[TWD x Resident Evil] — Chapter 274 - The Backer Behind Vincent

Pursuers?

Already?

Vincent's heart seized. He tightened his grip on the Desert Eagle without thinking.

The bikers who'd been hauling supplies dropped everything, all eyes locked on the black dot swelling in the distance.

Not one of the dealers' beat-up pickups.

That silhouette — squarer. Heavier.

Like a moving steel box.

As it drew closer, Vincent got a clear look.

A military-green Hummer, an M2 heavy machine gun mounted on the roof.

Spray-painted on the body was a faded but still recognizable insignia.

An eagle with outstretched wings.

The terror on Vincent's face melted the instant he recognized that vehicle. What replaced it was the delirious ecstasy of a man who'd just cheated death, and the manic thrill of one who knew exactly what that vehicle meant.

"Ha ha... HAHAHAHAHAHA!"

He threw his head back and laughed until tears ran down his face.

"I'm not dying today!"

He wheeled on his stunned underlings and roared.

"Quit standing there like idiots! They're with us! Our reinforcements are here!"

He wasn't lying.

In the apocalypse, everyone was a hyena, always hunting for a stronger backer.

And Vincent had found himself the hardest one around.

An army that lurked in the shadows, one that needed his "Hellhound" out front to scavenge supplies and sweep up the garbage.

He delivered the canned goods, the medicine, the gasoline, in a steady stream.

In return, they supplied the weapons, the ammunition, and when things got messy, they cleaned up after him. So he could keep plundering more efficiently.

The Hummer swung into a sharp bootlegger turn and stopped hard in front of the convenience store.

The doors opened. Four soldiers in crisp combat uniforms, faces smeared with camo paint, jumped out.

They were a completely different species from the ragtag mob of the Highway Gang.

Their boots were immaculate. The M4s in their hands gleamed like they'd been polished that morning.

The leader was a lieutenant.

He walked up to Vincent, didn't bother with a handshake, and looked him over from top to bottom with barely concealed contempt.

"Mr. Duran. It seems you've run into some trouble."

"A minor accident."

Vincent straightened his tattered shirt, trying to hold onto the last scraps of his dignity.

"But now that you're here, everything's easy to handle."

"The higher-ups are very dissatisfied with your recent contributions."

The lieutenant fished a pack of Camels from his pocket, lit one for himself, and didn't offer one to Vincent.

"They think their dog's gotten a little too lazy."

The muscles in Vincent's face twitched.

Dog.

That fucking word again.

But in the face of absolute power, he swallowed every bit of it.

"Don't worry. I'll make it up to them. Double."

Vincent forced out a smile.

"Just help me put down those bastards chasing me. And that lunatic from Woodbury."

"Our orders are to extract you. Not to be your personal cleanup crew."

The lieutenant blew out a lungful of smoke, his eyes empty of anything but contempt.

"Though... since we're already here, clearing out a little trash on the side isn't out of the question."

That was when a new sound hit, engines, even louder, screaming in from the far end of the highway.

Over a dozen rusted pickups and trucks came barreling down the road, trailing walls of dust, tearing toward them like they had nothing left to lose. The truck beds were packed, the dealers who'd just turned on Vincent, eyes bloodshot, guns waving, screaming things that barely qualified as words.

Vincent's bike had simply been too fast for their junk heaps. They never had a real shot at catching him.

But they hadn't missed by much.

In the lead truck, Glenn stood in the passenger seat, rifle raised.

Then suddenly, everyone went still.

They'd all seen the Hummer.

Paco's truck bled off speed without him even thinking about it.

"Glenn... is that... is that the military?"

His voice was shaking.

To ordinary survivors, the military meant order. It meant hope.

Going against them? That was outright rebellion.

It wasn't just Paco. The dealers behind him — who'd been howling for blood two minutes ago — had all gone quiet. They'd signed on to follow Glenn, strip the bikers of everything they had. Not pick a fight with the U.S. Army.

Vincent watched them waver at the edge of commitment, and his smile got wider.

He looked straight at Glenn and silently mouthed four words.

"You. Are. Dead."

Glenn didn't look at him.

His eyes were locked on the Hummer.

Shit.

The military.

Where the hell had they come from?

His mind was already sprinting.

Vincent's backers, had to be. How else had he gotten his hands on grenade launchers and M4s?

Retreat?

Retreat now, and he was personally handing Vincent back to his handlers. Let that dog lick his wounds and come back with an actual army behind him, and that would be the end of everything. Forget the gas station. The prison might not survive either.

Don't retreat?

Go toe-to-toe with soldiers who looked like they ate people like Glenn for breakfast? With a mob of dealers who could barely keep their guns from shaking?

That wasn't dying in battle. That was signing himself up to be a corpse at the crematorium.

Glenn's palms were soaked.

Fuck.

This was the worst possible wrench in

➤ Next: The Soldiers' Strength