Crack! Thud.
I took in a few deep breaths, somewhat easing my burning lungs after I caved in the skull of the last walker here with my crowbar. Looking down at the said crowbar, I let out a grimace at the amount of rotten blood and gore clinging to it.
Shaking my head, I gave the iron tool a casual flick, sending a spray of red off of it before resting it back on my shoulder.
"Well, that was that."
(Flashback: An hour ago)
It's been about forty minutes since I had left the farmhouse.
Driving to Atlanta had become increasingly difficult the more time passes. I should know, because I had to take so many detours just to reach my destination—the Atlanta nursing home.
The streets are choked full of wreckage. If it were only that, it wouldn't have been so bad.
The problem is the amount of walkers that had found their way to the city is starting to become dangerous. I had to stop multiple times to quickly clear out small swarms of them every now and then.
Maybe I'll have to organize a mass walker culling—like we did when we cleared out the gas reservoir back then—when I finish this road trip.
Shaking my head, I slowed down the truck to a halt in the middle of the road and reached out for the map in the glove compartment to check how far I'm still from the Atlanta nursing home. I traced my finger across the lines, mentally calculating how much distance remained.
It's not far now. A couple more miles and I'll have arrived.
I carefully folded the map and returned it to the compartment before I pressed the gas and sped to my destination.
About ten minutes later and an awful lot of detours, I had finally reached my destination.
I slowed down the truck and parked it in an alley a few hundred yards away from the building. I stepped out of the vehicle and looked around for a way to one of the roofs to get a vantage point to scout the place ahead.
Spotting a caged ladder that went straight to the roof of a nearby building, I moved over, grabbed the cold iron rungs, and quickly climbed up.
Reaching the top, I immediately scanned the place for any nasty surprises. Finding none, I breathed a sigh of relief, then dropped onto my stomach, keeping low against the gravel surface to avoid getting spotted.
Crawling toward the ledge, I found a good vantage point that had a clear view of the nursing home. I retrieved a pair of binoculars from my inventory and raised them to my eyes, taking a long look at the structure.
Right away, I noticed a not-so-small number of walkers milling around the front entrance—about a couple dozen of them.
"Strange," I murmured to myself, frowning. There shouldn't be any walkers this close; the Vatos wouldn't let a security hazard like that just sit at their front door.
I shifted my focus, panning the lenses across the second-floor windows, hoping to spot Guillermo, Felipe, or any of the old folks moving around inside. I searched every glass pane for a good five minutes, but found none. Not a single soul.
My frown deepened for a long moment before I let out a long sigh. Lowering the glasses, I tossed them back inside my inventory, shaking my head.
"Guess I have to get close," I muttered. "So much for a clean scouting run."
I backed away from the ledge, turned around, and climbed down the caged ladder back into the quiet alley.
Sticking close to the brick walls, I sneaked over to the main entrance of the nursing home. I retrieved my compound bow and a quiver of arrows from my inventory, nocking a shaft as I rounded the corner.
The walkers nearest turned their heads toward me, but they were ultimately too slow.
Thwip. Thwip. Thwip. Thwip.
I dropped them one by one with quiet shots to the head before I turned my attention to the rest. It didn't take long before the final walker went down with a heavy thud.
Stepping over the pile of corpses, I quickly retrieved my arrows from their skulls, wiping the tips on a dead corpse's rags before slipping them back into my quiver. I pushed the heavy glass front door open and stepped inside.
The moment I crossed the threshold, a thick, putrid smell of rot rushed right to my face. I frowned, pulling my collar up over my nose.
"Yeah, there's definitely something wrong going on here."
I stored my bow and arrows back inside my inventory and retrieved my crowbar. Gripping the steel tightly, I kept my footsteps light, moving through the ground floor and searching the place room by room. The medical bays, the kitchen, the common room—all empty.
It wasn't until I reached the second floor where I was startled by the amount of walkers standing in the main hallway.
I pressed my back against the wall, taking a quick peek around the corner. That's when I saw the bodies on the floor beneath the moving biters—or what was left of them, anyway.
Turned out the Vatos and the old folks they were taking care of were already dead. Executed.
Holes in the back of their skulls, lined up along the hallway floor. Judging by the entry wounds, they were killed by another group before walkers swarmed the place.
Woodbury was immediately off the suspect list, because if it were the Governor, he would have bragged about it and documented it in his journal—that fucker was just that demented.
Which leaves either the Grady Memorial cops—those corrupt bastards—or some other random group of raiders did this.
Either way, this trip was a bust. There was no one left here to rescue and no trade to be made. I let out a tired sigh, turning my heels around to head back down the stairs to my truck.
That's when a sudden noise sounded. It wasn't loud—not by a long shot—but in such a silent, dead building, it was like a gunshot went off.
CRUNCH.
I froze. Every single walker in the hallway snapped their heads toward my position at the exact same time. I looked down at my boot and found that I had stepped right on a thick piece of shattered glass sitting on the tile floor.
"Fuck," I muttered, gripping the crowbar with both hands. "Guess I'll have to take care of you before I can get out, huh?"
(Present)
...Which brought me right back to where I stood now.
The narrow hallway was looking like a slaughterhouse now. Dozens of dead walkers lay piled up on the floor, their heads smashed in and leaking dark, stagnant blood into the cracks of the tiles. I stood in the center of the mess, my lungs burning slightly as my chest rose and fell.
That was a lot more work than I had planned on doing today.
I took another deep breath, letting it out slow, and wiped the sweat off my forehead with the back of my sleeve. The crowbar felt heavy in my hand, covered in brain matter and dry skin.
I flicked it one more time to clear off the excess rot, wiped it clean with a piece of cloth I found nearby, then stashed the metal tool back into my inventory.
I looked down at Guillermo's body lying near the doorway, or what was left of him anyway.
Whoever killed them didn't even bother clearing out the medical supplies in the back room—they just came in, put everyone down, and left.
Pure waste.
"Rest easy, man," I said quietly to the quiet room. "At least you don't have to worry about keeping this place running anymore."
I took a few minutes looting whatever medical supplies and other stuff I found before I turned away from the bodies and made my way back down the central staircase, stepping over the corpses I had shot with my bow earlier. The place was dead silent now.
I pushed through the front glass doors, stepping back out into the brightning Georgia sun and fresh cool air.
I walked down the alley, reached my truck, and pulled the driver's side door open. I climbed inside, slammed the door shut, and turned the key in the ignition.
The engine roared to life with a steady, suppressed rumble that echoed off the brick alley walls. I shifted into gear, pulled out onto the main street, and looked back in the rearview mirror as the nursing home slowly faded into the distance.
Atlanta was a ghost town full of dead ends and dead people. It was time to get back onto the highway and head for the next target.
(To be continued...)