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"West City."
Before Guillermo could finish his sentence, Daryl had already turned and was striding toward the street they came from. His back was as tense as a fully drawn bow.
"Let's go!"
Rick didn't hesitate, growling at Glenn and T-Dog before following closely behind. Leon brought up the rear; he glanced at Guillermo, his calm eyes carrying a sharp hint of warning.
"Take good care of our things."
"I will, I will!" Guillermo bowed and scraped, his face a mask of awe.
The group charged into the silent streets once again. The lightheartedness of their earlier success had vanished, replaced by a desperate, hunting urgency. The van's engine reignited with a dull roar.
"Glenn, West City Expressway. Catch up to him!" Rick sat in the passenger seat, shoving the heavy bag of firearms at his feet.
Glenn floored the gas. The van traced a violent arc on the empty pavement, speeding toward the setting sun. Inside, the atmosphere was oppressive. Daryl sat in the corner, clutching his crossbow with both hands. He didn't say a word, his eyes fixed on the buildings flashing past the window, radiating a coldness that warned the others to keep their distance.
Leon could feel the complex storm inside Daryl—a mix of worry, rage, and a flicker of hope. Merle was Daryl's only weakness and his deepest bond. Leon's mind, however, was busy calculating. Capturing Merle wasn't just about closure; it was about binding this lone wolf to his cause. A loyal Daryl was worth more than a warehouse of supplies.
"I see him!" Glenn's voice rose with tension.
On the highway ahead, a battered red muscle car was speeding erratically, black smoke trailing from its rear—arrogant and pathetic all at once.
"Force him to stop!" Rick commanded.
Glenn took a deep breath and yanked the steering wheel. The van's massive body swerved in at an angle, the screech of tires shattering the twilight silence. The muscle car was forced to the shoulder, its front end hitting the guardrail with a dull thud.
The car door was kicked open. A figure stumbled out.
Merle Dixon.
He looked even more disheveled than he had on the rooftop. His face was covered in filth, his eyes crazed. His right wrist was empty, the wound haphazardly wrapped in a dirty strip of cloth that seeped dark red blood. Even more horrifying, he had crudely bound a sharpened piece of rebar to his stump using wire and duct tape.
"Merle!" Daryl jumped out first, his voice hoarse and trembling. "It's me!"
Merle's whole body jolted. He raised his bloodshot eyes. When he saw his brother, there was no joy—only a distorted, hideous fury.
"You came with them to kill me?" Merle's voice was raspy, filled with the agony of betrayal and the pain of his wound. His psyche was gone.
"No! We're here to take you back!" Daryl tried to step forward.
"Get away!" Merle let out a beastly roar, swinging the rebar on his stump at Daryl without mercy.
Daryl froze. He could have easily dodged, but this was his brother. He retreated clumsily, caught in a dilemma. At that critical moment, a figure appeared silently behind Merle.
Leon.
His movements were a ghostly afterimage. Before Merle could react, a heavy, precise strike hit the back of his neck.
Thud.
Merle's eyes glazed over, and he slumped to the ground. The process was clean, efficient, and violent, yet handled with precise control. Daryl stopped in his tracks, looking at his unconscious brother, then up at the calm young man standing in the fading sunset.
Shock, gratitude, and a hint of submission flashed in Daryl's eyes. He opened his mouth, and finally, the words condensed into one: "Thanks."
Leon nodded. His goal was achieved. Rick and T-Dog stepped forward to lift Merle into the van. The door slammed shut.
The sky had turned completely dark, the last sliver of light swallowed by the horizon. The van started up again, heading toward the camp. With the unconscious Merle in the back, the atmosphere was even more eerie.
Suddenly, BOOM!
A terrifying noise hammered the roof. The entire van sank, as if struck by a falling mountain.
"What happened!?" Glenn screamed, nearly losing the wheel as the van tossed everyone around.
"Something's on the roof!" Rick drew his Colt Python. Daryl raised his crossbow.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Rick fired through the ceiling. Instead of a scream, the cabin was filled with the crisp sound of bullets ricocheting off something incredibly hard.
It's not a walker!
The next second, the sound of tearing metal set their teeth on edge. The iron sheet of the roof was ripped open like paper by a pair of sharp claws. A hideous, terrifying head poked through the opening.
It had pale, hairless skin and a lower jaw split down the middle, forming a horrific mouthpart that revealed rows of dense fangs. It had no eyes, yet it seemed to see everything.
Volatile.
Leon's pupils constricted. An icy chill surged up his spine. He recognized this thing. It was not a creature from this world; it was a top-tier predator from a different nightmare entirely.
The world had been "polluted." It wasn't just the walker virus; other horrors had been thrown into the melting pot.
"Roar—!"
The Volatile opened its split jaw, letting out a strangely pitched, piercing screech that made their souls tremble.
"Ah! Ah! Ah!" Glenn completely broke down. Looking at that face inches away, he slammed his foot onto the accelerator. The van lunged forward frantically, the inertia sending everyone tumbling.
The Volatile gripped the roof with steel-like claws, waving its arms to grab T-Dog.
"Fire! Aim for its head!" Rick shouted. Daryl's bolt whistled out. The projectiles hit the monster, splashing dark green fluid, but the damage was negligible. Its hide was unimaginably hard. Despair spread through the cabin.
"Turn off all the lights!" Leon's voice rang out like thunder. There was no fear in his tone, only absolute command.
"What?" Glenn asked.
"Turn off the lights! Now!" Leon grabbed Glenn's shoulder. "It's afraid of strong light, but in the dark, light sources expose us! It will chase the glow!"
Leon had dug the memory of the Volatile's habits from his mind. Glenn slammed the light switch.
Click.
The world fell into pure darkness. Only the monster on the roof continued to roar in frustration.
"Ahead! Into the tunnel!" Leon pointed to a massive black opening in the road. "Quick! Drive in!"
Glenn gritted his teeth and steered the van blindly into the bottomless dark. The moment they rushed into the tunnel, the pressure on the roof disappeared. The scratching of claws stopped.
A dead silence fell inside the cabin, save for their heavy breathing. Rick moved to the rear window and looked out. At the entrance of the tunnel, the terrifying figure was faintly visible. It didn't chase them. The absolute darkness seemed to make it hesitant.
It paced for a moment, then threw its head back and let out a shrill, angry screech that lingered in the night for a long, long time.
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