Glenn checked his watch for the third time in as many minutes.
Martin had said he needed to use the bathroom. That had been... fifteen minutes ago? Maybe longer?
Even if the guy had stomach problems or something, this was way too long.
He pushed off the car and walked over to where Daryl was posted near the RV. Daryl appeared to be dozing, though Glenn knew better. He was probably more alert than he looked.
"Hey, Daryl."
Daryl's eyes opened immediately. "What?"
"That new guy's been gone a while. He said he was just using the bathroom."
Daryl's expression didn't change, but Glenn saw the shift in his posture. He was suddenly very awake.
"How long?"
"I don't know. Fifteen, maybe twenty minutes. I wasn't really timing it, but it's been a while."
Daryl stood, pulling his crossbow up. He jerked his head toward where T-Dog was making his rounds. "Tell T to cover this sector. You're with me."
They moved quietly, Daryl in the lead with Glenn a few steps behind. The public restroom sat about forty yards from the gas station, tucked behind the convenience store. As they drew closer, Glenn caught a smell that made his nose wrinkle.
Daryl raised a hand, signaling Glenn to stop. He motioned for him to stay outside and keep watch, then crouched and slipped through the crooked door.
The restroom was a disaster.
Even in the light filtering through the broken window, Daryl could see that a huge section of ceiling had come down. Chunks of concrete and rebar littered the floor, along with years' worth of accumulated filth and debris. And underneath it all, barely visible, was a body.
He moved forward carefully, testing each step to make sure the floor was stable. The last thing they needed was the whole damn building coming down on top of him. He used his boot to push aside some of the larger pieces of rubble, revealing more of the body beneath.
It was Martin. Or what was left of him.
The kid's head was crushed, caved in from the weight of the concrete. Blood had pooled beneath him, already starting to dry and darken. His eyes were open, staring at nothing.
Daryl had seen plenty of death since the world ended. Most of it was walkers, but he had also seen people torn apart by them, killed in accidents, or driven to end things themselves when it all became too much. At first glance, this looked like an accident. It was an old building with visible structural damage, and the ceiling had given way. That kind of thing happened all the time after the apocalypse.
Still, something about it made his instincts twitch.
He scanned the rest of the room, and his eyes caught on something near the edge of the debris field. A small black object lay half-buried beneath a slab of concrete.
He pulled it free. It was a walkie-talkie with the battery still installed but powered off.
Beside it, he spotted a small notebook wrapped carefully in plastic
He opened it and angled the pages toward the window to catch the moonlight.
What he read made his blood run cold.
Page after page was filled with locations, notes, and evaluations.
Farm off Route 85. 2 men, 1 woman. Dealt with. Supplies: canned food, water, one shotgun.
Cabin by the river. Elderly couple. Dealt with. Supplies: medicine, fuel.
Gas station, Exit 52. Family of four. Too risky. Guns. Skipped.
Near the bottom of the list, one entry stood out.
Nursing home, west side. Multiple survivors. Guards. Firearms suspected. Tough target. Waiting for opportunity.
"Son of a bitch."
He snapped the notebook shut and rose to his feet.
"Glenn!" he called. "Get back to camp. Wake Rick and Shane."
---
Pre-dawn light was just starting to bleed across the horizon when Lucien was shaken awake.
"Up," Carl whispered. "Something's happening."
Everyone was roused from sleep and herded out of the RV, then gathered in the open area near the convenience store. The mood was tense and confused. People shuffled about with blankets wrapped around their shoulders, their breath misting in the cold morning air.
Rick stood at the center of the group. Shane was beside him with his arms crossed, looking like he wanted to hit something. Daryl stood off to one side, the notebook held loosely in his hand.
"Listen up," Rick said. "We've got a situation."
The group went quiet.
"Martin's dead. Daryl found him in the public restroom. The ceiling collapsed on him."
Gasps rippled through the crowd, followed by a few shocked exclamations. Lori's hand flew to her mouth. Carol pulled Sophia closer to her chest.
"Jesus," Morales said. "That's... I mean, that's terrible, but..."
