Chapter 47
The parking lot was far enough from the CDC that Caesar's people slept soundly that night, unbothered by the distant commotion—if anything, they slept better than usual.
After rising in the morning, the combat personnel who'd been on night watch ate breakfast and went to sleep.
Caesar didn't eat breakfast with everyone else. Instead, he enjoyed the privileges of leadership.
That meant Amy walked up to him carrying a steaming hot breakfast, bit her lip lightly, and extended the plate. "Here, breakfast."
Caesar accepted the food and wolfed it down. Midway through eating, he raised an eyebrow and glanced at Amy. "You made this?"
Amy's face bloomed into a smile. "You can tell?"
"Yeah." Caesar nodded firmly. "Carol's cooking tastes better than yours."
Amy froze for a moment, then pouted with an aggrieved expression. She'd only cooked a handful of times in her life and thought she'd done pretty well, all things considered.
She hadn't expected to be criticized for it.
However, Amy's dejected look quickly transformed back into a smile when she noticed Caesar still cleaned his plate completely.
Seeming to notice her expression, Caesar said flatly, "This is the apocalypse. We need to cherish food."
Whether Caesar had finished the meal out of respect for the food or some other reason, Amy didn't know—but she was still happy. She took the empty plate and skipped away.
"Oh, go notify Carol and the combat squad leaders. We're staying put in this area for the next couple days. We'll kill some walkers for practice and let everyone who hasn't killed walkers yet get used to it."
Amy's steps paused. She turned to look at Caesar, somewhat stunned. "Even the non-combatants?"
"Yes, even the non-combatants." Caesar nodded matter-of-factly, glancing at Amy's blue eyes.
Under the sunlight, they truly sparkled with an alluring charm.
"The world is full of accidents. If a walker gets close to non-combatants, it won't stop attacking. I need everyone in this convoy to have the ability to protect themselves." Caesar didn't know what came over him—he explained a few extra sentences.
"Alright, hurry up and spread the word."
Caesar waved his hand and went to get his riot gear.
"The riot gear is in the box next to your underwear. Just open it and you'll see—I cleaned it really well." Caesar's figure disappeared into the truck. Amy cupped her hands around her mouth like a megaphone and called out helpfully.
"Alright, I know, I know." Caesar's voice carried a hint of fluster. "Stop shouting."
"Oh, okay!" Amy didn't understand why Caesar seemed a bit embarrassed. She was his secretary—cleaning and organizing his personal clothing was perfectly normal, wasn't it?
All those secretaries Andrea had told her about did exactly this, didn't they?
Once Amy knew Caesar had found the riot gear, she hurried off to find the other combat squad leaders and notify them.
Carol served as the logistics chief. Caesar had put her in charge of all non-combatants, primarily responsible for the convoy's meals and miscellaneous tasks.
With Jacqui, Andrea, Amy, and others assisting her, Carol performed quite well.
"Carol, I need to tell you something." Amy ran up panting for breath. She'd already notified all the combat squad leaders—only Carol remained.
Carol's face wore a gentle smile. She quickly steadied Amy and handed her a cup of water. "Here, take your time."
Amy accepted the cup, sat down, caught her breath, then began: "Caesar told me to notify you—tell all the members that everyone has to participate in combat training."
A thoughtful gleam flashed through Carol's eyes, then she nodded with sudden understanding. "I get what Caesar means. I'll notify the others."
Carol worked efficiently. After Ed's death, her confidence had grown stronger and stronger. She gradually felt her own power—she could kill walkers and manage the team well.
Compared to living in fearful submission under Ed's beatings, she now felt like the sky had opened wide.
Carol had Sophia take the convoy's children to play elsewhere.
She then gathered all the non-combatants in the team. Most were women, though there were also elderly and young men.
Among them were skilled workers—like Jim, who excelled at repairing vehicles. Since surviving the quarry, he'd shown no further abnormalities and had been dutifully fixing the convoy's vehicles.
There was also a welder—the one who'd created the spiked ramming attachment on Rip's truck.
Carol stood before these people, her face wearing its usual smile, quietly waiting for everyone to finish talking.
Perhaps they grew tired of conversation, or perhaps Carol's gaze was too penetrating—either way, the crowd gradually quieted down.
Only then did Carol speak: "I've gathered everyone here not because of me, but because Caesar, our leader, has an order."
"That order is: everyone must engage in close-quarters combat with walkers using melee weapons."
"What?!"
"This is asking us to die! No way, absolutely not!"
"No, no, no, I'm too old. I won't fight those monsters—I'll definitely die."
"That's impossible. The leader would never send us to our deaths."
"What are you saying?"
"..."
Panic instantly spread through the crowd. When people realized Carol wasn't joking, the commotion naturally began.
They irrationally suspected Carol of deliberately spreading false orders just to get them killed.
"Bunch of wimps." Andrea crossed her arms over her chest, looking askance at the agitated crowd, her eyes filled with contempt.
Amy pressed her lips together. She didn't really understand why Caesar wanted everyone to have the ability to fight walkers, but she trusted Caesar. Caesar was right—every decision he made was right.
The agitated crowd grew louder and more disruptive. Anger pushed them forward, moving them closer and closer to Carol.
Carol's expression didn't change in the slightest. She still wore that faint smile, coldly observing everything.
Non-combatants made up a large portion of the convoy. Plenty of people were willing to fight, but as always, the minority made the most noise.
They were cowardly and foolish, trying to determine the weight of their words through volume alone—but that wasn't realistic.
Carol knew she couldn't suppress them for now. She could only let them make enough noise to alert the combat personnel.
Even if she got beaten, it didn't matter. After all, she'd survived so many near-death beatings before—this small matter wouldn't scare her.
Sure enough, as the noise grew louder, more combat personnel were drawn over. They began raising their weapons and shouting reprimands.
"Everyone settle down! You trying to start a riot?"
A hand slapped across the speaking combat member's face and casually shoved him aside. Merle wore a wicked grin, a carbine slung over his shoulder.
"Oi, tired of living, are we?"
As he spoke, Merle's gun barrel vaguely aimed at the troublemakers.
The people locked in his sights immediately froze, their mouths clamping shut.
Being aimed at by regular combat personnel didn't scare them much—they'd never seen them hurt their own people. But Merle had an especially bad reputation in the convoy.
He treated others with extreme hostility. There were even rumors circulating through the convoy that when combat personnel died, it was because Merle hadn't liked them and had secretly made his move.
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