TWD - Chapter 581: You Know the Rules (Patreon)

Carver shook his head. "You know the rules."

There was no compromising on them in the apocalypse.

Anyone bitten or scratched by a walker had to have the affected part cut off immediately. Otherwise, all that remained was to wait for death. No exceptions.

Tears ran down Sturgess's cheeks as he stared at the cut in his hand, still seeping blood. Despair and bitter unwillingness twisted inside him.

Who would willingly give up a perfectly good hand?

But he didn't want to become a walker, either. He couldn't bear the thought of turning into a mindless monster.

Clenching his teeth, he laid his hand on a filthy trash bin. His voice shook, but the decision was made. "Captain. Do it quickly."

Carver nodded. He raised the axe and brought it down. A sharp, sickening crack sounded as blood sprayed out in a violent jet.

Sturgess screamed and toppled backward. A quick-thinking comrade caught him before he hit the ground.

The squad medic was already moving. He tightened a tourniquet around the injured arm to stop the bleeding, sprinkled clotting powder over the stump, then wrapped it tightly in gauze.

Less than a minute had passed before the treatment was finished.

Carver stood nearby, watching with an unreadable mixture of emotions.

Sturgess lay on the ground, white as a sheet and drenched in cold sweat. He looked so frail a strong breeze might have knocked him over.

Other walkers could still be nearby. Afraid of drawing them, he forced himself to swallow his screams, grinding his teeth together as he struggled for breath.

The medic worried the blood would attract them, too. He added several more layers of bandaging and gave Sturgess a painkiller and an anti-inflammatory tablet.

Carver crouched beside him. "Sturgess."

He managed to open his eyes, still clouded by pain and terror.

"You're alive."

At that, Sturgess began to cry again.

Carver rose and addressed the squad. "Get him somewhere secure. Leave one team to guard him. We'll pick him up when the mission's finished."

Several soldiers lifted Sturgess carefully and carried him toward a nearby building that looked sound enough.

Carver remained where he was, staring at the terrible pool of blood with conflicting feelings.

The others followed him in silence. Many were asking themselves the same question: if it had been their own hand, would they have found the courage to make that choice?

***

Before long, they reached the hospital's main entrance.

The forecourt was choked with dozens of abandoned cars. Among them lay bodies covered in white sheets, already long decayed. They were probably patients or walkers the military had killed during the early outbreak.

The cars and corpses were grim enough, but the real horror was the number of moving dead. At least four hundred walkers milled about in front of the hospital.

Most still wore patient gowns. Some had filthy white coats hanging from their shoulders, and others were dressed in National Guard uniforms.

Daryl came up beside Carver, looking grave. "Carver, that's over four hundred walkers. We've only got a hundred men. Can we really handle them?"

Merle spat onto the ground. "Who're you underestimating? I could mow 'em down with one hand!"

Carver kept his attention on the walkers. He didn't answer Daryl immediately or bother reacting to Merle's boasting.

Each dose of Walker Disruptors lasted forty minutes. With their strength and coordination, four hundred walkers might be cleared in roughly an hour if everything went smoothly.

The creatures concealed in the surrounding streets would add several more hours to the job.

"We can take them." Carver nodded and began giving orders. "Archers and crossbowmen, get to high ground and thin out the perimeter. Everyone else, advance with me."

The fighting began and did not stop for three full hours.

From an elevated position, Daryl led the ranged fighters, drawing his bow again and again to pick off walkers on the outskirts.

Carver stayed at the forefront throughout. His throwing knives flew as if guided by a will of their own, each finding its mark.

Every flick of his wrist sent a glint of steel through the air, followed by another falling walker.

The knives found eye sockets, temples, and the backs of skulls with unerring accuracy. Not one missed.

A few times, the creatures closed in too quickly for Carver to draw another knife.

He never flinched. With sheer strength and expert fighting skills, he could twist a walker's head until its neck snapped, then follow with another lightning-fast knife strike.

Merle charged into the thick of the horde as well, swinging the axe blade attached to his right arm in broad arcs and splitting open more skulls than anyone could count.

Watching the two men carve their way forward, the soldiers couldn't help thinking the same thing: Damn, those two were badass!

When the fight finally ended, the unit began searching the hospital.

At Carver's signal, the men fanned out and combed through the buildings one by one.

Every medicine cabinet had been looted, leaving little besides empty packages and broken glass. Fortunately, the biggest medical machines had been too heavy to carry away, so most were still there.

Merle walked over with a frustrated look. "Damn it. People have picked this place clean too many times. There's nothing left! It's cleaner than my face!"

"I know," Carver said, unsurprised. "Medicine would be a bonus, but it isn't what we came for. Our first job is to clear this area."

By evening, the unit had made camp in an abandoned office building.

Sturgess had been brought back by the time they lit a fire. He was the day's only seriously wounded man.

The apocalypse was approaching its first anniversary. Most things that could rot had already decayed, and the ordinary walkers still roaming about were slow. With Walker Disruptors, they posed far less danger unless someone was trapped in a horde.

Sturgess lay in a corner, still deathly pale, though he seemed a little stronger.

The painkillers left him groggy and nauseated. He kept staring up at the roof of the tent, unable to sleep, trying to make sense of having survived by such a narrow margin.

Carver sat beside him. "Still hurting?"

Sturgess barely moved his lips. "...Not anymore."

"Wait until the medicine wears off," Carver said. "You'll have to tough it out."

Sturgess raised his injured arm and studied the swollen bundle of gauze where his hand had been. Relief mingled with the grief in his eyes.

"I'm still alive. One hand for my life. Fair trade."

He had no idea what lay ahead, whether it would be a painful recovery or hardships he couldn't yet imagine.

But one fact mattered more than anything else. He was alive, and in a world this merciless, that was an extraordinary piece of luck.

Someone by the distant fire began singing softly. The tune was hopelessly off-key, but the others slowly joined in.

Where is the sun that shone on my head,

The sun in my life, It is dead, It is dead,

Where is the light that would play in my streets,

And where are the friends, I could meet, I could meet...

(The Walking Dead Season 5 Theme Song)