Chapter 93
The Prison walls shimmered gray-white in the afternoon sun.
The barbed wire had been replaced, the iron gates reinforced, and the hinges oiled; they no longer creaked when pushed open.
Rick stood at the gate and saw Shane jump down from the vehicle. He went to meet him with a smile and punched him in the chest.
"Took you long enough to come see me."
Shane was knocked back a step by the punch and rubbed his chest.
"As soon as you left, the Boss dumped all the work on me. I really wish you'd go back to the CDC so I wouldn't be worked to death."
Rick laughed, put his arm around Shane's shoulder, and walked inside.
The two crossed the grass, passing a row of renovated barracks. Several men cleaning their guns looked up and greeted Shane.
Lori stood at the dormitory door, her belly already quite large, holding onto the doorframe.
When she saw Shane, her lips twitched, and she forced a smile.
"Shane, long time no see."
Shane's gaze lingered on her belly for a moment before quickly shifting away.
"Long time no see."
Rick spoke briefly, then continued leading Shane further inside, pointing out a row of newly built watchtowers, the armored vehicle just brought back from Fort Benning, and the neatly stacked crates in the armory.
"Just this?"
Shane put his hands in his pockets and scanned the surroundings. "Maybe you should go back to the CDC and see; things are changing there every day."
Rick rolled his eyes at him.
"Can the CDC even compare? That's the headquarters; I call this an outpost."
Both of them laughed at the same time.
T-Dog emerged from the warehouse, his hands covered in grease. Seeing Shane, he tossed a rag over his shoulder and strode over.
"Shane!"
He reached out, then pulled back to wipe his hand on his pants before shaking hands.
Carol followed behind. She looked much more spirited than when she was at the CDC; her face had filled out, and there was a light in her eyes.
"How is it here?" Shane asked.
T-Dog puffed out his chest.
"Everything's going smoothly. I lead a squad and scavenge for supplies—there's nothing within dozens of miles that I can't find."
Carol added from the side, "Last time he ran into a dozen Walkers, he dropped the supplies and ran. I was the one who retrieved them."
T-Dog's face fell.
"We didn't have the right tools that time. Next time I see them, I'll shove a baseball bat up their asses."
The group laughed.
Afterward, Carol and T-Dog went back to their work.
Rick and Shane walked slowly along the perimeter wall.
The wind whistled through the gaps in the barbed wire.
"So, what brings you here?" Rick asked.
"The Boss sent me to wake up an old man who's pretending to sleep."
"Hershel?"
"Yeah."
Rick was silent for a moment.
"That old stubborn guy is hard to deal with. I've talked to him, but he won't listen. Glenn even got together with his daughter, and he still won't listen."
"That's why I'm here."
Shane's voice was flat.
"Don't go too far; he's an old man, after all."
"I know. The Boss gave instructions not to hurt him."
Shane paused, his voice lowering slightly.
"Lori... how much longer?"
"The doctor says about three months."
Shane nodded, his lips twitching slightly.
"Is that so."
Rick didn't notice his expression and pointed to the newly cleared vegetable patch in the distance, saying he'd invite him to dinner once the vegetables were harvested.
Shane grunted in response, his gaze falling on the hazy gray skyline in the distance.
The next morning, the humvee stopped at the farm gate.
Otis stood on the porch, his chubby body completely blocking the door behind him.
He saw Shane jump down from the vehicle, and the fat on his face quivered.
"Hershel said to let him have a few days to cool off. He doesn't want to see you right now."
Shane ignored him and whistled behind him.
The car doors opened in unison, and a dozen people jumped out, their movements as synchronized as a single person.
Otis tried to stop them but was blocked by a Soldier's arm. He stumbled back a couple of steps and leaned against the doorframe, watching helplessly as the men dispersed and headed toward the Barn, the livestock shed, and the tool shed.
Shane walked slowly with his hands in his pockets, inspecting each warehouse one by one.
The first few were empty, containing only hay and farm tools. When he reached the last one, he stopped.
