Chapter 35 — Leap of Faith
The eastern sky was turning pale, morning light slowly peeling back the darkness.
The night's cold still clung to the air, along with the lingering stench of rot.
Hank jolted awake, heart pounding like a hammer in his chest.
He sat up immediately—fully alert.
His body was stiff from sleeping against the RV tire. Kenny and Lee were still at their posts, fatigue etched deep into their faces.
"Shift's over. Get some sleep," Hank said quietly as he walked toward them.
Kenny yawned, nodded without a word, and trudged back inside.
Lee rubbed at his bloodshot eyes. "Second half of the night was calm… too calm, if you ask me."
At that moment, Carley and Doug arrived—breakfast replacement rations in hand—as they moved to take over watch duty.
Hank made his way to the pile of supplies. He opened the tool kit retrieved from the auto shop and scanned the weapons one by one.
His gaze stopped on a hand axe—steel blade gleaming with a cold, silver edge.
It was well-used but properly maintained, the edge still sharp.
The wooden handle was thick and solid—heavy in his grip, brimming with power.
Hank swung it twice. The axe sliced through the air with a faint hum.
More destructive than a screwdriver.
More decisive against creatures whose skulls needed to be completely destroyed.
"You're coming with me."
He strapped the hand axe to the back of his belt, the cold metal brushing against his skin.
Glenn hurried over, eyes bloodshot from lack of sleep—but unable to hide his excitement.
"Officer! Check out my upgraded weapon!"
He held up his baseball bat, now wrapped with several loops of barbed wire like a DIY apocalypse special.
"Uh…" Hank was stunned speechless for a moment. Then he cleared his throat.
"Yeah. Good. Really good. Matches the… uh… baseball bat in your head perfectly."
"Thanks! I think so too!" Glenn didn't notice the sarcasm—he simply adjusted his cap, proud.
"So… uh… you gonna name the bat?" Hank asked, expression growing even stranger. "You know—something like Lucille?"
"Lucille? Cool name! Yep, she's Lucille!" Glenn had no idea what the name implied—but if it sounded cool, it was cool.
"Alright, enough showing off. Eat and then move."
Hank handed him a piece of compressed biscuit and half a bottle of water.
"We're heading straight to the Sheriff's Department today."
Glenn pulled a face as he took the food.
"Knew I couldn't dodge it…"
They finished their crude breakfast quickly.
Hank habitually checked his P226 once more, making sure everything was operating perfectly.
After a few words of parting with the people at the motel, he and Glenn departed again.
Morning had barely broken.
The streets of Macon County were quieter than they ever were during the day.
A thin fog wound through the ruins, reducing visibility—good for stealth, but perfect for ambush.
Hank took point, senses sharp, filtering every rustle and whisper of wind.
Glenn followed close behind, gripping Lucille with clammy hands.
According to the map—and the scraps of Glenn's memory—the Sheriff's Department sat slightly west of the town center: a two-story brick-and-concrete building standing somewhat isolated.
The closer they got, the more abandoned vehicles and mangled debris littered the road—silent evidence of battles fought and lost.
The traces of battle grew more obvious the farther they went—walls riddled with bullet holes, massive splashes of dried black blood, and even the charred wreckage of burned-out vehicles.
"Left turn at the next intersection…" Glenn whispered, pointing ahead. "It should be right there."
Hank signaled for silence. The two of them hugged the wall and crept toward the corner.
But the moment they reached the intersection—
A stench hit them like a wall.
So strong it drowned even the usual reek of decay in the air, sharp enough to make a man gag.
Hank froze instantly and yanked Glenn back. He leaned out just enough to get a look.
The Sheriff's Department stood alone in the open — and the entire parking lot around it was swarming with dozens of walkers.
They packed the entrance and windows like maggots clinging to bone, pounding fists against boarded-up doors and walls, snarling in frustrated hunger.
Parked right outside the main entrance was a trashed SWAT armored truck—windows shattered, tires shredded.
The body was smeared with bloody handprints and claw marks.
The rear door hung half-open, nothing but darkness visible inside.
"Holy—" Glenn gasped, voice shaking, "how the hell are we supposed to get in there?!"
Hank's eyebrows knotted.
The walker count was far higher than they anticipated.
And that armored truck meant the police had made a desperate stand here—meaning there were likely plenty of weapons inside.
Charging head-on would be suicide.
His eyes swept the surroundings rapidly, analyzing options.
Next to the department was a small two-story building. The rooftop platform looked slightly lower than the second-floor windows of the Sheriff's Department.
If they could get onto that rooftop…
"Come on. That building." Hank whispered, signaling Glenn.
They backed away silently, looping around in a wide arc to avoid the walkers, heading for the neighboring structure.
It looked like a small law office or accounting building. The first-floor windows were smashed, and the interior was trashed beyond recognition.
Hank motioned for Glenn to watch the rear while he slipped inside first.
The room was a mess—desks overturned, papers scattered everywhere, all under a thick layer of dust.
Raaagh…
A female walker in a torn business suit lunged from behind a fallen desk—half her face ripped away.
Hank twisted aside, dodging her grasp, and in one fluid motion swung the axe from his back—
CRACK!
The blade punched deep into her temple, splitting her skull nearly in half.
The corpse slumped without so much as a scream.
"Clear," Hank murmured, giving the room another quick sweep with trained eyes.
"Staircase there," Glenn whispered, pointing to a wooden stairway in the corner.
They climbed carefully, each creak from the steps grating against their nerves.
The second floor was a maze of offices and a small meeting room—just as wrecked as the first.
But mercifully, no walkers.
Hank went straight to a heavy iron door leading outside. He twisted the handle—unlocked.
The two stepped out onto a rooftop platform coated in bird droppings and dead leaves.
From here, they had a perfect view of the Sheriff's Department.
One of its second-floor windows was missing both glass panes, jagged glass framing the opening.
Bullet holes dotted the wall around it.
The distance from the platform was just over two meters—lower than their current rooftop.
"That one." Hank pointed. "I'm going first. You stay here and cover."
"If anything happens, signal quietly—no shouting."
"Officer, that jump is—insane!" Glenn swallowed hard as he glanced down at the heaving mass of walkers below.
"No time to look for a safer route." Hank's tone left no room for argument.
He slid the backpack off and handed it to Glenn.
"If I find ammo, I'll either secure the place and pull you in, or pass the supplies out."
Glenn's face collapsed even more the moment he realized he might have to follow.
Hank judged the distance, stepped back several meters, took one deep breath—
Then sprinted.
He kicked off the ledge and launched himself across the gap.
His body arced through the air—
Hands slammed onto the outer window frame with perfect precision.
Momentum slammed him hard into the wall with a heavy thud.
RRRAAAGH!!
The walkers below reacted instantly to the impact, erupting into frenzied howls.
Dozens of rotting heads jerked upward.
Dozens of milky eyes snapped toward him.
The entire horde boiled with movement.
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