Third floor of the CDC.
Wu Fan pressed the last red thumbtack into the map, stepped back, and looked at the full view of Georgia.
The red dots were verified zombie horde gathering spots, the blue crosses were cleared areas, and the green circles were valuable targets like farms and prisons.
The string of green circles to the north was Hershel's farm, but both highways leading there were marked with yellow warnings—reports from Wells' helicopter reconnaissance indicated severe congestion on both the interstate and the country road, with abandoned vehicles blocking the way completely.
Wu Fan stared at the two blockage points for a while, then picked up the phone on the table.
"Have Sandra come over."
A few minutes later, Amy pushed the door open and entered, with Sandra following behind her.
"BOSS."
Sandra stood in front of the desk, standing straight as a ramrod.
Wu Fan pointed to two locations on the map.
"The road to Hershel's farm is blocked—this section of the interstate, and this country road."
He tapped each of the two blockage points with his finger: "Take a squad, drive a bulldozer, and clear the road. The faster, the better."
Sandra leaned closer to the map and memorized the two locations.
"What about the vehicles cleared away?"
"Drain the fuel, push the cars to the side of the road."
Wu Fan took a map of gas station locations out of the drawer: "Bring the fuel back; don't waste a single drop."
Every bit counts. Once he stabilized Georgia and turned his attention to the oil fields, he wouldn't be short on energy then.
Sandra nodded, turned, and left.
Amy stood at the doorway, watching her figure disappear at the end of the hallway.
"Aren't you afraid that people from Woodbury might intercept her on the way?"
Wu Fan didn't answer; he just looked at the red circle south of the prison on the map.
The wind on the highway was strong, blowing the wild grass by the roadside until it lay flat.
Merle rolled down the car window a crack, and the ash was swept away by the wind.
He stared at the person driving next to him, his mouth curling into a very uncomfortable smile.
"Come on~ Captain Merle, don't keep staring at me like that."
The young man driving gripped the steering wheel, his eyes fixed on the road ahead, his back already soaked with sweat.
"I'm not into men..."
Merle cursed loudly and flicked the cigarette butt out.
"My stuff is only for women. I'm looking at you because your damn name is also Shawn."
He leaned back into the seat and crossed his legs: "Don't you know there's a Shawn in the second squad too?"
The young man driving—Private Shane—twitched the corner of his mouth.
"Please, my mom did her best to come up with this name; I can't help it."
He was previously in Wells' squad, but later, after being broken up and reassigned, he was shoved under Merle's command.
To this day, he still didn't understand how he had offended this big shot.
Merle fished a cigarette out of his pocket, stuck it in his mouth, and tossed his lighter in his hand.
"Shawn, light my cigarette."
Private Shane held the steering wheel with one hand, grabbed the lighter with the other, struck it, and leaned over.
Merle leaned toward the flame, took a drag, and blew the smoke onto the windshield.
"Nice."
He leaned back, narrowed his eyes, and the corners of his mouth curled up.
Although he couldn't see a chance to turn that cop Shawn into his subordinate, ordering around a guy with the same name was pretty satisfying too.
Private Shane gripped the steering wheel, cursing in his heart for the eight-hundredth time.
How exactly did that guy named Shawn offend Merle?
He would rather be buggered once right now than have a grown man stare at him and make that strange laughing sound, with no idea what he was thinking in that head of his.
The sound of a motorcycle engine came from behind, getting closer.
Daryl pulled up from the rearview mirror and rode alongside the humvee.
He took off his goggles and signaled to Merle.
Merle rolled the car window all the way down.
"What's up?"
Daryl's expression was cold.
"We're about to reach the Governor's territory, be careful—"
Boom!
A trail of white smoke shot out from the woods on the left side of the highway, trailing a plume of fire, heading straight for the humvee at the end of the convoy.
Private Shane slammed on the brakes instinctively and jerked the steering wheel to the left.
The humvee screeched and slid sideways, blocking the middle of the road.
The explosion detonated beside his ears, and the shockwave kicked up gravel from the roadside, pelting the car body with a clattering sound.
The hood of the humvee behind was blown off, flames shot out from the engine compartment, and black smoke billowed.
The car doors were kicked open, and several people scrambled out, diving into the drainage ditch on the side of the road.
"RPG!"
Daryl's motorcycle had already tipped over; he was crouching behind the wheel, his crossbow in hand, the arrow tip pointed toward the woods.
Before Merle's humvee had even come to a complete stop, he pushed the door open and jumped out.
