TWD - Chapter 574: You Still Trust People in the Apocalypse? (Patreon)

After crossing the square, the troops split off into several streets to begin clearing them.

A five-person team was searching a four-story building along the road.

It had once housed shops. The ground floor was a storefront, while the upper floors had probably served as storage or living quarters. Their job was to search every level and make sure no walkers remained inside.

Clark, the team leader, was preparing to take his people upstairs when a rustle from a corner made them all stop.

The noise had come from the ground floor. It wasn't the dragging shuffle of a walker, and there was none of the familiar guttural groaning.

Clark signaled to the others. All five put away their knives, drew their guns, and moved carefully downstairs.

The windows on the ground floor had been boarded shut, leaving the room in near darkness. Only thin shafts of daylight slipped through the gaps.

Shelves leaned at awkward angles, rubbish littered the floor, and the air stank of mold.

Someone was crouching in a corner, curled into a terrified ball. "D-don't shoot! I'm human! I'm alive!"

Clark held up a hand to keep his teammates on alert and advanced a few steps alone, never taking his gun off the figure.

A man peered out from behind a shelf.

He looked about thirty, with a scruffy beard, wide eyes, and shaking limbs. His clothes were in tatters. He resembled a rat that had spent three days and nights fleeing for its life.

"A-are you soldiers?" The sight of their uniforms and weapons filled him with equal parts terror and hope.

Clark kept his weapon raised. "Who are you? What are you doing here?"

The man swallowed. "I'm Kyle. I used to be with a group, but the walkers bit them all to death. I've been hiding here for almost a week."

He gestured around the shop. "I killed every walker in this building, one at a time. But I couldn't go outside. There are too many of them out there..."

Clark narrowed his eyes. "On your own? You cleared three floors by yourself?"

Kyle nodded as tears ran down his cheeks. "I didn't have a choice. I don't want to die. I just want to live..."

Then he noticed the spray canister on Clark's belt. "What's that stuff you spray on yourselves? Why don't the walkers bite you?"

One of the younger soldiers behind Clark blurted out, "Walker Disruptors. Spray it on and the walkers won't come near you."

Clark shot him an angry look.

Realizing he'd said too much, the soldier lowered his head.

Kyle's eyes briefly lit up. "Really? Th-then can you take me with you? I'll do anything! I'm strong, and I don't mind dirty work! I..."

"Get up first," Clark interrupted, gesturing with his gun.

Kyle slowly rose, still shaking. He glanced upstairs and offered a pleading smile.

"I've got some supplies up there. Food, drinks, and a few tools. Could you help me carry them down? Consider it... my way of proving I'm serious about joining you!"

Clark frowned. "We don't have time. We've still got this area to clear. Get your things yourself and follow us."

For a moment, Kyle's expression stiffened.

Then a young soldier stepped forward. "Team leader, I'll help him. It's right upstairs. It won't take long."

Clark looked at Fred. The young man had joined the Defense Force three months earlier. He was eager to help and popular with the others.

"You're not going," Clark said firmly. "He can carry his own supplies."

Fred hesitated at the sight of Kyle's pitiful face. "Captain, he can't carry much by himself. If there's really food up there, we can bring some along. Extra supplies never hurt."

Miles, another soldier, spoke up too. Usually quiet but dependable, he nodded. "Fred's right. If there's food, we shouldn't waste it."

Clark looked from the stairs to Kyle's tear-streaked face. At last he gave in.

"Fine. Ten minutes," he said. "If you're not back by then, we're leaving."

Fred grinned. "Thanks, Captain!"

He approached Kyle. "Come on. Show me what treasures you've got stashed away."

Miles followed them.

The three headed upstairs while Clark and the remaining two soldiers stood guard on the ground floor.

Their footsteps gradually faded along the staircase.

The second floor was empty.

So was the third.

As they climbed, Fred asked casually, "What have you got up there, Kyle? Canned food? Dried rations?"

"Both," Kyle answered from ahead. "And drinking water and tools."

From behind them, Miles asked, "How did you survive on your own all this time?"

"I stayed inside," Kyle replied quietly. "I never went out."

Fred paused. "Then how did you kill all those walkers?"

"I know how to use a knife," Kyle said evenly. "I pried the doors open bit by bit, then killed them one by one."

His voice was unnaturally calm, enough to make Fred's skin crawl. Still, he pushed the feeling aside.

They reached the fourth floor.

Kyle opened a door that was already slightly ajar.

The room beyond was dark, its windows covered. The little light that entered revealed cardboard boxes, rags, rusted shelves, and a blackened sleeping bag.

Fred was about to step inside when he stopped.

There was a smell in the air. Not mold, and not the rot of a walker. The room reeked of fresh blood.

He spun around. Kyle's expression had changed into a sinister grin.

Before Fred could shout, an arm shot out from behind the door and clamped around his neck. Another hand sealed his mouth.

Miles started to raise his gun, but the door behind him burst open. Someone lunged at him and pinned him to the floor before he could react, covering his mouth as well.

With the arm crushing his throat, Fred watched Kyle stare at him coldly. Then Kyle lifted a knife and plunged it into Fred's stomach.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

Kyle stabbed him again and again, viciously and without hesitation. Blood sprayed across his face, but he didn't so much as blink.

Fred went limp. Warm blood poured from his abdomen, soaking his clothes red in moments.

Pain and regret overwhelmed him. With a hand clamped tightly over his mouth, he could only make desperate, strangled sounds. His eyes stayed open, filled with disbelief.

The man holding him lowered him gently to the floor. Fred convulsed a few times, then stopped moving.

Pinned down nearby, Miles watched his teammate collapse in a pool of blood, Fred's feet twitching a final few times. Rage reddened his eyes. He fought wildly until his captor seized his head and smashed it against the floor.

The blow left Miles dizzy and robbed him of the strength to resist.

Kyle, who had killed Fred, came over with the bloody knife and pressed its edge against Miles's neck.

He crouched in front of him and put a finger to his lips. "Shh. Don't shout. If you do, you'll die too."

Still dazed, Miles glared at him with furious, bloodshot eyes.

Kyle met his stare and laughed. "Your people are idiots. You'll believe anything someone tells you. It's the apocalypse, and you still trust a story like that?"

He stood, brushed off his trousers, and pointed at Miles. "Search him."

The other two stripped Miles of his Walker Disruptor, rations, and weapons.

One held the spray canister up to the light. "What's this?"

Kyle took it and sniffed it. "Who cares? Take it. They say this stuff stops walkers from biting you."

His companion scoffed, clearly unconvinced. "Really?"

Kyle shrugged and looked at Miles. "This lot will keep us going for quite a while."

He turned to leave.

Miles could only make muffled protests under the weight of the man holding him down.

"Do we kill this one?" the man asked.

Kyle glanced back. "Yeah. Kill him."

The man nodded and raised his knife. A flash of steel...