Chapter 94: Machine Gears
Wu Fan sat behind his desk, a cigarette pinched between his fingers, the ash grown long and forgotten to be flicked off.
He looked at Shane standing in front of the desk, his expression like he had just swallowed a live fly.
"So, you blew his wife's brains out right in front of that old man?"
Shane stood straight, not dodging the question.
"Not just his wife, but all the ones locked in the barn. I cleared them all out."
Wu Fan stubbed out the cigarette in the ashtray and leaned back in his chair.
He recalled the plot from the original work—Shane, in Hershel's barn, right in front of everyone, shot all those Walkers locked inside one by one.
Hershel knelt on the ground, shouting "No." Rick couldn't stop him, and Glenn and Maggie stood in the crowd, their faces pale.
That was the beginning of the rift between Shane and Rick, the turning point where the child in Lori's womb truly became a ticking time bomb.
Now, Shane had done it again.
But this time, without Rick and Lori there, at least Shane wouldn't have to stage a headshot scene.
Wu Fan took a deep breath, pushing down those chaotic thoughts.
"This is the only way for now."
Shane's voice was calm.
"He never dared to face reality. Those things were weighing him down, making it hard for him to breathe. If I didn't clear them out, he would never wake up."
Wu Fan was silent for a moment, then nodded.
"You've worked hard. Go get some rest for a while."
Shane turned and left.
After the door closed, Wu Fan stood up and walked to the window.
Downstairs, a few women were squatting in the community garden, weeding, their movements so unskilled it was painful to watch.
Someone pulled up flowers thinking they were weeds, and the person next to her quickly picked them up, wanting to replant them but not knowing where they belonged.
Wu Fan watched their clumsy behavior, the corner of his mouth twitching.
Thanks to this crappy American education, most citizens had never grown anything in their lives and didn't even know whether sweet potatoes grew on trees or in the ground.
Planting flowers was one thing, but farming?
Don't even think about it.
Only those family-inherited farmers knew how to deal with the land.
Hershel was an agricultural expert; he needed this man.
Hopefully, those heavy blows from Shane really had woken him up.
He turned and walked back to his desk, pressing the intercom.
"Amy, post a notice recruiting people with farming experience—farm workers, gardeners, anyone who can drive a tractor will do."
Damn it, he only knew how to transplant rice seedlings and harvest crops; knowing how to maintain the growth of seedlings was also a science.
There was a knock at the door.
Amy poked half her body inside.
"Hans is here and wants to see you."
"Let him in."
Hans walked in wearing that washed-out police uniform, his hat tucked under his arm.
Wu Fan leaned back in his chair and sized him up.
"If it isn't our CDC police chief. Sit."
Hans sat down without standing on ceremony and placed his hat on his knees.
"I need manpower. With just our dozen or so police officers, we have to patrol the town and watch the Hive entrance. We can't even arrange shifts. The guys have been holding on, but if they don't get time off, something is going to go wrong."
Wu Fan remembered this issue.
Those dozen or so Atlanta police officers he had assigned to patrol the town and the basement level of the Hive really hadn't had any new recruits in a long time.
"I'll expand it to fifty people. Recruit them yourself and train them yourself."
Hans stood up, put his hat on, and left.
Wu Fan stood up and walked over to the map of Georgia on the wall.
The east, west, and south directions were already covered in markers: red for cleared areas, blue for areas to be explored, and green for strongholds like the farm and prison that had already been taken.
The north was still a vast empty space.
The Red Queen's satellite surveillance showed a horde of Walkers moving south from the Tennessee border. It was a medium-sized horde, tens of thousands strong, moving along the mountain range toward the CDC.
In about three or four days, they would pass by a point three or four kilometers east of the base.
He stared at that red arrow pointing from north to south and tapped his finger on the map.
Tens of thousands of Walkers, hundreds of thousands of points.
Meat delivered to his mouth; it would be a disservice to himself not to eat it.
When Merle pushed the door open and entered, his face was bruised.
Wu Fan glanced at him but didn't ask.
The only person in the base who could beat him up like that was probably Daryl.
Brothers fighting—it wasn't unusual.
However, he guessed wrong.
"There's a Walker horde in the north, thirty or forty thousand strong, passing by our north side in three or four days."
Wu Fan drew a line on the map.
"Take some men and go block them. Use as much ammunition as you want; get some practice."
Merle's eyes lit up, his mouth stretching to his ears.
"This job, it's awesome."
He rubbed his hands together.
"How many men should I take?"
"Five hundred."
Merle whistled and turned to run.
His roar echoed in the hallway:
"Daryl! Stop cleaning that piece-of-junk motorcycle! We've got work!"
Wu Fan stood by the window, watching Merle run across the training ground and grab Daryl, who was cleaning his bike.
Daryl was yanked off balance and nearly fell. He cursed, but was dragged toward the ammunition depot with Merle's arm around his shoulder.
The two of them were shoving each other, but their pace was fast.
He lit a cigarette, the smoke forming a thin mist on the glass.
In the distance, the searchlights on the wall were slowly rotating, their beams sweeping across the wilderness, revealing nothing.
But in the north, in those mountains three or four hundred kilometers away, a grey-white tide was surging in this direction.
He didn't know if they would turn, split up, or stop at some intersection.
But he knew that if he didn't earn these points, he would regret it bitterly.
The roar of engines came from downstairs.
Humvees drove out of the garage one after another, lining up, their headlights lighting up in the twilight like a string of glowing fuses.
Merle stood beside the first vehicle, a cigarette in his mouth, calling the roll from a list.
Five hundred people stood densely packed in the open space, carrying guns and ammunition boxes; some were still yawning, while others were stomping their feet in excitement.
Wells ran over from the helipad, his flight jacket unzipped, his helmet tucked under his arm.
"The BOSS said I should provide aerial guidance."
He was panting.
Merle flicked his cigarette butt away.
"Get on the helicopter, just don't get shot down by our shells."
Wells cursed and turned to run.
The rotors of the Osprey began to turn, the sound so loud it shook the ground.
Merle climbed into the vehicle, and the door closed.
The convoy slowly drove out of the gate, their headlights lined up on the road like a glowing snake slithering toward the north.
Wu Fan stood by the window, watching the band of light get farther away, dimmer, and finally disappear into the night.
He stubbed out his cigarette, turned, and walked back to his desk to sit down.
The system panel floated translucently before his eyes.
Point balance: over sixty thousand.
He had spent a lot over the past few days, but the foundation was still there.
Once Merle chewed through those tens of thousands of Walkers, it would increase by a huge margin again.
He closed the panel, picked up the report on the table, and turned to the first page.
It was Hans's application for police force expansion.
He signed at the bottom of the page and set it aside.
The second was Jackie's progress report on the wall; it would be completed in three weeks.
He wrote one word in the notes section:
Fast.
The third was the handover list for Hershel's farm—seeds, tools, livestock, and notes on the old man's situation.
Situation still unclear, pending.
He put this one down and picked up the fourth.
The door was knocked on twice, and Amy poked half her body inside.
"Still not leaving?"
"I'll look for a while longer."
Amy didn't say anything else and gently closed the door.
Wu Fan leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes.
...
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