PART 1
Friday, September 3rd.
Day 10 of the Apocalypse.
Barbecue for dinner, accompanied by an extra serving of porridge at breakfast.
It helped calm people down and keep their spirits up.
Since food is being rationed, more than half the group is unhappy—even those who understand the necessity.
But this meal will soothe their nerves for the time being.
Ethan even took the opportunity that evening to go to the clinic, where he stored all the meat in the newly installed refrigerators.
When people noticed and asked about it, he said, “I found it during my patrol; cook it up and give extra portions to those fighting for us.”
They realized then that Ethan hadn’t just grabbed extra meat for himself, but for the people fighting and working non-stop to keep the community safe and functional.
…
Ethan drove his pickup truck around the city, visiting the current outposts.
As the militia grew, a wider security perimeter became necessary.
This sparked several ideas for Ethan.
In addition to the two vehicles roaming around and slaughtering zombies, teams of two or three had been sent to various apartment buildings across the city.
They were ordered to guard them—having firmly barricaded the ground floors and stairwells—and to set up noise traps that generated loud sounds.
Now that the power was out, the world was quieter than ever.
The slightest noise attracted zombies, and Ethan couldn’t just wander the city blindly, even if he wanted to.
So, these noise traps served to lure them in.
The people stationed on the upper floors managed the situation: if there were only a few zombies, they killed them; if there were many, they called for backup.
Ethan visited them and helped clear out the area before a ladder was lowered for him to climb up.
“A little gift for my hardworking guys,” Ethan joked as he handed over the bags.
When they look, they see incredibly aromatic roasted meat, along with treats like chocolate bars, some alcoholic beverages, and sodas.
“Whoa, now *that’s* a good boss.” — A man laughs as he grabs one of the containers of meat and a can of beer.
“Well, I need to make deliveries to the other groups.
You guys can relax for the day and let the work pile up; we can handle it tonight or first thing tomorrow.” — Ethan says, and everyone nods.
Ethan then visits the other outposts, asking if they need more ammunition and handing out whatever he has in his personal stock; he’ll stop by the armory later to resupply.
In total, there are five outposts manned by personnel.
Afterward, he visits eight other sound traps that had been installed, observing the dozens of undead at each spot—and, of course, ignoring them.
The sensible thing to do would be to slaughter them.
But those eight locations were strategically positioned at the main entrances—designed, in other words, to make it look like the city is swarming with the undead, thereby scaring off anyone looking for a refuge or any military units coming to investigate.
…
Early afternoon.
With a slightly trembling hand, Ethan places a cigarette in his mouth; his gaze falls upon the elementary school.
There were no survivors—it had been locked when it happened…
everyone inside died; no one escaped.
He watches, his axe sliding through his grip as he moves forward; his gaze grows increasingly cold, his breathing steady.
He draws a shotgun, aims at the lock, and fires.
A kick swings the door open, and he storms into the elementary school.
Nearby zombies are dispatched effortlessly, but he freezes at the sight of the first child.
Perhaps eight or nine years old, half its face devoured, its stomach torn open.
Ethan swaps his axe for a knife.
Child zombies are smaller, yet like the adults, they tend to reach out for whatever is in front of them.
Ethan can easily reach their small heads and pierce their soft skulls.
After the kill, he retrieves his knife, steps back, crouches, and lays the body gently on the floor.
Rising, he repeats the process; he kills the adults without hesitation, but with the children, he pauses at each one before granting them their final rest.
The condition of each child is gruesome.
It is understandable why the TV series—or even the comic book—never showed child zombies; there isn’t much left to show.
There is little flesh; an adult can strip an arm down to the bone in just four or five bites.
That is, unless the bite is deep enough to snap the bone itself, given that the jaw possesses the strongest muscle in the human body.
As for the teeth—even if a body is charred, the teeth remain.
He cannot even imagine the terror and pain they endured.
…
Time passes, but not a single zombie remains standing inside or around the school.
