Chapter 7: Hershel
Hanks snapped his head up. An elderly man with graying hair and a stern, weathered face stood behind the fence, a shotgun leveled in his hands.
Beside him stood a heavyset middle-aged man holding a hunting rifle, equally tense and ready to fire.
Hershel's gaze locked instantly onto Shawn slumped on Hanks' back. His eyes widened—the suspicion on his face collapsing into shock.
"Shawn?!"
His voice cracked, and the barrel of his shotgun instinctively lowered.
"Hershel, sir!" Hanks seized the opening and spoke fast and clearly,
"I'm a Georgia state officer—your son Shawn is injured! He needs medical attention immediately!"
"Get inside! Otis, help him!"
Hershel didn't hesitate anymore. He shoved the gate open with urgency.
Otis remained wary, but he rushed forward regardless, helping lift the unconscious Shawn off Hanks' back.
"Dad? What's going on?"
Two young women hurried out of the farmhouse, freezing in shock at the sight.
"Maggie! Prep the surgery room! Get the sterilized instruments and suture kit—now!"
Hershel snapped, his tone shifting into full medical authority.
"Otis, carry him inside—watch his arm!"
His eyes flicked to Hanks, Lee—both covered in blood and half-collapsed—and the trembling Clementine clinging to Hanks' leg.
"Beth, hot water, clean towels, and food—we have guests who need care."
"Thank you, sir…"
Relief washed over Hanks like a breaking dam. His body sagged, the adrenaline that kept him upright draining all at once. Exhaustion hit him like a wave.
He handed Shawn fully to Otis and moved to support Lee, who was barely standing.
"Stay with me, Lee. We're safe now."
His words were meant for Lee—but also for himself.
Clementine still clung to his leg, her small face pale with lingering fear.
But seeing adults rushing to help—hearing urgency instead of screams—finally allowed her to breathe again.
Inside the farmhouse, bright lights cut through the suffocating darkness outside.
The air was thick with the smell of disinfectant, blood, and overwhelming tension.
Hershel and Otis worked together to place Shawn onto a clean, sheet-covered bed.
Maggie hurried over with the medical kit, hot water, and towels, setting them beside her father with practiced efficiency.
Hershel carefully cut open Shawn's sleeve—revealing the horrifying claw marks underneath.
The skin around the wound had turned a sickly gray-blue, slightly swollen, with the edges beginning to rot.
The old veterinarian's eyes darkened. His hand, still holding the scissors, trembled ever so slightly.
He had treated countless wounds in his life—but this…
This rapid necrosis, this unnatural discoloration…
He had never seen anything like it.
"Dad?" Maggie's voice shook, fear tightening in her chest as she saw her father's face go pale.
Hershel drew in a long breath, forcing down the storm raging inside him.
Instinct and training took over.
"Maggie—hold your brother down."
"Otis—more light!"
Hershel picked up the disinfected forceps and suturing needle, working swiftly and steadily to clean the wound and stitch it shut. His hands were sure, practiced—yet the shadow clouding his expression never left.
On the other side of the room, Beth hurried to care for Hanks and the others. She brought hot water and fresh towels.
"Thank you, miss."
Hanks took a towel, wiping the blood and sweat from his face. His mixed-heritage features, firm jawline, and unyielding gaze finally emerged from beneath the grime.
Combined with the battle-torn black police uniform, it made Beth's breath catch for a moment.
He noticed her stare. "Officer Hanks Adolf. This is Lee, and this is Clementine. Thank you—truly—for helping us."
The combination of his looks and his natural police authority left Beth with an unfamiliar flutter in her chest.
"Beth Greene," she said softly. She handed them simple food and water.
"You must be starving. Eat something first. Your friend… his leg needs treatment too."
"Thank you."
Hanks immediately knelt beside Lee to examine the wound. All the running and strain had worsened it.
Using what he remembered from police academy first-aid training, he cleaned, disinfected, and re-bandaged the injury.
[Medical EXP +10]
Clementine nibbled on the cookie Beth gave her, pressed tightly against Hanks' side.
Her eyes kept darting between the improvised operating table and the dark window beyond.
"They'll fix Brother Shawn… right?" she whispered.
Hanks gently ruffled her hair.
"Hershel's the best vet—uh, doctor—around. He'll do everything he can."
But in his heart… he wasn't sure medicine could help Shawn anymore.
After a long, tense stretch of time, Hershel finally straightened, wiping sweat from his brow. His expression was exhausted—heavy.
He approached Hanks, voice rough:
"The wound is closed. Bleeding's stopped."
"But his temperature is still rising. I need medication—and strong antibiotics."
The air grew heavy again. Under normal circumstances, these were basic supplies.
Now, they were luxuries—dangerous to obtain.
"Where's the nearest pharmacy?"
Hanks asked immediately—without the slightest hesitation. His calm, steady tone carried a quiet authority that steadied the room.
Hershel looked at him, eyes conflicted.
"East—several kilometers away. Small town. Middleton Pharmacy is there."
"Write me a list of everything you need," Hanks said, tone firm—as if this were nothing more than another routine call.
"I'll go get it."
His words landed like thunder.
Everyone stared at him in shock.
"Officer—have you lost your mind?" Lee blurted. "Outside is crawling with those things! There'll be even more in town!"
"Going alone? That's suicide!"
Beth couldn't stay silent, and Maggie nodded firmly, shooting her sister a knowing look.
Hanks didn't argue.
Instead, he pulled out the Glock magazines he'd taken earlier.
He popped out the 9mm rounds and began loading them—one by one—into his SIG P226 magazines with practiced efficiency.
[Handgun EXP +200]
[Handgun Level Up]
Handgun Lv.20: 100/20000
Passive Unlocked: American Iaijutsu
(An evolution of Quick-Draw: at extremely close range, you no longer need to aim. Draw and fire simultaneously—accurately firing three shots within one second.)
Clementine couldn't hold back. She rushed forward and hugged his leg tightly.
"Brother Hanks… don't go!"
Hanks rested a hand on her small head, voice gentle but steady.
"Shawn got hurt because of us. No matter how dangerous it is—I'm going."
He slid the fully loaded magazines into his belt pouches, movements crisp and decisive.
Hershel met his eyes—saw the resolve there—and knew this was the only chance.
"Be careful…"
His voice trembled almost imperceptibly—not just with hope, but guilt.
Without another word, he moved to the table, tore a sheet of paper, and began writing under the soft glow of the kerosene lamp.