like this, they would either be bitten to death by those things, or starve or die of illness.
"I..."
Morgan opened his mouth. "I agree. But I want to do one thing first."
"What thing?"
Morgan raised his head, his eyes pained. "My wife. She... she also turned into one of those things. It's right at our front door. I just couldn't bring myself to..."
He couldn't continue.
Wu Fan was silent for a few seconds, then stood up.
"Marcus, stop the car."
The armored vehicle slowly came to a stop.
Wu Fan opened the door and jumped out of the vehicle.
Morgan held Duane and followed him down, while Sandra followed behind with her gun, keeping watch.
The street was very quiet.
Unusually quiet.
In the distance, a few Walkers were wandering; hearing the sound, they began to shamble toward them.
Wu Fan raised his hand and fired a shot, a headshot.
Another one, another shot.
Three, three shots, all headshots.
Morgan stared blankly, his heart filled with mixed emotions.
He led Morgan around a street corner.
Then he saw it.
A black woman was standing at the doorway of a house.
She was wearing a floral dress, her hair braided, but it was already a tangled mess.
Her face was covered in dried blood, one eye was gone, leaving only a hollow socket.
She opened her mouth, emitting a low hiss, and reached out toward them.
Jenny.
Morgan's wife.
"Daddy..."
Duane whispered, burying his face in his father's clothes.
Morgan took out his revolver, his hand trembling.
He raised it, aiming at the thing that used to be his wife.
But his hand was shaking too violently to aim properly.
The thing was getting closer and closer.
Ten meters.
Eight meters.
Five meters.
"Jenny..."
Morgan's voice was hoarse beyond recognition. "I'm sorry... I'm sorry..."
Bang!
A gunshot.
The thing's head exploded, and it collapsed to the ground.
Morgan turned his head and saw the gun in Wu Fan's hand still smoking.
Wu Fan put away his gun, walked over, and patted his shoulder.
"This way..."
Wu Fan said, "You won't have any psychological burden. You can blame me."
Morgan stared at him blankly, his eyes suddenly turning red.
"Thank you."
He said hoarsely, "Thank you..."
He crouched down and picked up his wife's body.
Jenny was very light.
During this week of being a Walker, she hadn't eaten anything and was so thin she was just skin and bones.
Morgan carried her to the yard and laid her on the grass.
Then he found a shovel and started digging a pit.
Duane crouched nearby, not saying a word, tears dropping onto the ground one by one.
Wu Fan stood at the doorway, watching this scene, silent for a long time.
Sandra walked over and asked softly, "Boss, should we wait?"
"Wait."
Wu Fan said, "Let them say goodbye properly."
He turned and walked to the other side of the street.
King County was too quiet.
Unusually quiet.
The outbreak had been going on for over a week; logically, a small town like this should be crawling with Walkers.
But throughout the drive just now, the total he saw didn't exceed thirty.
This wasn't logical.
Wu Fan walked while observing his surroundings.
Overturned cars, broken windows, dried blood—all indicated that chaos had occurred here.
But where were those things?
He walked to the center of town and saw that building.
King County Hospital.
A two-story building with white exterior walls, and a few ambulances parked at the entrance.
Many window panes were broken, the main door was half-open, and it was pitch black inside.
Wu Fan frowned.
This place...
He slowly approached.
Going around the hospital building, he saw the parking lot in the back.
Then he stopped.
Dense and packed.
The entire parking lot was covered in body bags.
Black ones, white ones, piled up like small hills.
Some bags were torn, revealing bruised arms or feet inside.
The air was filled with a mixture of stench and disinfectant, stinging one's eyes.
Wu Fan stood in place, staring at those body bags for a long time.
Memories from thirty years ago surged up like a tide.
That show.
The first episode.
The policeman who woke up from a coma.
The man who rode a horse into Atlanta.
The guy named Rick Grimes.
King County.
Hospital.
Body bags.
This is where Rick woke up.
And Morgan—
Wu Fan turned his head sharply, looking in the direction of that street.
Morgan Jones.
An important character in The Walking Dead.
The person who saved Rick's life, and later almost killed him.
The warrior who went completely insane after losing his son, and finally regained his sanity.
He had just personally killed Morgan's wife.
And Rick—