TWD - Chapter 548: A Secret That Can’t Be Hidden (Patreon)

After you kill someone, every second becomes a countdown.

When Cyrus returned to the dorm after dinner, his hands were trembling as if a faint electric current ran through them. It was the kind of tremor he could feel when he rested his hands on his knees, yet could barely see when he stared at them.

Once the door closed, it was pitch black inside the shipping container.

He crossed the room and lay down on the camp cot. The mattress springs had collapsed long ago, and the bed gave a long creak beneath him, like a dying man sighing.

Old Ivan's snoring thundered from next door.

Sometimes it stopped for a few seconds, long enough to make you think he had finally choked to death and would turn into a walker any moment. Then he would gasp back to life with a loud “Ha!” and start rumbling again.

Farther down were Dubin and Zike's neighboring rooms.

Those two idiots were arguing about something again. Their voices carried through several layers of sheet metal. They were probably gambling.

They gambled every day and bet on almost anything. Who could slack off on guard duty without getting caught, how many chunks of meat would turn up in the cafeteria cans, even how many people Xavier would curse out that day.

After all, there were no other forms of entertainment left in the apocalypse.

As Cyrus listened, a strange feeling came over him. He had heard these same sounds for so long. Every day, it was always the same noise.

He used to find them annoying, but now he had only one thought: If they all died or left, would these sounds still be there?

Cyrus shook his head and pushed the thought away.

He closed his eyes, and Douglas's final stare returned to him. Those wide eyes fixed on his face.

Blood had poured from Douglas's mouth, run down his chin, and pooled in a small patch on the floor.

Douglas had tried to speak, but only a choking rasp came from his throat. Cyrus had crouched in front of him, staring into eyes filled with fear, resentment, and one more faint emotion he had not understood.

Now he remembered what it had been. Confusion.

Douglas's last thought before dying had probably been simple. Why? Didn't we patrol together and drink together? Why did we all change after the apocalypse?

Cyrus opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling. The answer came to him too.

Why?

Because you were going to snitch. Because you were going to hurt Victor, Mika, and everyone else who wanted to leave. That was why you had to die.

That was the answer he had given Douglas, but he could not convince himself with it.

It was a sleepless night. Cyrus lay there with his eyes open until the horizon began to pale.

At six in the morning, Cyrus sat up and rubbed his face. After a night without sleep, his eyes felt as though sand had been rubbed into them, but he had no time to care.

When he pushed open the door, there was already movement in the hallway.

Old Ivan was walking out carrying a basin. When he saw Cyrus, he paused for a moment. “Up this early?”

Cyrus nodded. “Couldn’t sleep.”

Old Ivan did not ask anything else. He carried the basin away, leaving only the sound of splashing water behind him.

Cyrus headed toward the cafeteria. When he passed Douglas's room, he slowed down. The door was closed, and there was no sound inside.

He breathed a sigh of relief and continued on his way.

There were already people in the cafeteria. Dubin and Zike sat in a corner with bowls of porridge, their heads close together as they muttered about something.

Cyrus picked up a bowl of porridge from the serving window and sat down. He had just taken a sip when someone outside shouted, “Douglas! Douglas!”

Cyrus's hand paused.

The shouting grew louder, followed by the sound of someone running. “Xavier! Xavier! Douglas is missing!”

Everyone in the cafeteria looked up. Dubin's spoon froze halfway to his mouth, and Zike cursed, “Son of a bitch!”

Cyrus lowered his head, his face giving nothing away. Inside, he knew exactly what had happened. Someone had noticed Douglas was missing.

...

Cyrus was on sentry duty again that day. By the time his shift ended and he returned to the workshop, the corridor was in chaos.

Several people were running outside. Some pulled on their jackets as they moved, while others cursed under their breath.

Cyrus grabbed a young man rushing past. It was the one with acne, the man Victor had talked to.

“What’s going on?”

The young man glanced at him, his eyes evasive. “Something happened. Xavier grabbed someone near the workshop.”

Cyrus's heart thudded twice. “Who?!”

“I don't know. It looks like... it looks like Victor.”

The young man pulled free of Cyrus's hand and ran.

Cyrus stood frozen for an instant. Then he started running.

He went to Victor's dorm first. The door was open, but the room was empty. The bedsheet was twisted into a heap, as though Victor had just gotten up when someone dragged him away.

Cyrus immediately turned and ran toward the cafeteria. People were already streaming out, looking toward the workshop as they went.

Cyrus grabbed Zike and asked breathlessly, “Where's Victor?”

Zike gave him a strange look. “Behind the workshop. Xavier's interrogating him.”

He lowered his voice and leaned closer. “I heard Victor was talking to people, trying to turn them, and someone caught him.”

A buzz filled Cyrus's head. He released Zike and ran toward the workshop, but slowed abruptly when he reached the entrance.

No. He could not run. He could not let anyone see how worried he was.

Cyrus took a deep breath, composed his expression, rounded the workshop, and headed toward the rear passage. The same passage where he had killed Douglas the day before.

Before he even reached it, he saw the crowd.

More than a dozen people formed a circle at the entrance to the passage. Xavier stood in the middle, with Dubin nearby.

Cyrus pushed through the crowd and spotted Victor immediately.

Victor was pinned to the ground with his face pressed into the coal cinders. Xavier had one boot planted on his face, grinding the sole back and forth across his cheek.

Victor's face was covered in blood. His nose was split and bleeding, the corner of his mouth was torn, and a cut on his forehead continued to ooze. Blood and coal dust had smeared across his entire face.

But his eyes were still open, swollen until only narrow slits remained.

“Talk!” Xavier roared, his voice echoing through the passage. “Who did you speak to? Douglas? Who else?!”

Victor's face was distorted beneath Xavier's boot, yet he was actually smiling. The words came out broken and muffled. “I told you. I'm acting on the Lord's command. The Lord told me to save you!”

Xavier's face went livid. He lifted his foot and stamped down again, driving Victor's face into the cinders with a dull thud.

“The Lord?” Xavier's voice dripped with contempt. “You fucking believe in the Lord and still stab us in the back?”

Victor could no longer speak beneath the pressure, but he kept glaring at Xavier like a cockroach that refused to die no matter how many times it was crushed.

Dubin crouched, grabbed Victor by the hair, and pulled his face out of the cinders. “Where's Douglas?”

Victor looked at him, a strange confusion showing in his swollen eyes. “Douglas?”

“Yeah, Douglas. He disappeared yesterday, and you were the last fucking person who talked to him!”

Victor paused, then said with obvious satisfaction, “Douglas left.”

Dubin narrowed his eyes. “Left?”

“Yeah, he left.” Victor's voice was calm. “He chose to come with me.”

Dubin drove a fist into Victor's face. Victor's head snapped sideways, and blood sprayed from his mouth onto the floor. “Even if you kill me, he's still gone!”

Dubin stood and glanced at Xavier.

Xavier looked thunderous. He swept his gaze over everyone around him. “Damn it, who else? Which other fucking bastard talked to him?”