Chapter 84 – Vaccination
Wu Fan turned to the second page of the list, his gaze lingering on the third-to-last line.
Lori Grimes, Loyalty: 0.
He remembered that when he checked last week, it was seven, and the week before that, it was eight.
Although it wasn't high, it was at least a positive number.
Now it had returned to zero.
Not negative. Zero.
The surveillance footage Red Queen pulled up flashed through his mind frame by frame. Lori had boasted to the group of women from Woodbury that she was the mistress of Prison, and after being slapped publicly by Rick, she paced around the room alone for days, talking to herself. Sometimes she would stop by the window, staring toward the CDC in the north for a long time.
Wu Fan didn't need Red Queen to tell him what she was plotting.
He glanced at the twenty-odd names in front of him; all of them were negative, ranging from negative ten to negative fifty.
Some of them came from Woodbury, and their fear of the tyrant that night had turned into hatred. They believed that Rick and his group's sudden appearance must have been intentional.
Some of them were originally from the base and had always wanted to replace them.
Twenty-odd people weren't many, but like termites, if they weren't cleaned up, they would eventually hollow out the beams and pillars.
"Send Merle here."
When Merle pushed the door open, Wu Fan was standing by the window with his back turned to him.
Unusually, Merle didn't have a joking expression. He sensed something different in the air.
"Boss, what's up?"
Wu Fan turned around and handed over the list.
Merle took it, scanned it from top to bottom, paused for a moment at the last line, "Lori Grimes," then looked up and waited.
"Take care of them. The lab is short-staffed. As for the people from Woodbury and Lori, who's pregnant and staying at Prison, just ignore them for now."
Merle folded the list, stuffed it into his pocket, and slowly smiled.
That smile wasn't happiness; it was the excitement of a hunter watching prey walk into a trap.
"Don't worry, boss. I took them out to collect supplies, but we were attacked by a small group of Walkers and suffered heavy losses. Then we were ambushed by another group and wiped out. Only me and a few of my men escaped."
Wu Fan opened the drawer, took out a few packs of cigarettes, and tossed them over.
Merle caught them, put them into his pocket, and turned to leave.
After the door closed, Wu Fan sat back down in his chair and looked at the photocopy of the list.
He circled Lori's name with a red pen and put a question mark next to it.
She was currently pregnant with Judith, the little devil.
Regardless of whose child it was, he intended to let her be born normally according to the original story.
If Lori died, Judith would most likely not survive either.
What would Rick think then? What would Shane think?
One was the child's biological father, and the other was the father in name only.
Both of them were his most capable fighters.
He wouldn't risk both of them for Lori's sake.
He picked up the red pen and wrote beneath the question mark:
"Do not act for now. Observe."
In the original story, the probability of a difficult birth was almost certain.
He didn't need to do anything; he just needed to wait.
When Amy knocked and entered, Wu Fan was looking out the window.
Downstairs, Merle was leading the twenty-odd people into the vehicles. Some of them were still laughing, thinking they were really going out to loot supplies.
The lab was about to welcome another group of test subjects.
"Boss, Dr. Edwin is asking where we should begin administering the vaccine."
Wu Fan turned around.
"Start with the nursing homes, where the elderly can't wait any longer, then Hive's security staff and their families, and finally the towns."
Amy nodded and turned to leave.
"Also…"
Wu Fan stopped her.
"Princess will be picked up last. Have Rick submit the list first, then the armed train will be sent to him."
Amy left.
Wu Fan stood by the window, watching the Humvees drive out of the gate.
Merle sat in the passenger seat, a cigarette dangling from his lips, just like any other day.
Wu Fan looked away, picked up the vaccine allocation plan from the table, turned to the last page, and signed it.
The sun shone brightly in the small garden of the nursing home.
Several elderly people sat in wheelchairs, blankets draped over their knees, squinting in the sunlight.
Guillermo knelt in front of an old woman, held her hand, and whispered something to her.
The old woman heard him clearly, and her eyes reddened.
"Really? After getting the injection, I won't turn into those things when I die?"
Guillermo nodded.
"It's true. It was developed by the PhDs, and it's already been tested."
Tears rolled down the old woman's face.
Her daughter stood behind her, also crying.
An old man beside her patted the armrest of his wheelchair and said in a hoarse voice, "Then what are we waiting for? Call them over! I'm tired of locking myself in the house every night and making my son stand outside the door calling for me before I dare open it the next morning."
Several nurses pushed over a cart containing a cooler, syringes, and alcohol swabs.
The elderly lined up, wheelchairs arriving one after another.
When the needle went in, some frowned, some bit their lips, and some didn't make a sound.
After receiving the injection, they were moved to an observation area to wait.
Ten minutes. Twenty minutes. One hour.
No one developed a fever, no one convulsed, and no one turned into one of those things.
