On the drive back, Lin Feng was in a fantastic mood. Even the wind felt sweet.

That hidden compartment had been a goldmine.

Three Remington 870 pump-action shotguns with five small metal boxes of matching ammo, roughly two hundred rounds. Five AR-15s with three large metal boxes of ammunition, roughly a thousand rounds. And four hand grenades.

Holy shit! They actually had four hand grenades stashed away!

God only knew how a street gang had gotten their hands on that kind of ordnance. But since Lin Feng had found them, there was no reason on earth to leave them behind.

His storage space now held two shotguns, three rifles, four grenades, and a solid stack of ammunition.

Pure satisfaction.

The only pity was all those colorful American dollars. At a time like this, you couldn't eat money and you couldn't spend it. Completely useless.

Rick was in a good mood too. This run had secured medicine, firearms, and a doctor. Give it a couple more days to scavenge some gasoline and other supplies, and they'd have everything they needed for the long haul south to the safe zone.

Daryl drove steadier than Merle and didn't drink on the job. Just quiet, not much for conversation.

A little over half an hour later, they rolled into Quarry Camp.

Lin Feng was first off the vehicle. Looking around, there were finally some actual defensive measures ringing the camp.

Inside the perimeter, ropes zigzagged in every direction, each one strung with wire and tin cans loaded with stones. Go a little deeper and thick tree trunks had been lashed horizontally between the trees with wire, forming rough-and-ready fences.

The craftsmanship was crude. Against walkers, it'd do.

Lin Feng hadn't taken many steps before spotting Merle, sitting there looking thoroughly sour.

Cigarette clamped between the lips, a half-empty liquor bottle parked nearby.

"Well, look at that. If it isn't our butcher boy." Merle's grin had teeth. "What's the matter — get pushed around out there and come running to Uncle Merle to cry about it?"

Lin Feng rolled his eyes and kept walking.

Daryl passed Merle with the crossbow on the back and didn't say a single word.

The two people Merle actually gave a damn about, both blanking Merle completely. The flush hit fast. Merle pressed a hand to the ground, shoved upright to go after them and start yelling,

And immediately stumbled, nearly face-first into a tree.

Glenn and Rick both clamped down hard on the laughter threatening to burst out, deliberately looked away from the spectacle, and picked up the pace. Neither of them trusted themselves to hold it together if they caught another glimpse.

Merle bit down and steadied. Let this slide today and where would it end? Going on a run without even asking, if that wasn't bullying, what was it?

Merle's expression cycled through several variations. One step forward,

"Grandpa, are you okay?"

The voice was bright and clear, light as a bell.

Merle turned around. A little girl, not even waist height, one arm wrapped around a ragdoll, the other hand held by a young man. Clear, wide eyes looked up without a trace of guile.

All that righteous bluster deflated on the spot. Merle just stood there, speechless.

Granted, Merle was a loud, aggressive, dyed-in-the-wool racist, the kind who looked down on T-Dog, had nothing good to say about Glenn, and had made the contempt for Lin Feng plenty obvious. But Merle had never once laid a hand on women or children. And Merle had even less respect for anyone who would.

The air went quiet.

Marcus's expression shifted. Moving to step in front of Cathy, then stopped. Because Merle had already snatched up the half-empty bottle and was storming off into camp, stiff with wounded dignity.

Marcus stared.

Bullying a little kid wasn't something Merle could bring himself to do.

But saying something nice to smooth it over? In front of newcomers? That'd be crawling on the floor.

So what else was there?

Go find the dear little brother and pick a fight, obviously.

To hell with Daryl.

...

Around dusk, after dinner, Lin Feng settled by the campfire and set a kettle of water to boil over the coals.

Not far off, Sophia and Cathy had already found each other. The two girls sat together trading ragdolls and filling the air with the kind of cheerful, thoroughly nonsensical chatter that only small children manage.

Carl held back, watching from a distance, maybe a little more mature than the others, maybe just too proud to join in a game for little kids. Hard to say.

But those eyes kept drifting toward Lin Feng. Three times. Four times. Never quite working up the nerve to actually come over.

Lin Feng raised a hand and waved.

