[TWD x Resident Evil] — Chapter 631 - Why the President Backs Him

"Mr. President, there's one thing I don't quite understand."

Leon's posture was completely relaxed, leaned back in his chair like he didn't have a care in the world.

"You're handing me your daughter. You're handing me the special forces detachment. And on top of that, you're giving me the coordinates for three states' worth of strategic reserves."

"And we've only just met."

"In this dog-eat-dog, godforsaken world — why are you being this straight with me?"

He stared at the old man on the screen, the one with the cigar.

"You've laid every card you have face-up on the table. Aren't you afraid I'll turn around and sell you out the second this call ends?"

The President heard that and did something remarkably rare. He cracked a smile.

"Because I can read faces."

"Look at you — Asian, or at least part Chinese. You've definitely heard of this kind of mysticism."

"I can see the red glow between your brows. You're absolutely the kind of man who can carry a great banner."

A rare joke from the President.

Leon smiled too, but didn't take the bait. He waited quietly for what came next.

The President set down his cigar. The joking tone went with it.

"First point. I trust Ashley's judgment."

He let out a long, helpless sigh.

"She's my only daughter. Spoiled rotten since she was little — but her mind has never been dull."

"If she's committed herself wholeheartedly to following you, then there's something about you she values. Something real."

"And even if I dragged her back here, in this crumbling, shot-through bunker, I couldn't guarantee she'd live any better than she does with you."

"Rather than handing all that equipment to warlords with nothing in their heads but grabbing women and resources, I'd rather hand it to you."

"At least we're half-family."

The old man said it crude. But it was the most honest calculation of a father's heart.

Leon nodded. There wasn't a single flaw in that logic to pick at.

Ashley was his woman. By any measure of sentiment or reason, this father-in-law of his would back him. Nothing wrong with that.

"Second point."

The President leaned back again. His face had gone weary.

"I'm old."

"I've already lost real control over this country."

"Every day I sit here watching the refugee casualty figures come in. Watching warlords run rampant outside, squeezing civilians dry under the government's name."

"I'm furious. And I'm completely powerless."

"The people under me all have their own agendas. The slightest move drags out enormous chaos."

"I want to help the living people still out there struggling on the wasteland. But I can't do it myself anymore."

He looked directly at Leon.

"Third point. The most critical one."

"I heard Citizen Z's full-spectrum recruitment broadcast."

"You never said explicitly where the Sanctuary was. But from the details he described, I've already figured it out. That has to be what you've built."

"You had the guts to raise a banner like that, at a time like this. That tells me you have the will to unite everyone against the apocalypse."

"That's a good thing. I want you to make it real, not just empty words over the radio."

The President meant every word. He had pushed every chip he had onto Leon.

Leon looked at this somewhat forlorn politician on the screen.

That purity, setting aside the struggle for power for the sake of humanity's survival, was genuinely rare.

It was the first time Leon had felt anything close to warmth toward this unexpected father-in-law.

"Mr. President, your judgment really is quite good." Leon stood up.

"As long as those people trust me, work together toward the future, and contribute what they have, I have absolutely no objection to providing them shelter."

"And I won't betray their expectations. As long as they follow the rules, stay honest, and do their work."

Short. Clean. No hedging.

The President nodded with satisfaction.

"Good lad."

"I look forward to the day we meet face to face."

"I'll buy you a drink."

"I really like that drive you've got."

"Reminds me of myself when I was young. Same fearlessness. Afraid of nothing in heaven or earth."

He shook his head.

"Now I'm tied down by regulations and warlords on every side. I can't even mobilize Fort Benning. Too many things to weigh."

"To rebuild this godforsaken world, that'll have to fall to young people like you. People with real guts."

"Good luck, Leon."

"If anything comes up, reach me through this terminal. I'll do whatever I've still got left to give."

The screen went dark. The call cut off.

The deal was done. An extraordinarily rich political investment, formally sealed.

---

The camera cut across a vast distance.

Georgia state line.

A highway choked with abandoned vehicles. Scattered cars trailing dust.

A battered heavy pickup and two off-road rigs fitted with anti-collision grilles were grinding forward.

Survivors. A group that had heard the broadcast and made the long haul from a neighboring state, coming to find Atlanta.

Over a dozen people packed into 3 vehicles.

A senior engineer, formerly of the national power grid.

A retired veteran with 2 tours in Afghanistan.

An internist. Several professional mechanics who'd spent years with their hands in engines.

Every single one of them, exactly the kind of people worth keeping alive.

They had fought every mile of this road. Ammunition nearly spent. Food enough for maybe 2 more days.

Tough people. They'd carved a bloody path through several small Walker hordes by sheer force of will.

The floor of the truck bed was still smeared with that putrid black Walker blood. The old radio blasted heavy metal, loud and fierce.

Out here in the wasteland, that noise was the only thing holding them together.

"How much farther?"

The veteran behind the wheel bit down hard, his eyes a solid map of red veins.

The passenger up front glanced at the map, worn so thin from handling the edges had started to fray.

"50 more miles and we hit the Atlanta suburbs."

"Once we find that super-prison Citizen Z talked about, we're safe."

"High walls. A generator. We'll finally get to sleep."

The doctor in the back let out a long, slow breath.

That fortress, painted over the radio like a doomsday Eden, was the only thing keeping them moving.

Then.

The heavy metal cut off without warning. A sharp burst of static tore through the cab.

And then a voice. Flat. Official. Mechanical.

"This is the Fort Benning Temporary Military Administration Command, State of Georgia, United States of America."

"Repeat."

"This is the Fort Benning Military Administration Command."

"In light of the illegal radio broadcasts occurring with increasing frequency in recent days."

"This Command hereby issues a formal and severe warning."

Every person in the pickup went still.

"All survivors currently en route to the Atlanta city area are ordered to halt your advance immediately."

"The so-called super-prison Sanctuary is a false lure spread by illegal armed elements."

"They are an extremely dangerous group of thugs. Their intent is to deceive civilians into slavery."

"Fort Benning is the only lawful, official survivor settlement in this state."

"We maintain an absolute military garrison and comprehensive survival supplies."

"All civilians who hear this broadcast are to reverse direction immediately and proceed to Fort Benning for military protection."

"Do not trust any non-official recruitment. Those who fail to comply do so at their own risk."

"Repeat..."

The cab went silent.

Just the low, dull grind of the engine, and that flat voice cycling again from the radio.

The veteran stomped the brakes.

The convoy lurched to a stop in the middle of the highway.

The military broadcast had done its work. The group was rattled, pulled in two directions at once.

"Which way do we go?" The doctor swallowed, brow knotted hard.

The others stared at the map. Nobody said anything.

On one side: a super-sanctuary with impenetrable walls and real supplies, personally endorsed by Citizen Z, labeled by the military as a thug den.

On the other: Fort Benning. A legitimate garrison. Regular military. The kind of thing that used to mean safety.

But they'd seen how the military operated. Would those soldiers actually treat civilians like human beings?

The veteran's hands tightened on the steering wheel until his knuckles were white.

He knew those so-called commanding officers. Knew them well.

His eyes found his companions' in the rearview mirror. A long, complicated look passed between them.

Nobody had an answer.

In the apocalypse, you couldn't trust anyone blindly. The Fort Benning broadcast wasn't necessarily the truth.

Better to wait. Watch. See what shook loose.

➤ Next: Nice Guys Finish Last