Chapter 27 – Gathering the Parts
Hanks and Glenn kept their bodies low as they moved through the empty street, advancing in short, cautious bursts.
Crack.
A faint but unmistakable snapping sound echoed from beneath an overturned sedan at the intersection ahead.
In an instant, Hanks raised a clenched fist and dropped into a crouch, blending into the shadow of an abandoned mail truck.
His instincts were whispering a warning.
Behind him, Glenn flattened himself against the wall, holding his breath, mimicking Hanks as best he could.
Hanks' sharp gaze locked onto the source of the sound.
A walker, its lower body crushed beneath the flipped car, was clawing desperately at the asphalt, trying—and failing—to drag itself free.
The noise came from it snapping one of its own decayed fingers. The second finger looked ready to break as well.
Just a false alarm. A jump scare courtesy of his own nerves.
Still scanning, Hanks made sure nothing else was lurking nearby.
Only after confirming the area was clear did he approach in a low stance and drive the tip of his Phillips screwdriver straight into the walker's skull, ending its pitiful struggle.
Sometimes, death was kinder than what passed for life now.
A decent death with a marked grave—these days, that was practically luxury.
Hanks signaled the all-clear.
The two resumed their advance, weaving from cover to cover—abandoned cars, shattered porches, collapsed fences—anything that could hide their silhouettes.
Hanks' stealth skills shone. His steps were silent as a prowling cat, always choosing the perfect spots to step, avoiding glass shards and scattered cans.
Glenn tried to imitate him, though clumsily. Thankfully, with Hanks leading, all he needed to do was stay close and keep quiet.
Along the way, they encountered three lone walkers.
One had its back to them, hunched over and tearing into the relatively fresh corpse of a pet dog.
Hanks approached from behind, tightening his grip on the screwdriver.
The Phillips tip pierced cleanly through the base of the skull into the brainstem. The walker went limp immediately.
Clang—
Another walker suddenly lunged halfway out of a shattered barbershop window.
Hanks reacted instantly. Before it could let out a single groan, he yanked his screwdriver free and twisted his wrist in a fluid motion, driving the tool backward into its cranium. Thick, dark fluids oozed down the frame.
Every takedown was quick, clean, silent.
Not a sound loud enough to attract trouble from farther away.
Glenn followed behind, heart pounding and palms sweaty, but also full of admiration.
If it weren't for the fact that he couldn't bear to leave T-Dog behind, he would've stuck to Hanks like glue—nothing made him feel safer than being around the calm, deadly police officer.
Hanks, following the principle of slow is steady, steady is fast, soon led them into the back alley behind the auto parts store.
Old tires and cardboard boxes cluttered the narrow space, and the air was thick with the stench of rubber and old oil.
The back door was tightly shut.
"This the place?" Hanks whispered, body angled away from the door, eyes sweeping both ends of the alley with sharp vigilance.
"Yeah, this is it." Glenn nodded, gripping his baseball bat with both hands.
Hanks eased the back door open. A wave of rubber, metal, and engine oil smell rushed out.
This was clearly the store's storage room.
Dim slivers of light filtered through the vents high above, outlining towers of cardboard boxes and wooden shelves stacked to the ceiling.
Hanks immediately raised a silent-hand gesture.
Glenn stiffened.
Hss… shff…
A faint dragging sound came from behind one of the tall shelves.
Hanks signaled Glenn to stay put, then slid forward silently, hugging the shelves and moving like a shadow.
His senses were dialed up to the maximum, detecting even the tiniest shift in air.
Rounding the end of the shelf—he saw it.
A walker.
It wore blue, oil-stained coveralls—once a storeworker or a mechanic.
Now it was repeatedly smashing its rotten forehead into a metal toolbox on the floor, producing dull thud… thud… sounds.
Its movements were slow, jerky, almost restrained.
Hanks glanced down.
Its left foot was tightly tangled in a collapsed bundle of thick steel wires.
Some wires were embedded deep into its decayed flesh, anchoring it to the floor.
Sensing the living, the walker paused.
Its cloudy eyes shifted toward Hanks, and the guttural rasp in its throat grew louder.
It lifted its arms toward him, struggling to break free.
Hanks didn't hesitate.
One step forward—
Center of gravity lowered—
His right hand shot out, screwdriver thrust like a striking viper—
Straight through the eye socket and deep into the brain.
Puk.
A faint, wet pop.
The walker froze mid-motion, then slumped lifelessly, hanging limp from the wires.
Not a wasted movement.
Not even a sound from the shelves around him.
Glenn peeked out from behind the corner and exhaled in relief.
"You got it?"
"Yeah." Hanks pulled out the screwdriver and wiped it clean on the walker's overalls.
"Start grabbing stuff. Priority: engine oil, filters, spark plugs."
They split up and started searching.
Thanks to his mechanical knowledge, Hanks quickly identified labels and part numbers on the shelves.
"Here!" Glenn whispered sharply, pointing at one shelf.
"Engine oil! This type works for most gasoline engines!"
Hanks walked over, picked up a 4L jug of synthetic oil, and checked the specs.
"Perfect. Grab two more. We'll need extras for long-distance travel."
He quickly located the filter section and selected matching oil and air filters—taking two sets each.
"Spark plugs…" Hanks scanned rows of small boxes.
"Glenn, check the codes. Should be KR8 series or something close."
"Found it! Box of four!" Glenn held up a pack.
"Good." Hanks stuffed it into his bag.
His backpack was already getting heavy.
"Tools…"
His eyes fell on a set of larger toolboxes in the corner.
Inside one was a complete socket wrench set, pry bars, and other professional tools.
"We're taking this."
The RV had a basic tool kit, but this set was far superior.
"Glenn, put some of the lighter stuff in your bag. Spread the weight."
"Got it!" Glenn hurried over.
He grabbed lighter but bulky items—spare wiper blades, fuse boxes, several rolls of electrical tape—and filled his backpack.
"And this!"
Hanks spotted a half-new 12V portable air compressor set, complete with lighter plug and airbag.
He tossed it into Glenn's bag too.
"That should be enough."
Then he lifted a brand-new car battery off the shelf, testing its weight.
Heavy—but manageable.
"Let's take this load back to the motel first. While it's still daylight, we'll make a second run."
Glenn nodded hard and made another quick sweep, picking up a few small but useful items.