Carl blinked, glanced around to confirm the gesture was meant for Carl, then came forward with careful steps.

"Hey, Carl. You kept looking over. Something on your mind?"

Carl met Lin Feng's eyes, face completely serious. "Big Brother — do you know Chinese kung fu? Could you teach me?"

Lin Feng paused. "What made you think of that?"

"Because I want to deal with walkers the way you do." A beat. "I want to protect Mom."

Lin Feng was quiet for a moment. He reached over and put a hand on Carl's shoulder.

"I don't know any kung fu. I just have a little more strength than most, and a little more nerve. That's it."

"But that day, you took down so many walkers by yourself..."

Lin Feng smiled. "Little guy, if guns were on the table, your dad and Shane would've done it better than me. This world runs on firearms now. Cold weapons, yeah, they work, but only when there's no other option."

He held Carl's gaze. "And right now, your height, your strength, your speed, none of it is there yet for going at walkers with a blade. So go learn to shoot a handgun. That's where you start."

The dead wood crackled and spat in the fire, the orange light playing across two faces, one young and uncertain, one calm.

"Well, well, well. Our little boy's all grown up. Already playing babysitter now?"

Merle came swaying over, trailing the smell of whiskey. Dropped down across the fire from Lin Feng and Carl. The look on Merle's face wasn't quite right.

Lin Feng glanced back. Daryl was a short distance away, bent over the compound crossbow under a camping lantern, running through the usual maintenance checks. Expression unreadable.

Lin Feng looked back at Merle's smirking face and let out a tired sigh. "Merle. Drinking like this, you're not worried a walker's going to sneak up and take a bite out of you one night?"

Merle sneered. "Like that's any of your business?"

Lin Feng prodded the fire. Watched the orange flames shift and settle.

"You free tomorrow?"

"What — another run?"

"Stock up on food. Fish from the lake, game from the woods, whatever's available. I'm thinking of heading south." Lin Feng looked across the fire. "What do you think?"

The corner of Merle's mouth twitched upward. A low grunt. "Heh. So in the end, you still need your Uncle Merle to step up. Wouldn't it have been easier to just ask from the start?"

Merle hadn't said yes. But the answer was already there.

Lin Feng smiled and let it go. Turned to Carl. "Alright, little guy. Time for bed. Sleep is how you grow."

Carl filed away the detail, heading south, soon, gave a tidy nod, and disappeared back to the tent at a trot.

➤ Next: The Hunt in Progress

Chapter 12 - The Hunt in Progress

The next day, Merle, uncharacteristically not sleeping in, appeared early at the tent entrance, running basic maintenance on his Winchester hunting rifle.

Daryl was as taciturn as ever, no interest in Merle and no interest in talking. Head down, working over that old crossbow again and again.

Daryl had found a comfort zone.

No need to rack his brain figuring out how to stay alive. No need to trade insults with that bastard Merle. No need to burn energy dealing with anyone else.

Someone had already arranged everything. The guy was young, sure, but so far everything he'd thought and done had been right.

That was enough.

Lin Feng yawned, stretched, and strolled out carrying a recurve bow and a box of carbon fiber arrows.

Daryl glanced over twice, the look saying it all: you actually know how to use that?

"Don't look at me like that. I'm not as accurate as you, but I know the basics — draw, aim, release."

Merle let out a low whistle, smirking. "Just don't shoot Daryl in the ass from behind. He'll come after you."

"Shut up, Merle."

Rick chose that moment to duck out of the tent, took one look at the three of them geared up, and frowned. "You heading out?"

"Taking a walk, see if we can find something worth eating."

Rick didn't push it. "Stay safe. Back early."

"Will do?"

Lin Feng nodded, shot a look at Merle and Daryl, and the three of them walked out of camp together.

The moment they stepped into the forest, Daryl became someone else entirely. Eyes fixed on the ground three paces ahead, constantly scanning. Footsteps light and quick, always landing on patches of grass. Moving like the woods were part of him.

Merle trailed five paces back. The smirk was gone, the swagger gone with it. Expression flat and serious, not tense, just focused. And unlike Daryl, Merle never looked at the ground. Merle watched the spaces Daryl couldn't see.