Ethan has neatly lined up every child he found in the courtyard.
He was careful as he adjusted their bloodied or torn clothing, having found children’s garments to dress them in and cover their mutilations as best he could.
He was gentle and meticulous, treating them as if they were his own children—even though he had never had any.
“You useless bastards,” Ethan growled, glancing at the pile of adult corpses—teachers, janitors, and even the children’s parents.
“You had one damn job.”
“The world burning…
so many alerts…
so many warnings…
and you sent these poor kids to school?
Sent them to their deaths?” Ethan began to weep.
“Why didn’t I do anything?”
“I knew this would happen.” He trembled; his legs gave way, and he sank to his knees.
“I knew it all…
why didn’t I think to come here?
Why didn’t I protect them?”
Ethan wept out of anger and frustration.
He punched the ground with a snarl, then stood up.
His stress level, previously at its peak, suddenly dropped below 50%.
“You have no right to wallow in self-pity now, you useless bastard.” He clenched his fists as he left the school and closed the door behind him.
“There are other schools to clear; if you didn’t save them, then take responsibility for giving them a well-deserved rest.”
He reached his pickup truck, grabbed his radio, and spoke.
“To anyone listening, this is Ethan.
I’ve just cleared Simpson Elementary; come deal with the bodies…
please…” His voice trembled, but after switching off the radio, he simply drove to the next location.
…
Clark was the first to arrive, looking for Ethan; upon entering, he froze at the sight before him. New chapters come out on g.com first.
Those following him froze as well; one woman couldn’t hold it together—tears streamed down her face, and she soon vomited.
“Is he in there?” a young man asked hesitantly.
Then Bianca pushed past them and went inside, calling out for Ethan.
PART 2
It is night, but compared to the pleasant atmosphere of the previous evening, tonight feels heavy.
The town has two elementary schools; Ethan visited both, alone and unsupported.
He had ordered his team to rest while he set out on his mission.
Upon arriving at the schools, they found the children’s bodies—laid out with dignity, eyes closed, and arranged as neatly as possible.
Those who came to help maintained a respectful demeanor, carefully moving each body to the plot of land Ethan had ordered prepared earlier that morning.
Surviving family members—parents who had been safe—wept upon finding their mutilated children, blaming themselves for failing to spot the warning signs.
The entire community is in mourning.
Everyone is doing their utmost to provide named headstones for the children whose identities are known, gathering school records and cross-referencing photographs.
Just as everyone was wondering, “Where is Ethan?”
He appeared, driving his pickup truck.
He spoke to no one; he simply unloaded the bodies of more children he had found scattered across town.
He placed them alongside the others, said nothing, ignored those who called out to him, and drove away.
He returned later and repeated the process.
On his third trip, someone asked, “What should we do with the adults’ bodies?”
“Burn them,” Ethan said.
“Adults can protect themselves; children cannot.
It is our duty to protect them, and we failed…
Give a proper burial to any youth or child.
As for adults who have no family or significance to the living members of the community—let them be burned with the others, and their ashes buried in a communal pit.”
After these harsh words, Ethan left.
His death toll for this tenth day had surpassed one hundred.
His record for zombies killed stands at 903.
…
When Ethan finally reached the limit of his endurance, he arrived back at the school, where those still awake stared at him.
Ethan simply went up to the roof, sat in a chair—a pack of cigarettes in one hand, a lighter in the other—and watched the world.
Bianca approached him, but he ignored her.
Ethan was no longer in this world.
…
Saturday, September 4th.
Day 11 of the Apocalypse.
Ethan spent the entire morning smoking; no one could get through to him, until he simply collapsed from sleep and exhaustion.
They settled him into a room after cleaning as much blood as possible from his body, leaving him to rest.
With Ethan not there to give orders, there was no slacking off.
Clark and Jerome—Ethan’s right-hand men, the ones he trusted most and who held the most authority after Ethan himself—kept the work going.
