Chapter 42: Glenn Leaves
The smile froze on Scarface's face.
Hanks's P226 spat fire without warning.
The bullet drilled through Scarface's forehead with extreme precision.
The massive impact snapped his head backward. A small hole appeared in his forehead. The back of his skull exploded in a spray of red and white that splattered across the rusted container wall.
Scarface fell straight back, hitting the ground hard and raising a small cloud of dust.
Hanks lowered his gun slowly. A wisp of smoke curled from the barrel. "You're welcome."
The factory fell silent again, only the heavy smell of blood and gunpowder hanging in the air.
Hanks gasped for breath, sitting down heavily right next to a corpse.
Click.
A flame sparked, igniting tobacco. He took a deep drag, the harsh smoke flooding his lungs and temporarily suppressing the dull pain in his chest from the bullet impact and grazes.
"Hahh."
Hanks exhaled a long stream of smoke, watching it drift slowly through the corpse-littered factory.
The chaos and death from minutes ago felt surreal.
He had no time for reflection. Once the nicotine steadied his nerves slightly, he flicked the half-smoked cigarette onto Scarface's corpse, scattering sparks.
He returned to where he'd left the assault backpack. It was still there, untouched by stray rounds.
Slinging the pack onto his shoulders, he efficiently swept the battlefield, collecting usable ammunition from each body.
Mainly 9mm pistol rounds and 12-gauge shotgun shells. He stuffed magazines and loose rounds into his pack.
Hanks found the raider killed by his thrown axe, pulled the weapon from the man's face, wiped it clean, and tucked it back into his belt.
The entire process took only a few minutes.
Finished, he stopped looking at the carnage and bodies, moving quickly to another factory exit and observing cautiously.
The street was temporarily quiet, but the distant rumble of car engines was already growing louder.
Could it be Scarface's brother and his main force?
Hanks's eyes sharpened. He turned back into the factory, using the complex terrain to circle around to the other side.
He avoided the main roads as much as possible, staying away from the approaching engine sounds.
Along the way he dodged scattered walkers, taking more time than the trip here and making a wide detour.
Finally he reached the alley where the police car was parked.
"Psst."
Hanks drew his P226, whistling softly. The passenger window rolled down.
Glenn's tense face appeared. Seeing Hanks—especially his blood-covered, battle-hardened appearance—Glenn visibly relaxed and quickly unlocked the doors.
"Officer! Thank God you're back. I heard gunfire that sounded like explosions..." Glenn's voice still carried fear.
"It's handled. Took care of some trash."
Hanks holstered his gun, opened the door, and dropped into the driver's seat, tossing the heavy backpack into the rear.
He turned the key.
Click... The engine groaned weakly, dashboard lights flickering.
"Damn it," Hanks muttered.
Finally, just before the battery died completely, the engine gave a reluctant roar and started.
Hanks shifted into drive and hit the gas. The police car shot from the alley toward the gas station.
Both men stayed highly alert throughout the drive. Fortunately they encountered no major obstacles on the way back to the motel.
The setting sun painted the sky orange-red. Dusk was falling, adding another layer of eeriness to the dead city.
When the police car finally returned to the motel's U-shaped courtyard, twilight was fading. The distant sky burned crimson like fire.
Kenny and Lee immediately approached.
"What happened? Why were you gone so long? And all that blood..." Kenny frowned at Hanks's condition.
"Minor issue." Hanks waved off Kenny's questions, his tone weary. "Ran into a little trouble at the station. It's handled, but there might be bigger trouble coming."
"No time to explain. Pack up. We leave for Savannah at dawn."
Hanks set down the assault backpack and distributed the weapons and ammunition to everyone.
He'd originally had one M590 shotgun. With the two from the station, he had enough to give one each to Kenny and Lee, along with 30 rounds of 12-gauge.
Kenny and Katjaa each got a police-issue Glock pistol with one magazine.
Kenny took the shotgun and checked it expertly, grinning. "Now this is more like it."
"Carley," Hanks pulled out some of the captured loose ammunition, "you already have a pistol and mags, so I won't give you another. Just pocket some extra rounds."
Carley looked slightly surprised but accepted calmly. "Thanks, officer."
