Chapter 20 – "I'll Grant You Mercy… Good Night."
Nighttime. The Motor Inn.
Hanks crouched low, gliding along the outer wall like a shadow come alive.
He moved with a predator's patience—each step silent, every breath measured.
Beyond the wall, he could hear the faint shuffle of decaying feet—the uneven rhythm of the dead.
By his count, five… maybe six walkers roamed aimlessly in the courtyard.
He was just about to chart a quiet elimination route when—
THUD.
A heavy metallic noise echoed beside him, followed by a series of faint, desperate knocks.
Hanks's eyes narrowed.
His hand slid instinctively to the P226 holstered at his thigh.
He crept toward the source, muscles coiled tight, the weapon raised and ready.
The noise came from a large ice machine by the wall.
Its metal door trembled, then creaked open just enough for a pair of terrified eyes to peek through the gap.
"...Glenn?" Hanks whispered sharply, gun still leveled. His finger rested inside the trigger guard, ready to act.
A muffled gasp came from inside.
"It's me—it's me! Officer Hanks? Oh, thank God!" Glenn's voice cracked with relief.
"I thought I was about to end up as a frozen lunch special!"
He scrambled out of the icebox on all fours, covered in frost, sweat, and grime. His teeth were chattering, and his breath steamed in the cold air.
"You good to walk?" Hanks asked curtly, scanning the shadows. His tone was clipped, professional—no room for warmth.
"I—I think so," Glenn stammered, wobbling to his feet, one hand gripping the ice machine for balance.
"Then move," Hanks ordered, pressing against the wall to stay hidden from the walkers.
They had just started inching toward the alley when Glenn grabbed Hanks's arm.
"Wait—wait, we can't leave yet!" Glenn's voice trembled with urgency. He pointed toward a corner unit on the motel's second floor.
"There's a girl up there! I heard her crying. She's trapped in one of the rooms!"
Hanks followed his gesture.
Upstairs, one door had been boarded from the outside, wood panels trembling under repeated impacts.
Two walkers clawed and slammed against it relentlessly.
From inside, faint sobs leaked through the cracks.
"You sure she's alive?" Hanks asked, his tone suddenly colder. His instincts—those of a cop who'd seen every kind of setup—demanded caution.
"I'm sure!" Glenn insisted, wide-eyed. "I talked to her! She's scared out of her mind, but she's alive. We can't just leave her!"
Hanks studied his face for a few long seconds. The kid was terrified—but not lying.
He exhaled slowly through his nose.
"Fine," he said at last. "But we do this my way."
His voice hardened, carrying quiet authority. "First priority—clear the walkers. Then we move on the girl. Understood?"
"Yes, sir!" Glenn whispered fiercely, nodding like an eager recruit.
Whether it was the cop training or that stubborn trace of moral instinct he couldn't shake,
Hanks found himself stepping back into the role—protector, tactician, fool with a badge who still believed in saving people.
"Stay close," he muttered, scanning the courtyard.
His eyes caught a faint gleam on the motel's cracked wall—
a screwdriver jammed between bricks.
Without hesitation, he pulled it free, weighing it in his grip.
Then, with the practiced precision of a man who'd done this too many times, he stalked up behind a wandering walker.
One silent step—
another—
then crack—the screwdriver plunged through the base of its skull.
The corpse stiffened, a faint gurgle escaping its lips before it crumpled soundlessly to the ground.
Hanks steadied the walker's collapsing corpse with one arm, easing it to the floor so gently that even the dull thump was swallowed by silence.
He exhaled slowly through his nose, eyes sweeping the courtyard again.
Then he slipped deeper into the motel's interior, every movement a study in stealth.
Up ahead, another walker was wandering aimlessly, groaning under its breath.
Beside it, through the cracked glass of a display cabinet, something glinted faintly red—
a fire axe, locked behind shattered safety glass.
Hanks narrowed his eyes, rolled his shoulders once, and raised the screwdriver in his hand like a throwing knife.
He gauged the distance—
then let fly.
CRACK!
The screwdriver whistled through the air, backed by his superhuman strength and reflexes.
It buried itself through the walker's skull with a wet, crunching pop—then pinned it to the wall like an insect on a collector's board.
Blood and gray pulp sprayed outward in an arc.