The elderly man with the best mobility was the first to stand up. He threw off the blanket, walked to the middle of the garden, looked up at the sky, and took a deep breath.
Then he turned around and shouted loudly to the others still under observation:
"From today onward, I won't need to lock my door anymore!"
Some laughed, some cried, some applauded, and some simply held the hands of those beside them tightly.
Some laughed, some cried, some applauded, and some simply held the hands of those around them tightly.
Long queues formed outside the community clinic on the basement floor of the Hive Center.
Security staff and their families stood in the corridor, holding their children's hands while waiting for their numbers to be called.
Several children were running around in line when the adults pulled them back and made them stand still against the wall.
"Mommy, does it hurt when I get a shot?"
A little girl looked up and asked.
"It doesn't hurt. It's like a mosquito bite."
"Mosquito bites hurt a lot too."
A little boy nearby chimed in, "Coward, I didn't cry when I got my shot last time."
"You cried louder than anyone else last time."
"I didn't!"
"You did."
The two children got into a fight and were separated by their parents, who grabbed them by the collars.
Gail stood at the clinic door, holding a registration book and calling people one by one.
Her lips were curled into a smile that hadn't faded since morning.
Dr. Steven and Dr. Gavin, standing nearby, were also busy—one preparing medication and the other administering injections. Surprisingly, they weren't arguing.
"Next."
A young woman carrying a baby walked in.
The baby slept peacefully in its swaddling clothes, its little mouth moving slightly, as if dreaming about something delicious.
Gail looked at the baby and paused briefly while writing.
"This child also needs to be vaccinated."
"Even the baby needs to be vaccinated?"
Gail nodded.
"The doctor said babies can be vaccinated once they're one month old."
The woman looked down at the baby in her arms and said softly,
"Okay. I don't want her to turn into one of those things in the future."
Gail didn't ask any more questions and simply wrote the baby's name in the register.
In the town's bar, Jim and Morgan sat at the counter, each with a barely touched beer in front of them.
They had already read the notice on the bulletin board three times—the vaccination order: nursing homes, Hive residential areas, town residents, and outlying outposts.
Prison was last in line. As residents of the town, they should have received their vaccinations today.
But they had drunk too much the night before.
Not just a little too much—the kind where people black out and wake up slumped beside a trash can.
Jim pushed the glass away and buried his face in his hands.
"Are we idiots?"
Morgan gulped down the last mouthful of beer, wincing at the bitterness.
"Yes."
"Drinking causes trouble. The ancients were right."
"Which ancient?"
"I made it up. Let's go. Maybe we can still fix this."
The two men left the bar and walked to the CDC registration desk.
Kyle sat behind the table, handing forms to new arrivals. When he saw them, he smiled.
"Here to get vaccinated?"
Jim nodded, looking like a child who had done something wrong.
"I drank too much last night and missed it. Can I still make up for it?"
Kyle flipped through the register before looking up.
"Yes. But you'll have to wait for the next batch and get it done at Prison."
Jim and Morgan exchanged glances and sighed at the same time.
Jim pulled out a pack of cigarettes, placed one in his mouth, but didn't light it.
"I'm never drinking again."
Morgan glanced at him without saying anything.
His expression clearly said:
You said the same thing last time.
At the entrance of the CDC, several people carrying luggage stood there, staring at the red-and-white umbrella logo on the wall.
They had come from the north and walked for three days. Along the way, they encountered two groups of Walkers, and one of their companions died.
Originally, they had only wanted to try their luck and see whether the legendary Umbrella Corporation was really as good as people claimed.
As soon as they arrived, they saw the notice on the bulletin board—vaccines.
A vaccine that could prevent people from turning into Walkers after death.
The group stood there reading the notice over and over before finally lining up to register.
Kyle's pen never stopped moving.
He filled out forms one after another, writing down names nonstop.
There were unusually many newcomers today—more than the entire previous week combined.
He glanced at the numbers in the register, rubbed his eyes, and thought he was seeing things.
But he wasn't.
He continued writing as the pen scratched softly against the paper.
Wu Fan stood by the third-floor window, looking at the new faces lining up downstairs.
Some carried woven bags, some pushed supermarket carts, some held children, and some supported the elderly.
Their faces showed exhaustion, fear, anticipation, and an expression he had seen many times before—the look of people who had finally found a place to stop.
He lit a cigarette, and smoke formed a thin layer of fog against the glass.
Behind him, the vaccine allocation plan lay spread across the desk, his signature written on the final page.
From this day onward, the world had gained something new—hope.
Not the vague, fragile kind that burst like soap bubbles at the slightest touch.
Real hope.
Hope that could be held in your hand and injected into your arm.
He flicked away the cigarette ash, glanced once more at the people lined up downstairs, and the corner of his lips twitched slightly.
Then he turned around and returned to his desk to continue reading the endless reports waiting for him.