The convoy drove until they reached the roadside sign marking the entrance to King County.
Wells's rough, hoarse voice crackled through the radio.
"Hey, everyone. My pickup's about to run dry. If the next gas station doesn't have fuel, we'll be running on sheer optimism!"
Carver frowned and glanced at the fuel gauge.
"We don't have enough to make it back to Rock Fortress either."
"Damn it," Leah muttered, picking up the radio.
"All units, we're turning into King County now to look for fuel!"
"King County?" Turner's voice came through the radio. "That sounds kind of familiar."
Mike let out a rough laugh.
"What, you got an old flame here or something?"
Turner waved his hands quickly.
"No way. Don't ruin my reputation!"
Calista, however, did recognize the name King County.
When she had been studying in Knoxville, she had actually come here once as a tourist—specifically to see the filming locations from The Walking Dead.
Her gaze drifted over the familiar desolate scenery outside the window, and she murmured softly,
"Half of a… hometown, I guess."
At the same time, she silently added in her mind:
Also the place where Rick Grimes' story began.
...
The convoy turned off the main road and onto the smaller road leading into King County.
The road conditions were terrible. Abandoned vehicles were scattered everywhere like discarded toys, forcing the three vehicles to slow down constantly to weave around them.
"What the hell? Did this place host some kind of car party?" Merle grumbled from the back seat of the pickup. The jolting ride made the stump of his severed arm bump against Felipe, and he sucked in a sharp breath.
"Shit! Felipe, can't you lose some weight? Watch it before the walkers decide you're dessert!"
"Shut up, Merle!" Jenson said coldly without even turning around. "Either sit still or get out and run behind us. Might even save us some gas."
Merle spat in annoyance but stopped complaining loudly, muttering curses under his breath instead.
Having grown up in that kind of environment, he could easily tell the difference between ordinary people and the truly dangerous ones.
Take racism for example. Even though both were Black men, Merle dared to insult T-Dog all the time—but he had never once thrown trash talk at Wells.
It was obvious.
Calista's group—both before and after the apocalypse—were the kind of people you rarely encountered. The real deal.
Carver's voice came over the radio again, teasing slightly.
"Merle, save your breath. If we run out of gas later, you're the number one candidate for pushing the car."
"Screw you, Carver! I've only got one hand left and I could still flip your junk car over!"
A few chuckles came through the radio, easing the tension a little.
...
The closer they got to King County, the heavier that familiar apocalyptic atmosphere became.
There were more and more abandoned cars. Some had crashed together, forming makeshift barricades.
Most of the houses along the road had broken windows and doors. The yards were overgrown with weeds. Occasionally, one or two walkers wandered around. When they heard the engine noise, they staggered after the vehicles, only to be quickly left behind.
Calista's eyes swept over the familiar sights, and her heartbeat quickened slightly.
She saw the road sign marked "King County."
She saw the battered sign of the famous "Shane's Rib Shack."
Everything overlapped faintly with scenes from the story.
The thought gave her a strange feeling, as if she had stepped into a stage meant for someone else's story.
"Turn left ahead. There should be a gas station," Calista said, trying to keep her voice steady.
Finally, a run-down gas station appeared beside the road.
The sign hung crooked. The fuel pumps had been pried open. The convenience store's glass doors were shattered. Several dried-out corpses were scattered around the area.
The place looked utterly bleak.
"Now that's what I call a warm welcome," Carver commented.
The convoy came to a stop.
Leah immediately began issuing orders.
"Carver, Wells—perimeter security. Watch the road and behind those wrecked cars.
Mike, Turner—clear the convenience store. Fast.
Jenson—check the fuel pumps. See if there's anything left.
Bossie—provide support.
Everyone else keep the engines running. Be ready to move at any time."
The team moved quickly.
Carver and Wells jumped out first, taking up firing positions.
Mike and Turner approached the dark convenience store from opposite sides and slipped inside cautiously.
A moment later—
"Pfft."
"Pfft."
Two muffled shots.
Then Mike's voice rang out clearly.
"Clear!"
Jenson hopped out of the vehicle carrying a crowbar and a long siphon hose. He began opening the pump covers one by one and checking the underground tanks.
He pried open the inspection covers, probing and siphoning repeatedly.
After several minutes, he finally stood up and shook his head helplessly toward Calista and Leah.
"Clean as if someone licked it dry. Not a single drop left."
"Fuck!" Calista slammed her fist against the door.
"Check the storage area behind the building and near the trash bins. See if there are any fuel drums we missed."
She stepped out of the vehicle herself and began scanning the area.
Just then, a faint breeze drifted through, carrying a foul stench of decay.
Calista immediately went alert.
She raised her rifle and searched for the source of the smell through the scope.
Inside the crosshairs appeared a walker.
Or rather—what remained of one.
A female walker with only her upper body left.
It had already been neutralized.
Its skin was gray and rotten. Its intestines trailed behind it. Its remaining arms dragged across the ground.
And in the center of its forehead—
A black bullet hole.
Calista's breathing stopped for a moment.
Her fingers trembled slightly.
It was the same one.
Exactly the same as in the story.
The walker Rick had encountered.
She had even watched the standalone spin-off centered around this half-body walker.
An indescribable sensation washed over her.
It felt as if she had crossed time itself and was now witnessing a moment that had always been destined to happen.
"Calista?"
Bossie's voice came from beside her. He had noticed how long she had been aiming.
"Something wrong?"
"Nothing…" Calista slowly lowered the rifle. Her voice sounded a little dry.
"Just a poor unlucky soul. No threat."
She couldn't possibly explain what she was feeling.
After all—
In this entire world, she was the only one who knew any of this.
...
The rest of the team finished their search and confirmed there was absolutely no fuel left.
Jenson kicked an empty fuel drum, which clanged loudly.
"Not even a smell left. Those scavengers are like damn locusts."
"Enough complaining," Calista said, rubbing her forehead and forcing herself to focus again.
"Back in the vehicles. Let's try somewhere else."
Before she could finish speaking—
A faint sound drifted through the air.
Everyone instantly fell silent.
They listened carefully.
It wasn't the groaning of walkers.
As the sound grew clearer, they realized—
It was a man shouting desperately for help.
"Help! Is anyone there?! Help! Please help Duane!"
Mixed in was the terrified crying of a child.
"Dad! Dad!"
The voices were coming from behind the gas station—from deep within a dense forest.
"Fuck… what's that about?" Carver said, instantly on guard.
"Someone's calling for help in the woods."
Merle straightened up, leaning out the truck window with his single arm.
"Well, well. This could be interesting. A trap? Or just a couple of desperate idiots?"
Leah hesitated for only a second.
A survivor's cry for help couldn't simply be ignored.
Especially when a child might be involved.
"Everyone back in the vehicles," she ordered decisively.
"Move slowly toward the sound. Maximum alert.
Turner—get the heavy machine gun ready. This could be a trap."
Both modified Humvees had been their squad's vehicles before the apocalypse. Each had a mounted gun rack on the roof.
Calista sighed quietly and chambered a round in her rifle.
There was no helping it.
If her soft-hearted older sister insisted on helping people—
Then she would be the one protecting her.