Chapter 19: Rescuing Glenn
Hanks noticed the shift in Lee's expression.
He followed Lee's gaze—landing on a framed family photo resting on the dusty desk.
A kind elderly couple.
Lee himself, younger, smiling.
And another man whose features resembled his—likely his brother.
Every face in that photo was warm, full of life… now long gone.
"Oh… God…" Lee's voice trembled as he reached out and slowly lifted the frame.
His fingers brushed across each face in the picture, as if afraid they'd shatter at the slightest touch.
His shoulders sank.
A crushing mix of sorrow and guilt wrapped around him like a shroud.
"This is my family…" Lee whispered hoarsely. "My parents… I…"
He couldn't continue.
Hanks didn't need him to. He knew exactly what that unfinished sentence meant.
Lee had gone to prison for killing the senator who was sleeping with his wife.
He lost everything—his freedom, his reputation—and never got the chance to say goodbye to his family.
Now, in this hellish new world, that regret cut deeper than ever.
He stared at the photo—at the life he once had, the life he destroyed with his own hands—and the hopelessness of the present pressed down on him with unbearable weight.
Hanks remained silent beside him.
There was nothing to say that wouldn't sound shallow or cheap.
A long moment passed before Lee drew a shaky breath.
He clutched the frame tightly, as if it was the last piece of himself left in this world.
When he finally looked up, eyes rimmed red, his voice was ragged:
"I… I was supposed to protect them… not rot in a prison cell while… now I…"
Hanks met his gaze—steady, unflinching.
"You can't change the past, Lee."
His voice was calm, firm—grounded with a quiet strength that left no room for self-pity.
"Keep that photo. Remember them. You being alive is proof they existed."
He pointed toward the door.
"Right now, there are people out there who still need us. Clementine. Duck. Even that old bastard."
"His daughter is begging for his life. Focus on what you can control—on what you can do now."
The words hit like a jolt—pulling Lee out of the abyss of grief.
He stared at the photo once more, then tucked it carefully inside his shirt—close to his heart.
Another deep breath.
His sorrow didn't vanish, but something steadier settled in its place: resolve.
"You're right." Lee nodded. His voice wasn't steady—but it was back. "We get the meds. We survive."
The office door suddenly swung open with a bang.
"Hanks! Lee!"
Clementine came rushing in, yellow hoodie bright against the dim light.
She clutched her walkie-talkie tightly, alarm and worry in her eyes.
"The radio!" she panted, pushing it into Hanks' hand. "It's Glenn! He sounds… really bad!"
Hanks immediately lifted the radio.
Lee stepped closer too—grief shoved aside for the moment.
Glenn's voice crackled through the speaker—broken by static, panicked breathing, and distant walker groans.
"...anyone there? Dammit—khhht—I'm trapped at the motel…!"
Hanks pressed the talk button. "Glenn, it's Hanks. What's happening over there?"
"H–Hanks?! Oh thank God!"
Relief flooded Glenn's voice, desperate and strained.
"I tried to grab some supplies for everyone, but I… I must've attracted a whole herd. They're everywhere—they won't leave!"
"I'm stuck inside a soda cooler! If I move or make a sound, I'm dead!"
Hanks replied instantly: "Stay calm, Glenn. Sit tight, I'm coming for you."
He looked around the pharmacy—meeting each set of eyes:
Lee, Clementine… and further out, Kenny, Lilly, Carly, all tense from the sudden alarm.
A choice was forming—and everyone understood what it meant.
"You all heard it," Hanks said. His tone wasn't loud, but carried a calm authority that steadied the room.
"Glenn's trapped at the motel. I'm going to bring him back."
"I'm going with you," Lee stepped forward without hesitation, eyes resolute.
"And me!" Kenny's grip tightened on his shotgun.
"No."
Hanks shut it down instantly—sharp and final. "Your job is to hold this place until I return."
"Man, we need you here!" Kenny growled, unable to stop the fear creeping into his voice.
He had gotten used to having Hanks take the lead. Without him, he felt anchorless… uneasy.
"That's why I need to get back quickly," Hanks replied, meeting his eyes.
"Hold this place. Wait for me. I'll bring him back."
He swept his gaze across the group. "We're low on food and gas. We can't move this many people yet."
Then he crouched down to meet Clementine at eye level.
"Clem, you have an important job: stay by the radio. Keep it on. Can you do that?"
Clementine nodded hard, tiny fists clenched, trying her best to look brave despite the fear tugging at her eyes.
Hanks made sure everyone had a role—even small ones.
It wasn't just delegation. It was calculated psychology—give panicking people a task, an anchor, so they wouldn't spiral into fear or create more problems.
Hanks reloaded his P226, checking each magazine while mentally mapping the route to the motel. Once ready, he pushed open the back door.
His silhouette slipped out—and vanished into the dying light of Macon's ruined streets.
The air outside was thick with rot, dust, and the faint metallic tang of dried blood.
Hanks moved like a shadow—ears sharp, eyes scanning every rooftop, alley, and window.
He avoided the main streets swarming with walkers.
Only when one stumbled into his path—too close to bypass—did he react, snatching up makeshift weapons on the spot or stepping in fast enough to snap its neck before it could groan.
He was cutting through a narrow alley, planning a shortcut to the motel, when low voices drifted toward him.
"...damn it, where the hell are Johnny and the others? They were supposed to meet us at the gas station!"
"Look at the blood and drag marks—whoever hit them wasn't a damn walker."
"No shit. Bullet holes in the skull? Someone executed them. If I find the bastard who—"
"Spread out! They can't be far! They killed our men—we're not letting this go!"
Hanks slid forward just enough to peek around the corner.
Seven or eight men—rough, armed, and furious—crowded the alley mouth.
They carried bats, pistols, and a couple of pump-action shotguns.
Looking for their buddies…
The four raiders he killed at the gas station.
Everything clicked instantly.
Hanks memorized their faces, then silently eased back and ghosted away down another path.
Dusk was settling fast.
Without night-vision, a gunfight in the dark was a losing game.
In the dark, muzzle flashes become targets.
When bullets start flying, even the strongest "superhuman physique" still dies from a couple of shots—just takes a moment longer.