Life at the mine was getting harder day by day.
Shane sat on the hood of an abandoned pickup truck, staring at the gray, hazy sky in the distance, his mood even gloomier than the clouds that day.
"Shane, when are we going to scavenge for supplies?"
"Shane, the food is almost gone, say something!"
"Shane, my child is crying from hunger, do you even have a plan?"
Behind him, the group buzzed around him like flies, chattering away, all asking the same question.
Shane took a deep breath, suppressing the anger in his heart.
He understood their anxiety. Food was indeed running low—a few boxes of compressed biscuits, a dozen cans of beans, half a bag of flour, and some canned goods of unknown expiration.
With so many people, they wouldn't last three days.
But what could he do?
The nearby towns had already been scavenged.
The first time they went, they brought back a pile of stuff; the second time, half that; the third time, they barely made it back.
Those wandering things were becoming more numerous and were starting to spread further out.
The only place left that might still have large amounts of supplies was Atlanta.
That metropolis with a population of over three million.
That hell which might now have three million Walkers.
"Hey, stop pestering this sissy."
A harsh voice came from behind the crowd.
Shane looked up and saw Merle Dixon leaning against a broken trailer, chewing on a piece of straw he'd dug up from somewhere, wearing that punchable grin.
"He doesn't have the guts to go out scavenging."
Merle continued, his voice loud enough for everyone to hear: "Why don't we just go out and find it ourselves? Why do we have to wait for this cop to give the word?"
The crowd looked at each other, no one answering.
Everyone's attitude toward Merle was complicated—the guy had a foul mouth, a bad temper, was always getting angry, and had a younger brother with him.
But what he said sometimes hit the nail on the head.
"Watch your mouth, Merle."
Shane jumped off the hood, his hand resting on the holster at his waist: "Of course I want to find supplies for everyone, but do you know what it's like out there? The nearby towns have been picked clean. The only place with supplies left is Atlanta—do you have any idea how many Walkers are there?"
Merle sneered: "Atlanta? Three million people? Probably three million of them?"
He said it lightly, as if discussing the weather.
Shane's face turned livid, but he didn't retort.
Because Merle was right.
Atlanta, three million people.
Even if only half turned into Walkers, that was 1.5 million.
With just the few of them and a few guns, going in there was suicide.
"If you ask me…"
Merle spat out the straw and looked around: "We might as well join that damn Umbrella Corporation."
Whispers broke out in the crowd.
Merle and Daryl had been out scavenging that day and had missed Wu Fan's "job fair."
When they returned and heard T-Dog talk about the heavily armed armored vehicle, the Asian man in the suit, and the two blonde sisters who foolishly followed him, Merle cursed for half an hour on the spot.
Missed out on a fortune!
He said at the time: Food, shelter, and guns—where else could you find such a good deal? It's all that cop Shane's fault for insisting it was untrustworthy and a conspiracy—well, now they're gone, and we're here waiting to die!
Shane stared at Merle, his eyes as cold as ice: "If you don't like it here, you can leave anytime. No one is stopping you."
Merle stared back, the punchable grin slowly fading from his lips.
Their gazes collided in the air, the tension thickening like gunpowder.
The good-natured Dale quickly stepped in to smooth things over: "Alright, alright, let's all calm down. Shane, we know you're in a tough spot; Merle, stop provoking him. Now isn't the time to argue; we need to figure out what to do."
He turned to Shane, his tone gentle: "Shane, is there really no other way?"
Shane was silent for a few seconds, then shook his head: "At least I don't have one, unless someone is willing to risk going to the outskirts of Atlanta to try their luck."
The crowd fell silent.
Go to Atlanta?
That would be no better than committing suicide.
Just then, a low voice spoke up: "I'll go hunting."
The crowd turned to see Daryl walking out from behind the group.
He carried his compound bow on his back, a quiver at his waist, his face expressionless.
"Daryl?"
Merle frowned: "You're going alone?"
"Yeah."
Daryl nodded: "There are more animals in the woods than people, and they aren't infected. I'll go get some game; it should last us a few days."
Shane looked at him, his gaze complex.
Daryl was a man of few words, didn't like to talk, but was reliable.
He grew up in the woods and was a better hunter than anyone.
If he said he could get game, he really could.
"I'll go with you."
Merle said.
"No need."
Daryl glanced at his brother: "You're too loud; you'll scare the prey away."
Merle opened his mouth to retort, but finally waved his hand: "Fine, fine, you're the expert. Go ahead, just come back early."
Daryl nodded and turned toward the woods.
The group watched his back disappear into the shadows of the trees, remaining silent for a long time.
Shane sat back down on the hood, staring into the distance, dazed.
In his mind, the armored vehicle from that day, the man in the suit, and those heavily armed Soldiers reappeared.
Umbrella Corporation.
CDC.
Researching a vaccine.
At the time, he had instinctively doubted everything, feeling that there was no such thing as a free lunch, and that the guy must have some conspiracy.
But now?
Now he was stuck in this run-down mine with a group of hungry people, not even knowing where the next meal would come from.
And those two sisters were probably lying in warm beds, eating hot meals.
Shane shook his head vigorously, trying to shake the thought away.
Can't think about it.
If he thought about it, he would regret it.
Regret would lead to wavering.
Wavering would mean losing everything.
He took a deep breath, stood up, and said to the crowd: "Everyone disperse, get back to what you were doing. Daryl went hunting, so we'll have meat tonight. We'll deal with tomorrow when it comes."
The crowd slowly dispersed.
Only Dale remained standing there, looking at Shane, wanting to say something but hesitating.
"Say what you have to say."
Shane said irritably.
Dale hesitated for a moment, then spoke up: "Shane, that Umbrella Corporation... do you think what they said is true?"
Shane stared at him, saying nothing.
Dale continued: "What if it is true? What if there really is a base, a vaccine, a safe place... shouldn't we consider it?"
"Dale."
Shane's voice dropped: "Have you ever seen a company drive around in an armored vehicle recruiting people during the apocalypse? Have you ever seen an organization give people food, shelter, and guns for free? This isn't a damn charity."
Dale fell silent.
"There's definitely an agenda."
Shane continued: "Maybe they want us as cannon fodder, maybe they want to use us for experiments, maybe something else. Either way, there's no such thing as a free lunch."
Dale nodded, said nothing more, and turned away.
Shane stood there, watching his back, a sudden surge of irritation rising in his heart.
Did he even believe the things he had just said?
He didn't know.
He only knew that he couldn't waver.
Once he wavered, everything would be over.
Night slowly fell.
A campfire was lit in the mine, its glow reflecting on those weary faces.
Everyone sat around the fire, waiting for Daryl to return.
They waited a long time.
It wasn't until the moon rose that a figure appeared at the edge of the woods.
Daryl dragged two wild rabbits, a squirrel, and some other small animal, walking back slowly.
He threw the prey on the ground and said to Shane: "Enough for two days."
Shane looked at the prey, then at Daryl's tired face, a complex emotion surging in his heart.
"Good work."
He said.
Daryl nodded, walked to the fire, sat down, and said nothing.
Everyone began to process the prey—skinning it, gutting it, and roasting it over the fire.
The aroma of meat drifted, and those hungry faces finally showed a hint of a smile.
Shane sat by the fire, watching those smiles, but his heart grew heavier and heavier.
Daryl could catch game, but for how long?
No matter how many animals were in the woods, there would come a day when they ran out.
And then what?
Go to Atlanta to commit suicide again?
Or...
Forget it, tomorrow I'll have Glenn and the others go to the outskirts of Atlanta to collect some supplies!