Chapter 95: Violence at the Door
Caesar's voice carried encouragement. He knew Glenn was currently in a state of disappointment with humanity.
This was normal. See too much of humanity's dark side and anyone would be like this.
Not to mention, this was the apocalypse now. Outside were countless demons and monsters.
Glenn knew Caesar was comforting him and said a few words with a smile.
However, his heart truly did feel much better.
"By the way, Glenn." Caesar seemed to suddenly remember something, raising his head to look at Glenn. "You recruited new people in King County, right?"
Glenn froze for a moment. "You mean Morgan?"
"He's Rick's lifesaver, and his ability is pretty good. He dares to act and charge forward, so I let him join."
Caesar immediately asked: "What about his child?"
Morgan's child, Duane, could be said to be the activator for killing god Morgan.
"Duane? He's doing great—very cheerful and lively, completely different from other kids in the apocalypse."
"Though there is one thing. When we were in King County, Morgan's wife turned into a walker. Morgan couldn't bring himself to do it, so I helped kill it."
Speaking of this last part, Glenn's voice lowered.
Facing this kind of situation, most people wouldn't feel too good.
Caesar didn't speak, just reached out and patted Glenn's shoulder.
After a while, Caesar said: "Don't worry. If you get infected with the virus, I'll definitely kill you before you turn into that kind of ghost."
Pfft—
Jimmy, sitting in the passenger seat, suddenly laughed. He raised his eyes and met Glenn's gaze looking over, shrugged his shoulders and said: "If you turn into a walker, you'd definitely look ugly."
Glenn suddenly laughed out loud, looking at Jimmy without good humor. "Thanks so much."
Afterward, Glenn smiled again. The heaviness from before had faded from his face, and his mood was much lighter.
In the pickup truck, the three simply chatted about the various things they'd encountered in King County.
Before long, several pickup trucks approached their destination.
A small ranch, probably a few hundred acres, considered a small-scale ranch. The number of cattle and sheep combined didn't even exceed twenty or thirty head.
Caesar had come to force a sale anyway, so he wasn't being polite. He directly ordered them to charge in.
The ranches in the valley were separated by wooden fences. This place was no exception.
Several pickup trucks crashed into the wooden fence like enraged beasts.
In an instant, wood chips flew everywhere. Even the wooden stakes buried in the ground were knocked flying, clearing several meters of open space.
Afterward, the other pickups filed in.
The pickups' sound wasn't too loud, but the closer they got to the ranch house, the more they could attract attention.
Caesar had already put down his book, turning his head to look at the distant house, his expression cold.
Rip, charging at the front, stomped hard on the gas pedal. The pickup roared especially loudly. Rip's face flushed with excitement, the corners of his mouth unable to stop rising.
Beth, sitting in his passenger seat, reached out and slapped Rip. The force wasn't too great, but at least it made Rip calm down a bit.
"Calm down, baby. It's not time yet."
Perhaps from smoking too much, Beth's voice was somewhat hoarse, like the sound of fingertips gently rubbing sandpaper.
After a while, Rip said: "I'll listen to you!"
As he spoke, Rip eased up on the gas pedal. The vehicle speed decreased somewhat, maintaining a level line with the vehicles behind.
Just then, from the wooden house not far away, a burly man with bristling hair and beard ran out.
He wore work overalls convenient for labor. One strap had snapped and hung down on the pants. He held a hunting rifle, angrily shouting something, raising the gun toward these uninvited guests and opening fire.
Bang.
The bullet shot from the barrel but didn't hit any vehicle.
Caesar raised his eyelids slightly, saying lightly: "He made the first move. We can return fire now."
Caesar didn't need to give orders to the other vehicles. The gunfire was the order.
The several pickup trucks maintaining the front position jerked their steering wheels, sending up quite a bit of fertile soil as they charged straight at the man who'd fired the gun.
Several vehicles suddenly changed direction. The man froze for a moment, then continued shooting.
At high speed, the probability of being hit was greatly reduced, but still a few bullets struck the pickup trucks.
These pickup trucks had all been modified. Forget important parts like the engine hood—even the sheet metal had two extra layers installed, and the glass had been replaced with bulletproof glass.
The man shot, ejected shells, chambered rounds, and continued shooting—with minimal effect.
From other wooden houses beside him, several more people also emerged. They first looked at the advancing pickups, then at the shooting man, loudly asking him questions while also seeming to scold him.
The shooting man frantically pulled bullets from his pocket, accidentally dropping them on the ground. He immediately knelt down, hands trembling as he picked up the bullets and loaded them into the gun.
He didn't forget to turn and roar at his companions behind him, clearly defending his decision to shoot.
Caesar's gaze remained on the people who came out later, not even glancing at the shooting man.
No need to put too much attention on a dead man, right?
Who to kill, who not to kill—everyone in Glenn's squad knew in their hearts.
The pickups were only twenty or thirty meters from the wooden house now, with no signs of slowing down. The shooting man raised his hunting rifle, pointing it at the pickups without knowing his own mortality, loudly warning: "If you advance any further, I'll continue shooting."
The pickups didn't stop. The drivers almost stomped the gas pedal into the fuel tank.
They roared forward.
Amid the screams of the shooting man's companions, the shooting man jumped and rolled, narrowly avoiding that vehicle.
Before he could feel relieved, another pickup truck came out of nowhere and solidly struck the shooting man.
The shooting man flew like a rag doll, smashing with a bang into a nearby wooden house.
Through the broken wooden wall, quite a bit of splattered blood could be seen.
Rip pushed open the car door, got out with large steps, walked to the passenger side and opened the door.
Beth placed one hand on Rip's, leisurely getting out of the vehicle.
After receiving Beth, Rip pulled a handgun from his waist, walked into the wooden house, and with a gunshot, the matter was settled.
During the entire process from when Rip drove the vehicle into the shooting man to shooting him dead, the shooting man's several companions were in a state of shocked stupor.
Until one of the women widened her eyes and let out a heart-wrenching wail, her legs weakening as she collapsed in the dirt crying.
The others quickly comforted her while vigilantly watching the pickup trucks that successively stopped before them.
One door closing sound after another rang out. A group of burly men wearing bulletproof vests appeared before them.
These burly men clustered around a tall and imposing man with a cold expression.
Caesar walked forward slowly. Rip came over and reported: "The one who shot is already dead."
Caesar nodded. "Well done. Who should die and who should live—we all know in our hearts."
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