Jenson, standing behind Leah, reacted the fastest. In a single stride he rushed to the ladder by the wall and climbed up the nearest watchtower in a few quick movements.
Calista and the others hurried to follow.
Looking toward the direction where the dogs were barking wildly, they saw two figures about a hundred meters away at the edge of the woods. Both were wearing torn National Guard uniforms, staggering toward the estate in a disturbingly unnatural way.
Their movements were stiff like puppets.
The one in front seemed to have a broken leg dragging along the ground. Its abdomen was a mangled mess of flesh and blood, and dark red intestines could faintly be seen spilling out.
The one behind had half of its face hanging loose, exposing pale cheekbones. One cloudy eyeball dangled outside the socket, and its mouth opened and closed mindlessly, producing low, hoarse growls.
"Haa… haa…"
Saliva mixed with black blood dripped from its mouth.
"My God!"
Martha screamed in terror. The cup of water in her hand slipped and shattered on the ground as she trembled like a leaf in the wind.
Mira quickly covered the child's eyes, though her own face had already turned pale.
Even Tom and Joey sucked in sharp breaths, their legs trembling.
That thing…
That thing was definitely not human anymore.
Even the National Guard hadn't escaped it—and they had somehow wandered all the way into these deep mountains.
Bang! Bang!
Two crisp gunshots shattered the silence.
Jenson stood on the watchtower with a sniper rifle in his hands, faint smoke drifting from the muzzle.
Each of the two monstrous soldiers now had a bullet hole in the center of their foreheads. Their bodies swayed slightly before collapsing to the ground, completely motionless.
Calista looked at the terrified "newcomers" below—especially Mira, who had been muttering earlier. Her face was now pale as paper.
Calista calmly rubbed the heavy brass key ring hanging at her waist—the keys to the estate's gates.
The morning sunlight glinted off the brass keys and illuminated her calm, almost cold expression.
At that moment, the last traces of doubt disappeared from everyone's minds.
They watched as Calista calmly issued orders over the radio, sending patrol teams with weapons and hunting dogs to expand their sweep of the forest. In their eyes, only complete trust and relief remained.
Calista glanced at Mira's ghost-white face and then at the others who were still shaken.
Her expression remained calm.
She weighed the keys lightly in her hand and swept her gaze across the stunned group before speaking clearly.
"Welcome to the new world."
"Now… does anyone still think I was worrying over nothing?"
At that moment, Calista felt extremely fortunate that she had latched onto Leah before the apocalypse arrived.
And even more fortunate that Leah had brought this group of disciplined, highly trained mercenaries with her.
Just comparing them with these civilians made the difference obvious.
If this had been one of those ordinary survivor camps from the original storyline, simply convincing people that the apocalypse was real, getting them to obey orders, and stopping them from doing stupid things would have wasted endless time and arguments. It might even have led to deadly internal conflict.
But here, a single glance exchanged between Leah and Rickson was enough for their respective team members to know exactly what to do.
Their guns were always pointed outward.
Inside, the group was as steady as a rock.
The efficiency of a professional team was incredibly reassuring.
Calista asked the Howard couple to take the survivors to Evans. After he confirmed they were fine, they would be placed in the building farthest away.
Rickson and Maya followed as well, checking the group for injuries while keeping an eye on them to make sure none of them tried anything suspicious.
After all, Rickson's stern face alone was intimidating enough, and his personality was tougher than Calista's or Leah's. He would make the perfect gatekeeper in the future, screening people before allowing them in.
Calista rubbed her chin and looked toward the three main buildings.
One building housed herself and the mercenaries.
Another was occupied by the Howard couple and Evans.
The third was temporarily used to house survivors.
She began wondering whether they should build more houses, or perhaps take some time to clean up the Blackberry Ranch down the mountain and turn it into a branch base or outpost.
Otherwise, when more survivors started arriving later, where would they all stay?
She certainly couldn't stack them inside the manor building. That place was reserved for her own people.
The outer barbed wire fence also needed to be built as soon as possible.
A few scattered walkers like today were manageable. But if they encountered a moving herd of walkers, and the horde reached the estate before they noticed, any counterattack would be far too reactive.
And if they ever ran into another community—or something like the Whisperers—that would be even worse. They needed a proper safety buffer around the area.
She decided that later she would study the map and see whether there were nearby places where they could find large amounts of barbed wire and construction materials.
Oh—and the documents and safes they had brought from the villa earlier.
They had been so busy building defenses lately that she hadn't had time to look through them.
Now that the first phase of construction was finally complete, she needed to organize those things and start planning their next steps.
Just then, Ancheta scratched his messy curly hair and spoke in his usual straightforward way.
"Calista, don't you think we should give this place a proper name? We can't keep calling it Twilight Manor forever. Honestly, it looks more like a fortress now."
Calista's eyes lit up slightly.
He was right.
It was time for a name.
In the original storyline, Leah and her group were called the Reapers. It sounded cool and intimidating, and their first appearance had been dramatic.
Everyone masked, carrying scythes, with terrifying combat ability.
But the name always carried the feeling of bloodshed and despair.
Calista didn't want her base to have a name like that. It didn't sound like a proper survival settlement.
She wanted this place to become somewhere people could catch their breath and feel a bit of hope—a strong fortress capable of holding its ground even in the apocalypse.
While Calista was still thinking about what name would be better, the low rumble of an engine came from the estate's side gate.
Carver and Turner had returned from their "errand."
The Humvee silently rolled into the courtyard and stopped steadily.
The door opened, and Carver jumped down first, moving with the agility of a black panther.
He casually brushed a few specks of mud and dry leaves off his combat uniform. His expression remained the same as always—lazy, slightly roguish.
Turner followed behind him. He grinned widely, showing a row of white teeth.
But the relaxed look on his face clearly carried the satisfaction of someone who had just finished a dirty job.
The two of them walked straight toward Calista.
Leah glanced over calmly.
Carver stopped in front of Calista and reported casually.
"The woods have been cleaned up. No more flies buzzing around."
His tone was as relaxed as if he were commenting on the weather.
Turner added from the side, sounding slightly amused.
"That old guy really had bad intentions. Said he was going to report this place to the remaining military forces outside. We caught him red-handed."
"In the end he even tried to fight back with a wrench. Tsk… didn't know his limits."
"As for the truck, we drove it deep into the forest and dumped it in an abandoned mine pit. Everything's clean—didn't even leave extra tire tracks."
He made a throat-cutting gesture.
The meaning was obvious.
Calista nodded calmly.
Her expression didn't change.
She didn't ask about the details, and she didn't need to.
The moment Brian and his son left with hostility in their eyes, their fate had already been decided.
Calista would never allow this place to be exposed casually.
In a world where order had collapsed, mercy and hesitation would only get herself—and the people around her—killed.
She simply said,
"Good work."