Chapter 6: Reaching the Farm
"Stay calm!"
Hanks barked, his voice cutting through the panic like a blade. His eyes swept across the surroundings, brain racing to calculate an escape.
His gaze flickered across the roofs of the cars—one after another—as he rapidly pieced together possible routes.
The vehicles were stacked chaotically at different heights, but many were close enough to form a path.
Alright… screw it. We gamble.
A desperate, narrow route formed instantly in his mind.
"We can't stay here! Follow me—move across the roofs!"
Hanks pointed at a nearby box truck. "Jump to that one!"
"What?!"
Lee stared at the nearly two-meter gap—and the sea of clawing walkers beneath. His face drained of all color.
"We have no choice! Stay here and we die! Lee—you first! I'll cover!"
No room for discussion—Hanks fired as he spoke, dropping walkers trying to climb up via the tires and bumpers.
Spent shells clattered across the truck roof.
Lee looked at Hanks' unshakable stance, then at the barely-breathing Shawn. He clenched his teeth.
He took a few steps back, ran, and leapt with everything he had—
"—Nngh!"
He slammed onto the box truck roof, his injured leg sending a jolt of agony through him, but he managed to grip the side railing and haul himself up.
"Clem, your turn!"
Hanks shouted, clearing walkers with precise shots. "Don't look down—just jump!"
Clementine's face was ghost-white, her small body trembling. But she sucked in a shaky breath, copied Lee's jump—ran, squeezed her eyes shut, and launched herself forward.
Her tiny body flew through the air—landing on the edge with a terrified scream.
"Ahhh!!!"
Lee lunged, catching her wrist just before she slipped. He pulled her up to safety.
Hanks emptied the magazine to hold back the surge below, then swapped in a fresh one.
He holstered the pistol, hoisted the unconscious Shawn onto his back, took a few steps, ran, and jumped.
THUD!
He landed solidly, barely even staggering despite the extra weight.
[Handgun Skill Level Up]
[Carrying/Load Skill Level Up]
"Keep moving! Don't stop! Next jump!"
Hanks was now the team's spearhead and commander—choosing the route while carrying Shawn.
He scanned car roofs and plotted the safest path in real time.
"The sedan on the left isn't stable—take the SUV on the right!"
He growled instructions while pulling his baton with his free hand. One strike smashed a walker's head as it tried to crawl through a half-broken window.
Blood sprayed dark and sticky across the hood.
Lee and Clementine stayed right behind him, every jump a heart-stopping gamble.
Lee's injured leg slowed him badly—twice he slipped and nearly fell, saved only by sheer will to live.
Clementine seemed to have overcome her fear—moving across the car roofs with surprising agility.
Her small body darted forward, and she even grabbed Lee's jacket once, stopping him from slipping off.
Below them, the horde continued to gather—reaching upward with rotting hands, shrieking, slapping the metal so hard the cars shook.
Some walkers, driven by instinct, were even trying to climb up.
BOOM!
Lee fired the M590 again, the blast shredding a cluster of walkers ahead.
Rotten flesh rained down; the mixed stench of decay and gunpowder churned the stomach.
"Almost there! Just a little more!" Hanks urged, and he could finally see the end.
Only three more cars to cross—after that, a pickup truck parked near the edge of the field.
Hanks jumped first, even with Shawn on his back his landing was solid.
He set Shawn down carefully on the truck roof.
"Lee! Toss the shotgun! Then jump—I'll catch you!"
Lee gritted his teeth and stopped conserving ammo.
He fired rapidly, unloading the remaining shells to clear a small safe zone around the truck.
Once the last shell was fired, he threw the shotgun across.
Hanks caught it with perfect timing, reversed his grip, and smashed a walker's skull with the stock before it could climb up.
Lee inhaled sharply, ignoring the stabbing pain in his leg, and jumped.
Hanks grabbed him and hauled him up.
"Clem!"
Clementine didn't hesitate—she ran and leapt. Both Hanks and Lee caught her together.
One last jump.
Hanks hoisted Shawn over his shoulder again, and the three jumped down from the truck bed—landing hard on soft dirt.
They were finally off that steel hellscape.
Only a dozen walkers had managed to follow them out of the car pile, shambling after them—but the danger was vastly reduced.
"Keep moving!" Hanks gasped, sweat and blood dripping down his face. He had to carry Shawn and support a nearly collapsing Lee.
Clementine stayed close, and the four of them pushed forward, diving into the woods.
The forest swallowed them quickly.
The walkers' screams became muffled—filtered through layers of branches and leaves.
All that remained were labored breaths, the snapping of twigs underfoot, and the deep, eerie hush of the woods.
Moonlight broke through the canopy in fractured beams, just enough to reveal the uneven ground ahead.
"Are… are we going the right way?" Lee panted.
Each step tore at his wound—his weight was almost entirely on Hanks.
"Shawn said… red barn, then turn right… We entered the woods from the right side of the road… So roughly, yes…"
Hanks kept his sense of direction with effort. Woods at night could disorient anyone.
Clementine clutched the back of his duty belt—too afraid to look behind her at the darkness where faint growls still echoed.
Her walkie-talkie crackled with a burst of static—then silence.
The woods were not quiet.
Now and then, a distant howl or guttural call drifted through the trees—unclear whether walker or wild animal.
After what felt like an eternity, the trees ahead began to thin.
"I think… I think we're almost out…" Lee whispered, a flicker of hope lighting his voice.
Suddenly, Hanks halted—muscles tensing as he threw an arm out to block them.
"Shh."
Barely a sound escaped his lips.
Ahead, in a small clearing bathed in pale moonlight, was a grisly scene:
Five or six walkers, backs turned toward them, huddled around a mangled deer carcass—ripping into it with wet, nauseating crunches.
Even from this distance, the stench of blood and rot drifted toward them.
Clementine held her breath and covered her mouth to stop a scream from escaping.
Lee froze too, cold sweat sliding down his spine.
Hanks slowly backed away, motioning for them to follow silently.
In their condition, if that group spotted them—it would be the end.
Every step was like treading atop TNT—the dry leaves beneath them ready to betray them at any moment.
But for once, fate seemed merciful.
They slipped past unnoticed, moved a bit further, and—
Ahead, on the horizon—
Light.
Warm, steady lights—artificial light, not moonlight.
And next to the lights—the silhouette of a tall, dark barn.
"A farm… It's the farm!"
Hanks' breathing turned ragged, adrenaline sucking out the last of his strength. But survival instinct carried him forward.
They burst out of the forest and stumbled across an open field.
A lit two-story farmhouse and a large red barn stood clearly in sight.
A sturdy wooden fence surrounded the property—strong enough to keep walkers at bay.
"Stop right there! Who are you?!"
A stern, elderly voice called out from behind the fence—alert, wary, and commanding.