Chapter 26 – Glenn Was Born for a Baseball Bat
Clementine was perched in the driver's seat, small hands curiously turning the oversized steering wheel.
The moment she saw Hanks enter the RV, she hopped down and ran over, grabbing his hand.
"Hanks, are we really going to drive this big car?" she asked, tilting her head up. There was nothing but excitement in her eyes—no fear at all.
"If it's willing to cooperate," Hanks replied, ruffling her hat, the gentleness slipping into his voice unconsciously.
He began searching the RV, opening every compartment he could find.
"What are we looking for?" Clementine trailed behind him like a tiny shadow.
"Seeing if the previous owner left us anything useful. Like…"
Hanks opened compartment after compartment—
Until finally, he dragged out a heavy metal toolbox from under the passenger seat.
Inside was a complete set of basic tools—wrenches, screwdrivers, pliers, even a jack. Beneath them lay a tourist map of Macon County.
Well, well… seems Lady Luck has lifted her skirt for us once again.
He stuffed the map into his pocket, grabbed the toolbox, and headed to the rear storage compartment with his little shadow following along.
There he found two dusty but intact 20-liter fuel cans.
He set them outside next to the toolbox, then slid under the vehicle to check the undercarriage.
Clementine squatted beside him, watching with wide, curious eyes.
Hanks checked for rust and damage first, then pulled out the oil dipstick. Wipe. Insert. Pull again. Under the light, the oil was thick, pitch-black, and nearly unreadable.
"Yeah… this all needs replacing," he muttered.
"What's that black stuff?" Clementine asked softly.
"It's the machine's blood. Once it's dirty, the machine won't run. So we give it new blood."
She nodded solemnly, even if she didn't fully understand.
Next, Hanks inspected the tires—found the slow leak, checked the wear on the others—then popped open the hood.
He removed the air filter. It was choked with dust and dead bugs.
The spark plugs took more effort, and he needed a special socket. Clementine tried to help by handing him tools—often the wrong ones—but Hanks took each one anyway, patting her head.
"Not this one, little Clem. But thank you."
She puffed up her cheeks in determination and continued her "helping."
Glenn eventually wandered over and offered the bits and pieces he knew about this old RV model.
After a thorough inspection, Hanks finally crawled out from underneath the vehicle, patting the dirt from his clothes.
"It's a bit worse than I expected," he admitted, "but it's fixable."
"We'll need new engine oil, a filter, an air filter, spark plugs if possible… and that tire patched up. Biggest problem is the battery—we'll probably need another vehicle to jump-start it."
He glanced at the two empty fuel cans.
"And we need more containers. This RV drinks nearly a hundred liters. Two cans won't cut it."
A plan formed in his mind.
Hanks stared out at the silent, desolate street beyond the motel window.
For Clementine's sake, every single obstacle had to be overcome.
"Let's confirm our position and head out," he said to Glenn. Then he knelt down to Clementine's eye level.
"Clem, stay in the RV and guard our home, okay? If anything happens, ask Lee for help."
"Mm!" Clementine nodded fiercely, face serious with the weight of responsibility.
"I'll protect it!"
Hanks smiled, ruffling her hair before calling Glenn inside.
He spread the Macon County map across the table, circling their location in red.
"Glenn, this is us, right?"
Glenn leaned in and pointed firmly. "Yep. This motel."
Hanks traced his finger across the map until it landed on a specific spot.
"Fuel comes first."
He tapped the gas station icon.
"Quick Stop Gas Station. Here."
"We'll need as much as we can carry. Two cans won't be enough."
"Yes, sir!" Glenn nodded vigorously. "I know that place! Their backyard used to have a bunch of empty fuel drums—maybe for farm equipment!"
Hanks folded the map with a determined snap.
"Good. Then that's where we start."
"Auto parts… Rocky's Automotive Store. You know it?"
"Know it? Of course!" Glenn's eyes lit up.
"That place is big! And the owner sells everything—from tractor parts to lawnmower oil filters. They'll definitely have what we need! It's on the way to the gas station too, so we can hit it first."
Hanks nodded with satisfaction and shifted his finger on the map.
"What about this community convenience store? Size? And the chances it's already been stripped bare?"
Glenn scratched his head.
"Not the biggest, not the smallest… but yeah, it definitely would've gotten messy when everything first broke loose."
"But small stores like that sometimes have blind spots—storage rooms, employee areas. Stuff people might've missed. And it's near the parts shop."
Finally, Hanks tapped a spot on the map marked with a bold star—the Macon County Sheriff's Department.
"This place has what we really need. What's the situation there?"
Glenn's expression turned grim.
"That place… fell apart really early."
"When I escaped, I passed by it. Heard tons of gunfire and screaming from inside."
"By now it's probably crawling with those things. And who knows—other survivors may have had the same idea."
"As expected," Hanks said flatly, unfazed.
"So the order is this: parts store, convenience store, gas station. If time and luck allow, we'll take a chance on the sheriff's office."
He folded up the map and looked at Glenn.
"We travel light, move fast. Grab what we need and get out."
"Priority items: motor oil, filters, spark plugs, food… and anything that can hold fuel."
Hanks checked his weapons.
His P226 had one magazine loaded, one full spare, and one completely empty.
The Beretta 92 had burned through two mags in the last firefight—only the mag inside remained.
"Take this for protection," Hanks said, handing Glenn the Beretta.
"In times like this, people can be scarier than walkers."
Glenn wavered, eyes flicking toward the pistol, tempted. But after a brief hesitation, he shook his head.
"I… I've got something else!"
He dashed out of the room and returned moments later—proudly carrying a baseball bat.
He swung it experimentally in the air, like a kid showing off a brand-new toy.
"Uh… yeah, you and a baseball bat really go together," Hanks said, watching Glenn with a strange sense of déjà vu creeping up his spine.
"Maybe wrap some barbed wire around it someday… might even match the baseball cap on your head."
Glenn paused, seriously considering the idea, making a mental note to look for materials later.
Hanks rubbed his temples, pushing away the weird premonition, then retrieved the Beretta's bullets and loaded them back into his own magazine.
On the way out, he grabbed a cross-head screwdriver from the toolbox—just in case things got up close and personal.
The two of them packed light, empty backpacks on their shoulders, and hurried toward the nearest destination: Rocky's Automotive Parts.