He stumbled a step upon landing but steadied himself immediately, pressing the stock of his gun against his shoulder, the scope locked onto the edge of the woods.
"How many?"
He shouted.
"Couldn't tell!"
Someone shouted from the drainage ditch.
"Three! Maybe four!"
Another person yelled.
Another trail of white smoke shot out from the woods—it was an RPG rocket.
This time, Merle saw the launch position—sixty meters on the left side of the road, behind a large oak tree.
He pulled the trigger.
G36 bullets poured over, hitting the tree trunk and sending bark shards flying everywhere.
The rocket flew over the top of the convoy and landed in the field on the other side of the road, exploding in a cloud of mud and gravel.
"Daryl!"
Merle shouted.
Daryl had already rushed out, hunched over, running forward along the drainage ditch by the side of the road.
He was very fast; his feet made almost no sound on the gravel.
Gunshots came from behind the humvee; it was Private Shane returning fire.
He was crouching behind the front of the car, his gun mounted on the hood, firing shots into the woods.
His aim was average, but the firepower was intense enough to keep the people inside from raising their heads.
Merle changed a magazine and shouted into the woods: "Woodbury! Is this all the guts your Governor has? Sending people to hide in the woods and shoot cold arrows?"
The woods were silent for a few seconds.
Then a voice came out, muffled, as if through a layer of cloth: "This place is not for you to come to."
"I go wherever I want!"
Merle fired a burst back, sending tree branches flying.
The woods returned a volley of bullets, hitting the door of the humvee, clinking and clanging like rain.
The military humvee's armor was thick enough; the bullets embedded in the steel plate, unable to penetrate.
Daryl had already crept to the edge of the woods.
He crouched behind a fallen tree trunk, his crossbow in hand, his eyes narrowed into slits.
Fifty meters away, three people were crouching behind a large oak tree; one was carrying an RPG launcher and reloading, while two were holding rifles and returning fire.
Their clothes were mismatched—camouflage, gray, black—and their faces were smeared with mud, making it impossible to see their features.
Daryl aimed at the person carrying the RPG.
The sound of the crossbow string snapping was very light, drowned out by the gunfire.
The arrow pinned into the person's shoulder, and he let out a scream, the RPG launcher slipping from his hands and falling to the ground.
The other two reacted and sprayed a burst in Daryl's direction.
Daryl had already rolled behind another tree, the arrows flying over their heads.
Merle heard the scream from the woods and grinned.
"Nice work!"
He waved his hand behind him: "Push up! Push up!"
Several team members rushed out from behind the humvee, hunched over, forming a skirmish line, and advanced toward the woods.
The gunfire intensified, hitting the edge of the woods, sending branches and leaves flying.
The two people carried their wounded companion and retreated, their rifles slung over their shoulders, not daring to even look back.
Daryl chased for a few steps, then crouched down again, raising the crossbow.
In the scope, the person carrying the RPG was being dragged away, his feet carving two furrows in the ground.
He raised the arrow tip slightly, then lowered it.
"Don't chase!"
Merle shouted from behind.
Daryl stowed his crossbow, turned, and walked back.
The hood of the humvee on the roadside was still smoking; the fire had been put out, but the car was definitely not drivable.
Several people gathered around the car, moving the ammunition and supplies inside out.
Private Shane leaned against the car door, his face pale, his fingers still shaking.
Merle walked over and patted his shoulder.
"First time getting bombed?"
Private Shane nodded and swallowed hard.
"You'll get used to it."
Merle lit a cigarette and stuck it in his mouth.
Private Shane held the cigarette in his mouth, took a deep drag, and coughed violently.
Daryl walked out of the woods, his crossbow slung over his shoulder, expressionless.
"They ran, left behind an RPG launcher and two rounds."
He glanced at the totaled humvee: "The car won't drive."
Merle cursed, took out his walkie-talkie, and switched to Wu Fan's channel.
"Boss, we were ambushed. Woodbury people. They used an RPG. One humvee is totaled, but everyone is fine."
The walkie-talkie was silent for a few seconds, then Wu Fan's voice came through.
"As long as everyone is safe. Cancel the rest of the mission and retreat first."
Merle turned off the walkie-talkie, looked at the still-smoking humvee, and then looked in the direction of Woodbury.
That patch of woods was very quiet; there wasn't even the sound of birds.
He flicked the cigarette butt away, turned, and opened the car door.
"Get in, we're going home."
The convoy turned around and drove back along the road they had come from.