"Huh."
Lucien tilted his head slightly, letting confusion cross his face. "I don't... is it because water's scarce? Should I not have washed it?"
The innocent question seemed to catch Merle off guard. His eyes narrowed, trying to figure out if the kid was playing dumb or didn't understand what he was getting at.
Before Merle could push further, Daryl walked past and slapped him hard on the back.
"Ow! The hell was that for?!" Merle yelped, whirling on his brother.
Daryl didn't answer. He just put a hand on Lucien's shoulder and steered him away from Merle, toward the other side of the camp. "Don't listen to him. He's talkin' out his ass."
Lucien glanced back at Merle, then looked up at Daryl. "Is he alright? He seems a bit..." He paused, searching for a polite word. "...confused?"
"He's fine," Daryl grunted. "Just got too much time to think and not enough sense to know when to shut up."
Behind them, Merle was still muttering curses, rubbing his back. But the suspicion in his eyes had faded somewhat. Maybe he really was just overthinking things.
They walked in silence for a few steps, Daryl's hand still on Lucien's shoulder. It was meant to be reassuring, probably, but there was tension in the grip.
"I know what he was getting at," Lucien said quietly.
Daryl's hand tightened fractionally. He didn't respond.
"He thinks Martin's death had something to do with me."
Daryl stopped walking. He looked down at the kid, searching his face. "That's bull. Nobody thinks that. It was an accident."
"Right." Lucien nodded, his eyes drifting toward the convenience store's grimy windows. "It was an accident."
He was quiet for a moment, then turned back to Daryl.
"But even if it wasn't... if he really was the piece of rubbish that notebook said he was..." He paused, meeting Daryl's eyes directly. "I don't think I'd lose much sleep over it."
The words hit Daryl hard.
He looked down at Lucien, and for the first time since they had met, he saw something in those blue eyes that made his stomach turn. It was not madness or cruelty. It was pragmatism that had no business existing in an eleven-year-old kid.
"Jesus Christ," Daryl muttered. He paced a few steps away, then back, running a hand through his hair. "You know what you just said?"
"Yes."
"And you meant it."
"Yes."
Daryl crouched down, getting to eye level. His voice dropped low. "Listen to me, and listen good. Even if that's how you feel, you don't say shit like that out loud. You understand me? People hear a kid talkin' like that, they're gonna think you're broken."
"Am I not?" Lucien asked simply.
Daryl had no answer for that. Maybe they were all damaged now. Maybe that was simply what survival meant in this world. Still, there was a difference between doing what you had to do and admitting you would do it without hesitation. There was a difference between killing to survive and being willing to kill.
He stood up. "Just keep that shit to yourself, alright? And for the record, even if someone needed killin', it wouldn't be your job. That ain't your weight to carry."
"What are you two talking about?"
Andrea's voice made them both turn. She was walking over from where she'd been checking ammunition with Dale.
The shift in Lucien's demeanor was instant and so natural that Daryl almost doubted what he had just heard.
"Nothing important! Daryl was just saying the camp's a bit messy. He wants to help everyone clean up!"
Andrea looked at Daryl skeptically.
"Clean up," she repeated flatly. "Well, appreciate the thought, but maybe don't."
She jerked her thumb toward the other side of the gas station. "If you want to help, Morales found a stash of diesel. He could use a hand moving it to the vehicles."
Daryl held Lucien's gaze for a moment. The kid's expression remained perfectly innocent.
"Yeah," he finally said. "I'll go do that."
He walked away without looking back.
Andrea watched him go, then looked down at Lucien. "You okay?"
"I'm fine," Lucien said with a smile. "Just a bit tired."
"Aren't we all," Andrea muttered, ruffling his hair before heading back to her task.
Lucien stood there for a moment, alone, the mask of innocence falling away. He looked toward where Daryl had disappeared, then down at his hands.
He'd meant every word he'd said. That was the part that should probably scare him. But it didn't.
In this world, being squeamish got you killed. Being soft got everyone around you killed. He'd learned that lesson fast, and he'd learned it well.
The question wasn't whether he could do what needed doing. It was whether he could live with himself after.
He was starting to think the answer was yes. And that scared him more than any walker ever could.
---
The convoy moved out an hour later, leaving the gas station.
The drive to the CDC took most of the day. They moved slowly, stopping frequently to clear debris or reroute around blocked roads. The closer they got to the heart of Atlanta, the worse the destruction became.
Abandoned cars littered the highways, some with doors hanging open and luggage scattered across the pavement. At one point, they passed what had once been a refugee checkpoint. Military barriers stood where they had been erected in haste, empty tents sagged in the heat, and shell casings lay scattered across the ground. There were no bodies. The walkers had seen to that.
Inside the RV, the mood was subdued. Carl sat by the window, watching the ruined city slide past. Sophia was curled up beside her mother, half-asleep. In the back, Lucien held one of his textbooks open, though his eyes rested on the pages without truly reading them.
