That final question shattered Rick's last shred of denial.
The details he had ignored before now became clear and terrifying.
He had seen walkers with no visible wounds before.
Rick's heavy, disordered breathing came through the radio.
He seemed to be trying hard to control his emotions, but Calista could clearly feel the depth of his confusion.
"Oh God…" Rick muttered, his voice filled with pain and the hollow emptiness of a collapsing worldview.
"Does that mean… we lost from the very beginning? There's no hope at all? No cure? We… we're graves ourselves?"
One of the beliefs that had supported him through this hellish world, protecting his companions from being bitten and searching for the possibility of a cure, had been dealt a devastating blow.
If everyone was a carrier, then what they had been fighting all along was not just the walkers outside, but the inevitable change lurking inside their own bodies.
That was more hopeless than any walker horde.
Calista stayed silent, giving Rick time to digest the information.
She knew how cruel this truth was, but it was also a reality they had to face.
After a long while, Rick's voice came through again, filled with deep exhaustion and struggle. "I… should I tell them? Lori, Carl, Glenn, everyone…"
He had fallen into one of the hardest choices a leader could face.
Should he tell everyone this brutal truth and risk panic and despair?
Or should he hide it for now, bear the crushing weight alone, and preserve the appearance of hope?
Calista did not offer advice.
Because of Dr. Jenner's presence, this information, which did not need to be kept secret, was already common knowledge throughout her base.
Perhaps because they had known early on, and because the base was currently developing well, people were not overly worried about it.
In the apocalypse, living one day at a time was already enough.
Likewise, this was a decision Rick had to make himself as the leader of the prison.
Calista only said calmly, "I've delivered the information. How you handle it is your decision, Rick.
"Only by recognizing reality can you make better decisions.
"At the very least, now you know that when handling… the final arrangements for your companions, you need to be more careful."
She could not offer more comfort. The apocalypse did not need false comfort either.
"…I understand." Rick's voice was low and hoarse, as if he had aged many years at once. "Thank you for telling me this, Calista."
"Stay in contact, Rick. If you need anything, or… if you discover anything new, contact me anytime." Calista ended the heavy conversation.
"Stay in contact."
The communication cut off.
The room fell quiet again.
Calista took off the headset, leaned back in her chair, and stared at the ceiling with her gray-blue eyes.
She had revealed two key pieces of information to Rick ahead of time. One was livestock disease prevention. The other was the truth about the Wildfire virus.
Calista could not predict how much this would change the future path of the prison community.
But at the very least, she had given the warnings she believed she should give.
As for how Rick would choose to face and handle that truth, that was his test.
Calista picked up the pen she had set down earlier and refocused on Rock Fortress's development blueprint.
External allies were important, but one's own strength was the eternal foundation.
...
By evening, the setting sun had dyed the horizon a brilliant orange-red, coating Rock Fortress's training ground in a warm golden glow.
But the atmosphere on the field was the complete opposite, thick with tense confrontation.
Following Calista's requirement to speed up integration, all combat personnel had been broken up and reorganized for coordinated defensive drills.
One of the teams was led by Edmund, a former member of Leah's unit.
Edmund was experienced and agile, but his temper was as fiery and direct as his marksmanship.
Corporal Brad, one of Lieutenant Welles's men, served as deputy team leader.
Their team included Edmund's teammate Saed, several National Guard soldiers, and Daryl, who stood alone in a corner as if he did not fit in with anyone around him.
The drill simulated a sudden ambush in the field, requiring the squad to react quickly.
They had to seize a complex area ahead, made up of abandoned vehicles, low walls, and dirt mounds, and establish defensive positions.
The whistle blew, and the simulated attack began.
"Spread out and find cover! Fire at will. Set up crossfire!" Edmund shouted the order almost without hesitation.
It was a reaction carved into his bones after years as a special forces soldier and mercenary.
When ambushed, the first response was to break up the group, use every bit of available terrain to reduce casualties, and return fire with precise, intense individual firepower to suppress the enemy.
But the moment his order landed, Corporal Brad objected.
"Team leader! We should maintain a tight formation. Team A covers, Team B advances, then alternate forward! That guarantees sustained firepower and keeps the formation intact!"
Corporal Brad had received standard U.S. military training, which emphasized discipline, formation, and team coordination. He believed that fighting like scattered stragglers made them easy to pick off one by one when facing a strong enemy.
At the very moment the two men clashed, Daryl had already made his choice through action.
Without a word, he rolled swiftly to the side and silently disappeared behind a half-collapsed wall. His crossbow came up, and his eyes scanned through the sights, sweeping over the positions where the "enemy" might appear.
Daryl's actions came purely from a hunter's instinct. Efficient and direct.
The other National Guard soldiers looked uncertainly at Edmund, then at Brad. For a moment, they froze in place, unsure whose orders to follow.
To Edmund, that brief confusion was unforgivable.
His temper flared, and he roared at Brad, "Damn it, Corporal! Your way doesn't work here!
"Open your eyes and look! Walkers and looters aren't going to line up neatly and talk formation with you!
"They'll come at you from every direction. Spread out and use the terrain! Got it?"
Brad was stubborn too. Years of regular military training had shaped habits that were not easy to change.
He stiffened his neck and refused to back down. "Spreading out is suicide! Without discipline and coordination, how are we supposed to form effective combat power? We should…"
As the two men argued until their faces and necks flushed red, their voices rising louder and louder, the drill ground to a complete halt. The atmosphere grew tense, almost on the verge of turning into internal conflict.
"What are you arguing about?"
Maya and Lieutenant Welles, who were responsible for overseeing the entire training ground, strode over.
Maya was the Defense Force commander, and Lieutenant Welles was her deputy. As partners, the two of them balanced supervision over personnel from different backgrounds.
Welles spoke first, his sharp gaze sweeping over Edmund and Brad.
Maya walked directly between the two men.
She was Mexican, tall for a woman, though she still looked slender standing in front of the two burly men.
Even so, the cold aura radiating from Maya made it impossible for anyone to underestimate her.
...
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