In a narrow alley, a lone zombie—a woman in a tattered dress, her eyes a milky white—got too close. Alex spun, plunging his knife into its skull in one swift motion, the wet sound of impact barely audible beneath the groans of the horde. He didn't stop to wipe the blade; every second was precious.
He smashed an old car's window with his pipe, making sure the alarm wasn't active. He wanted no more noise than necessary; the horde was already enough, and a blaring horn could attract more zombies from distant streets, ruining his plan.
As he jogged, his eyes scanned the surroundings: dark buildings, broken windows, an overturned food cart with dirty hot dogs scattered across the pavement. His visions—the nightmares that had prepared him for this hell—had shown him this before, but living it was different.
The weight of responsibility was crushing him.
If I screw up, if they catch me, everyone dies. Emily, Tim, Emily's friends, and the new group I'm helping.
After five minutes of maneuvering, dodging, and hitting his pipe against any metallic surface, Alex began to move west, away from the building where the kids were.
The horde followed him, slow but relentless, like a wave that never stops. It was exactly like in his dreams: the zombies responded to sound like animals, blind to anything but their immediate prey. Alex allowed himself one look back, seeing the mass of stumbling bodies stretch down the street.
This has to work.
From a nearby building, Mike and Leo watched, hidden behind a broken billboard. The sight took their breath away.
"Holy shit," Mike whispered, his voice trembling with fear and awe. "Look how many there are. That guy is crazy."
The horde was growing, zombies from side streets joining the flow, drawn by the metallic clatter.
Leo clenched his fists, his face tense. "I don't know if he's crazy or a goddamn genius. But we couldn't have done that. Not you, not me."
They both felt a mix of terror and respect. Terror for Alex, surrounded by a tide of death; worry for the kids and firefighters trapped inside; and a profound respect for the bravery of a man they barely knew.
When Alex disappeared past an intersection, leading the horde like a macabre pied piper, Mike and Leo seized the opportunity. The streets near the building were almost clear; only a couple of stragglers roamed. They ran silently, their boots barely touching the asphalt, and slipped through a side door of the building, the main one blocked by piled-up furniture.
Inside, the air was thick, smelling of dust and sweat.
"Ramírez! Soto!" Mike called out in an urgent whisper, moving through the first floor with Leo at his side, pistol in hand.
They checked empty offices, their hearts pounding with the tension of not knowing what they would find. They went up to the second floor, the creaking of the stairs amplified in the silence. In a hallway, next to a broken window, they saw a firefighter looking out, his face frozen in a mix of astonishment and horror.
"Ramírez!" Mike whispered, approaching. The firefighter, a burly man with a blood-stained uniform, turned, startled, but his expression softened upon recognizing Mike.
"Chief! I thought you were dead." He motioned toward the window. "You have to see this."
Mike and Leo came closer, and from the window, they saw Alex crossing a distant intersection. The horde was following him, but now more zombies were joining from side streets, drawn by the noise. It was a surreal sight: a single man, herding hundreds of the dead as if they were cattle.
Ramírez shook his head. "Only a lunatic would do that. Who the hell is that guy?"
Mike scowled, annoyed. "He's no lunatic. That's Alex. He's doing this for us, for the kids. Risking his life to give us a chance."
Leo nodded, his voice low but firm. "He saw your men before, Ramírez. He saw them escape with the kids, and Alex led us here to find them."
Ramírez paled, his eyes glassy.
"Is that true? That guy is leading that horde... for us?" His voice trembled, a mix of guilt and gratitude. "Damn. I've never seen anything like it."
Mike put a hand on his shoulder. "Come on, Ramírez. Where are the kids? We need to get them out now."
As Ramírez guided them down the hall, Alex continued to run in the distance, the echo of his metallic clatter fading. Fear was his companion, but so was a strange clarity.
This is what I am now, he thought.
Not a hero, not a martyr, just a man doing what he had to. Every step took him farther from safety but brought the kids closer to salvation.
Thirty minutes later.
The air was thick, heavy with the stench of decay and burnt metal. Alex ran, or rather stumbled forward, his legs shaking under the weight of an exhaustion that came from more than just physical effort.
Thirty minutes had passed since he began leading the horde, and now, six blocks from the building where the kids were, his body screamed for rest. It wasn't the constant running—he had jogged gently, keeping a pace the zombies could follow—but the relentless tension.
Every corner hid a threat: a zombie lunging from an alley, another trapped in a car, thumping the glass with clumsy hands. He had taken down several with his knife and spear, precise movements that conserved his energy, but each encounter wore him down a little more. The virus, much like the one in TWD, made the zombies slow, but their numbers were overwhelming, and Alex knew it all too well.
He looked back, his vision blurred by sweat dripping down his forehead. The horde, now hundreds of stumbling bodies, filled the street. Some tripped over abandoned cars, others bumped into each other, but they all groaned, their empty eyes fixed on him.
Alex's heart pounded so hard he feared it would burst.
