[TWD x Resident Evil] — Chapter 573 - Old Operator

Tara steered with one hand on the wheel.

Abandoned vehicles cluttered the road, forcing her to weave constantly around the rusted hulks blocking their path.

"Are you sure Leon will take us in?" Tara kept her eyes on the road.

"He will," Lilly said.

"After what happened last time, I figured he'd just throw me out and feed me to the Walkers."

"But he kept his word. Didn't even say anything ugly about it."

The back seat was piled high with supplies, all food and water, courtesy of Leon.

"Yeah." Tara let out a slow breath.

"He has a code. Nothing like the survivors we've run into before — all that talk about righteousness and decency, and every single one of them rotten underneath."

Something shifted in Lilly's eyes. A glimmer of something close to hope.

"I went to the prison with Leon once."

"There are walls. It's safe. People are working. And most importantly, there's order."

"That's the only kind of place where our family actually has a chance."

"Then let's go." Tara pressed down on the gas.

The station wagon pushed through the ruined streets.

As they neared the Fort Benning Police Department, Tara hit the brakes.

"What is it?" Lilly's hand went to her old hunting rifle.

Tara pointed.

A red motorcycle sat parked at the mouth of an alley just ahead. A woman in a red biker jacket was crouched behind a wrecked Ford sedan, revolver in hand, eyes nailed to the front door of the police station.

"Someone's got business with the cops?" Tara lowered her voice.

Lilly peered through the windshield.

"Should we go check it out?" Tara asked.

Lilly bit her lower lip. The last time she'd acted on impulse and stuck her nose where it didn't belong, the consequences had been bad. Really bad.

In this godforsaken world, getting involved in other people's problems was just another way to get yourself killed.

Irresponsible to them. Even more irresponsible to herself.

Forget it. She was done gambling on strangers.

"Just watch," Lilly said, shaking her head. "We don't know the situation. We don't know who's inside. Could be one predator robbing another for all we know."

"Respect other people's fate."

"Alright." Tara eased the car into a concealed spot and killed the engine.

They sat and watched the woman in red.

Claire's grip on the revolver was white-knuckled, her palm slick with sweat.

The fat officer had lured the little girl into the station a while ago. Neither had come back out.

She didn't have to think hard about what was happening in there. Nothing good. That much was certain.

She couldn't wait any longer.

Every minute she sat out here was another minute that child was in danger.

Claire took a breath and slipped out from behind the wrecked sedan. She pressed herself flat against the wall and moved fast toward the front door.

The glass was completely gone. The lobby was wrecked, overturned furniture, a phone handset swinging from its cord above the reception desk, documents scattered everywhere, dried blood dark on the floor.

Claire moved quietly, eyes sweeping the room.

No sign of the fat officer.

She followed the footprints on the floor, tracing them through the wreckage, until she stopped in front of a heavy iron door.

She reached out and pulled the handle.

It opened.

A wave of formaldehyde rolled out through the gap, thick and nauseating, carrying a cold draft up from whatever was below. Claire raised her revolver and started down the steep staircase.

The deeper she went, the worse the smell got.

She reached the bottom and looked inside.

She stopped cold.

An operating table sat in the center of the room, covered in blood-soaked instruments. On a rolling cart beside it lay the body of a small girl, unclothed, her chest cavity scooped hollow.

In the corner, the fat man in the police uniform had the blond girl backed against the wall.

Sherry was crammed into the corner with her arms wrapped around her head, shaking so hard she couldn't even cry out loud.

The rage hit Claire like a flashfire.

This wasn't a police station. This was a slaughterhouse.

"Get away from her! You sick pig!"

She burst from the stairwell, revolver up, barrel aimed at the back of Brian's skull.

Brian spun around. The fleshy jowls on his face gave a single quiver.

He made no move to raise his hands.

A man who had operated freely right under the Umbrella Corporation's nose, who had not just survived the apocalypse but thrived in it, Brian was no simple deviant running on impulse.

He was fast. Shockingly fast for his size, in a way that had nothing to do with how he looked.

He grabbed a fistful of Sherry's hair and wrenched her back hard.

Sherry screamed as her head snapped back.

Brian dropped smoothly to his knees, pulling her small body in front of him like a shield. In the same motion his hand found the service pistol on his hip, drew it, and pressed the barrel against Sherry's temple.

"Drop the gun, little spitfire." He grinned.

Sherry was small enough that kneeling behind her still left him mostly covered. Only half his head showed above her shoulder.

Claire's feet stopped moving.

Her teeth were clenched. Her finger rested on the trigger. She didn't pull it.

"Let her go! You call yourself a cop!" she shouted, putting every ounce of force she had into her voice.

"A cop?" Brian laughed. It was a real laugh, full and unhurried.

"In this world, I am God."

"I decide who lives. Who dies. Who gets the privilege of becoming my permanent work of art."

He ground the barrel harder against Sherry's temple.

"Ballsy little thing, aren't you. Walking into my territory all on your own."

"But your timing is perfect. My collection has been missing exactly one specimen like you — a grown woman with that kind of wildness in her."

Sherry trembled, tears running silently down her face.

"Please, sister, save me —" she whispered.

Claire's chest was heaving. Her mind wasn't.

She needed an opening.

The instant that barrel shifted even a fraction, she could put him down. She knew it. Chris had drilled her well.

But Brian was smart. He kept every vital inch of himself behind Sherry's small frame, patient and still, giving her nothing.

"I'll count to three." His eyes went flat and cold.

"Drop the gun. Hands above your head."

"Or I blow this little angel's skull open."

He started counting.

"Three."

Sweat broke out on Claire's forehead.

"Two."

She stared into his eyes, looking for the answer, whether he'd actually do it.

She couldn't tell.

But this man had looked at that gutted child on the cart without a trace of hesitation on his face.

---

Outside.

Tara and Lilly sat in the station wagon.

"She's been in there a long time." Tara checked her watch.

Lilly's hands tightened on the rifle.

"Still no gunshots."

"Do we go in?" Tara asked.

Lilly took a slow breath. Then she pushed open the passenger door.

"Keep your gun up," she said. Her voice was even. "We go in quiet and read the situation. Could be nobody's even in there, in which case we search the place and take whatever's useful."

"The second something feels wrong, we walk."

They climbed out, crouched low, and moved toward the door.

➤ Next: Encountering Tara and Lilly