"That's not all." Rick held up the notebook. "Daryl also found this. Martin wasn't who he said he was."
He opened the notebook and turned it so they could see the first page. A map filled the paper, marked with annotations that were anything but reassuring.
"He was a scout. Part of a group that's been hitting survivor camps up and down this area. They find targets, infiltrate if they can, and then..." Rick's voice hardened. "They kill everyone and take whatever they want."
Silence.
"The weapons he gave us," Shane said at last, picking up where Rick left off. "The guns are real, we checked them. But the ammunition is another story." He held up one of the rounds they had disassembled over the course of the night. "Most of it's sabotaged."
He demonstrated by pulling the bullet from its casing with minimal effort. "See that? That's not right. A proper round has the bullet crimped tight. You need tools to get it off." He shook the casing, and gunpowder spilled out. "This is a dud. Or worse."
He picked up another round, one that looked perfectly normal, and squeezed. The bullet popped free like a cork from a bottle.
"If you fire this, best case scenario is it jams your gun." Shane's expression was dark. "Worst case, the casing explodes in the chamber. It takes your hand off. Maybe your face."
"Oh my God," Lori breathed.
Miranda swallowed hard. She looked like she might be sick. "Why would anyone do that?"
"Because they wanted us helpless," Daryl said flatly. "We show up with guns but no working ammo, we think we're protected when we ain't. First real fight, our weapons blow up in our faces or jam, and we're sitting ducks."
The group erupted into overlapping voices filled with anger, and disbelief.
Rick let it run for a moment, then raised his hands. "Calm down. It didn't happen. We caught it in time."
"Only 'cause the bastard died before he could screw us over," T-Dog muttered.
"How'd the ceiling collapse?" Dale asked. "That's a hell of a coincidence."
"Old building, structural damage," Daryl said with a shrug. "It happens."
But his eyes flicked to Lucien for just a fraction of a second.
Lucien felt his stomach drop. He kept his expression confused like everyone else, but inside he was panicking.
Did Daryl know? Suspect?
"The point is," Rick said, bringing the focus back, "we need to move. If Martin was supposed to check in with his people and didn't, they might come looking."
"And if he did check in before..." Shane trailed off, but everyone got the meaning.
"They don't know our destination. Martin didn't know we were heading to the CDC. As far as his group's concerned, we're just another target that passed through. But we can't stay here."
Dale nodded. "Agreed. We should pack up and leave immediately."
The group scattered. The shock was giving way to urgency. Tents were broken down, gear was loaded, and children were hustled into vehicles.
Lucien moved with Carl toward the RV, trying to blend in.
"Lucien."
Daryl's voice stopped him cold.
He turned, trying to look curious rather than terrified. "Yeah?"
Daryl was staring at him. "Your jacket."
Lucien glanced down at the blue windbreaker he had been wearing since yesterday. "What about it?"
"You wash it last night?"
Shit.
The Scouring Charm had cleaned everything. Dust, blood, and any trace that he had been anywhere near that restroom were gone. That also meant his clothes were cleaner than they should have been.
"No. Why?" He forced a confused look.
"Thought I saw a stain on the sleeve yesterday." Daryl's eyes narrowed. "It's gone now."
Lucien looked down at his sleeve, then back at Daryl. He let understanding spread across his face. "Oh, that. Yeah, before bed I wiped it down with a wet cloth. It was bugging me. Why?"
It was a weak explanation, and from the way Daryl was looking at him, not entirely convincing.
But before Daryl could push further, Merle sauntered over.
"Ain't that something. Magic jacket that cleans itself."
Both Lucien and Daryl turned to look at him.
Merle's grin widened. "But lemme give you some advice, kid." He leaned in slightly. "Sometimes being too clean ain't a good thing."
---
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Some of you asked whether I'll continue the story after the og author stops. That will depend on the reader base on my Patreon, which is currently quite low for this story. Most of my patrons are not twd readers. If the readership here becomes large enough, I may consider continuing it. However, at the moment this story only has around 130 readers, which is quite low compared to the amount of work required to continue it. For now, let's see if we can reach the latest available chapter.