[TWD x Resident Evil] — Chapter 280 - Doc Wants to Stay

The door to the Infirmary was packed so tight not even water could squeeze through.

How to put it... hmm, it looked exactly like a Walmart on Black Friday when they're slashing prices on TVs.

"All of you, get the hell out of my way! I'm type B! Pure!"

A scar-faced bruiser, built like a bull, shoved his way forward.

On his thick arm was a tattoo of some animal, so faded now you couldn't even tell what it was supposed to be.

Beside him, a guy thin as a bamboo pole roared back, not about to be outdone.

"Use my blood, and I guarantee once she recovers she'll outrun Usain Bolt!"

"Shut up, all of you!" Shane clutched his chest, straining his voice, trying to keep order.

"Get in line! All of you, get the hell in line!"

Leon leaned against the wall, arms folded across his chest, quietly watching the chaotic yet strangely vibrant scene before him.

He said nothing, just let a faint, almost imperceptible smile play at the corner of his mouth.

Three hundred meters away.

Doc lowered his binoculars. On his weathered old face was an expression like he'd just seen God in a bikini doing the hula.

"My Lord Almighty..." He pulled off his filthy baseball cap and scratched his mottled white head of hair.

"These people... are they lining up to donate blood?"

"I thought they'd be fighting over scraps of meat." Doc muttered to himself, smacking his lips.

"Honestly, Roberta, this place... it's got a real damn human touch."

"Look at those kids, running around the yard like it's just another day before the apocalypse."

"The vibe here is so good it's insane. It's practically a retirement paradise in the end times."

"I mean it. Find a spot here, grow some weed, soak up the sun — I feel like I could live another sixty-six years."

Roberta was wiping down the pistol she never let leave her side.

"Doc, we still have a mission."

"I'm just talking." Doc pursed his lips.

Up in the nearby watchtower, 10K looked utterly bored.

He pulled a slingshot made from tire rubber and wire out of his pocket, then scooped up a few small pebbles from the ground.

He aimed at a Walker shambling along outside the chain-link fence and drew the slingshot back to its limit.

"Thwip—"

The pebble flew out but hit a rock three meters away from the Walker, making a sharp "crack" sound.

The Walker didn't even turn its head.

10K frowned and tried again.

This time it was even more absurd, the pebble shot straight up into the sky and landed who knows where.

"Damn it." 10K cursed under his breath.

Down below, Doc was watching and having a grand old time.

"Kid, what's the matter? A few days without practice and your aim's gone to the dogs?"

10K ignored him, just stubbornly pulling back the slingshot again and again.

But the pebbles were like drunken flies, flying everywhere except at the target.

"Shit. When you're not around, everything just feels off."

10K finally couldn't take it anymore and shouted down.

"Damn, you little punk, you're seriously pinning this on me?"

Doc grumbled and cursed, but still grabbed his pipe and shuffled his way up the ladder, swaying with every step.

"Let me tell you, these old eyes of mine are precious. They're for appreciating art and beautiful women, not for being your spotter!"

Complaining the whole way, he stepped up beside 10K and squinted toward the distance.

Still rambling, Doc lowered his voice and jabbed 10K with his elbow.

"Hey, you think Leon's place... has any meds? You know, that kind of meds?"

10K didn't answer. He took a deep breath and drew the slingshot back once more.

"Thwip—BANG!"

This time, the pebble struck the Walker dead center in the forehead!

The Walker swayed, then pitched forward and hit the ground.

"One thousand and eighty."

10K recited the number, face blank.

Just then, a small figure climbed up onto the watchtower too. It was Carl.

His big, clear eyes looked curiously at the slingshot in 10K's hand, then at the fallen Walker in the distance.

"That number... what does it mean?"

Carl tilted his head up and asked seriously.

......

Inside the Infirmary.

Li Meizhu had completely hit her stride. She was no longer that intern who'd tremble at the sight of blood, she was now the sole master of this surgery.

"Forceps!"

"Sutures!"

"Blood pressure! Heart rate!"

Her commands were clear and clipped. The few female inmates who'd been grabbed as makeshift nurses had also steadied themselves after their initial panic and were now assisting her in an orderly fashion.

Bag after bag of warm blood was transfused into Mia's body, and at last a trace of color returned to the girl's deathly pale face.

Glenn lay on a camp bed nearby, his complexion looking even worse than Mia's.

He felt lightheaded, the world spinning before his eyes.

"Glenn!" An inmate walked in carrying a steaming bowl of beef broth, a golden fried egg nestled in the soup.

"The boss had this sent for you. Drink up! Build your blood back up!"

Glenn managed a weak smile. He tried to sit up but found he didn't even have the strength to lift his arm.

"Thanks, brother."

He looked at the bowl of broth, then over at the girl still unconscious on the operating table.

Damn.

This debt of gratitude... he'd probably never repay it in this lifetime.

"Her condition... seems to be stabilizing."

Li Meizhu peeled off her blood-soiled gloves, her voice carrying a mix of exhaustion and excitement.

"The bullet's out, the lung lobe's sutured. The other gunshot wounds were manageable, nothing vital was hit except the lung."

"As long as she doesn't spike a fever tonight, she'll pull through."

Everyone in the Infirmary let out a collective breath of relief.

Glenn felt the nerves that had been stretched to their absolute limit finally snap.

A violent wave of dizziness washed over him.

He closed his eyes and felt himself plunging into a bottomless abyss.

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➤ Next: Rat Boss Returns with the Goods