…
Mercy stepped out of the principal’s office, where Ethan was sleeping.
“How is he?” Bianca asked, concerned.
“Exhausted.
All those days of exertion and killing have taken their toll.
But he’s strong as an ox; he’ll recover by nightfall, though I want him to rest until tomorrow morning.”
Bianca looked relieved.
“But his mental state…
he’s carrying so much, and after yesterday…” Mercy bit her lip.
“Why did that idiot decide to do it all alone?” Kenny growled, nodding.
“He’s no saint; he’s a man like any other, and in the end…
look at everything he does.”
“Because he thinks he can handle it.” Bianca spoke with anger.
“That idiot does all this and thinks he’s the only one capable of bearing the load.”
“No.” Elijah nodded.
“He *has* to be.” Everyone looked at him.
“Ethan foresaw the end of the world before the military did—or at least before most of them; the ones at the very top must have kept it well hidden.” Elijah laughed bitterly.
“But Ethan knew—and prepared himself for the moment others would call him crazy; somehow, he convinced the right people.”
“He just wanted to survive, but as a police officer, he felt duty-bound to save as many people as possible.
Maybe he had selfish reasons—I think Ethan is quite selfish—but I also see him as a good man and a leader.”
Elijah looks toward the door.
“He’s shouldering the weight of the worst this world has to offer, because he’s strong enough to withstand the tides of knives…
but today was a tsunami, and he wasn’t prepared—or if he was, he wasn’t strong enough to withstand it.”
“If Ethan makes it through this, he’ll change, but I think he’ll become a better person…
at least for the world we live in now.” — Everyone falls silent at Elijah’s words.
PART 3
Jerome takes charge of the work at the farms.
They clear the streets and send out patrols to investigate while assessing the supplies in the silos.
They estimate the tonnage of grain available.
They even consider whether they should harvest the corn.
There are no setbacks on their end.
…
Clark continues exterminating zombies in the city, thinking of his friend and partner; he can barely fathom what the other man is going through.
Yet, his feelings for Ethan—his respect and admiration—only grow stronger.
During a break, as they eat—exhausted, and amidst an atmosphere heavier than usual—Clark finally speaks, and everyone looks at him.
“He did it for us.”
“I wouldn’t have the guts…
I don’t have the courage to kill a child, even one who’s already dead… New chapters come out on g.com first.
Ethan was my partner; I watched him work for years—kind to every child, tough on adults.
He was often an asshole…” Tears stream from his eyes.
“That idiot decided to do it all alone…
killing pedophiles and rapists, always decisive.
Meanwhile…
look at us: still retching, still hesitating to kill the walking dead.” He laughs, mocking himself.
Everyone feels a sense of shame.
“I don’t know about you guys,” Clark says, staring them down, “but I don’t want to be weak like this anymore.” He growls.
“The world is crumbling and getting worse; our children are being mutilated by these freaks from hell—or wherever the hell they came from.
And here we are…
our leader—because that’s what he is—bore the weight alone of doing what we lack the courage to do.” He throws his food container to the ground, having lost his appetite.
The others lose their appetites as well.
“I’m with you,” says Lee Everett, the history teacher who arrived just last week.
“Ethan saved Clementine and me; he could have taken us down—maybe taken her and killed me for assuming the worst—but no…
he tried to see the best in me, even after dealing with pedophiles earlier that morning.”
Everyone remembers that, and the mood darkens.
“Ethan is a good man and, as Clark said, a good leader.
I might hate violence…
I’ve done things, but…
Ethan is protecting us, and no one is protecting him.” Lee hesitates; he had killed his wife and her lover—he’d heard Ethan’s story and gone through the same thing, yet he had managed to control himself and avoid the worst outcome.
*Ethan is a much better man than I am.* Lee Everett knows this and feels ashamed; his grip tightens on his rifle.
“Well, I guess we’re heading back to work early.” A woman in the group speaks up with a smile; unlike Clark, she closes her container—she isn’t going to waste food.
