TWD - Chapter 496: The Mountain Is Right Here (Patreon)

A powerful tug hauled Merle upward, and he kicked rapidly against the tree trunk to help.

A few seconds later, Merle’s upper body reached the thick branch. Daryl reached down with his other hand, grabbed the back of Merle’s clothes, and dragged him the rest of the way up.

The two of them crowded together on the narrow branch, breathing hard, their chests rising and falling rapidly.

Merle rested his forehead against the rough bark. Daryl released him and immediately checked the rope and the ground below, making sure they hadn’t drawn the walkers’ attention.

“Move.”

That was all Daryl said.

He went first, edging along the branch before lightly jumping onto the balcony.

Merle stayed where he was for two seconds, then wiped his sleeve hard across his face, erasing any trace of the struggle. After that, he carefully worked his way along the branch and landed safely on the balcony.

The three men already there all looked away at the same time, pretending to watch the dark doorway.

“All right, what the hell are you looking at?” Merle straightened up, his voice returning to its usual rough growl, as though the struggle moments ago had never happened. “Get to work!”

Then, under his breath, he muttered, “Damn it. When we get back, I’m making Ancheta build me a grappling-hook attachment.”

Daryl was already pressed against the side of the balcony door, peering through the broken glass.

He gave a hand signal.

At least three walkers were wandering around the living room inside.

Daryl gently pushed the door open.

The hinges gave a faint creak.

The nearest walker immediately turned toward the sound. Its face was rotted away, leaving both eye sockets empty.

Merle didn’t even wait for it to finish turning.

He slipped past Daryl like a shadow.

His right arm swung.

The axe blade cut through the darkness with a dull rush of air and buried itself cleanly in the walker’s temple.

Almost at the same moment, Daryl’s crossbow bolt shot out silently and punched through the eye socket of another walker.

The other three men moved in immediately, finishing the third walker with short spears before quickly checking the adjoining kitchen and bathroom.

Once the second floor was clear, they moved downstairs and swept the building one level at a time.

After what had happened on the balcony, there seemed to be an unspoken understanding between them.

Merle still went first, every movement vicious and decisive. The axe mounted on his right arm struck from awkward, lethal angles.

Daryl handled precise kills at medium range and watched their flanks.

The other three filled the gaps, covering one another as they advanced.

There were more walkers inside the lodge than expected, so clearing it took some time.

By the time they finally came out through the front entrance and regrouped with Joe and the others, who had finished clearing the other areas, the eastern horizon was already beginning to pale.

Joe glanced at Merle’s sweat-soaked hair and the fresh grime on his clothes, then looked at the unusually quiet Daryl.

He didn’t ask anything.

“West side clear?”

“Merle handles the job, you think there’d be anything left?” Merle spat on the ground and flicked the filthy blood from his axe blade.

“Good.”

Joe swept his gaze over the entire team and grinned.

“Not bad.”

The group dispersed.

Daryl moved off to one side and lowered his head to check his crossbow.

Merle leaned against a tree, pulled out a crumpled pack of cigarettes, took one between his lips, and struggled to light it one-handed.

The effects of the Walker Disruptors had worn off long ago.

A walker’s growl came from somewhere in the distance. The smell from Joe’s homemade blood bait had probably faded, and the walkers they had lured away were beginning to wander back.

But the summit was essentially clear now.

Joe drew his red-handled machete from his belt and tightened his grip around it.

“Take them out. Then clean up and get ready for the construction crew.”

...

A week later, the helicopter’s rotors were already beginning to turn.

Robert was conducting the preflight checks while six Rock Fortress engineers who had come along loaded the last batch of tools into the cabin.

Rock Fortress had expanded rapidly recently, and with its population growing, construction had begun on the first outpost leading toward downtown Knoxville.

Because of that, only six engineers could be spared for this side.

The reduced manpower had delayed the trap work somewhat.

Joe stood in the clearing beneath the observation tower, watching the temporary teammates who had helped him clear the mountain pack their belongings.

They were all capable people with wilderness experience, personally selected by Joe from among the Defense Force and the residents.

But they didn’t belong here.

Daryl and Merle were packing too.

Daryl carefully wrapped up his crossbow, while Merle stuffed a few usable odds and ends he had scavenged from walkers into his bag. A folding knife that hadn’t completely rusted through and several lighters that still worked.

“Hey, Dixon. You two really aren’t staying?” Joe asked.

Daryl paused but didn’t look up.

“Calista’s got... other work for us.”

He didn’t finish the sentence, but the meaning was obvious.

They belonged to Rock Fortress.

Their job here was finished, and it was time to return to their real home.

Joe understood.

This isolated mountain outpost wasn’t the place to keep people like them tied down.

Merle grinned, though there was something hard to read behind the smile.

“Nice mountain. Quiet. But this place of yours... it’s too damn clean. Boring.”

Aside from Joe and the two men who had chosen to stay, the mountain held little more than stone, timber, and the lingering stench of rotting walkers.

For Merle, there wasn’t much to enjoy.

Near the helicopter, only two men weren’t packing.

One was in his fifties and had been a ranger in the Appalachian Mountains before the apocalypse. He was a good shot, but deaf in his right ear, supposedly after being swatted by a brown bear when he was younger.

He was getting old, and his hearing problems kept him out of the Defense Force. But he had no interest in becoming a laborer or farmer either.

He felt more at home in the mountains, so he had chosen to stay.

The other was under thirty, quick and agile, and had once worked as a professional rock-climbing guide.

When the walker outbreak began, he had been stranded in the mountains and survived alone ever since, killing more walkers than he could count with a climbing pick.

Life in a large base made him uncomfortable, so he had also decided to remain.

The two approached Joe.

They offered no explanations and made no declarations of loyalty.

Joe looked them over and didn’t ask for any.

“Take your pick of the cabins on the east side. From now on, you two are my right and left hands.”

The remaining seven men climbed into the two trucks they had brought, leaving one behind for Joe.

The helicopter rotors accelerated, whipping dust and dead leaves through the air.

Joe narrowed his eyes as the helicopter lifted off, turned north, and gradually shrank into the distance before disappearing behind the mountains.

Merle and Daryl glanced his way, raised their chins in farewell, then started their vehicle and drove off as well.

The summit suddenly fell silent.

Only the wind remained.

Joe stood there for a while before turning around.

Including himself, the newly captured mountain now had only four permanent residents.

Robert would fly back after dropping off the engineers and would eventually be stationed at Black Rock Mountain as well.

The Reserves recruits wouldn’t arrive for another week, and the support team would come even later.

For now, the mountain was so empty that Joe could practically hear his own heartbeat.

But there was no discouragement or anxiety on his face.

He walked to the edge of the cliff, found a rock sheltered from the wind, and sat down.

Pulling a metal flask from inside his coat, he unscrewed the cap and took a sip.

The liquor burned all the way down his throat.

Joe gazed over the endless forest below, the winding road, and the outline of an abandoned town in the distance.

The mountain wind blew hard, tossing his hair in every direction.

“Probably better that they left,” he murmured, almost as if speaking to the mountain itself. “Fewer people. Quieter. The ones who come later ought to be here because they want to be.”

He didn’t need “elite” fighters whose minds were somewhere else.

He needed people who could become part of the mountain itself.

Predators who got excited at the smell of blood.

Night wanderers who could still find their way home in complete darkness.

People strong enough to survive alone at the end of the world.

And Joe knew people like that would eventually find their own way here.

Because the mountain was right here.

And the people who truly belonged in the mountains would see its signal.