Chapter 15: Begun With Shawn, Ended With Shawn
Dawn's first pale light crept over the horizon, thinning the night's cold grasp. A faint mist still clung to the quiet farm.
Hanks rested in a light doze—more like a tiger pretending to sleep than a man resting. His body was still, but every nerve remained ready to strike.
Then—
"AHHHH!!!"
A pair of terrified female screams shattered the silence—coming from the farmhouse.
Maggie and Beth.
Hanks' eyes snapped open. He sprang to his feet like a released spring, P226 already in hand.
He growled toward the also-awakened Lee, "Lee—load your weapon. Protect Clem."
No time for questions. Before Lee could answer, Hanks was already rushing out of the barn—a streak of black cutting across the mist.
Almost at the same moment—
Kenny burst out of the nearby RV with a shotgun, his family close behind, faces pale and startled.
Their eyes met. No words needed. Something was wrong.
"Inside!" Hanks barked, sprinting for the house. Kenny followed without hesitation.
The moment they entered, the source of the screams became painfully clear—Shawn's room.
Hershel and his family were gathered at the door.
Maggie had planted herself at the entrance, arms spread wide as if shielding something.
Beth hid behind her father, face drained of all color.
Hershel himself looked shattered—horror and disbelief intertwining across his face.
From inside the room came a sickening metallic thud—followed by a guttural, inhuman snarl.
"Move!" Hanks pushed up to the doorway and looked past Maggie.
Shawn—
No.
The thing that used to be Shawn—thrashed violently against the bedframe.
The wrist cuffed to the iron rail was flayed to raw meat, bone faintly exposed.
His eyes were milky white, devoid of reason—only a ravenous hunger for living flesh remained.
He jerked and pulled, slamming the bedframe toward the door, teeth gnashing, growling at the sight of the living.
He had fully turned.
Hanks' expression flattened into cold steel.
Without a heartbeat of hesitation, he raised his P226 and sighted the head.
"NO! STOP!"
Maggie spun around and threw herself in front of his gun, arms spread as if shielding her brother with her own body. Her voice cracked with hysteria:
"What are you doing?! You're going to kill my brother? What next—kill my whole family?!"
"Maggie, move!" Hanks shot back, voice sharp. He dipped the barrel slightly to avoid pointing at her. "Look at him—he isn't Shawn anymore!"
"He's just sick!" Hershel's voice shook, filled with a father's stubborn, desperate denial.
He stepped forward, forcing himself between them, eyes burning with pain and righteousness.
"This is an illness we don't understand. He needs quarantine and treatment—not a bullet!"
He stared at Shawn as if saying it loudly enough could reverse reality.
"Look—he's still moving! He's still breathing! If we just find a way—"
"Hershel."
Hanks cut him off—calm, cold, unwavering.
"You're a doctor. Look at his eyes. Look at what he's doing."
"This is not any disease you've ever known. He has only one instinct now—to feed."
"You think quarantine will hold? For how long?"
Hanks pointed toward the weak wooden door and the iron cuff digging into mangled flesh.
"That door? That handcuff? If he breaks free, the first people he'll tear apart are Beth and Maggie."
"This is my home! My son!"
Hershel roared, face flushed, eyes wet—not with weakness, but with a father's unbearable anguish.
Hanks' words struck directly at the terror he refused to acknowledge.
"I don't need a stranger telling me how to handle my family!"
"And I will not have you pointing a gun at them!"
His arm flung toward the doorway—toward Hanks, and then to Kenny and his family behind.
"Take your people—and that little girl—off my farm. Now. Immediately!"
The room froze into a knife-edge silence.
Maggie bit her lip so hard it nearly bled. Her eyes shimmered—torn between the brother she loved and the reality she refused to accept.
Hershel's command fanned a spark of rejection and anger within her—turning her gaze toward Hanks colder, guarded… wounded.
Beth looked desperately between her father and Hanks, lips trembling as if she wanted to speak—but fear held her silent.
Hanks and Hershel locked eyes.
In Hershel's gaze, there was stubborn conviction, sorrow, and the immovable authority of a father protecting his own—right or wrong.
Hanks knew—words would no longer reach him.
Slowly, he lowered the gun, though his eyes remained sharp as a blade.
"You'll regret this."
"I am the owner of this farm."
Hershel snapped back, voice rising, raw with pain.
"Get off my land!"
He turned his back, refusing to look at them again. His figure seemed older than ever—bent, stubborn, and hurting.
Kenny exhaled heavily and placed a hand on Hanks' shoulder, urging him toward the exit.
---
[Chain Quest – Tier 5]
Resolve Hershel's Grief
Reward: Engineer Class Skill Book
Accept?
[Yes] / [No]
Hanks' eyes narrowed slightly.
He recalled how the original story played out. This knot in Hershel's heart—begun with Shawn—would only unravel because of Shawn.
There was no point forcing it now.
He accepted the quest without hesitation.
---
The group stepped out of the house.
The heavy wooden door slammed shut behind them, final and cold—like a wall separating two worlds.
Standing in the crisp morning air, Kenny turned to Hanks.
"So… what's your plan now?"
Hanks glanced toward the barn, where Lee and Clementine peered out anxiously.
"Savannah," he said, voice low but firm. "I promised I'd take Clementine there to find her parents."
"Savannah?" Katjaa, Kenny's wife repeated, surprised.
"We were thinking about heading toward the coast too. Maybe find a boat, get the hell off the mainland."
Kenny ruffled his son's hair, then looked Hanks squarely in the eyes.
"If that's where you're headed… we should stick together. Safety in numbers."
"I know a place nearby—Macon County," he added. "We can grab supplies there first."
Hanks didn't answer immediately.
Instead, he turned toward Lee and Clementine.
Lee nodded, solemn and resolute.
Clementine squeezed Hanks' hand with quiet determination.
"…Alright."
Hanks extended his hand to Kenny.
"We move together."
Their hands clasped—a pact of survival.
Just as both groups began heading toward the vehicles, the farmhouse door creaked open once more.
Beth burst out, hair glowing like spun gold under the morning sun.
In her hands was a small cloth bag.
She hurried to Hanks, thrusting it into his hands. The warmth seeped through the fabric—inside were a dozen freshly boiled eggs.
"For the road…" she said softly, voice shaking. Her eyes were red, her head lowered.
"I'm sorry… about my dad…"
"Thank you, Beth."
Hanks accepted the bag and gently ruffled her hair.
"Take care of yourself."
Beth suddenly hugged him—quick, trembling, sincere—and stepped back.
She looked up at him one last time, eyes full of something unspoken, then turned and ran back inside, closing the door behind her.
And just like that—the farm was severed from them completely.
---
Hanks tucked the bag of eggs carefully into his pack.
He drew in a long breath—the softness in his eyes fading, replaced once more by resolve and focus.
"Let's move."
---