Glenn flinched, covering his mouth to stop a gasp.
Hanks was already moving, fast and silent, retrieving the axe.
He gave it a quick swing to test the weight.
Perfect balance. Heavy enough to split bone, light enough to move quick.
"This'll do," he muttered. "For clearing the living and the dead."
He took point with the axe in hand, Glenn following close behind as they crept up the narrow stairway.
On the second-floor landing, the sound of pounding grew louder—
two walkers were still hammering at a door at the far end of the hall, boards bending with each blow.
"Stay behind me."
Hanks burst from cover in one blur of motion, closing the distance in seconds.
The first walker didn't even turn before the axe came down.
THWACK!
The blade split its skull cleanly down the middle, spraying dark filth across the peeling wallpaper.
The second lunged.
Hanks sidestepped, pivoted, and swept the axe horizontally.
The edge caught the walker's neck mid-motion, shearing it halfway through—the head flopped sideways, attached by a shred of muscle, before toppling to the floor with a dull thud.
Quick. Clean. Precise.
No wasted motion. No sound beyond what death demanded.
He wiped the blade once on the nearest curtain and turned to the door.
Three sharp knocks.
"Hey," Hanks called softly, his tone firm but calm. "This is Officer Hanks. The walkers outside are down. You're safe to come out now."
For a moment, only silence.
Then a voice shrieked from inside—hoarse, panicked, almost feral:
"Go away! Please go away! Don't open the door—please! Just leave me alone!"
Glenn stepped forward, desperate. "She's terrified, man! We just need to talk her down!"
Hanks frowned.
He didn't answer—just raised the axe.
CRACK.
The boards splintered under one swing.
Another kick from his boot blew the door open, hinges shrieking as the frame gave way.
Inside, the room was dim and stale with rot and fear.
A young woman huddled in the far corner, back pressed against the wall, one hand clamped over her abdomen—
but crimson seeped steadily between her fingers, spreading through her shirt and down into the carpet beneath her.
Her skin was ashen. Her breathing ragged.
And her eyes—once full of life—were clouding to a dull, gray-blue haze.
Hanks froze. He didn't need to ask.
Glenn saw it too and sucked in a breath, his hand flying to his mouth.
"You… you've been bitten," Hanks said quietly, switching the axe to his left hand, his right already near his thigh holster.
The woman nodded weakly.
Tears mixed with sweat on her face.
"I didn't… I didn't want to hurt anyone," she whispered. "I just… didn't want to turn. Please, just… go. Leave me."
Glenn staggered back a step, eyes wide with disbelief.
His voice cracked. "Jesus… she's—she's dying…"
Hanks's face was unreadable. His eyes, however, softened—just for a heartbeat.
Then he spoke, low and even.
"Need a hand with that?"
The woman blinked, startled—then saw the look in his eyes.
When he drew his P226, she finally understood.
Her expression broke into something between sorrow and gratitude.
"Thank you," she whispered.
"Officer—wait, what are you—" Glenn stammered, his voice rising in panic.
CLICK.
The safety disengaged with a soft mechanical sigh.
Hanks's movements were steady, almost reverent.
The woman leaned her head back against the wall, a faint smile tugging at her lips.
Tears glimmered on her cheeks in the dim light.
"I'll grant you mercy," Hanks murmured, raising the pistol.
His tone was solemn—like a prayer.
"Good night."
The barrel aligned perfectly with the center of her brow.
Her breathing slowed. Her body relaxed.
There was no more fear—only peace, and release.
Glenn tried to speak, but no sound came out.
He turned his head away, hand trembling.
BANG.
The report of the shot filled the small room like thunder, echoing off the peeling walls before fading into silence.
Even the wind outside seemed to hold its breath.
[Handgun proficiency +1000]
[Attribute +1]
The woman's body slumped backward, sliding down the wall, a faint smile frozen on her lips.
"Let's move," Hanks said flatly, reholstering his sidearm without looking back. "That shot'll draw them."
He turned and started down the hallway, the fire axe still slick in his left hand, blood dripping rhythmically onto the carpet.
Glenn lingered a moment longer, his face pale as chalk.
Then, swallowing hard, he tore his gaze away from the corpse and followed.
Outside, the first faint groans began to rise again.
The dead were coming.
And mercy, once given, would have to wait until the next life.