Lin Feng caught the whole thing and couldn't help grinning.

Yeah. There really was something between the Dixon brothers.

Who would have guessed that two men who communicated exclusively in trash talk actually made a hunting team this sharp?

Before long, Daryl crouched down. Picked something off the ground, rubbed it between fingers, brought it to the nose. Confirmed whatever it was, then gave a hand signal.

"Half an hour ago. White-tails, probably five of them — one's a fawn. They didn't come through here to graze." A short pause. "More like they were running from something."

Lin Feng stepped closer and blinked.

That was what a professional looked like. A few tracks in the dirt and Daryl had pulled all of that out of thin air.

Doubt? Not even a flicker. A layman second-guessing an expert just got their face handed to them. Lin Feng wasn't stupid enough to think carrying a bow made him a hunter.

"Then looks like we've got a chase ahead of us." Merle crouched beside the tracks, scanning the ground. "Spooked deer double their range, easy. But we're still in forest, so at most we cross this ridge — we might pick up their trail again on the other side."

Lin Feng turned and stared at Merle.

...you doing okay there, buddy?

Merle's expression soured. "What are you looking at? What, you think all I do is drink and cuss?"

At Merle's side, the corner of Daryl's mouth ticked up. Tiny movement. Lin Feng caught it anyway.

Being laughed at. By Daryl Dixon.

Turns out some things that look plain on the outside are pitch-black once you cut into them.

After that, Daryl moved fast, tracking the deer herd along every trace they'd left, never hesitating, never pausing. Just clean, confident forward motion.

An hour and a half later, all three had crossed the ridge and come down the far slope. That was when Daryl stopped.

One finger pointed toward a cluster of grass on the opposite hillside. "There."

Merle raised the Winchester and looked through the scope. Tested the wind with one hand. The ruddy color drained from those cheeks.

This old man, body long since gutted by cigarettes and whiskey, had made it this far on nothing but pride. Pure, stubborn refusal to show weakness in front of Lin Feng.

But they were upwind. Which meant circling all the way around to the other side if they wanted any shot at those deer.

Merle let out a quiet breath. "Let's move. Can't let them bolt."

Lin Feng noticed the strain on Merle's face and opened his mouth. Daryl grabbed his arm and pulled.

They crept forward again, down the slope, around from the downwind side, working their way up through the undergrowth until the distance closed to about 50 meters. Then they stopped.

Five white-tailed deer, spread out across the clearing, heads down in the grass.

Relaxed on the surface. Anything but underneath. The adults lifted their heads every so often, scanning the treeline, nostrils working the air. Only after a long pause would they drop back down to graze.

Daryl wiped the sweat off his face, pointed at Lin Feng, then pointed toward a patch of brush ahead, get to that spot.

Lin Feng nodded, split off from Daryl, and crawled diagonally up the left side of the slope. Slow. Careful. Almost no sound.

When he reached the position and rose to a crouch, Daryl was already across from him, already settled, already waiting.

Tsk. No competing with talent like that.

Daryl checked that Lin Feng was set, glanced back at Merle, then raised a right hand, three fingers up. The countdown started.

The moment the thumb came down, Daryl's hand dropped and the trigger pulled in one motion.

The arrow hit an adult white-tail in the neck, nearly straight through. The force knocked it off its feet. Blood hissed from the wound in a dark spray.

It struggled. Got back up. Stumbled toward the trees.

Daryl didn't watch it. Already reloaded, already on the next one.

Merle opened up at the same moment, trigger, trigger, trigger, working the rifle between hits and follow-ups, and three deer hit the ground before the echoes died.

Lin Feng released.

The arrow left the string like a streak of light. Fifty-five pounds of draw weight, flat and clean, punched straight through the lung.

The deer lurched upright, managed two steps.

Then went down.

This time it didn't get back up.

Daryl, already lining up a follow-up shot, paused. Looked over at Lin Feng. Gave a single nod.

Not a rookie. Could actually hit something.

Merle let out a long whistle and laughed. "Looks like you've still got a ways to go, kid."

Lin Feng answered with a middle finger, then turned and followed Daryl to start dressing the game.

➤ Next: Marcus's Past