Shawn stood at the edge of the couch, as Andrea and Amy huddled together on one side, across from Dale, and Carol cradling Sophia in her lap, Shane and Daryl stood on the left side.
The only sound came from the creaking of floorboards and the quiet rustle of clothing as they shifted, tense and waiting.
Almost all eyes were locked on the door to the room where Carl lay.
When it finally opened, Rick stumbled out, pale as wax and damp with sweat. Lori held him up, her arm tightly wrapped around his waist.
"Jesus Christ, Rick," Shane quickly moved, supporting him from the other side, helping him sit down on the couch.
"How many?" Dale asked, looking at his pale face.
Lori trailed her hand through Rick's hair, feeling his increasingly cold skin.
"Three," she answered.
The group collectively held their breath for a moment before exhaling in silence. Shane stepped forward, his concern overriding his internal conflict.
"You look like hell, man," Shane muttered. He lightly tapped his shoulder. Daryl looked from the side, examining his condition before shaking his head.
Lori spoke gently, "Carl's holding on. They're doing whatever they can… but it's not enough."
Shane looked at the group and nodded grimly. "Maggie, Shawn's sister," Shane glanced toward Shawn, before turning to the group, "Went to get help. There's a guy, maybe a survivor like us, who lives a few miles from here on a dairy. She said, he'd help."
Andrea blinked, "That man… who is he?" Andrea turned to Shane, but he only shook his head and turned to Shawn for an answer.
"Albert," Shawn answered smoothly. "Though… we just call him Wesker."
Clink
Glenn choked on his water, nearly dropping the glass as he coughed violently. Everyone turned to look at him in alarm.
Shawn's brows drew together. "You okay?"
Glenn stared at him, eyes wide. "Blonde guy… wears shades in the dark?" he asked.
Shawn nodded as he remembered Wesker wearing glasses at night.
"You know him?" Andrea turned to Glenn, curious, and so was Rick.
Glenn nodded, still looking dazed. "The man I told you about… when we were in the sewers in Atlanta." He turned to Andrea. "He was the one who saved me, and the group I was with in Macon."
Andrea's eyes narrowed, remembering him mentioning it.
"The day I left that group," Glenn continued quietly. "He said he was going back… to save a girl, and two families, a mustache man, and some hard-ass woman, and her even harder-ass dad. But only one of those families returned with the girl. I figured…"
He trailed off.
"I figured he was dead."
Everyone fell silent.
Then, bright light flared against the curtains.
A pair of headlights pierced the night outside again, cutting through the walls in long beams. Everyone turned instinctively toward the front window. Carol clutched Sophia tightly. Dale stood up, along with Andrea and Lori.
Shawn moved fast; he was already unlocking the front door, swinging it open.
Outside, a Humvee rolled up the dirt path, its tires crunching gravel. The engine hummed low before cutting off. The vehicle hissed softly as it settled.
Everyone stood by the porch, their eyes narrowing slightly as the Humvee's door opened with a solid, deliberate sound.
From the driver's side, a man stepped out.
He was tall, with cold, almost marble-pale skin. His hair, light blonde and nearly white under the porch light, was slicked back in disorder and chaos.
A dark blue shirt clung to his frame beneath a tailored gray blazer, and his matching trousers moved with tight efficiency. A black shoulder holster ran across his shoulder and back, like a detective on duty.
What truly held the room's breath hostage was those glasses, dark and ever-present shades. He wore them even at night, as if daylight or starlight made no difference to him.
His chin was slightly tilted down, giving the impression he was scanning each of them, the kind of gaze Daryl could detect even in his sleep.
"Speak of the Devil," Glenn muttered from the back.
Wesker.
Maggie emerged from the other side, pulling the Humvee's back door open and dragging two large duffle bags. The weight made her stagger, but before anyone could react, Shawn rushed to her side, helping her without a word.
Albert finally removed his glasses, letting the group in on the secret.
His orange ember eyes shone in the moonlight, like a predator in the night.
Andrea's brows furrowed the moment her eyes met his. Her arms were crossed, but her fingers twitched slightly—like she couldn't decide if she should be impressed or concerned. Amy, beside her, shifted uncomfortably, her hands clenching the side of her tee, "He doesn't look like a farmer…" she whispered.
Daryl, chewing the inside of his cheek, tilted his head. He looked Wesker up and down without shame. "Looks like a goddamn banker," he muttered under his breath. With a few loose screws
Then—
"Where's the kid?" He spoke, his voice cold and sharp, like a dagger in the back.
"Inside." A voice cut in as another figure emerged from the doorway, Hershel. He stood with a small smile of relief, seeing his daughter by the Humvee.
Wesker stepped forward without ceremony, with Shawn following behind carrying the bags he and Maggie had struggled to get out of the car.
"Need any help?" Wesker muttered, stepping up the porch.
Hershel studied him for a second before he sighed and gave a short nod, "If you don't mind."
Wesker didn't respond; he simply moved after Hershel into the house, his stride silent and unhurried.
Inside the room, the dim yellow light cast long shadows across Carl's pale form. Beth stood near the bed, hands nervously wringing her shirt, her eyes flicking up toward Wesker before quickly darting away. She always reacted like that—like a sheep suddenly aware of the wolf in the field.
Ever since Wesker cut off Shawn's hand, she had avoided him no matter what.
She instinctively stepped away, but before she could slip past him, Wesker halted her with a single word.
"Beth."
She paused, her back slightly stiff. She turned to him, slowly, still avoiding his eyes.
"We're gonna need your help," he said, voice gentle but still void of softness.
Bith's eyes shifted to her father. In response, Hershel gave a slight nod, subtle but sure.
She sighed and stepped back to the bedside, next to Hershel.
Meanwhile, Maggie and Shawn stood outside the room, assembling the parts of the respirator. Glenn, Dale, Andrea, Amy, and the others watched in silence, helpless to do anything more. Tension wrapped the hallway like a noose.
Once the respirator was ready, Maggie carried it, cradling it as if it were a baby.
Maggie walked inside, seeing Wesker stand beside the bed, waiting, now wearing a mask, a cap, and an apron with Beth's help; he looked like a doctor, an evil doctor, she thought.
Wesker turned to her, taking the respirator from her hands, and began to set it up.
Maggie stood back watching him, when Hershel, "You need a breather," said from the side, seeing the exhaustion on her face. "Go, rest for now."
"But—"
"Maggie." Wesker's voice came, sharp but low, almost caring. Maggie's eyes snapped to him before she reluctantly nodded and left the room.
Hershel shook his head. She listens to him more than me.
Wesker glanced at him, as if reading his mind, "Shall we begin?" he said, interrupting his thoughts.
.
.
.
****
Read +3 or +7 chapters ahead on my Pat*eon
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