Chapter 48
Merle's evil reputation had spread throughout the convoy, so everyone quickly calmed down and looked exceptionally rational.
Merle snorted with derision. "Fucking cowards."
Seeing everyone had backed down, Merle didn't linger. He turned and left.
Daryl followed behind Merle without saying anything, just glancing twice at Carol standing at the front of the crowd.
He had a feeling that woman had done it deliberately.
"Did you see that bald woman?" Merle walked to his motorcycle and plopped down, speaking casually.
Daryl nodded. He knew Merle meant Carol.
"That woman's a tough character."
Merle's lips curled upward. He pulled an elegant flask from his pocket, twisted it open, took a sip, then continued speaking.
"Didn't expect that after her man died, she'd change this fast."
Merle clicked his tongue in wonder. The way things looked, this woman's chances of surviving the apocalypse weren't low at all.
Daryl looked toward Carol, still standing before the crowd. Only now did she begin explaining the reason.
After Merle had forcibly suppressed them with the threat of violence, the crowd naturally seized the opportunity to climb down from their position when they heard Carol's explanation.
"Carol, why didn't you say so earlier?"
"Tch, it's because you're stupid. I already understood the leader's deeper meaning. What were you all trying to do just now? Trying to pressure Carol?"
"Jack, quit acting. Didn't you object just now too?"
"...Uh, I, I did not! Hey!"
The man's face flushed red. He stretched his neck, trying to argue back, when a black boot from who-knows-where kicked him.
After he fell, the person he'd been scolding seized the opening and jumped on him to start hitting.
The two clearly didn't know how to fight properly. Evenly matched, they grappled on the ground.
The surrounding people gathered around to watch the show, with no intention of stopping them.
Caesar was a cowboy who believed in survival of the strongest. He never forbade minor friction within the team—small scuffles were perfectly normal.
Sometimes when two people had a conflict, they could resolve it through a fight.
Everything looked exceptionally harmonious, as if the tense confrontation moments ago had been a dream. But Carol knew her method had worked.
Carol understood that if she'd explained clearly from the start, there would still be dissatisfied people complaining, even creating obstacles for her work behind the scenes.
So she'd amplified the conflict, let the combat personnel suppress everyone, then Carol could step in to explain. The conflict would naturally shrink and disappear.
Carol turned around with a smile and returned to her tent. The arc of her smile grew wider and wider.
This feeling of power made her incredibly comfortable.
Caesar withdrew his gaze and muttered to himself, "Carol really has changed fast."
He'd been watching the camp the whole time. He knew conflicts would arise, and Caesar wanted to see whether Carol or someone else could handle the trouble.
After all, in Caesar's view, his team would definitely keep expanding and recruiting in the future. He couldn't possibly handle everything himself.
He needed capable people to better manage the camp.
...
Caesar wore black riot gear from head to toe. Standing six-foot-five, the heavy riot gear made him look even more powerful and fierce.
Removing his helmet, Caesar swept his gaze around and said flatly, "Today, we're not going out to scavenge supplies."
"All I need is for everyone to participate in combat. Every single person must kill at least one walker—except the elderly and children!"
"Melee weapons only. Understood?"
"Understood!" The combat personnel looked casual, not taking this task seriously at all.
When they executed combat missions, they each killed an average of ten or twenty walkers.
Meanwhile, most non-combatants had never directly faced walkers. Their responses carried a hint of uncertainty.
Caesar glanced at Daryl nearby. Daryl said nothing but gave an almost imperceptible nod.
Caesar had told Daryl in advance to have his squad's best marksmen ready—if danger occurred, shoot the walkers immediately.
The group didn't travel far from their temporary camp, stopping at a nearby street. The main road showed no standing walkers.
Those walkers had clearly been drawn away by the CDC's nonstop broadcasts and lights.
Caesar raised his hand and pointed at a shop in the distance, ordering, "T-Dog, take some people and smash that glass."
T-Dog didn't hesitate. He nodded steadily and called over two people to head that way.
The shop's entire storefront was glass. They could see several walkers' hands slapping against it.
Hammers struck the four corners of the glass. CRACK—fissures spread across the entire pane before it shattered.
The walkers' forms were fully exposed—rough, blue-gray skin, hideous wounds, clouded eyes.
The atmosphere in the crowd immediately tensed. Amy swallowed hard, gripping a machete, her expression nervous.
Standing in front of her was Andrea, hair tied back in a ponytail, looking capable and efficient. She turned and said, "Amy, stay close to me. I'll go first and you copy my movements. Got it?"
Amy nodded repeatedly like a pecking chicken.
Carol in the crowd checked her equipment. After finishing her inspection, she quickly stepped out from the group and charged at the walker horde first.
T-Dog and his two team members in front casually led the walkers around, not rashly bringing them into the crowd—that could easily cause panic.
If this group scattered in chaos, it might cause nearby combat personnel to accidentally discharge their weapons, leading to unnecessary trouble.
Caesar watched Carol emerge first from the crowd, his lips curling up. "The non-combatant who kills the most walkers today gets to choose from the armory, tool storage, tobacco and alcohol, and some rare foods."
"Limited to ten people!"
Hearing the incentive, everyone simultaneously looked up toward Caesar. They knew Caesar wouldn't lie.
Some wanted better tools to do more work. Others wanted tobacco, alcohol, meat, and other luxuries to enjoy.
Some wanted weapons for self-defense.
Caesar's convoy was becoming increasingly formalized. Precious and valuable items wouldn't be casually distributed—that would be unfair to others.
Almost everyone had something they wanted, so several people immediately rushed out from the crowd, gripping machetes and shouting loudly to pump themselves up.
Carol, in the lead, charged forward, gripped her machete with both hands, and drove the blade tip into a walker's brain.
The walker had been dead for a long time—its skull had become brittle. Carol pulled the blade out easily.
As Carol withdrew her blade, a walker beside her seized the opportunity to attack. A large boot kicked it flying.
T-Dog's muffled voice sounded: "When killing walkers, pay attention to your surroundings. Don't attack rashly."