The small convoy – Dale's steadfast RV and the sputtering pickup truck – rumbled away from the solitary oak tree where Jim had chosen to meet his end. Each turn of the wheels felt to Ethan like another step towards a precipice only he could see. The System's revelation about the CDC – Extremely low viability... Self-destruct protocol potential – was a cold, heavy stone in his gut.
He and Glenn were scouting ahead, sometimes on foot through denser wooded patches that County Road 42 cut through, sometimes jogging just ahead of the slow-moving vehicles when the road cleared. The pace was dictated by the RV's limitations and the need for caution. Every shadow, every bend in the road, was a potential threat.
[INTERNAL CONFLICT DETECTED: KNOWLEDGE OF CDC'S LIKELY STATUS VS. GROUP'S RELIANCE ON IT AS HOPE. OPTIONAL MISSION SUGGESTION: 'INFLUENCE GROUP TRAJECTORY AWAY FROM CDC HAZARD'. RISK ASSESSMENT: HIGH (POTENTIAL LOSS OF TRUST, GROUP COHESION FAILURE). REWARD POTENTIAL: SIGNIFICANT INCREASED SURVIVAL PROBABILITY FOR GROUP, LARGE KARMA POINT GAIN (GOOD).]
Ethan mentally swiped the optional mission away. How could he? Walk up to Rick Grimes, the man who had just found his family and was now radiating a desperate, infectious hope, and say, "Excuse me, my internal supercomputer says your plan is a death trap"? He'd be branded a madman, a fearmonger, or worse. Secrecy, which had been a tool for survival, now felt like a suffocating gag.
"You're quiet today, even for you," Glenn observed during a brief pause while they waited for the RV to navigate a tricky, washed-out section of road. "Something chewing on you?"
Ethan forced a shrug, leaning against a tree. "Just… thinking. This CDC thing. It's a big gamble, isn't it? Putting all our eggs in one basket."
Glenn kicked at a loose stone. "Yeah, well, most of our other baskets got holes in 'em. Or got eaten. Right now, it's the only basket we got that might still hold something. Dr. Jenner, the guy supposedly still there… he's top of his field. If anyone had answers, it'd be him."
The faith in Glenn's voice, the reflected hope from the rest of the group, was almost physically painful for Ethan to hear.
Later, when the convoy stopped to let the children stretch their legs and to check the pickup's wheezing engine, Ethan watched Lori talking animatedly to Carl, her hand gestures painting a picture of safety, of doctors, maybe even a return to some semblance of normalcy at the CDC. Carl's face, usually so serious for a boy his age, was alight with a cautious optimism. Lily, sticking close to Sophia, looked a little less haunted than usual. How could he shatter that?
He sought out Dale, who was meticulously checking the RV's tire pressure.
"Dale," Ethan began, trying to sound casual, "you've been around, seen how things can go south fast. What's Plan B if the CDC… if it doesn't pan out? Or if we can't even get there?"
Dale straightened up, wiping his hands on a rag. He looked at Ethan thoughtfully. "Plan B, son, is something we pray we don't need. Right now, Plan A takes all the hope we've got. But you're right to think ahead." He sighed. "If the CDC is a bust… Fort Benning was mentioned. It's a long way. Or we just keep moving, looking for a place to hole up, to build something. Like always. One foot in front of the other." He clapped Ethan on the shoulder. "Don't you worry too much. Rick's got a good head on him. He'll see us through."
But Ethan did worry. The System, as if sensing his turmoil, provided another internal update as they neared the intersection with a more major state route that would eventually lead them to I-85, the interstate into Atlanta.
[ANALYSIS OF REGIONAL EMERGENCY SERVICE AND MILITARY RADIO TRAFFIC (ARCHIVED, PRE-BLACKOUT AND EARLY OUTBREAK): CONSISTENT PATTERN OF MILITARY UNITS BEING DIVERTED FROM ATLANTA AND CDC PERIMETER IN LATER STAGES OF INITIAL CONTAINMENT EFFORTS. IMPLICATION: CONTAINMENT FAILURE AT CDC WAS ANTICIPATED OR ACTIVELY OCCURRING. STRATEGIC WITHDRAWAL, NOT REINFORCEMENT, WAS THE FINAL RECORDED DIRECTIVE FOR AREA MILITARY ASSETS.]
This wasn't just "low viability" anymore. This was evidence of a strategic abandonment. The military knew it was a lost cause.
Their path soon intersected with the grim aftermath of that knowledge. They came upon a hastily constructed military checkpoint on State Route 78, a few miles before the I-85 interchange. It was a scene of utter devastation. Sandbag emplacements were torn apart, military vehicles were shot up and burned out, and bodies – soldiers and walkers alike – were strewn across the road, baking in the afternoon sun. The stench of death was overpowering.
"God Almighty," Dale breathed from the RV's driver seat, bringing the vehicle to a slow halt. Rick, Shane, Glenn, and Ethan got out, weapons ready, to assess the situation.
[MULTIPLE WALKER SIGNATURES DETECTED AMIDST WRECKAGE. CAUTION. EVIDENCE OF FIERCE FIREFIGHT. MILITARY FORCES OVERRUN.]
"Clear a path, carefully," Rick ordered, his face grim. "Check for any supplies, but don't take risks."
As they moved through the carnage, Ethan's System highlighted something inside a flipped Humvee, near a dead soldier whose uniform was mostly intact. Potential Item of Interest.
While Glenn and Shane focused on dragging a burned-out car chassis to widen a path for the RV, Ethan cautiously approached the Humvee. Inside, amidst shattered equipment, was a military-issue laptop, its screen cracked but still partially showing a garbled emergency broadcast map of Atlanta, red X's pulsing over several key areas, including the CDC. Beside it, clutched in the dead soldier's hand, was a small, bloodstained journal.
Ethan quickly, discreetly, retrieved the journal, his heart pounding. He couldn't access the laptop without drawing attention, but the journal…
He flipped it open. The last entry, scrawled hastily, was chilling:
"Order came down. Atlanta's lost. CDC gone dark – protocol Wildfire active. They're telling us to fall back, but to where? God help us all. They knew. They knew it was hopeless..."
Protocol Wildfire. The System had mentioned that. This soldier knew.
Ethan pocketed the journal, his mind reeling. This was tangible proof, not just System data. This was something he could potentially show Rick, something that didn't come from an inexplicable internal voice. But would it be enough to sway him? To shatter the hope of an entire group clinging to its last thread?
They cleared enough of a path for the RV and truck to squeeze through the checkpoint graveyard. As they regrouped on the other side, the mood was even more somber. The sight of the overrun military position had shaken everyone.
Rick looked towards the east, where the I-85 interchange lay, the gateway to Atlanta. "Alright," he said, his voice deliberately firm, trying to project confidence. "That was bad, but it's behind us. We're close to the interstate now. From there, it's a straight shot. Atlanta. The CDC. Our best chance."
The group murmured in agreement, their faces turning towards the promise of the city, their hope, though battered, still flickering.
Ethan stood there, the dead soldier's journal feeling like a lead weight in his pocket, the System's dire warnings a silent scream in his head. Rick was pointing them towards what he believed was salvation.
And Ethan was leading them right into the fire.