Chapter 5: The Car Graveyard
The road leading to the farm was completely blocked—jammed with an endless sea of abandoned vehicles.
It looked like a graveyard of cars.
Sedans, trucks, SUVs—every type of vehicle imaginable—were crushed together in a chaotic mass, forming rust-stained walls of twisted steel.
"F**k…" Hanks muttered before he could stop himself.
These cars were clearly from people trying to flee…
But something had stopped them.
Maybe panic, maybe a mass outbreak—whatever it was, it ended in slaughter.
Shattered windows. Doors hanging open.
Some cars still had bloodstains inside—others held shapes that had once been human.
In this state, forget the pickup—even a motorcycle would struggle to squeeze through.
"Hey—watch the language around the kid," Shawn forced a weak smile, though his face was pale.
He looked at the jammed road.
"This is the fastest route to the farm… How the hell did it get like this…?"
"Officer, if we can't pass, we should reverse. There's a longer detour we can take."
Lee's voice trembled as he spoke.
Hanks' stomach sank. Instinctively, he checked the rearview mirror.
The engine's idle hum sounded painfully loud—wrong—against the eerie silence of the auto graveyard.
"Reverse… yes—reverse!"
Lee said, voice growing tense as he clutched at his leg wound.
But Hanks didn't move.
His sharp eyes swept the front and both sides.
That same warning bell in his chest wouldn't stop ringing.
"…No time."
His voice was steady, low, and firm—cutting through the rising panic.
"Listen."
A terrible sound—metal scraping, low growls—filtered from deep within the piled-up cars ahead.
It grew louder. Closer.
Within the shadows of broken windshields and gaping doors… shapes began to move.
"T-They're… they're trapped in there?" Clementine's voice trembled, clutching her walkie-talkie tight to her chest.
"Not just trapped," Hanks said, eyes locked forward.
"Most were drawn here by sound—from all directions."
"This place is a natural walker trap."
He glanced at Shawn—who was growing paler and breathing heavier.
Taking a detour now?
Shawn might not survive the extra hours.
"We're going through," Hanks decided, voice leaving no room for argument.
"Lee—can you still move?"
"Barely… but yeah. What do you need?" Lee gritted out, pain twisting his face.
"You stick with Clementine and Shawn. Stay right behind me."
"Shawn—keep giving directions. Tell us the shortest path to the farm."
Hanks checked his remaining ammo fast—then handed the M590 shotgun, with only nine shells left, to Lee.
He kept the SIG P226 for himself.
"E-East… through the car pile… then through a patch of woods… the farm's beyond that…" Shawn's voice faded weakly.
"Stay with us, brother."
Hanks squeezed Shawn's shoulder, drew a steady breath.
"Out. Quiet. Make as little noise as possible."
He was first to open the door, pistol raised, scanning for threats.
Lee helped Shawn out, while Clementine clung to Lee's shirt.
[Special Driving Skill Increased]
The air outside hit like a wall—thick with rot. Breathing felt like inhaling decay itself.
Hanks took point, slipping sideways through a narrow gap between two collided cars.
Inside the cars: dried blood smeared across windows… bits of flesh stuck to upholstery… and beneath twisted metal, faint shuffling—like something trapped and hungry.
"Blue van on the left… movement."
Hanks warned in a low voice, raising a hand to halt the group.
Through the shattered glass of a blue delivery van, a walker struggled in the driver's seat, pinned by the warped door, swiping uselessly at the air.
Hanks didn't waste a bullet.
He signaled for the others to move quietly and keep going.
Every step forward felt like walking through a minefield.
Growls echoed from all directions—sometimes so close they felt like they were breathing down their necks, other times muffled behind layers of metal and shattered glass.
"Hrr—aghh…"
A walker suddenly crawled out from beneath a flipped SUV, lunging straight at Lee and Shawn at the rear!
Hanks reacted with lightning speed—he spun, gun raised—but did not pull the trigger.
Instead, he surged forward, left hand snatching the police baton from his belt in one swift motion.
His muscles tightened—
CRACK!
The baton smashed into the walker's temple with a dull, sickening thud.
Hanks felt the skull collapse through the handle. The walker collapsed instantly without a sound.
"Move!" he growled, retracting the baton without a second of hesitation.
Lee's heart pounded against his ribs. Terrified—but even more in awe.
This officer wasn't just good. He was a force of nature.
They pushed forward another dozen meters—just a little more and they would be out of the car graveyard. The vehicles thinned; beyond them, Hanks could already see the green of the forest. Freedom was close.
Then—
BEEP–BEEP–BEEP–BEEP!!!
A car alarm suddenly blared beside them, the shrill wail exploding into the silence without warning.
It shattered the fragile calm and echoed across the entire car graveyard like a siren summoning death.
"F**k!"
Hanks lost the last of his restraint—in front of Clementine or not. This was life-or-death now.
The reaction was instant.
The entire car graveyard erupted.
"ROOOOOOAR!!!"
Every walker hiding under seats, trapped behind glass, wedged beneath metal—
every crawling corpse, every dormant ghoul—
all of them jerked violently toward the sound like puppets on invisible strings.
A tidal wave of undead surged toward them.
"RUN!!!"
Hanks bellowed, firing the P226 as he retreated.
BANG! BANG!
Two headshots dropped the closest walkers—but it was like trying to hold back the ocean with a bucket.
"Lee! Take them and head east!"
"I'll hold them off!"
He shot and moved, mind racing.
They couldn't squeeze through car gaps anymore—they'd be swarmed instantly.
Then his eyes locked onto a large red truck nearby.
High chassis. Flat roof. One way up. Defense point.
"Get on the roof! NOW! All of you—on the roof!"
His voice thundered with command—powered by his Police Authority talent.
No one questioned him. They moved.
Hanks crouched, bracing Clementine.
"Clem—step on me, climb up! Lee, haul Shawn up first!"
Clementine climbed using his shoulders; Lee, using the last of his strength, dragged the barely conscious Shawn up.
Clementine scrambled onto the wide roof, and she and Lee pulled Shawn to safety.
A walker crawled out from under the truck, jaws snapping at Lee's leg.
Hanks reacted mid-motion—he kicked the walker square in the face, then finished it with a point-blank shot.
He took two steps back, sprinted, planted a foot on the bumper and window frame—
and vaulted onto the roof with practiced agility.
For a moment, the truck roof became a small island in a sea of death.
Walkers swarmed below, hundreds of rotting hands clawing up, slapping metal, shaking the truck so hard it rocked beneath them.
Their snarls and the pounding on steel melded into a nightmarish cacophony that rattled the skull.
And beyond them—
More walkers were pouring in from the depths of the wreckage. A black tide, no visible end in sight.
Lee stared at the hell beneath them, despair flooding his voice.
"Officer… we're dead. We're dead for sure!"