TWD - Chapter 575: Kill Them All! (Patreon)

Downstairs, Clark's brow was furrowed. Twelve minutes had gone by. Fred and Miles should have been back already, yet there had been no word from upstairs.

An uneasy feeling settled over him. He gritted his teeth and ordered quietly, "Let's go check."

Sanchez and Curtis exchanged a glance, raised their guns, and followed him without a word.

The staircase was so narrow that only one person could pass at a time. Clark went first, Sanchez followed, and Curtis carefully covered the rear.

As they reached the second-floor landing, a burst of noise came from above.

Clark's stomach dropped. "Move!"

All three hurried toward the third floor.

They had barely rounded the corner when a figure lunged out from the side.

Kyle's eyes were bloodshot. He swung an iron pipe straight at Clark's head, the metal whistling through the air.

Clark jerked sideways, but his reflexes were a fraction too slow.

The pipe smashed into his shoulder with a sharp crack. Pain shot down his arm, numbing half his body, and his gun flew from his grasp to clatter against the concrete.

"Fuck!" he shouted.

Almost at the same moment, Sanchez brought up his gun, only for two more raiders to charge down from the fourth floor.

One slammed into Sanchez. They grappled and tumbled against the walls of the cramped stairwell.

The other rushed Curtis. Curtis reacted quickly and tried to fire, but the attacker was already too close. He shoved the muzzle aside, and the two crashed into each other in a struggle for the weapon.

Clark clenched his jaw against the agony in his shoulder. Planting both hands on the floor, he tried to crawl toward his fallen gun.

Kyle stamped on his back, flattening him against the concrete. "Bastard! Stay down!"

With his cheek pressed to the floor, Clark could only stare at the gun.

Damn it. Three meters. It was only three meters away, and he couldn't reach it.

Sanchez and Curtis were still wrestling their attackers. Three raiders and three Defense Force soldiers were caught in a desperate stalemate.

Kyle crouched beside Clark, a cruel, taunting smile on his face. "How many more of you are there?"

Clark kept his teeth clenched and said nothing.

Kyle's expression hardened. He pressed the iron pipe against the back of Clark's skull. "I'll ask you again. How many?"

Clark spat onto the floor. "Pah!"

Kyle glanced at the other two fights, then grinned as he aimed the pipe at Clark's head. "You two! Keep struggling, and I'll put this straight through his skull!"

Sanchez and Curtis looked toward their pinned-down captain.

"Fuck! Don't you dare worry about me!" Clark roared.

Kyle struck him across the mouth with the pipe. Blood spilled from Clark's lips, and he groaned through the pain.

Kyle pressed the pipe farther against his mouth. "Are you surrendering or not?"

Sanchez and Curtis traded a miserable look before reluctantly letting their opponents go.

Kyle went to Sanchez and kicked his gun away. He did the same to Curtis, then gestured for his companions to collect all three weapons.

The raiders searched the soldiers roughly, stripping away their Walker Disruptors, food, ammunition, and knives, and stuffing everything into their bags.

Clark could do nothing but watch. His eyes were streaked red, his lips swollen and bruised, and blood kept running down his chin.

Kyle picked up a can of Walker Disruptor and tossed it lightly in his hand. "Seriously, does this really stop walkers from biting you?"

Clark stared at him in furious silence.

Frowning, Kyle crouched and thrust the canister toward his face. "I'm asking you a question!"

Clark still refused to answer.

Kyle straightened, anger flashing across his features. "Still playing tough, huh?"

He gave an impatient wave and spat out the order. "Kill them all!"

The other two raiders immediately raised their guns, murderous intent in their eyes.

At that instant, a glint of steel flashed from the stairwell.

A throwing knife streaked through the air and buried itself in the back of the head of the raider aiming at Sanchez.

There was a wet thud, like a watermelon bursting. Most of the blade disappeared into his skull, leaving only a short piece of the handle visible.

The man froze where he stood, stiff as a statue. Then he toppled forward, his gun clanging onto the floor.

Kyle stared in shock.

The remaining raider spun around, but someone was already rushing out of the stairwell toward him.

Zike struck like a shadow. He clamped one hand over the raider's mouth and drove the knife in his other hand up through the man's jaw.

The blade punched into his mouth, sending hot blood spraying across Zike's face.

The man's eyes bulged. His entire body shook, his legs kicked helplessly, and then he sagged.

Kyle took one look and ran.

He managed only two steps before Dubin charged from another direction and hooked a thick arm around his throat.

Kyle thrashed wildly, kicking and clawing, but Dubin's heavy, hairy arm didn't move. His grip only tightened.

Kyle's face flushed red, then purple, then blue. He opened his mouth to cry out, but with his throat crushed in the hold, all he managed was a faint, choking whimper.

His tongue began to protrude, and his eyes bulged. After a full minute, blood suddenly poured from his mouth. His body convulsed several times and fell still.

Dubin kept the chokehold for another three seconds to make absolutely sure, then loosened his arm.

Kyle dropped like a sack of rags.

Dubin looked down with disdain and nudged the body with his foot. "Dead."

Clark struggled to stand. The pain in his shoulder and battered mouth made him grimace at every movement.

Sanchez and Curtis got up as well.

Zike wiped some blood off his face. "Where's your captain?"

Clark swallowed. "I... I am."

Zike studied him. "How many did you lose?"

Clark's throat tightened. "They're upstairs. I... I don't know."

Zike nodded but asked nothing more. He and Dubin moved over to the dead raiders, crouched down, and began searching their belongings with practiced efficiency.

Clark gritted his teeth, retrieved his weapon, and headed upstairs with Sanchez and Curtis.

What awaited them on the fourth floor made his heart ache.

Fred and Miles lay motionless in pools of blood. Deep knife wounds marked their temples, cuts so severe that bone showed beneath. The raiders had stabbed them there to stop them from turning.

Sanchez's and Curtis's eyes reddened.

Clark approached slowly, each step heavy as lead.

Looking down at his two fallen men, he heard Fred's voice again in his memory.

"Captain, I'll help him carry it. It's right upstairs. It won't take long."

Clark swallowed against the sharp pain in his chest.

He crouched beside them and reached out with trembling hands to close Fred's and Miles's eyes.

"I'm... I'm sorry."

Across the battle to reclaim East Knoxville, wars were playing out between human beings and between humans and walkers alike.

That was the apocalypse.