They walked past the empty reception desk on the first floor where everything was just pure chaos, then headed for the stairs since the elevators were busted.
The climb to the sixth floor was a nightmare of stale air and burning lungs. Since the elevators at Grady Memorial were nothing more than metal coffins without power, Michael and the others had to take the stairs. Like the first floor, the upper floors were also a mess—abandoned, smelling of rot, and barricaded with whatever furniture the police had been able to drag into the stairwells. Of course, Michael had to clear the way again for everyone to get through.
By the time they reached the sixth floor, the air felt thick and gross. The only source of light was coming from the massive windows at the end of the hallways, where the afternoon sun cut through the gloomy hallway in long, orange streaks. It was the kind of light that didn't help you see; it just made everything look old, dusty, and tired.
Rick, Glenn, Rosita and Andrea followed Michael closely, their eyes scanning every dark doorway and shadows that didn't look quite right. Oscar and Michael were the ones doing the heavy lifting, carrying a wooden crate each. Except for Michael, Oscar was breathing heavily, the wood scraping against his palms until they finally set the crates down in the lobby with a heavy thud that echoed too loudly in the quiet building.
Waiting for them at the other end of the hallway was the hospital crew. Officer Shepherd stood at the front, looking more confident than before. Beside her were Officers Tanaka and Lamson, while Dr. Edwards hovered in the background with a mixture of warriness and curiosity while clutching a clipboard that probably hadn't seen a new patient in weeks. They weren't exactly a formidable group; most of them just had standard-issue pistols tucked into their waistbands, and two guys in the back were clutching old shotguns like they were afraid someone would snatch them away.
"I thought you were not coming.," Shepherd said, wiping sweat from her forehead.
"We said we'd be here, and we'll be there." Michael said, his voice flat and unimpressed.
But the officers weren't looking at the crates yet. They were all staring at Michael with a mix of awe and genuine fear. It was the kind of look people give a man they think should be a ghost. Lamson was the first to break the silence, his voice a little shaky as he leaned against the wall..
"We were watching you the other day," Lamson said, clearing his throat. "During the siege, we thought this place was doomed when we saw those biters coming. I don't need to be a math genius to know that there were hundreds of them, a literal sea of death. We watched from above and we all just stood there. We thought, 'Well, that's it. That's how it ends for him.'"
"We thought you were a dead man," Tanaka added, his eyes wide as he stepped closer. "They had you backed onto that wall. You were completely encircled—no way out, no room to breathe. Then we saw you just... move. You didn't run like a man who was scared. You just carved a path right through the middle of them. We've never seen anyone fight like that. How the hell are you still standing here talking to us? Are you even human?"
Michael didn't look impressed with himself. He just looked tired of talking about it, obviously his mind is somewhere else. "They're slow. You just have to be faster and not let the noise get to your head. If you panic, you're dead. If you don't, they're just obstacles. You create distance, then go for the kill. It's not magic, it's just not stopping."
"Yeah, if there were only a few of them," Lamson muttered, shaking his head. Everyone knows that's an impossible thing to do when you're surrounded with that kind of number. To the people in the hospital, who lived behind barricades and only left for scavenge runs, what Michael did sounded like a ghost story. But to Michael, it was just the cost of surviving another Tuesday. An attitude only someone who had a cheat to rely on would have.
"Enough of that, let's see what you brought," Shepherd said, trying to steer the conversation back to the trade. She looked like she didn't want to think about the five hundred walkers currently rotting outside her gates, which they barely cleaned.
Michael kicked the first crate open with the toe of his boot. The officers leaned in, and even Dr. Edwards stepped forward, his curiosity getting the better of his nerves. Inside were a couple of pistols—Berettas and Glocks, and the moment they saw Michael saw the obvious greed in their eyes.
But it was the second crate that made them raise an eyebrow. Tucked into the embrace of dried long leaves of different types of weeds were old-school Thompson submachine guns. The heavy wooden stocks and cooling fins looked like relics from a history book, but they were solid, heavy, and undeniably deadly.
"Are those... Thompsons?" Lamson asked, he tried touching them but Glenn smacked his hand. He looked at him and saw Glenn shaking his head at him.
"They work," Michael ignored them. "And we brought enough ammo for two mags on the rifles. The rest, for the pistols. I think this is more firepower than this place has seen since the world ended. Very effective against the dead, and people."
"But what's that?" Shepherd asked while pointing at the duffel bag beside Rick's feet.
Rick picked up and threw it at their feet with clang. "Gifts."
The officers looked at each other for a moment before one of them went and opened the bag.
"Swords? Are we going to fight like knights now?" The officer chuckled, the others did too.
"Yeah,why not? Use them for the dead instead of wasting your bullets on them." Rick replied with a smirk.
Dr. Edwards adjusted his glasses, looking at the hardware with a mix of fascination and dread. "This is an extraordinary amount of weaponry for a simple supply swap. We were just expecting a few, but isn't this a lot? It's not like you can't get the medical supplies you need from other hospitals."
