The woods were dark, swallowing the footprints.
Lynn retracted his gaze; the deep shadows made him uneasy, but more pressing were the numbers flickering in his vision: 47:08:15... Time waits for no one.
"Get in the car."
Lynn's voice was hoarse, breaking the silence of the backyard.
He turned, his movements weary but resolute.
The target had moved; clues pointed to the woods, but they couldn't go in now.
Everyone was exhausted, ammunition was low, Rick was in a bad state, and the impending night all spelled trouble.
Rick knelt in the mud, his fingers digging into the earth, staring intently at the tree hollow.
Minshan stood behind him, a hand on his shoulder.
Davis held his gun, on guard against the fence and the shadows of nearby houses, having no objection to Lynn's command—to leave here.
Davis pulled Rick up and pushed him back into the jeep's rear seat; Minshan followed.
Lynn took one last look at the broken, blood-stained house, then got into the passenger seat.
The engine roared, and the jeep rolled over the lawn and onto the street.
The air in the car was stifling.
Rick leaned back, eyes closed and trembling, clutching an axe and a gun tightly in his hands.
Lynn stared out at the dilapidated streetscape; tracking required stamina, clues, and preparation.
They needed a place to spend the night, replenish medicine and ammunition, especially to help Rick regain some strength.
"First, find a place to spend the night," Lynn said, his voice cutting through the engine noise. "Look for a pharmacy or clinic for medicine, especially antibiotics, painkillers, and glucose. Then check empty houses for food, water, and especially ammunition."
Davis glanced at him in the rearview mirror: "Understood, Boss."
He turned the steering wheel, pulling into a narrow street lined with broken storefronts.
A few walkers, attracted by the sound, shuffled out of the alley.
Davis's eyes turned cold, and he floored the accelerator.
Bang! Crunch!
The walkers were sent flying, splattering blood onto the wire mesh of the windshield.
The car jolted and kept going.
Night fell quickly and completely.
The jeep's headlights cut through the darkness.
The engine noise was exceptionally loud on the silent street.
"Over there!" Minshan pointed to the corner ahead. A broken neon sign glowed: "Phar...cy"—a pharmacy.
The jeep screeched to a halt in front of the pharmacy.
The rolling shutter was pried open halfway, and it was pitch black inside.
The smell of dust, medicine, and a faint hint of decay wafted out.
"Davis, clear the area. Minshan, go find medicine, especially antibiotics, painkillers, and glucose. Be quick."
Lynn ordered, pushing the door open and stepping out, gun in hand.
Davis, shotgun raised, was the first to rush in. A few gunshots and sounds of heavy objects falling echoed from inside.
"Clear!"
Davis's voice came through.
Minshan, carrying a first-aid kit, went in, her flashlight beam quickly sweeping over overturned shelves and scattered medicine boxes.
Rick, signaled by Lynn, got out of the car and leaned against the door, on guard, his eyes a bit vacant.
Lynn stood by the entrance, his gun pointed at the dark street.
Footsteps and growls of walkers could be heard in the distance, drawn by the lights and gunshots.
"Boss, there's a door at the back leading to the residential area. The small building next to it looks okay," Davis poked his head out from deeper inside the pharmacy, wiping his face. "It's locked, but the door isn't sturdy."
Lynn glanced at Minshan and Rick: "That's the place. Clear it out."
Davis nodded and disappeared through the pharmacy's back door.
Sounds of a Men Ban breaking, a few gunshots, and thuds came from the back. A moment later: "Clear! Small living room, it'll do."
By the time Minshan came out with a full first-aid kit, Davis had already driven the jeep to the small building's entrance.
The building door had been forced open.
Everyone quickly entered. Davis and Lynn pushed an old bookcase to block the broken door.
The first floor was a small living room, dusty, with two headshot walkers lying in a corner.
"Check upstairs."
Lynn signaled.
Davis went upstairs, gun raised; the stairs creaked. He came down a moment later: "Two small bedrooms upstairs, both empty, windows are fine."
"The two of us will take turns on watch. Davis will take the first half of the night, and I'll take the second half. Minshan, Rick, you two rest."
Lynn assigned, throwing a bottle of water and compressed biscuits to Rick. "Eat up and regain your strength. You'll need it tomorrow."
Rick numbly took them, sat down against the wall, and didn't touch the food for a long time.
Lynn ignored him, found a corner to sit down, and checked his magazines; only two and a half were left.
Davis also didn't have much shotgun ammunition. If the zombies tracked them down tomorrow, it would be even more dangerous.