The door was wrapped in chains, and the lock was new. The links of the chain were as thick as a thumb and wrapped around three times.
"Axe," Shane said.
Hershel rushed out of the house, his face as white as paper.
"Don't open it!"
He ran up to Shane, panting heavily. "This is my place, these things are mine, you have no right—"
A Soldier's axe struck the chain, sparks flying.
One strike, and the chain bent.
Two strikes, and a link cracked open.
Three strikes, and the chain snapped, clattering to the ground and kicking up a cloud of dust.
Hershel's voice caught in his throat. The door was pushed open, and a strong stench of rot poured out.
Grayish figures swayed in the darkness, slowly moving toward the light.
At the front was a woman wearing a floral dress, her hair in braids. Half of her face was rotten, exposing her cheekbone and teeth.
Shane stepped aside to let Hershel see clearly.
"This is what you call family? Sick people?"
The woman's mouth was open, letting out a low growl. Shane drew his gun and shot her in the leg.
Black blood gushed from the wound. She swayed but didn't fall, dragging her broken leg as she continued forward.
"See? No different from the thing yesterday."
Shane's voice was cold.
Hershel lunged forward but was restrained by Shane's men.
"Please, don't hurt her!"
Shane's gun muzzle reached over his shoulder and pressed against the woman's forehead.
"She's Annette."
Hershel's voice broke. "My wife, you can't—"
Bang.
The woman's head exploded.
Her body swayed like a felled tree and fell straight down, hitting the ground and kicking up a cloud of dust.
Hershel knelt down and hugged the still-twitching body.
Shane holstered his gun and turned to leave.
Behind him came a second gunshot, then a third, and a fourth.
Hershel knelt on the ground, holding the now-unresponsive corpse. Hearing those gunshots one by one was like hammers pounding on his heart.
His lips trembled, and tears streamed down his face, dripping onto Annette's rotting hair.
Otis walked over from the porch and stood behind him, placing a hand on his shoulder without saying a word.
Patricia stood at the door, covering her face and crying.
Maggie ran back from the water tower and stood outside the crowd, watching the bodies being dragged out one by one and lined up in a row.
Glenn followed behind her, not knowing what to say.
Shane stood at the Barn door as the last Walker child lunged at him, its mouth open, its teeth small but sharp.
Shane held its head down with one hand and drew a dagger with the other.
Hershel's voice came from behind.
"Don't—"
The dagger pierced through the eye socket and penetrated the skull.
The child's body jerked and went limp, hanging from Shane's hand like a kitten held by the scruff of its neck.
Shane placed it on the ground, closed its eyes, stood up, and walked out of the Barn.
Hershel knelt on the ground, holding Annette in his arms, with neighbors, friends, and that six-year-old child lying beside him.
Tears flowed down his face, and his lips trembled, but he made no sound.
Shane stood before him, looking down at him.
"They're dead. They've been dead for a long time. No matter how many chickens you feed them or how long you wait, they're not coming back."
He crouched down to look Hershel in the eye.
"But you still have the living. Maggie, Beth, Otis, Patricia—they're still here. At least they haven't turned into that yet."
He stood up and turned to leave.
When the convoy started moving, Hershel was still kneeling on the ground, holding the cold corpse.
Otis crouched beside him, a hand on his shoulder. Patricia brought a blanket from the house and covered Annette with it.
Maggie stood in the distance, looking at her father's back, tears falling unwiped.
Glenn stood beside her, not knowing what to say, just placing his hand on her shoulder and squeezing gently.
The humvee drove out of the farm gate. Shane sat in the passenger seat and lit a cigarette.
Shane didn't speak; he finished the cigarette and flicked the butt out the window.
The car sped along the highway, the shadows of the trees on both sides receding rapidly.
He looked in the rearview mirror at the farmhouse getting farther away, at the figures still standing by the gate, and at the old man kneeling on the ground.
Now that the old man's burden had been lifted, he would give him a few days to think. He believed Hershel would figure it out.