Since their conversation earlier, Daryl had been keeping his distance. He was subtle about it, careful enough that most people might not have noticed. Lucien did. In truth, everyone probably did. The only question was whether anyone would choose to say something.
"We're close," Dale called from the driver's seat. "Maybe another twenty minutes."
Rick, riding shotgun, leaned forward to get a better look through the windshield. The CDC's distinctive glass facade was visible now, rising above the surrounding buildings.
"Think anyone's there?" Shane asked from behind them. He was cleaning his revolver.
"Only one way to find out," Rick said.
The convoy slowed as they approached, pulling to a stop about fifty yards from the main entrance. Through the RV's windows, they could see the plaza in front of the building.
It was a massacre.
Bodies in military fatigues lay scattered across the pavement, their weapons strewn among them. The walkers had clearly been through the area. Some of the corpses were torn apart, while others were missing limbs or heads. A few walkers still shambled aimlessly among the fallen, but they were sparse. Most had already drifted away in search of easier prey.
"Alright," Rick said, standing up. "Stay sharp. We don't know what we're walking into."
They disembarked carefully, weapons drawn. Daryl took point with his crossbow, Shane and Rick flanking him. The others formed a loose cluster behind them, the children protected in the center.
The walk to the CDC's entrance felt like miles even though it was maybe fifty yards. Every shadow could hide a walker. And every sound could be the beginning of an attack. But the plaza remained quiet. The few walkers that noticed them were slow, easy to avoid or put down. Daryl's crossbow bolts took care of the closest ones.
The entrance itself was sealed behind a massive blast door.
Rick stepped forward and pounded on the metal. "Hello! Anyone in there?!"
No response.
"We're not infected! We just need shelter! Please!"
Shane grabbed his arm. "There's nobody here. We need to go."
"Just wait—"
"There's no waiting!" Shane's voice rose. "Look around! The military got overrun here. Whatever was inside is either dead or evacuated. We're wasting time!"
More walkers were shambling out from between abandoned vehicles, drawn by the noise. Not many yet, but enough to be a problem if they didn't move.
Daryl dropped another one with his crossbow, the bolt tore through rotted skull. "Rick, he's right. We gotta move."
Rick ignored them and kept staring up at the building's facade. His eyes fixed on a camera mounted above the entrance. The lens was intact, and unless he was imagining it, it had just shifted slightly.
Someone was watching.
"I know you're there!" he shouted at the camera. "I know you can see us! We're not asking for much, just a safe place! We have children and elderly people!"
Silence.
Shane grabbed Rick by the shoulder, turning him around. "That's it. We're done. Back to the vehicles."
The group started to retreat. The walkers were converging now, maybe a dozen of them shambling across the plaza. Not enough to be lethal, but enough to be dangerous.
Merle fired his pistol, dropping the closest one. "Move your asses!"
---
Deep below the CDC, a man stood at his control console, one hand hovering over the door release.
On the monitors in front of him, he could see the group retreating. They looked exhausted and desperate.
He should let them go. It was the rational choice.
Resources were limited. Power was running out. In a few days, perhaps a week at most, the backup generators would fail and the building's failsafe would activate. The entire facility would be incinerated, wiped clean to eliminate any chance of the virus escaping containment.
If he let survivors in now, he would only be condemning them to die when that moment came.
His hand drifted away from the button.
On the screen, a little girl stumbled. Her mother caught her, pulling her close. They kept moving, but the fear on both their faces was clear even through the grainy video feed.
His hand stopped.
He thought of his wife and the promise he had made to her. He would stay and find an answer.
But he had not found one.
The virus was too complex, adaptive, and perfectly engineered to dismantle human civilization. Every test had failed. And every theory had collapsed under scrutiny. He was no closer to a cure than he had been on the first day.
For a long moment, he simply stared at the screen.
Perhaps he had been asking the wrong question all along.
Perhaps the answer was not how to cure the virus.
But perhaps the answer was this. One choice. One act of humanity in a world that had abandoned it.
His wife would have opened the door. She would have done it without hesitation, even knowing the cost.
"Goddamn it," he muttered.
His hand came down hard on the button.
---
"Rick! Move!" Shane was pulling him back toward the RV, one eye on the approaching walkers.
The rest of the group was already retreating, weapons firing in sharp, sporadic bursts to keep the dead at bay. T-Dog dropped one with a clean shot through the skull. Andrea took down another.
"This was a mistake," Shane said. "We never should've—"
The words died in his throat.
A metallic grinding noise rose above the chaos.
Everyone stopped.
The blast door was moving.
It rose slowly, screeching as it lifted, revealing a widening gap beneath it. Light poured out from inside.
The walkers were still advancing. But no one was running anymore.
They stood frozen, staring at the glow.