Michael did not answer him and instead looked at Shepherd straight in the eye, his expression hardening. "Yeah, about that. We're actually going to war tomorrow. There's a town nearby called Woodbury. It's led by a man they call The Governor. He's been a headache to us, and tomorrow, we're finishing it since we don't know what he'll do if we let him be."
"What are you trying to say?" Shepherd had an inkling, but she wants to hear it from him..
Michael turned towards the officer who turned over a duffle bag to Andrea. She checked the contents of the bag and nodded to Michael. "So now that we're done with the trade deal. We want to commission your help. We want your people on the line with us."
The room went dead quiet. You could hear the distant groan of the building settling and the wind whistling through a broken pane somewhere down the hall. Shepherd looked at the Thompsons, then at her people's pathetic service revolvers. "A war? Michael, look at us. We're barely holding this place as it is. We have patients, we have a system and now, you want us to head out into the city to pick a fight with Woodbury?"
"We did not pick the fight, Shepherd, but we're finishing it." Michael countered. "The Governor isn't going to stop at our gates. Eventually, he'll find yours. Help us win, and the rewards are real. Supplies, more ammo, and an alliance with us. You don't have to be trapped here anymore and only eat a limited supply of food. Surviving is not easy, but no one said you need to do it alone."
"I think we should hear him out," Tanaka whispered, his hand hovering over one of the new pistols. "We can't stay holed up here forever, Shepherd. The lower floors are unusable. The supplies are drying up. Scavenging is not enough to sustain us. Every day we stay here, we get a little hungrier and a little weaker. We're just counting the days we'll be gone."
"It's a suicide mission," a voice barked from the shadows.
Officer O'Donnell stepped out from a dark hallway near the stairwell. He had a permanent sneer on his face and his hand was resting heavy on his holster. He was the kind of guy who always looked like he was looking for a reason to hit someone just to feel powerful.
"Why are you here?" Shepherd frowned.
"Shepherd, don't be a fool," O'Donnell said, walking into the center of the group and kicking the crate of Thompsons shut. "We do not meddle with whatever troubles they have. That's how we've survived this long. We don't pick sides, and we don't look for trouble. Why would we go out and die for his war just because he brought some old museum pieces? We have a system here. It's safe."
"Not meddle?" Shepherd didn't get to say anything when Officer Licari snapped back, his voice rising. "O'Donnell, we avoided conflicts not because we want to be safe, but because we lack the power to oppress other people. The only time we left this place was to scavenge for scraps like rats in a sewer. While we're hiding, other groups are growing in power. If we stay like this, we're just waiting for someone like The Governor to come along and finish us off. You think a man like that cares about your 'neutrality'? You think these people..in front of us would care about that?"
Michael and Rick exchanged glances, they were surprised and amused to hear the latter part of Licari's words.
"I'm not risking my neck for them," O'Donnell said, turning to the other officers, looking for support. "Who else wants to go die for a stranger? Anyone? We're safe here. We have the high ground. Let them kill each other and we'll deal with whoever is left. That's the smartest move."
Two of the officers in the back—friends of O'Donnell who usually got the best rations—nodded in agreement. They looked like people who had mistaken a cage for a fortress.
Shepherd stepped right into O'Donnell's space, her face red with frustration. "Safe? This place is more of a prison, O'Donnell! We're isolated. As Licari said, every day we stay here, we get weaker. If we don't move now and change, we're going to be left with nothing but an empty building and no one to go to when trouble comes knocking. You really want that for us? You want to die in a dark hallway just because you want to undermine me at every turn you get? You're that greedy huh. I'm not even surprised at this point, the Captain never liked you."
"I want to live through the week," O'Donnell spat, looking back at Michael with pure hatred. "And staying right here is the best way to do that. You want to go to war? Go ahead. But leave us out of it."
Throughout the whole argument, Michael, Rick, and the others didn't say a word. They just stood there unbothered, watching the argument unfold like they were spectators at a play. Michael didn't try to jump in or defend his offer. He knows that a man forced to fight is a man who runs when the first shot is fired. He'd rather they tackle this problem themselves than have people who might potentially cause more trouble during the operation.
Rick caught Michael's eye and gave a subtle shake of his head. It was a mess. Andrea kept her eyes locked on O'Donnell's hands, her fingers twitching near her own holster just in case the officer decided to prove how "tough" he was, and like her, Oscar and Rosita looked tense and prepared if trouble arose while Glenn was constantly sighing. He looks bored.
It was nearing noon now, and the temperature in the building was increasing. Michael and the others are losing their patience watching the two factions bicker at each other, and the heat is certainly not helping.
"Enough, we'll give you until dusk to reach a decision," Michael said, his voice cutting through the bickering like a knife. "We'll be on the first floor. We're not forcing you to accept our offer, but don't think staying here keeps you safe. Remember that no place is truly safe, and if you let fear take over your decision, you're gonna be left behind while the world has moved on."
Without another word, Michael turned and headed back toward the dark stairwell, his group following in perfect, silent order. They left the officers alone in the hallway, still bickering at each other.