Keep moving. Don't stop.
The thought of Emily, Tim, and the others in the makeshift shelter grounded him.
Had the kids left yet? Were they safe?
Doubt gnawed at him, but he couldn't stop to think. With a final burst of effort, he sprinted half a block and smashed his metal pipe against the windshield of a new car. The alarm blared, an electronic shriek that echoed down the deserted street.
The zombies turned toward the sound, drawn like moths to a flame. Alex didn't stop; he ran another half block in the opposite direction, broke another window, and another alarm joined the chaos. Most of the horde split, following the new noises. This was his chance.
With the last of his strength, Alex sprinted toward a nearby office building, his breathing ragged, his throat so dry that every inhale hurt. He climbed to the second floor, knife in hand, checking every corner with the paranoia of a man who knew a single mistake could kill him.
He found an empty office, with overturned desks and scattered papers. He closed the door, pushed a filing cabinet against it, and collapsed onto the floor, panting. His vision blurred, the edges darkening as he tried to catch his breath.
Just a moment, he thought. I just need a moment.
But the echo of distant moans reminded him that rest was a luxury. His dreams had prepared him for this, but not for the exhaustion that was crushing him now.
Was it worth it?
The question tormented him. He had risked everything for strangers, guided by a mix of pragmatism and a morality he couldn't ignore. Emily, with her idealism, would be proud. But he wasn't a hero, just a man trying not to lose the little he had left.
Meanwhile, at the building where the kids were.
Mike and Leo were seething with frustration. They had gathered the group—six firefighters, four kids, and a couple of civilians—but their reluctance was paralyzing. The death of Jim, the police officer who had sacrificed himself, weighed on them like a lead slab.
The firefighters, with gaunt faces and stained uniforms, stared at the floor, reluctant to move.
"Damn it, Ramírez!" Mike growled, his voice low but sharp. "Alex is out there, risking his life to clear a path, and you want to sit here? The kids can't wait!"
Leo, his pistol still in hand, added, "We've wasted too much time arguing. The path isn't going to be clear forever. Alex can't keep those bastards away eternally."
His tone was harsh, but guilt was gnawing at him. They had wasted almost half an hour and squandered Alex's sacrifice, and the thought that he might be trapped or dead because of their delay made him sick.
Suddenly, a young woman, about twenty, approached with a young boy by the hand.
"I'm Kris," she said, her voice firm despite the exhaustion in her eyes. "This is my sister, Abi. Is it true what you said about that guy, Alex? He's really leading all those zombies just to give us a chance?"
There was an intensity in her gaze, a curiosity that bordered on something deeper.
Mike nodded, softening his tone. "Yeah. I saw it with my own eyes. The guy is… I don't know how he does it. He moves like he knows exactly what to do, like he's seen this before. He's brave, but he's not an idiot. He knows what's at stake."
Kris raised an eyebrow, an enigmatic smile curving her lips. "That's… impressive," she murmured, more to herself than to Mike. Abi, clinging to her hand, looked toward the window as if expecting to see Alex appear.
Mike didn't catch Kris's expression, too busy organizing the group. "Let's go, everyone. We move now, or we won't get another chance."
The firefighters finally gave in, gathering backpacks and makeshift weapons. The kids, with scared but silent eyes, lined up behind the adults. Mike and Leo led the way toward the side door, moving cautiously.
The streets were eerily empty, the echo of car alarms a distant memory.
He did it, Mike thought, a knot of gratitude and guilt tightening in his chest. But the question remained: where was Alex? Had he survived?
Back in the office.
Alex forced himself to his feet, leaning against the wall. His breathing was still ragged, but the dizziness was starting to fade. He checked the window: the horde was scattered, drawn away by the alarms. It had worked, but the cost was high.
Emily is safe. The kids are safe.
That had to be enough. He took his knife and his spear, checked the door, and prepared to move.
Alex moved with careful steps, the spear swaying in his hand, the metal still sticky from encounters with zombies. He had diverted his route to avoid the horde he had guided, a swarm of hundreds of the dead now wandering six blocks away. The echo of their groans was fading, but the weight of what he had done crushed him.
Those zombies… I led them into a neighborhood where people might be hiding.
Guilt hit him like a punch. He had saved the kids, but at what cost?
Families trapped in their homes, unprepared, could now be in the path of that tide of death. The need for survival that kept him alive clashed with the morality he couldn't silence.
Survive first, Alex. Then deal with the guilt.
But the thought of Emily, waiting in the building, and the promise to Ron to get her to safety, pushed him to continue.
As he moved down a street filled with abandoned cars, his thoughts wandered to the messages he had exchanged over the radio before leaving the high school.
To David, in his shelter in the industrial zone, he had said everything was fine, sharing tips about zombies and refugees. David, always practical, had responded with strategies to improve the shelters.
With Bryan, his friend, the lieutenant who was protecting his parents, he just asked about them; Bryan confirmed they were safe but evaded details about the army, a silence that unsettled Alex.
