Marlene...
Bryan kept his expression neutral, but internally he shook his head. Others might not know the situation around Atlanta, but he'd learned the truth from Clarice back in Dallas.
The entire area was a hot zone for Infected activity. Even inside the city, things probably weren't peaceful. But he couldn't bring himself to crush someone's hope. Sometimes belief was the only thing keeping a person alive.
As these thoughts churned through his mind, Bryan noticed a thin figure in another corner of the room—a boy staring directly at him.
He raised an eyebrow and turned to look. The moment their eyes met, the boy quickly dropped his gaze, clearly not wanting to be noticed.
But Bryan recognized him instantly. The kid who'd stared down a gun barrel without flinching—Allen.
He sat curled against the wall, arms wrapped around his knees. People walked past without acknowledging him. Since losing his mother, all the light had drained from him. The happy boy Bryan had first met was gone.
Bryan considered for a moment, glanced at the three women deep in conversation, then stood and walked toward Allen. He navigated through the crowd and dropped down beside him.
Allen flinched at his approach, instinctively scooting away.
Bryan didn't find the reaction strange. He pulled a chocolate bar from his pocket and held it out. "Want some?"
Allen's eyes slid to the chocolate. His throat bobbed. He hadn't eaten anything all day—even through the wrapper, the sweet smell made his stomach growl.
"You haven't eaten?"
Hearing the rumble, Bryan was surprised. He scanned the area around the boy—nothing. No food, no supplies. Some bastard had apparently stolen from an orphaned child.
Without hesitation, Bryan grabbed Allen's hand and pulled him to his feet. "Come on. I'm taking you to get food."
Allen hadn't expected this. He let himself be hauled up and led outside, too stunned to resist.
The supply station was nearly packed up. Bryan spotted Tracy putting things away and called out: "Excuse me! There's still someone here who hasn't eaten!"
Tracy looked up, saw two kids standing there. She recognized the first one—he'd just gotten his rations. The smaller boy behind him... she remembered now. That was the dead woman's son.
She looked at his thin frame, and pity flickered in her eyes. Softening her voice as much as she could, she said: "Can I see an ID card?"
Bryan nodded and nudged Allen forward. "Go on. Show her your card and get your food."
Allen shuffled forward, head still bowed. He fumbled in his pocket and produced two cards, handing over the one with his photo.
Tracy glanced at it, handed over a food packet, and reached out to gently touch his cheek. "I'm sorry about your mother. She's in a better place now. Take care of yourself—you have a long road ahead."
Walking back toward the house, Allen clutched his food to his chest, trailing behind Bryan. He stared at the older boy's back for a long time before finally speaking: "Why?"
"Hm?" Bryan paused and turned. "Why what?"
"Why... are you helping me?" Allen studied Bryan's face intently, searching for any hint of ulterior motive.
Bryan saw the confusion in the younger boy's eyes. A small smile crossed his face. Instead of answering immediately, he walked over, put an arm around Allen's shoulders, and spoke warmly: "Do I need a reason to help someone who lost their mother?"
Allen's head dropped again—but this time, his body began to shake. Tears spilled down his cheeks, dripping onto the street. His voice broke: "Thank you... for helping me. Thank you for avenging my mother."
Bryan stroked the boy's hair, unsurprised that Allen knew what had happened. The soldiers had found him hiding behind the front door—of course he'd seen everything.
"Since you've thanked me, I want something in return. You need to become strong. Don't let hatred blind you. Don't become like that man yesterday—someone who indulges his worst impulses and takes lives without a thought. That path... it's wrong."
Allen sniffled hard, scrubbed his eyes dry, and nodded firmly. He understood.
"Haha..."
Bryan laughed, a little surprised by his own words. When did I become a motivational speaker?
He pulled out the chocolate, unwrapped it, and popped it into Allen's mouth. Then he guided the boy forward.
"Your mother is gone. From now on, you walk with us. Deal?"
"Yeah!"
Bryan led Allen back inside and headed toward Sarah and the others. Halfway there, he noticed a mohawked man leaning against the doorframe, staring in their direction with a sleazy grin.
Bryan recognized him—one of the newcomers. The man's expression made his skin crawl. What the hell—creepy stalker vibes.
He continued to the group and found a sturdy middle-aged man sitting beside Anna. Didn't take a genius to figure out that was her father.
Back in his seat, Bryan introduced Allen to everyone and met Anna's father, Wilfred.
When they learned Allen's circumstances, the others gave him sympathetic looks. The pitying gazes clearly made the boy uncomfortable. Bryan had to remind everyone to dial it back.
"By the way, I saw a guy with a mohawk near the door. He kept staring over here. Anyone know him?"
At Bryan's words, everyone looked toward the entrance. Sure enough, there was the distinctive mohawk—Ogden.
Ogden had been busy ogling Anna when suddenly all those eyes turned on him. Panic flashed across his face, and he bolted.
"That bastard just won't leave me alone! I can't take it anymore—I'm going to beat some sense into him!" Anna shot to her feet, ready to give chase.
"Anna, calm down." Wilfred caught her arm. "Fighting isn't allowed here."
Anna knew the rules, but she couldn't stand that pervert's filthy gaze anymore. She dropped back into her seat, fuming.
"Who is he? Has he always been like this?" Sylvia asked curiously, leaning against the wall.
At the question, Anna straightened and vented: "His name's Ogden. We were trapped in a church together when the Infected came. He's a complete creep—always staring at me. I want to punch his face in."
"What? That scumbag—I'll skin him alive!"
Wilfred hadn't known about this. His temper flared, nostrils flaring. If Ogden had been there, he'd have beaten him senseless.
"Hold on."
Seeing father and daughter both ready to explode, Sylvia quickly intervened: "We can't handle this ourselves without getting in trouble. Let the soldiers deal with it. We tell the soldier in charge of our bus and ask her to transfer Ogden to another vehicle. If that doesn't work, we'll think of something else."
It was a band-aid, not a cure—but if it meant getting away from that creep, Anna was on board. She nodded vigorously, already planning how to present her case.
Bryan just shrugged. He had no comment. In his view, half-measures were useless. They might even push someone like Ogden to do something extreme.
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