Just as they settled down, the atmosphere eased slightly—
Thump... thump-thump... A very light, hesitant knocking came from behind the bookcase blocking the door.
Everyone instantly froze.
Davis abruptly raised his gun, aiming at the door. Lynn and Minshan also drew their guns. Rick jolted awake, grabbing his axe.
Only their breathing and that faint knocking could be heard.
Thump... thump-thump... It wasn't the banging of walkers, but a tentative knock.
Living people?
Lynn's eyes were sharp. He signaled for silence, silently moved to the door, listened closely, and whispered, "Who's there?"
Silence for a few seconds outside, then an equally hushed, trembling male voice: "I... we mean no harm. We saw the lights... and the car... just wanted to ask..."
The voice was filled with weariness and fear.
Lynn and Davis exchanged glances.
Davis kept his gun aimed.
Lynn took a breath: "How many people?"
"Two... two, just me and my son."
Lynn hesitated. In the apocalypse, strangers were a risk.
He only wanted to complete his mission and avoid complications.
He looked at Rick, who also looked at him, the sense of responsibility from his badge and his lingering kindness struggling within him.
Just as Lynn was about to refuse, Rick struggled to his feet and hoarsely said to the outside: "Are you... safe? It's dangerous out there."
His tone carried a professional instinct.
The voice outside sighed in relief: "For now... safe. We were hiding nearby... I'm Morgan, and this is my son, Duane."
Morgan! Duane!
Lynn's heart tightened. So it was that father and son. He knew something of the kind-hearted Morgan's reputation in the original story.
"We can't help you," Lynn's voice was cold, cutting in before Rick could speak. "It's not safe here either. We're leaving at dawn. You'd best leave too."
His meaning was clear: he just wanted to drive them away.
Silence outside for a moment, then Morgan's voice was bitter: "Leave... to where? It's all... those things. My wife... she..."
His voice choked.
Rick's eyes were complex; this pain touched him.
He pushed away Lynn's obstructing hand, walked to the Men Ban, his voice deep and weary but comforting: "Morgan?... I'm Rick Grimes, Deputy Sheriff of the county. What... exactly happened outside? I was in a coma for a long time..."
Morgan seemed to have found an outlet, his voice excited: "Sheriff?! Oh my God... you're alive? You don't know... everything outside is over!"
He began to speak disjointedly: the chaos erupted, people biting people, the army came and then withdrew, the last thing on TV and radio was an evacuation notice, then silence... He hid with his son at home, watched his wife fall, then turn into... become one of those things outside, wandering the streets every day... Morgan's confused words coldly corroborated everything Lynn had told Rick.
Rick leaned against the Men Ban, listening, his body trembling slightly, his last shred of hope shattered.
Lynn leaned against the wall, observing with cold eyes.
Rick ultimately opened the door and let the two in, sharing some food and water.
Lynn paid no attention, closing his eyes to rest, mentally calculating tomorrow's route and dangers.
Deep night!
The voices outside quieted, leaving only suppressed sobs and breathing.
Rick wearily sat back in the corner; Morgan's words had made him even more silent.
When the pale morning light pierced through the dusty window cracks, Lynn opened his eyes, stretching his stiff body. They had to go.
Davis and Minshan had already packed their gear.
Rick leaned against the wall, his face haggard, his eyes now holding a fierce urgency.
Lynn signaled Davis to move the bookcase. The door creaked open, and cold air carrying the smell of decay rushed in.
Morgan and Duane huddled in the corner behind the door, their faces blue with cold, looking utterly haggard.
"Let's go."
Lynn's voice was devoid of warmth. His gaze swept over the father and son, stopping on Morgan's face.
He paused, then said to Morgan, his tone calm but with deep meaning: "Morgan."
Morgan looked up at him.
Lynn's eyes were sharp: "If you stay... watch your wife carefully, and don't let your son get close."
With that, without looking at Morgan's drastically changing expression, he turned and strode towards the running jeep.
Rick took one last look at Morgan and his son, wanting to say something, but it only became a sigh. With Minshan's help, he got into the car.
The jeep's engine roared, tearing through the morning's dead silence.
Lynn sat in the passenger seat, staring straight ahead at the dark woods—the direction where the footprints had disappeared.
The countdown flickered: 40:43:18... Morgan clutched Duane's hand tightly, standing in the morning light watching the car drive away.
His body trembled from Lynn's words, his gaze fixed on the distant, wandering, decaying figure in a floral dress on the street, her chain swaying gently in the wind.