To Gerry, at the safe house they had prepared together, he promised to visit soon. Tomorrow, maybe the day after. But in this world, promises were fragile.
A metallic glint pulled him from his thoughts. A bicycle, lying next to a mailbox, with a slightly bent but functional wheel. Alex let out a bitter laugh.
A bicycle in the apocalypse. How ironic.
He picked it up, tested the pedals, and the faint squeak of the metal was a comfort. He mounted and pedaled, the cool wind soothing the sweat on his face.
Ten minutes later, he arrived at the building where he had left Emily and the others, his body still trembling from the previous effort.
He entered stealthily, climbing to the second floor. He expected to find Mike and the rescued kids, but only Tim, Emily, George, Amy, Yuki, Sarah, Paul, and Clara were there. The atmosphere was tense, the air thick with dust and the metallic smell of Paul's blood.
"Where are the others?" Alex asked, his voice sharp, frustration creeping in.
Sarah, with downcast eyes, replied, "Mike took the group to the District 2 fire station. It was closer, and… there were zombies following them. They couldn't risk coming back here." Her tone was guilty, as if she feared Alex's reaction.
Alex looked at Paul, who lay on a makeshift cot, his leg bandaged, but with better color. Anger surged through him—he had risked everything, and now this—but he let it dissipate.
It's not their fault. It's this damn world.
"Let's go to the fire station," Alex said without much thought, his voice firm. "It's a better place to rest before we continue. We move now."
Tim and Alex helped Paul to his feet, while Sarah guided the group toward the exit. Emily, George, Amy, and Yuki moved cautiously, their faces etched with worry and fear.
The streets were eerily quiet, only interrupted by the crunch of broken glass under their boots. Sarah led the way, pointing toward the center.
Twenty minutes later, they spotted the fire station, a sturdy structure with reinforced windows. Before they arrived, Mike appeared, running toward them with a mortified expression.
"Alex, I'm sorry," he said, helping his companions carry Paul. "We had to move fast. The zombies were too close."
Inside, the building was an organized chaos. Children were being protected and comforted by firefighters in one area, exhausted civilians sat against the walls, and makeshift weapons were piled in a corner.
Alex scanned the place, his mind already calculating: barricades, escape routes, resources.
Again, he thought. Another group that needs leadership.
Emily approached, her eyes searching for his.
"Are you angry?" she asked, her voice soft but laden with concern.
Alex looked at the children, some crying, others clinging to adults. Sarah, in the background, was hugging a small boy—her son—while Mike joined them, the relief on their faces palpable. He sighed.
"No, I'm not angry," he said, though his tone was heavy.
Emily followed his gaze, and for a moment, her eyes gleamed with that mix of idealism and guilt that Alex knew so well. She remembered her own warning back at the high school when she gave in to her desire to save her friends.
Not this time, he thought. But his expression gave him away.
"I won't help them like I did your friends," he said, his voice serious. "We can't stay, Emily. Your father is waiting for me, and every day that passes is more dangerous."
Emily lowered her gaze, ashamed.
"I know," she murmured. "I know I could have gone with you from the start, and I didn't. Because of my whims, you've been taking care of me for two days. I won't say anything, Alex. I'll follow your orders." She paused, her voice barely audible as she moved away. "But… it would weigh on me not to help these people."
Alex felt the weight of her words, an echo of his own internal struggle. Before he could answer, Leo approached, his bulletproof vest full of scratches.
"Alex, I don't know how to thank you," he said, sincerely. "What you did out there… it was incredible. You're brave, and we need people like you. Join us. We can build something here."
Alex managed a half-smile, exhausted.
"Thanks, Leo. But my priority is getting Emily to her father. Until I do that, I won't stop. Besides, I don't know what I'll do after." He paused, looking at Emily, who was now talking to the children, her face softened by a warmth Alex envied.
She sees hope where I only see risks.
Turning back to Leo, he added, "For now, I'll help secure this place. I'll teach you what I know about survival. But after that, we're moving on."
Leo nodded, respecting his decision.
As Alex walked away, his mind was already drawing up plans: reinforcing doors, rationing food, watching the streets. The guilt over the horde, the worry for Emily, and the promise to Ron intertwined, but one thing was clear: in this world, leading wasn't a choice, but a burden he couldn't let go of.
.
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[A/N: CHAPTER COMPLETED
Hello everyone.
I hope you enjoyed the episode.
Do you remember who Kris and Abi are?
By the way, I'm going on about Alex helping the shelters so much, because for those of you who remember the dreams he had in the first 35 episodes, Alex not only knew many shelters, but he was also a "member" of them.
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Read my other novels
#Vinland Kingdom: Race Against Time (Chapter 92)
#The Walking Dead: Emily's Metamorphosis (Chapter 28)
#The Walking Dead: Patient 0 - Lyra File (Chapter 9) (PAUSED)
You can find them on my profile.]