Chapter 33 – Emergency Broadcast
The pickup truck wheezed like an old warhorse, its frame scraped and splattered with gore, as it staggered back into the U-shaped lot of the motel.
Kenny slammed the brakes—
The truck screeched to a halt beside the RV, tires dragging loudly against the pavement.
Everyone inside slumped in their seats, chests heaving.
The air smelled of gasoline, gunpowder, blood, and sweat.
No one spoke.
Only the distant, faint howls of walkers reminded them the world was still merciless.
"We… we actually did it…"
Glenn broke the silence first, voice trembling—
part fear, part pure disbelief.
He turned to look at the truck bed—
fuel cans, and heaps of food stuffed to the brim.
Hanks leaned against the truck bed, eyes closed, chest rising and falling sharply.
The overexertion, the bursts of adrenaline, the endless tension—
it had drained him to the bone.
Now that the danger had passed, every muscle felt like it was screaming.
He reached for his P226.
The magazine was empty.
The metal still warm from the furious shots he'd fired.
Kenny slapped the steering wheel and let out a breathy laugh of relief.
"Damn! Totally worth it!
This crappy truck ain't never run that fast in its life!"
Lee climbed out from the passenger seat, expression still steady,
but his eyes betrayed excitement as he looked at the pile of supplies.
He started unloading the haul.
The noise stirred people inside the motel.
Carley and Katjaa rushed out—
and froze at the sight of the loot piled in the truck.
"My God… did you raid an entire supermarket?" Carley gasped.
Doug came out, cradling his injured arm, but eager to help.
His eyes shone with admiration.
Lilly lingered at the doorway, watching silently.
Her gaze paused on the food…
then the medicine…
A complicated look flickered across her face.
But in the end, she said nothing.
She simply turned and walked back inside.
Clementine bounded out of the RV like a scared little rabbit,
rushing straight to Hanks.
She grabbed the edge of his jacket, eyes wide and teary.
"Hanks… are you okay?
Glenn shouted so loud on the radio… I was so scared…"
Hanks inhaled deeply, forced down his exhaustion, and knelt so he could look her in the eyes.
He ruffled her hat gently.
"I'm fine, Clem.
We did it.
With this, we can finally take the big RV and get out of here."
Clementine nodded vigorously, hugging his neck tightly.
"Mmh! Hanks is the best!"
Night slowly draped over the world.
And then—
something surprising happened.
The old, rusted lamps around the motel courtyard…
flicked on.
One by one, warm yellow lights illuminated the lot.
Maybe the motel's grid was still partially connected somewhere—
Or maybe it was just luck.
But the light—
even dim and unstable—
brought a long-lost sense of normalcy.
A reminder of a world that once had electricity, comfort, and safety.
Kenny and Lee were already at work, filling the RV's tank with every drop of gasoline they'd hauled back.
Enough to fill the RV completely.
They also used the parts they'd scavenged to start repairs immediately.
Carley and Katjaa heated canned food, ration packs, and bottled water over a makeshift stove.
No feast—
but after a full day of death, fear, blood, and adrenaline…
It tasted like the best meal in the world.
Everyone gathered in the center of the courtyard,
quietly eating under the soft glow of the motel lights.
For a moment—
just a brief moment—
it almost felt like people around a campfire instead of survivors in the apocalypse.
The air hung heavy with silence, yet beneath it flowed a faint sense of relief—that fragile bond forged between people who had just survived another night of hell together.
Clementine sat pressed closely beside Hank, nibbling on a chocolate bar in tiny bites, stealing glances at his profile whenever she thought he wouldn't notice.
Hank wolfed down the last of his rations, feeling a bit of strength return to his weary limbs.
He unfolded the worn Macon County tourist map, studying it carefully under the dim lamp.
Curious, Clementine leaned over.
"Hank… what are you looking at?"
"Tomorrow's objective." Hank pointed at the Macon County Sheriff's Department marked on the map.
"We completed two-thirds of today's plan, but we burned through all our ammo."
He folded the map. "Which means we have to hit the station tomorrow. Once we restock… we'll finally be ready."
Clementine's eyes sparkled.
"Then we can go to Savannah soon?"
Her voice trembled with hope—and fear.
"…Will my mom and dad really be there?"
Hank looked into her pure, expectant eyes and gave a firm, solemn nod.
"Yes. We'll find them. I promise."
That promise was his anchor—the thing keeping him moving through this hell.
Just then, Doug came running over, practically glowing with excitement.
"Guys! Look what I fixed!"
He held up a small portable radio like it was treasure.
"Found it behind a drawer—can you believe the batteries still work? The tuning was a little busted, but I tweaked it!"
He placed it proudly on the makeshift table.
In a world rotting away, that little hunk of technology felt like magic—everyone's eyes were drawn to it.
Doug carefully twisted the dial. Static crackled… fizzed…
Then—
A faint, broken voice bled through the noise.
"…zzzt… here is… California CDC… Day 180 investigation… report…"
Everyone froze.
Doug stopped turning the knob, hand steady as stone.
"Today marks the 200th day of global Green Flu spread. The WHO has yet to identify Patient Zero, or determine the source of the virus."
"Please remain indoors. Avoid unnecessary travel. Prevent exposure and further outbreaks."
"In early stages, Green Flu resembles a severe seasonal flu, leading to frequent misdiagnosis…"
"Symptoms escalate to persistent high fever… violent coughing… extreme fatigue…"
"During the mid-stage—zzzt—krrk… cough—"
Static swallowed the voice.
Doug tried another frequency.
Another broadcast cut in:
"This is FEMA and the Georgia National Guard joint transmission."
Amid the static came a tense newsroom atmosphere—rapid typing, faint shouting.
"Under Presidential Directive No. 73, the entire state of Georgia is now under emergency lockdown. All residents must comply with the following orders:
Shelter in place: Seal windows and doors. Avoid any contact with infected individuals.
Relief zones: A secure area has been established in downtown Atlanta providing medical supplies and armed protection.
Infection protocol: If you encounter suspected cases, isolate immediately and call the emergency hotline. Do NOT touch bodies or blood."
The broadcast faltered—two seconds of dead air.
Then a panicked male voice cut in:
"Update—Cranwell High School relief zone has fallen! I repeat—Cranwell High is no longer safe!
All survivors, evacuate toward Decatur. The 101st Airborne Division is forming a new defensive line!"
Gunshots erupted in the background. Sirens wailed.
The announcer's voice shook.
"We… we're still holding on. But if you're hearing this… prioritize self-rescue—"
"And may God bless the United States of America!"
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