The adrenaline from their desperate fight and escape from Civic Center Plaza slowly began to recede, leaving Ethan and Glenn leaning against the grimy brick wall of the alley, chests heaving. Gratitude radiated from Glenn in palpable waves.
[Host has unallocated Attribute Points (AP): 10. Allocate now?]
The System's prompt was a welcome reminder of his recent advancements. While Glenn was catching his breath and checking the precious cargo in his backpack, Ethan quickly focused inward. Ten points. He needed to be faster, stronger, more aware, more resilient. He mentally distributed them:
"System, allocate AP: Agility +3, Perception +3, Strength +2, Endurance +2."
[Attributes Updated: Strength: 8, Agility: 11, Endurance: 7, Perception: 12.]
A subtle but definite enhancement flowed through him. His senses felt even sharper, his body lighter despite the exhaustion, a deeper well of stamina stirring within. His Perception, now at 12, felt almost preternaturally keen.
"Alright," Glenn finally said, shouldering his pack. "Camp's not going to come to us. It's a bit of a walk, mostly through quieter streets I know. But we still gotta be careful." He looked at Ethan. "You ready?"
Ethan nodded, pushing himself off the wall, feeling the new strength in his limbs. "Born ready. Well, reborn ready, anyway."
Glenn chuckled, a tired but genuine sound. "I like your spirit, man. Let's move."
Glenn led the way out of the city center, his knowledge of Atlanta's backstreets proving invaluable. He navigated them through a labyrinth of deserted residential roads, quiet industrial areas, and overgrown park connectors, largely avoiding major walker congregations. Ethan, with his now formidable Perception, often spotted lone walkers or small groups well before Glenn did, his quiet warnings or a subtle gesture allowing them to bypass threats or dispatch them with swift, coordinated efficiency.
"You don't miss a thing, do you, Ethan?" Glenn remarked after Ethan silently pointed out a walker hidden in a deep doorway that Glenn had almost walked right past.
"Just trying to keep us both alive," Ethan replied, offering a small smile. He internally checked his Battle Points: 196 BP. Significant. He made a mental note to browse the Survivor's Exchange more thoroughly when they reached the safety of the camp. The 'Basic Stealth Movement' manual was looking increasingly tempting.
As they walked, Glenn opened up, his earlier tension easing into a more natural camaraderie. He talked about the camp: a small, tight-knit group of survivors who had found each other in the initial chaos. He mentioned Dale and his RV, the steadfast moral compass of their fledgling community. He spoke of Shane, an ex-cop who had taken charge, keeping them organized and relatively safe, though he was "intense." And he spoke of Lori and her son, Carl, and how Shane was fiercely protective of them. He also mentioned Jim, the mechanic, who was down with a bad fever, the reason for Glenn's desperate run for medication.
Ethan listened intently, absorbing every detail, his foreknowledge painting a richer, often more tragic, picture around Glenn's words. He asked cautious questions, careful not to reveal he knew more than he should. "Other kids in the camp? Besides Carl?"
"Yeah," Glenn nodded. "Carol and her daughter, Sophia. And Ed, Carol's husband… well, he's around too." Glenn's tone when he mentioned Ed was noticeably flat. Ethan knew why.
After what felt like hours, as the afternoon sun began to dip towards the horizon, Glenn pointed. "There. Just beyond those trees. That's the quarry. We've been holed up there for a few days now."
They emerged from the woods onto the lip of a large, surprisingly secluded rock quarry. Below, nestled amongst a few parked cars, a battered pickup truck, and Dale's iconic Winnebago RV, were a handful of tents. A thin tendril of smoke rose from a small campfire.
[System Scan: Survivor Encampment Detected. Approximately 15-20 individuals. Fortifications: Minimal (vehicle perimeter, natural quarry depression). Ambient walker presence in immediate surrounding area: Low, but approaches unmonitored. Overall Security Level: Poor.]
The System's assessment was blunt, but it was home, for now, to these people.
As they walked down the dusty track into the quarry, heads turned. A wiry man with a kind face and a fishing hat (Dale) was the first to spot them, his face breaking into a wide, relieved smile as he saw Glenn.
"Glenn! You made it back, son! And you brought a friend!"
Others emerged from tents or from around the fire. Ethan recognized them instantly from the show: Andrea, her pretty face etched with a sadness that hadn't yet deepened into despair; her younger sister Amy, bright and hopeful; T-Dog, looking strong despite a fresh bandage on his arm; Morales with his wife and two young children; Jacqui, quiet and observant.
Glenn quickly made the introductions. "Everyone, this is Ethan. Ethan, this is… well, this is us. Ethan here saved my bacon back in the city. Big time. Would have been walker chow if he hadn't shown up."
The group looked at Ethan with a mixture of curiosity, gratitude, and the inherent suspicion all survivors held for strangers.
Lori stepped forward, her son Carl peeking from behind her legs. Her eyes were anxious. "The medicine, Glenn? For Jim?"
"Got it right here, Lori," Glenn said, patting his backpack. "And some other goodies too, thanks to Ethan's help."
A collective sigh of relief went through the group.
Then, Shane Walsh pushed his way to the front, his presence immediately commanding, his eyes sharp and assessing as they bored into Ethan. He was a big man, exuding an aura of coiled intensity, his hand resting near the butt of his holstered sidearm.
"Another mouth to feed," Shane said, his voice a low rumble, not overtly hostile, but challenging. "Glenn says you can handle yourself, Miller. That right?"
Ethan met his gaze evenly. "I can pull my weight."
"We'll see about that," Shane said, then his eyes flicked to the machete at Ethan's hip. "Where'd a civilian get a blade like that in all this mess?"
Before Ethan had to answer that particular pointed question, a loud, belligerent voice cut through the air from near one of the tents.
"Well, well, what have we got here? Fresh meat for the grinder, little brother?"
A figure swaggered out, lean and wiry, with a mean set to his eyes and a crossbow slung over his shoulder, though it was currently unstrung. He had a string of dead squirrels hanging from his belt.
Merle Dixon. In the flesh. And just as charming as Ethan remembered.
The System, unprompted, flashed a brief, almost disdainful note in Ethan's vision: [Canon Character Detected: Merle Dixon. Threat Level: Variable (High for group cohesion, Moderate for direct physical threat to Host if provoked). Behavioral Profile: Volatile, Racist, Unpredictable. Handle with extreme caution or decisive action.]
Merle's eyes, sharp and predatory, fixed on Ethan. "You the one Gunga Din here dragged back? Don't look like much."
The fragile peace of Ethan's arrival was already shattering. This camp, he realized, was a powder keg, and Merle Dixon was holding a lit match.