[TWD x Resident Evil] — Chapter 431 - The Price of Causing Trouble

Leon and the others lay prone on the hillside.

Through the binoculars, Terminus looked like an anthill someone had just kicked over.

"Boss, your piss packs a hell of a punch."

"They all look drunk."

Merle smacked his lips, watching the figures below clutch their stomachs and roll across the ground. His face was pure, undisguised satisfaction.

"Every last one of them is green. Like they ate shit."

"What, you want a taste?"

Shawn Greene twisted the knife from the side.

Leon lowered the binoculars.

"We wait another day."

"Wait for what?"

Abraham was losing patience. The way he saw it, right now was perfect. Hit them while they're sick. Finish it.

"Wait until every last one of them has drunk it."

Leon lit a fresh cigarette.

By afternoon, the symptoms had started to ease.

Their bodies still felt wrung out, but the vomiting and diarrhea had finally stopped.

"Damn it, had to be that batch of meat last night."

"Tell those butchers to clean it properly next time."

"Shit. I actually thought I was going to die here."

Robert's men bitched and grumbled and never once suspected the water.

They were back to their usual selves. Loud and untouchable.

But on the other side of the camp, Gareth and his people were barely holding together.

A full day and night without a single drop of water.

Lips cracked. Throats like hot ash.

Several of the younger ones were already swaying on their feet, eyes glazed, too weak to stand straight.

"Bro, I... I can't do this anymore."

Alex slumped against the metal wall of a shipping container, his face the color of old chalk.

"The snow's all melted. There's nothing left to drink."

"Hold on a little longer."

Gareth's voice had gone rough and raw. He licked his own cracked, peeling lips and kept his eyes nailed to the guards washing up at the water taps.

He had no choice but to trust that man.

Robert noticed something was off.

He strolled over with a cigarette clamped in his teeth, a few of his men trailing behind him, moving like he owned every inch of ground he stepped on.

"What's going on?"

He kicked the nearest resident.

"All of you looking limp as weeds. What, staging a hunger strike?"

Nobody said a word.

Robert's eyes narrowed. He grabbed a water bucket and slung the contents straight into a woman's face.

"Why aren't you drinking?"

"Drink."

"All of you. Right now. Drink."

The cold water hit her like a slap. She shuddered hard but just kept shaking her head, mouth clamped shut.

Robert's expression went flat.

These food reserves were trying to off themselves?

No meat, nothing to eat.

That wouldn't work.

They had to stay alive.

"I've got a feeling you're hiding something from me."

He looked at Gareth. "You got anything you want to say?"

Gareth said nothing.

"Alright then."

Robert smiled.

It was the kind of smile that made Gareth's skin crawl.

"Since you're all so full of principle, I'll accommodate you."

"Take every single one of them to the slaughterhouse."

The slaughterhouse.

That was their hell. Everyone there knew it.

"No! Robert! We didn't do anything!"

Gareth broke. He lurched forward, trying to explain.

A crack rang out.

A hard slap across the face.

"Did I say you could speak?"

Robert put a boot into him and dropped him to the ground.

"Ungrateful piece of shit."

"You all need a lesson today."

Gareth and his people were shoved and hauled to their feet, pushed in a rough column toward the shipping container thick with the smell of old blood.

Inside the slaughterhouse, men were sharpening knives.

When they saw how many were being herded in, their faces lit up.

The drainage groove running along the floor still held dark crusted bloodstains from the last time.

Rows of iron hooks lined the walls, sharp and ready.

All for hanging meat.

"So you want to die."

Robert took a baseball bat from one of the butchers and turned it over in his hands.

"Fine. I'll help you out."

"All of you watch. This is what you get for causing trouble."

His gaze moved through the crowd. It settled on one of Gareth's friends.

A young boy. Sam.

"Drag him over here."

Two butchers grinned and moved in. They slammed Sam down over the blood trough and held him there.

"No! Let go of me!"

Sam fought them with everything he had. It didn't matter.

"Gareth! Help me! Help me!"

He reached toward Gareth, desperate.

Gareth's eyes went red.

He threw himself forward. Two men caught him and pinned him down, and he couldn't move.

"Watch."

Robert walked up to him and tapped his face with the bat. Slow. Deliberate.

"Keep your eyes open. This is what happens when you defy me."

He turned, raised the bat with both hands, and swung.

THUD!

Sam's head snapped sideways. He didn't make a sound. His body just dropped, gone limp all at once. Blood started running down his forehead.

Robert didn't stop.

THUD. THUD. THUD.

He swung like he was working a bag. Over and over, methodical and unhurried, driving the bat into Sam's skull until the shape of it was just gone. Until there was nothing left to recognize.

Blood and brain matter hit the people standing closest. Spattered across their faces and arms.

Women screamed. Men shook so hard they couldn't stand straight.

"Christ, the noise."

Robert dropped the bat and reached over to pull a skinning knife off one of the butchers.

He grabbed Sam by the hair and lifted what was left of his face.

One motion. Clean.

The blade opened Sam's throat.

Hot blood came pouring out and ran down into the trough.

"Alright." Robert tossed the knife back. "Extra meat tonight."

The butchers moved in with the practiced ease of men who had done this many times. They stripped Sam's clothes, drove an iron hook through his jaw, and hoisted him up.

Then they started carving.

Piece by piece.

In front of everyone.

Gareth's stomach turned inside out.

He kept his teeth clamped together.

He didn't cry.

The tears were already gone. Dried up somewhere in the last hour, or the last day, or maybe longer ago than that.

What was left was hate.

Pure. Absolute. Bottomless.

"Now then."

Robert wiped his hands on a rag and turned to face the crowd of residents, most of them too far gone with shock to even move.

"Anyone else not feel like drinking?"

Silence.

"Good."

He looked satisfied. Like a man who had just made a reasonable point and had it accepted.

His eyes drifted through the crowd and stopped.

Mary.

Gareth's mother.

"You."

He pointed at her.

"You're next."

Two men grinned and started toward her.

Mary's whole body locked up and began to shake.

She looked at the two men coming closer. Then she looked at her son, pinned to the ground, face hollow with despair.

A slow warmth spread down her leg.

She had wet herself.

➤ Next: He's Here — Clash