The morning sun lazily spilled over the mining site, gilding the rusty mining equipment with a layer of gold.
Shane crawled out of his tent and stretched comfortably.
He glanced back into the tent—beneath the thin quilt, the curves of Lori Grimes’s body were faintly visible.
She was still fast asleep, her blonde hair scattered across the inflatable pillow, her breathing even.
Shane looked at the sleeping Lori with a complex expression; he had slept with his good brother’s wife and felt extremely guilty.
At first, he only wanted to help his good brother Rick’s family escape; he never expected things to develop to this point.
When he wanted to take Lori and Carl away to escape, Lori insisted he go and bring Rick, who was lying in the hospital, along with them.
He also remembered Rick in the hospital and ran there to save him, but an explosion caused the hospital to lose power, and the emergency backup power automatically engaged.
He had seen the heart rate on Rick’s monitor turn into a flat line and heard no heartbeat.
He didn’t know if Rick was dead or alive, but given those crazed, resurrected things, he didn’t dare take a Rick like that out with him, so he could only assume he was dead and leave him in the hospital.
Lori was very sad after knowing Rick died, and as a good brother, he had to help take care of his brother’s wife.
Although he knew Lori had entered into a relationship with him for the sake of her and her son’s survival, he couldn’t help but be unable to control her passion.
Lori needed someone to take care of her.
Carl needed someone to take care of him.
He was just doing what he had to do.
“Good morning, Shane.” A gentle voice interrupted his thoughts.
Shane turned his head and saw Dale Horvath walking towards him.
The old man was wearing his signature fishing vest, a kindly smile on his face.
Shane didn’t have any ill will toward Dale, but the old man was indeed a bit annoying at times—always worried, like a fussy mother hen.
“What is it, Dale?” Dale approached, the smile on his face fading slightly: “Shane, supplies are running low.
When do you plan to organize a team to scavenge?” Shane’s face darkened.
Here we go again.
“We just scavenged four days ago.” His voice sank: “They’re gone already?” Dale spread his hands helplessly: “There are too many people, Shane.
Over a dozen mouths to feed every day, and those canned goods and crackers, how long can they last?” Shane took a deep breath, suppressing the irritation in his heart.
He knew Dale was right.
But he also knew what the situation was like outside—those man-eating things were everywhere, and every time they went out to scavenge, they were risking their lives.
And what about the people in the camp?
Did they know how to conserve?
Did they know how dangerous it was out there?
No, they only knew how to open their mouths and wait to be fed.
“I’ll figure something out.” Shane said, his tone stiff.
Dale nodded and turned to leave.
Shane stood in place, looking at the crude camp.
A few tents were scattered across the mining site, and an RV was parked in the corner—that was Dale’s, now serving as a communal kitchen and storage room.
The embers of a campfire were still smoking.
A few early risers were packing up their things.
This was his territory.
His kingdom.
A group of people who needed his protection.
Damn it.
Shane scratched his hair and walked toward two people chatting next to a pickup truck.
Glenn, a young Korean-American man, wasn’t tall, but he was agile and fast; he was the best scout in the camp.
T-Dog, a young black man, was quiet but quite skilled with machinery.
“Glenn.” Shane called out.
Glenn turned his head: “Hey, Shane, what’s up?” “That village nearby.” Shane pointed toward the east: “Are those Walkers still there?” Glenn nodded: “Still wandering around the same spot.
Unless someone lures them away, they won’t leave.” Shane frowned.
Lure them away?
Easier said than done.
Those things never get tired.
Drive to lure them?
If the car is too fast, they can’t keep up; if it’s too slow, you’re easily surrounded.
Plus, once the engine roars, things from all directions will swarm over.
Being a leader like this is really fucking annoying.
Just as he was about to ask something else, he suddenly heard a shout from the top of the RV: “Hey, Shane!
A vehicle is coming!
An armored vehicle!” Shane turned his head sharply.
On top of the RV, Morales was pointing nervously in the direction outside the camp.
Shane looked in the direction he was pointing— A black armored vehicle was driving toward the camp.
The whole vehicle was pitch black, and the windows reflected light, making it impossible to see inside.
There was some kind of logo faintly visible on the body, but it was too far away to see clearly.
Shane’s heart jumped into his throat.
He had seen military armored vehicles.
In King County, when those humvees drove by, all the survivors in the hospital died.
He didn’t know how those people died, but he knew that when the military came, nothing good ever happened.
“Everyone, hide!” Shane shouted, drawing his glock from his waist at the same time and hiding behind a pickup truck.
The camp was instantly in chaos.
Women held their children and scrambled into tents, while men grabbed whatever weapons they could find—shotguns, pistols, even baseball bats—and found cover.
The armored vehicle stopped at the entrance of the camp.
The engine cut off.