Early the next morning, Calista and the others set out.
Compared to the tense, heavy mission that had brought them to Atlanta, the atmosphere on the return trip was noticeably lighter.
The hard-won blood analyzer had been carefully placed in the back seat of the Humvee and had become Dr. Jenner's prized possession—something he refused to let out of his sight.
"Finally getting some fresh air," Mike said while driving, lowering the window slightly. "Another day in that place and my lungs would've rotted out."
The convoy headed north along Interstate 85, aiming for the Great Smoky Mountains.
The weather was good, and the roads were far better than inside the city. Occasionally they had to push aside a stalled car or deal with a stray walker, but for this elite team it barely counted as a challenge.
A few badly off-key humming voices could even be heard from the vehicles.
The good mood didn't last long.
When the fuel needle in the lead vehicle slid toward the red warning zone, the relaxed atmosphere vanished.
"Calista, Leah… we've got a problem," Mike said, tapping the dashboard with a grimace. "We're running low. Not enough fuel to make it home."
Calista didn't look surprised.
In the apocalypse, fuel was always scarce.
"Pull over. Let's check the map," she ordered briefly.
The convoy stopped by the roadside.
Calista spread out the map, already marked with circles and arrows.
"We're south of Gettysburg. Up ahead is the junction of Interstate 85 and County Road 18," she quickly located their position.
"If we turn there we'll enter King County. There's a place called Pine Grove Gas Station. Let's try our luck there."
The convoy set off again, but at a noticeably slower pace to conserve fuel.
The pickup truck remained at the rear. This time Wells was driving, with Jenson in the passenger seat.
In the back sat Merle, Miguel, and Felipe.
Guillermo, who clearly didn't get along with Merle, had switched to Mike's vehicle.
As usual, Jenson glanced at the rearview mirror every few seconds.
At first there was nothing behind them except an empty highway and swaying weeds.
But after a few minutes, a tiny black speck appeared at the edge of the road behind them—and it was closing the distance quickly.
"Everyone, we've got a tail. Seven o'clock. Black SUV approaching fast," Jenson reported calmly over the radio.
"Distance? Any visible weapons?" Leah asked.
"About a mile out. No visible weapons, but the windows are heavily tinted."
"Maintain formation and speed. Keep watching. Everyone, alert level one," Leah ordered, lightly tapping the rifle resting against her leg.
The black SUV made no attempt to hide its approach. It sped up aggressively, flashing its headlights several times before finally pulling up alongside the lead vehicle carrying Mike, Bossie, Turner, and Guillermo.
The passenger window rolled down.
A man wearing a filthy baseball cap leaned out and shouted.
"Hey! Friends up front! Relax! We mean no harm!"
Mike and the others remained expressionless, as if they hadn't heard him.
Calista glanced coldly into the vehicle.
The driver was a shifty-eyed Black man. The passenger was the man in the baseball cap. In the back seat were two others—a greasy fat man and a nervous-looking young guy.
Seeing no response, the man in the baseball cap raised his voice and adopted a deliberately friendly tone.
"My name's Dave! These guys are Sean, Tony, and Randall. We're from Philadelphia! Heard there's survivor groups around here and we're looking for somewhere to join up."
He nodded toward their vehicles.
"Your convoy looks pretty impressive—you must have a good base. How about letting us tag along?"
A faint smirk appeared on Calista's lips.
She had seen this kind of clumsy lie countless times in post-apocalyptic movies.
Still, he told it well enough.
She lowered the window slightly, revealing half her face.
"Not interested," she said coldly. "We're full. Go your own way."
The refusal was blunt and final.
Dave's fake smile froze.
He clearly hadn't expected such a cold rejection.
Then the fat man in the back seat—Tony—leaned forward. His greedy eyes shifted toward the second vehicle, moving slowly between Calista and Leah.
He flashed a mouthful of yellow teeth.
"Hey now, ladies… no need to get so worked up. Let's talk it over."
"Your camp's gotta have other girls, right?"
"Haven't seen women this pretty in a long time."
"Take us along—we're strong. We can work. And we can… heh…"
His words dripped with crude sexual insinuation.
Leah's face went cold, and her hand moved toward the pistol at her waist.
But Tony only grew more vulgar, assuming they were just pretending to be tough.
"Don't be shy."
"In a world like this, women need men to protect them, right? Let us join and I guarantee all the women in your camp will—"
"AAAAH!"
His sentence turned into a shriek.
BANG!
A gunshot cracked through the air.
Carver fired.
He had heard every filthy word clearly. Without hesitation, he kept one hand on the wheel and drew his pistol with the other.
The bullet blew out the SUV's left rear tire.
The vehicle instantly lost control, swerving violently and fishtailing as it nearly rolled over.
At the exact moment the shot rang out, the rest of the team moved in perfect synchronization.
SCREECH—
Mike slammed on the brakes and yanked the wheel. The heavy Humvee spun sideways in a brutal drift, smashing into the out-of-control SUV.
RAT-TAT-TAT-TAT—
Calista, Leah, Bossie, Turner, and Jenson leaned out the windows at the same moment.
Automatic rifle fire poured into the SUV, shredding the driver's cabin and engine hood.
Bulletproof glass?
Not even close.
The windows exploded into shards.
Blood sprayed across the interior. Screams were drowned by the thunder of gunfire.
Dave, Sean, and the quiet young man Randall died instantly under the concentrated volley before they could even react.
Only Tony survived the first seconds—because he had been leaning halfway out of the vehicle while harassing them.
The crash threw him onto the asphalt.
His leg snapped on impact and he screamed in agony.
"AH! My leg! Don't kill me! We were wrong! We're—"
BANG.
Leah didn't even bother getting out of the car.
She simply leaned out the passenger window and fired one precise shot.
The scream stopped.
A dark, blood-filled hole appeared in Tony's forehead.
From Carver's first shot to the last corpse hitting the ground, the entire fight lasted less than fifteen seconds.
No hesitation.
No warnings.
Not a single wasted word.
Calista stepped out of the vehicle. Her boots pressed into the warm pool of blood with a soft squelch.
She walked over to the ruined SUV and calmly inspected the bodies.
After confirming their identities, she smiled sweetly and nudged Tony's corpse with the tip of her boot.
"Turner. Check if we've got enough fuel now."
Turner climbed out and checked the vehicle, giving a whistle.
"Well, look at that. Their tank's practically full."
"Good," Calista said.
"Siphon it into Mike's vehicle first. Then we'll head to King County and try our luck there."
Guillermo and the others stared in shock.
They had assumed Calista—the one who looked the most gentle and harmless, like a sheltered young lady—would be the least dangerous.
Instead she had watched the killings without blinking.
Merle, however, simply squinted with satisfaction.
Looks like I picked the right people to follow this time.
Calista wasn't the type of pretty girl who agonized over morality or human nature.
If someone threatened her—
especially a piece of trash she happened to recognize—
there was only one outcome.
Death.
Rick… looks like I solved a little problem for you ahead of time.
I'm such a good Samaritan.
...
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