As the sun slowly sank behind the rolling hills of Georgia, the scorching heat of the day gave way to the cool of the evening.
"Calista, I can't see the road ahead clearly," Carver said, his voice tinged with fatigue. "There are too many abandoned vehicles. Driving at night is too dangerous."
The car was unusually quiet this time.
Merle, whose nonstop chatter had been giving Calista a headache, had already been kicked over to the truck.
From the back seat, Calista looked ahead. Highway 75 had faded into a blur, with faint, shifting silhouettes moving in the distance.
She pressed the intercom. "Mike, Jenson, start looking for a campsite. Priority goes to standalone buildings with clear sightlines and easy defense."
After switching it off, Calista let out a quiet sigh, her shoulders drooping slightly.
Leah, in the passenger seat, caught that moment in the rearview mirror. She didn't turn around, only asked softly, "Tired?"
"A little," Calista admitted, her voice softening slightly, with a hint of youthful fatigue. "Being the operation leader is exhausting."
Carver asked with concern, "Are you still not fully recovered from the fever?"
She shook her head. "I'm fine. It's probably just the heat."
A faint smile touched Leah's lips. "You're doing well, Calista."
Before setting out, Leah had taken Calista aside for a private talk, using this trip as a chance to start training her younger sister to take on the habits of leading field operations.
Leading missions, assigning roles, reading maps to plan routes, standing watch personally at night. Little by little, Leah would hand all of that over to Calista.
Ever since they had taken in more than a hundred prisoners from the Red Scarf Gang at Rock Fortress, Leah had realized something.
Her younger sister was already the leader of a powerful large-scale base.
A true leader needed to set the example in every aspect and command unquestioned authority.
In the future, the groups they led outside would only grow larger. She could not allow anyone to think that [people listen to Calista at Rock Fortress, but once they are out in the field, even Calista has to follow Leah's orders].
She intended to shape her sister into a well-rounded leader with real authority.
Now, with only Leah and Carver, the two "insiders," in the second Humvee, Calista relaxed a little.
A few minutes later, Mike, who was scouting ahead, reported, "About four hundred yards to the right, there's a dirt road. Looks like it leads to a small farm. There's a two-story house and a rundown barn nearby. Seems mostly intact."
The convoy slowed, turned off the highway, and rattled along the overgrown dirt road.
A worn-down farmhouse gradually came into view.
"This will do," Calista said, her voice steady again with a leader's composure. "Clear it out. Move quickly, it's getting dark."
The convoy came to a stop, and everyone quickly got out.
Calista took a deep breath, pushing down the last trace of girlish fatigue. Her gray-blue eyes sharpened again as she opened the door and stepped out.
"Smells like a mix of a walker motel and rat droppings!" Merle sniffed.
"Disgusting." Lorenzo carefully avoided stepping on the grime.
"Shut up, Lorenzo," Leah said quietly, already slipping to one side of the porch. "There's movement inside."
Sure enough, slow dragging footsteps and low, guttural groans drifted out from within.
"Party time," Merle grinned, pushing open the half-closed front door with his shoulder. "Hey! Landlord! Big Merle's here to crash for the night!"
The entryway was dim. A walker in a tattered shirt stood with its back to them, aimlessly bumping into the living room walls.
Hearing the noise, it slowly turned around, its rotting face hollow and slack as it let out a hoarse snarl.
At almost the same moment, two more walkers staggered out, one from the kitchen and one from the stairway leading upstairs.
One had once been a tall man. The other was a petite woman in a torn apron.
"Three," Carver said, his hand already on the throwing knife at his waist.
"Not many. We take them down up close," Calista said, drawing her dagger first.
Facing the female walker in the apron, she sidestepped its slow-reaching arm. Her left hand shot out, grabbing a clump of matted hair on its head and yanking it downward.
At the same time, her right hand drove the dagger upward, piercing straight through the jaw into its rotting brain.
Clean and decisive. One strike, one kill.
The female walker collapsed before it could even make a second sound.
Calista lowered the body gently to avoid noise, then wiped the dagger twice on its clothes. "Bingo!"
Merle charged the nearest tall walker like a released bulldog, letting out a low growl.
"Come on, ugly! Let's see how you handle my new move!"
He didn't even bother using his left hand. Instead, he swung the metal axe blade on his right arm in a heavy upward slash.
The blade sank neatly into the walker's temple. It froze instantly, then dropped to the ground.
Merle planted a foot on its chest and yanked the blade free, dragging out a string of black, foul-smelling sludge.
"One!" he shouted excitedly, shooting a provocative glance at Lorenzo.
As another "newcomer" on Calista's team, Merle carried a subtle sense of rivalry.
He was stubborn to the core. Even though he felt grateful, he would never say it out loud.
All he wanted was to prove his usefulness to Calista.
And ideally, prove he was more useful than Lorenzo, the other newcomer.
Unlike Lorenzo, Merle had weapons. Besides the pistol he got through points, his right arm itself was a powerful melee weapon.
Lorenzo, on the other hand, was still under suspicion, in a kind of probation period. It was already generous that he was not in handcuffs.
When the walker in the foyer staggered toward him, Lorenzo neither stepped back in fear nor moved forward to meet it.
He simply shifted slightly to the side, a trace of distaste on his face.
"Mannaggia alla miseria! (Italian: Damn it all!)"
He muttered under his breath, sounding more concerned about getting splattered than anything else.
He waited until the walker was almost within arm's reach before suddenly moving. His left hand shot out and shoved the walker's forehead.
The walker lost its balance and fell backward. In that instant, Lorenzo lunged forward, grabbed its hair, and slammed its head hard against the ground.
"Thud!"
"Thud!"
The dull, sickening sounds echoed through the entryway.
Once, twice, three times...
Only after the walker's head had been smashed into a pulp did he finally stop.
Lorenzo's face was splattered with blood and brain matter, yet his expression remained calm, as if he had just done something trivial.
He casually took out a clean handkerchief and slowly wiped the filth from his face, his movements carrying a strange, refined cruelty.
"Dirty work is truly unpleasant," Lorenzo said with a shrug toward Merle.
"Pretentious bastard," Merle muttered, though he could not help but admire the guy's skill.
...
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