“Actually, I have an idea.” Lee raises his hand.
“I think we’d end up doing this anyway; I just think Ethan hasn’t had the time, or didn’t want to give us even more work.”
Everyone looks at him, curious.
“These things are stupid.
At most, they move fast; they’re drawn to noise and bite anything, so…
we can set traps.”
“What kind?” Clark asks.
“We’ve already got plenty around the city.”
“Outside the city,” Lee says.
“Once we clear the city out, we’ll have to work hard to put up the walls we want—to reclaim the place.
But we could dig huge trenches—maybe four or five meters deep.
I know there’s heavy machinery at City Hall; if we have the keys, the fuel, and the right people, we could create these massive pits, set up sound traps, and go back daily to wipe out the infected.”
His idea takes everyone by surprise, but they realize it would make the job a lot easier.
“Hmm… I can try talking to the sheriff; he should know more about this.
I know there’s an engineer holding down the fort over at the school.” – Clark nods.
“What about today’s work?” – the woman asked.
“The dead aren’t going anywhere, and we’ve got patrols all over town.
If we can set up traps and lure them out of the city, we’ll save a lot of ammo.” – Clark says, slapping Lee on the shoulder.
– “I guess being a history teacher gives you some interesting ideas.”
Lee smiles, pleased to be of use.
“Help!”
A piercing scream reaches the group’s ears; they ready their weapons and scan the area but see nothing.
– “Did you hear that?” – Clark asks, pulling out a pair of binoculars.
“Yeah, a woman calling for help.” – Lee says, and the others agree.
They watch, but no one is in sight.
The voice falls silent.
– “Could it be someone who just died?” – the woman asks hesitantly.
Amidst the uncertainty, they spot two zombies heading in a specific direction.
“Let’s take a look.” – Clark orders, and the group moves out; they get the vehicles going, weapons in hand, and reach the spot where the zombies are.
They finish them off with gunshots; then, they hear a sort of groan and some cursing.
Moments later, they storm the house—amidst the shouting and chaos, they quickly find two people: a man in his late twenties.
“Nathan?” Clark asks, confused, recognizing him as the drug-addled troublemaker he’s arrested dozens of times.
Beside him…
“You son of a bitch!” Clark screams, pointing his gun right in the man’s face.
There is a young girl—maybe sixteen or seventeen—her clothes torn and her face tear-streaked but relieved as the woman in the group pulls her away from the monster.
Nathan holds up his hands.
“I didn’t do anything!” he shouts.
“Liar!” the girl screams through her sobs.
“She’s lying!
That bitch is lying!” Nathan yells hysterically.
“Go fuck yourself!” A man nearby lunges forward and smashes the butt of his gun into Nathan’s mouth, shattering his teeth; Nathan screams in agony.
Clark aims his weapon but hesitates.
“That son of a bitch deserves to die,” the man who smashed Nathan’s teeth says furiously.
“I’ll do it,” Clark says, aiming his gun, though his hand is trembling.
Lee notices.
He lowers Clark’s weapon; Clark looks at him.
Lee simply nods.
Nathan seems relieved—but then a revolver is drawn from Lee Everett’s waistband; he takes aim and pulls the trigger.
Nathan lets out a terrified scream, leaping up like a startled rabbit before collapsing onto the ground like a heap of shit.
Everyone is shocked.
Lee shudders—he can’t take it—and pushes past the others to vomit into a nearby trash can.
Everyone witnesses it; the man who broke Nathan’s teeth goes to comfort him.
There is a silent consensus among the group, and Clark clenches his fists, though he feels a sense of relief.
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Clark and the men clear the scene at Nathan’s house, supporting the rescued young woman as Lee wipes his mouth, takes a deep breath, and holsters his revolver with fingers that are still slightly trembling.
They return to the elementary school carrying not only another survivor but the certainty that the militia has crossed a point of no return in their leader’s absence.
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