[TWD x Resident Evil] — Chapter 273 - Selling Out the Team

Oscar spat out the grass stem he'd been chewing and fixed his eyes on the battlefield below, which had devolved into absolute bedlam.

"Glenn, I take back what I said."

"You're not a fucking genius. You're a devil."

The Highway Gang was tearing itself apart.

Yes. Tearing itself apart.

Minutes ago, they'd been "brothers" fighting side by side. Now, on a single word from Glenn, they had guns pointed at each other's heads, two packs of sworn enemies with a lifetime of blood between them.

The bikers were clearly more ruthless. Better equipped, too.

But the dealers had numbers, and the kind of ferocity that only erupts when you've been pushed past your absolute limit made them look like a pack of rabid dogs with nothing left to lose.

"They actually started shooting each other."

Rat Boss cowered behind cover, barely daring to peek with half his face, his beady eyes wide with disbelief.

He'd spent half his life in the underworld. He'd seen betrayals. Seen knives in backs. But he'd never once seen a full internal firefight break out right in the middle of a battle, two armies already shooting at each other, and one of them just turns on itself.

This was more audacious than anything a Hollywood screenwriter would dare put on the page.

Glenn ignored them both.

He switched the walkie-talkie to the dealers' open channel, then set it down beside a rock so the audio could carry clearly.

"Paco! Have you lost your goddamn mind?! You shot at Jack!"

"Screw you — and screw Jack while you're at it!"

"He's the one who just kicked Skinny into the line of fire!"

"Brothers! Don't believe that Asian kid's bullshit! We take down Woodbury and the boss promised, everyone gets paid!"

"Paid my ass! We're about to lose our lives, what the hell are we even collecting?"

"Following Glenn is the only way out of this alive!"

Glenn smiled.

Good.

The pie he'd dangled in front of these starving hyenas, they'd swallowed it whole. Plate and all.

Now he needed to pour one last bucket of oil on the fire.

He picked up the walkie-talkie and pressed talk.

"Brothers. This is Glenn."

"Look around you. Those bikers. Good guns. Good rides."

"Kill them. Take everything they have."

"After that — we make our own rules."

---

Woodbury. On the wall.

The Governor lowered his binoculars, confusion spreading across his face.

Martinez stood beside him with his jaw hanging open wide enough to fit an egg.

"Governor... this... what the hell is going on?"

"Are they putting on a show?"

The Governor didn't speak. His mind was running hard.

He'd imagined every possibility.

The Highway Gang storms in and gets shredded by his crossfire. Or they break and run, and he hunts them down.

What he never imagined, what he genuinely could not have imagined, was that this pack of idiots would start killing each other right on his doorstep.

And from the look of it, they were doing it harder than he would have.

"Do these people have some kind of brain damage?" Martinez muttered.

The Governor's brow furrowed.

No.

This wasn't a show.

He'd seen it, a biker's head burst open like a watermelon. That was not prop blood.

Someone on the inside was pulling strings.

"Interesting."

The corner of the Governor's mouth curved up instead.

Suddenly, this battle was far more entertaining than he'd planned for.

"Hold fire," he ordered. "We watch from here."

"I want to see exactly what kind of tricks these dogs can bite out of each other."

---

Center of the battlefield.

Vincent felt like he was going out of his mind.

The white shirt he'd always taken such pride in was now a filthy patchwork of mud and someone else's blood.

Bullets were coming from two directions.

One side: those Woodbury bastards who loved nothing more than watching things burn. They'd let up on the sustained fire, but they were still picking off shots whenever the mood struck.

The other side: his own goddamn people.

The dealers he normally wouldn't spare a glance were charging at his Hellfire brothers with bloodshot eyes, guns up, hunting them down one by one.

"Traitors! You treacherous sons of bitches!"

Vincent crouched behind a shot-up pickup, screaming like a man coming apart at the seams.

A loyal Hellfire member came sprinting over, hunched low, reaching out to drag him somewhere safer.

"Boss! Over here! Move, now!"

Vincent looked at him.

There was not one trace of gratitude in those eyes.

The instant the biker's hand reached for him, Vincent shoved, hard.

Without hesitation, he threw his most loyal man out into the open, straight into the burst of fire the dealers were pouring in.

The biker didn't make a sound. Three red flowers bloomed across his back, POP POP POP, and he crumpled into the dirt like wet paper, a human decoy.

"Shit..."

Jack, not far away, watched it happen. His grip on his gun almost went slack.

He'd always figured Vincent was cruel. Arrogant, sure. Ruthless, definitely.

But not this. Using your most loyal brother as a meat shield without blinking, not a flicker of hesitation, not a beat of pause.

Seizing the gap, Vincent rolled sideways and came up behind a Harley with its engine still idling.

He looked at the battlefield.

It was done.

All of it, done.

His Hellfire brothers had been scattered and were being run down by dealers who outnumbered them several times over. And those Woodbury bastards just stood up on their wall like spectators at a game, taking the occasional free shot, harvesting his men's lives at a discount.

Staying here meant dying.

One thought left in Vincent's head.

Run.

He kicked the still-twitching body off the motorcycle, swung on, and wrenched the throttle hard.

"VROOM—!"

The bike shot out like a crazed bull, bursting straight off the flank of the battlefield.

"He's running! Vincent's running!"

Rat Boss screamed it first from the hillside.

Glenn's pupils snapped tight.

Shit.

He can't get away.

If that bastard made it back to the gas station and fled with the remaining guns and supplies, they were releasing a tiger back into the wild.

Leon would skin him alive.

Glenn raised his rifle and opened fire on Vincent.

But the distance was too great. Nothing was landing.

"After him!"

Watching Vincent pull farther and farther away, Glenn didn't wait. He was the first off the hillside, charging downhill toward the parked vehicles.

"Oscar! Rat Boss! Get the car!"

Running the whole way, he roared into the walkie-talkie.

"All units, listen up! Vincent's running! He's probably headed for the gas station! Don't let him walk away!"

"Kill him!"

"As long as he's still breathing, he will come for every single one of you from the shadows for the rest of your lives!"

The dealers, already seeing red, heard that and worked faster on the bikers still standing.

"Move! Clean up the rest, I'm going after that bastard first!"

Paco took point. He vaulted into a running pickup, grabbed a handful of men, and tore off in the direction Vincent had gone.

The entire battlefield flipped, just like that, from a chaotic brawl into a full-scale chase.

Left behind: the Woodbury crew, still lined up on their wall, watching the faction that had been killing each other seconds ago now sprint off in the same direction. They exchanged bewildered looks, utterly baffled.

Nobody had any idea what they'd just witnessed.

---

Gas station.

Mia stood at the second-floor window of the convenience store, watching an empty road.

Then a familiar engine sound came rolling in from the distance.

Vincent's Harley.

It braked hard at the entrance.

Vincent climbed off looking like he'd been dragged behind a truck. Blood everywhere, hair a wreck, a long gash running from his brow down to his jaw, still oozing.

He kicked the door open. The few

➤ Next: The Backer Behind Vincent