Chapter 92: Awakening
Wu Fan finished signing the last document, set down his pen, and rubbed his brow.
The ashtray on the desk was full; Amy hadn't emptied it yet.
He reached for a cigarette pack, but it was empty.
Crushing the box, he tossed it into the trash and looked up at Amy standing hesitantly at the door.
"Something else?"
"Shane is here. Didn't you say you were sending someone to the farm?"
"Let him in."
After Shane entered, Wu Fan slapped a report onto the desk.
Shane glanced at it and waited.
"That old man at the farm is still living in his own world. Go wake him up."
Shane nodded and turned to leave.
Wu Fan stopped him.
"Don't hurt him. That old man's an agricultural expert. I still need him to help me farm. Dale is going with you."
Shane smiled.
"That guy fits the job. Always rambling about principles."
Outside, Andrea leaned against the corridor wall cleaning her gun. Seeing Shane, she slung it over her shoulder.
"Where to?"
"The farm. To wake up an old man pretending to sleep."
Andrea followed and called for Dale.
The group climbed into the humvee and drove out of the base.
James stood at the office door. Amy had already let him in.
"The Atlanta cleanup mission is complete. Streets seven to twelve cleared. Walker count: one thousand four hundred and thirty-seven. No casualties. Ammunition use within budget."
Wu Fan nodded, pulled out a map, and marked several circles on it.
"Go rest. New mission tomorrow."
James folded the map into his pocket and left.
...
In the Prison courtyard, Glenn squatted by the perimeter wall, absentmindedly plucking grass.
The sun was setting.
Rick walked over and crouched beside him.
"Still thinking about that girl?"
"I guess."
Rick grabbed the fence casually.
"If you like her, go after her. If you can't do it openly, sneak over and see her."
Glenn's eyes lit up. He tossed away the grass stem, stood, dusted off his pants, and hurried off.
"Thanks, Rick."
Maggie wandered near the water tower, waiting for Glenn these past few days.
Glenn poked his head out from behind the trees and whispered.
Maggie turned and saw him hiding awkwardly behind a tree like a thief.
A smile spread across her face.
She checked the house windows, then hopped over the fence and ran to him.
She hugged him tightly.
Glenn stumbled back a step before wrapping his arms around her waist. They swayed together in the shade before steadying themselves.
Hershel watched from the window and sighed.
Just then, a convoy arrived at the farm gate.
The humvee stopped outside.
Hershel stood on the porch, frowning deeply at the black vehicles.
Shane stepped down first. Dale followed. Andrea stayed leaning against the car door.
"I said you're no longer welcome here."
Hershel's voice was cold.
Shane ignored him and stepped aside.
Dale moved forward, hat clutched to his chest.
"Mr. Hershel, we're not here to fight."
He pointed north.
"The CDC developed a vaccine. After taking it, you won't turn when you die."
Hershel's expression shifted.
"If you can save my family, I'll cooperate."
Shane laughed bitterly.
"Those things are already dead. How do you save the dead?"
Hershel's face darkened.
"They're just sick—"
"Sick?"
Shane's voice rose sharply.
He gestured toward the vehicle.
Andrea dragged out a gray, humanoid figure with an iron muzzle clamped over its mouth.
Pinned forward by a pitchfork, it stumbled and growled.
Hershel stepped back.
Shane pulled out his handgun and fired into its shoulder.
Black blood burst out. The thing staggered but kept moving.
"If it's a patient, why doesn't it feel pain?"
He fired again, hitting its leg.
It dropped to one knee, then stood again, dragging its ruined leg forward.
Hershel's lips trembled.
Shane holstered the gun, drew a dagger from his boot, grabbed the thing by the hair, and jammed the blade into its jaw.
Bone cracked loudly.
Its jaw hung loose against its chest, revealing a dark, rotten mouth with no tongue or palate left.
The creature still struggled, groaning from deep in its throat.
Shane stabbed into its chest and sliced downward.
No blood came out, only thick black fluid.
He reached inside and pulled out what remained of its heart—a rotten lump dripping through his fingers.
Hershel turned pale.
"This is what you call a patient?"
Shane threw the rotten organ to the ground and crushed it under his boot.
"The organs are rotting into sludge, and it still walks and bites. You call this alive?"
Hershel staggered backward, gripping the doorframe.
"No... this isn't real..."
Otis stepped out behind him.
He looked at the walker, then sighed.
"Hershel..."
He rested a hand on his shoulder.
"We all know. Maggie knows too. Ever since that day, you knew it yourself. You just couldn't admit it."
Patricia peeked from behind the door, speaking softly.
"After Annette died, you changed. You locked yourself in the barn talking to those things. We know you're hurting."
Andrea tilted her head, watching quietly.
She leaned toward Shane.
"The old man's son was named Shane too. Maybe you should let him adopt you."
Shane glared at her.
Andrea shrugged.
Hershel stood frozen on the porch, gripping the frame so hard his knuckles turned white.
He stared at the walker pinned to the ground, still struggling, still trying to stand.
After a long silence, he finally spoke.
"I need time."
His voice was hoarse.
Shane said nothing.
Dale placed his hat back on his head and patted Hershel's shoulder.
"No rush. We'll leave the vaccine here. When you're ready, send word."
The convoy engines started.
Shane climbed in last. Before shutting the door, he looked back.
Hershel still stood on the porch, his shotgun untouched beside the door.
The walker had been dragged away by Otis, leaving black blood smeared across the dirt.
From the passenger seat, Dale watched the farmhouse shrink in the rearview mirror.
"He'll come around."
Shane stayed silent and pressed harder on the accelerator.
The humvee disappeared down the dusty road.
Hershel sat alone in the rocking chair, a white cooler at his feet.
The barn doors rattled against their chains.
He thought of Annette—her laughter, her apple pies.
He thought of the neighbors and friends locked in the barn, people who once laughed and cried like everyone else.
He buried his face in his hands.
His shoulders shook silently.