Chapter 10: Kenny
The truck was silent—suffocatingly so.
Only the engine's rumble and the two of them breathing hard filled the space.
The air reeked of blood, gunpowder, and smoke.
Hanks drove with laser focus, weaving through abandoned cars and the occasional walker on the road.
His jaw was tight, eyes forward—revealing nothing.
Maggie sat stiffly in the passenger seat, staring out at the nightmarish blur of the deserted town rushing past the window.
Tears slipped down her cheeks without a sound.
She had gone to get medicine to save her brother…
and ended up causing a teenage boy's death.
The guilt pressed on her chest like a weight that made breathing painful.
No one spoke for a long time.
Only when the familiar outline of the farm came into view did Maggie finally manage to inhale properly again.
She wiped her tears roughly with her sleeve, forcing her voice out, still hoarse:
"…We got most of what was on the list."
Hanks glanced at her briefly.
"Good."
Nothing more. No comfort. No pointless words.
He knew she needed time to break—and rebuild—her worldview.
In a collapsing world, the first moral chain you snap is always the one that hurts the most.
But he didn't regret what he did.
Staying alive, protecting Clementine, and completing the mission—
that was all that mattered now.
Civilization? Morality? Humanity?
Those belonged to people rich enough to afford them.
The farm gate opened again. Hershel and Beth rushed out to meet them.
The moment the truck stopped, Maggie jumped out with the bag of medicine and ran to her father.
"Dad! We got it!"
She avoided looking at Hanks—and avoided the memory that would haunt her if she did.
Hope flared in Hershel's eyes as he grabbed the supplies.
"Quickly—inside! Shawn's worse!"
Hanks stepped out of the truck, watching Maggie and Hershel hurry back to the house—
Then his eyes shifted to the porch, where Lee stood with Clementine clinging to his leg.
"Brother Hanks!"
Clementine let go of Lee and sprinted to him, throwing herself into his arms.
Hanks crouched and held her tightly, feeling her small body trembling.
"It's okay. I'm back," he said, voice softer than it had been in hours.
Slowly, she calmed.
Lee limped over, worry etched across his face.
"How bad is it out there?"
"Worse than I expected," Hanks said bluntly. "But we got the medicine. Hopefully we weren't too late."
He glanced toward the house window—silhouettes of Hershel and Maggie moved frantically inside.
Whether Shawn would pull through…
Or how long he could last…
Hanks turned back to the truck, sorting through their haul:
• A worn Remington 870 shotgun
• A handful of 12-gauge shells
• A Glock pistol with a full magazine
• A brand-new Beretta 92FS with two boxes of 9mm ammo (50 rounds each)
• Two spare magazines + a holster
"Lee," Hanks called, looking at the injured man as he approached.
"Take this."
He handed him the Glock and some of the precious ammo.
"You'll carry the M590 and the Glock. I'll give you two more mags later."
Lee accepted the weapon, conflicted.
"Officer… with my record… is this really okay?"
"Just call me Hanks."
He met Lee's eyes.
"I read your file."
Lee lowered his head instinctively.
Clementine blinked up at them with big curious eyes, looking between the two men, not understanding but feeling the seriousness.
"A good man stands tall," Hanks said, clapping Lee on the shoulder, voice firm.
"Any law that protects monsters isn't justice worth abiding."
Lee stared at him, stunned.
Bro… you're not worried about getting flagged for saying things like that?!
Careful, or the Feds will 404 your badge!
Hanks rolled his eyes at Lee's stunned expression and didn't bother answering. He loaded the Beretta 92 and its two magazines, topping off the two P226 magazines as well, stashing the remainder of the rounds as spare ammunition.
With the spoils sorted, he walked toward the farmhouse; Clementine followed close, small hand clenched in his coat hem.
Inside, the mood was heavy.
Hershel was injecting antibiotics; Maggie passed him instruments with steady hands. Shawn lay on the bed, breathing fast and hot even in his stupor. The meds seemed to steady the breaths a little, but his forehead still burned—this infection was only being suppressed, not cured.
Beth carried a basin of hot water across the room. When she spotted Hanks, a flicker of something—relief, curiosity—crossed her face and she half-stepped forward, as if to speak. Maybe to ask about the town, maybe simply to be nearer this capable, enigmatic man.
"Hanks—" she began, but Maggie snapped her head up and stared daggers at her sister. Then Maggie grabbed Beth's arm and practically dragged her aside.
"Beth! Bring another basin—clean towels!" Maggie's voice was hard, an order that left no room for argument, and she planted herself between Beth and Hanks.
She couldn't forget the cold echo of the gunshot in the pharmacy, or the hopeless look in that boy's eyes. She refused to let her innocent sister have anything to do with the man who had pulled the trigger.
Beth looked stunned and hurt, but obeyed—stealing one more quick, reluctant glance at Hanks before she left with the water.
Hanks noticed everything but showed no expression. Maggie's reaction didn't surprise him; he'd expected resistance. He didn't care. His gaze dropped to Shawn.
"How is he?" Hanks asked Hershel.
Hershel shook his head, exhausted. "Antibiotics are in. I gave antipyretics, too, but… it's minimal. His temperature keeps climbing. I've never seen an infection like this—doesn't behave like regular bacteria or a virus."
His voice carried the helplessness of a man whose medicine meets the unknown.
At that moment the farmhouse door opened again. A cold wind breathed through the room as Otis ushered a few people inside. Leading them was a broad-shouldered man with a thick beard and a flat cap—worry etched into his features—followed by a blonde woman and a timid-looking boy of maybe ten.
"Kenny," Otis called, and the man's gaze swept the room. He paused at the strangers—Hanks and Lee—then landed on Shawn's bed.
"We heard engine and gunfire. What happened? Is he—" Kenny's voice was rugged, edged with concern.
Hershel exhaled. "Kenny, you made it. Shawn's been wounded and infected—it's bad." He indicated Hanks and Lee. "These two—Officer Hanks and Lee—they were the ones who brought Maggie the meds."
"Kenny?" Hanks looked up to meet the newcomer. Kenny's tone carried a Southern drawl and a pragmatic edge. "With everything out there, do cops still make sense?"
There was no malice in the question—just a practical skepticism about institutions in collapse.
Hanks met his gaze. "All our moral orders are falling apart."
The words hit the room hard; even Kenny's face paled. Every person there felt the truth of it like a cold gust.
"This damned world…" Kenny muttered, then set his jaw and turned to Hershel. "Anything we can do to help?"