He gave Doug a small-caliber revolver and a few rounds so the man would at least have some defensive capability.
As for Lilly and Larry, the father and daughter got two of the leftover hunting rifles and some ammunition.
Hanks was controlling even the rifle ammunition carefully, let alone giving them pistols.
He didn't trust those two at all.
He'd share food and supplies for survival's sake, but weapons and ammo? Don't expect much.
If he wasn't worried about being too obvious, they wouldn't even get the rifles. A skinning knife would've been generous enough.
After distributing weapons to everyone, Hanks finally organized his own loadout.
One P226 pistol, one magazine loaded, five spare magazines on his person—120 rounds of 9mm total.
One M590 shotgun, nine rounds loaded (tube plus chamber), one tactical bandolier holding 30 rounds across his chest and another at his waist—69 rounds of 12-gauge total.
One tactical knife strapped to his thigh, one sharp hand axe tucked into his belt at the small of his back.
The rest—miscellaneous ammunition, smoke grenades, flashbangs, and high-energy food—went into the assault backpack.
Glenn watched him work but showed no joy. Instead he looked hesitant and conflicted.
"Officer... I..." He took a deep breath, as if gathering great courage. "I want to go to Atlanta now."
The courtyard went quiet.
Glenn didn't dare meet Hanks's eyes, speaking quickly with his head down. "Now that we have a car, I need to go find T-Dog in Atlanta. He's my best friend."
His voice grew quieter.
Kenny's brow furrowed immediately, as if about to speak, but Hanks stopped him with a look.
Hanks felt some reluctance. In this world, reliable teammates you could trust were hard to find.
But this was what they'd agreed on before. He couldn't really try to make Glenn stay. "Then be careful out there."
Glenn looked at him gratefully.
"We already agreed on this, right? We're leaving tomorrow anyway." Hanks smiled and clapped the smaller man's shoulder.
Hanks filled a small backpack with food and water and tossed it onto the police car's passenger seat.
He pulled out the Beretta 92 pistol, freshly reloaded, along with a spare magazine.
"Take it. For the road." He handed them to Glenn, who was already sitting in the driver's seat.
Glenn looked at the backpack on the passenger seat, the gun, then at the Beretta 92 and magazine being offered.
His eyes immediately reddened. His lips trembled as if he wanted to say something grateful, but his throat seemed blocked. He could only make choking sounds.
Glenn suddenly remembered something and frantically searched his pockets, pulling out the radio he'd used earlier. "This... this, I should give it back, officer." He held the radio out the window. "You'll need it more on the road."
Hanks looked at the old radio but didn't reach for it. Instead he gently pushed it back into Glenn's hands.
"Keep it."
His voice was flat, but Glenn could hear the care underneath. "Knowing you, someday you'll probably run into another idiot trapped somewhere and get it in your head to try and rescue them. How are you supposed to save trapped idiots without a radio?"
Glenn's hand tightened around the radio, knuckles white with pressure.
He lowered his head, shoulders trembling slightly. Tears finally spilled onto his hands.
This wasn't just a radio. It was a promise from Hanks, a lifeline that might connect them again in desperate times.
"I..." He finally found his voice, though thick with emotion. "Thank you, officer..."
"You too, delivery boy." Hanks gave the car door one last pat. "Stay alive and find your friend."
Glenn nodded hard, taking a deep breath and roughly wiping the tears from his face.
He looked one last time at the motel and the people in the courtyard who'd survived death alongside him.
Then he firmly shifted into drive, tapped the gas, and the police car slowly pulled out of the U-shaped courtyard.
Hanks stood in place.
He watched the taillights come on in the deepening dusk, the car rolling toward the distant street.
Finally it disappeared around the corner, the engine sound gradually swallowed by the night's silence.
He stood there for a long time, until no trace of the vehicle remained.
In a voice only he could hear, Hanks said, "Hope when we meet again, Lucille hasn't turned you into paste."
The burning crimson in the sky lingered, the last light struggling at the horizon.
It painted the edges of clouds blood-red, even tinting the visible moon with a reddish hue.
"Wow, the clouds are so pretty!" Clementine pointed excitedly at the sky. "Even the moon is turning red!"
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