Lin Feng was the first through the door. Sunlight cut across the main hall, laying bare the wreckage inside.

The one piece of luck: a walker in the corridor, a Glock 17 holstered at its waist.

He let out a quiet breath. Morgan Jones hadn't started claiming the town solo yet.

One axe swing sent the walker down. Lin Feng pushed deeper into the building, and never expected Merle Dixon, rifle slung over one shoulder, to suddenly fall in beside him. "Hey little brother, lend me that axe of yours."

Lin Feng caught the gleam in Merle's eyes. That excited, blood-red glint. He paused a beat, then handed over the fire axe.

"Be careful. Watch your back."

Merle paused for just a moment, then flashed a knowing grin. "Relax. I'm not dying in a dump like this."

Merle took the axe and headed upstairs, already moving with purpose.

Lin Feng drew the Bowie knife at his hip and shot Daryl a look.

Daryl caught it, raised the crossbow, and fell in behind Merle without a word.

Someone had to make sure the bastard didn't get carried away and do something stupid.

Lin Feng, meanwhile, took Marcus and kept working the first floor, sweeping every corner just in case. The front doors hadn't been closed. No telling what might have wandered in.

Luck held. Aside from two unlucky walkers who had stumbled into the records room, the rest of the floor was clean.

Lin Feng put them down quick and clean, then led Marcus straight to the armory.

He pushed open the door. Most of the long guns were already gone, Rick had cleared them out earlier, but three Remington 870 shotguns and two AR-15s were still sitting on the racks.

Not a massive haul. Not a small one either. The firepower alone made it worthwhile.

From the counter below he turned up three more Glock 17s and two Model 10 police revolvers. Average hardware, but he packed it all away anyway.

Marcus, meanwhile, had been digging around in other spots and unearthed several hidden ammo caches. Nine-millimeter pistol rounds made up the bulk, nearly a thousand. Five-fifty-six rifle ammo came second at around five hundred rounds. Shotgun shells were the fewest, roughly two hundred.

Lin Feng didn't bother counting the spare magazines. He just swept the whole lot into bags.

The next room turned up even more.

Level IIA police body armor, six vests. Ballistic plate inserts, four of them.

Police riot shields, three. Four riot helmets and five sets of cut-resistant arm and leg guards.

Twelve cans of pepper spray. Three Taser stun guns with four spare cartridges.

Two gas masks. Two full boxes of face masks.

Lin Feng wasn't about to leave any of it. He pulled everything out, stuffed what fit into bags, strapped on what he could wear directly. Whatever wouldn't pack got stacked to one side for a later run.

Then Marcus's haul made Lin Feng genuinely envious.

Six standard police trauma kits.

Each one stocked with hemostatic bandages, povidone-iodine, gauze, tourniquets, trauma shears, suture needles and thread, everything you actually needed when someone caught a bad wound in the field. The real stuff. The kind that kept people alive.

Marcus had also turned up large quantities of prescription medication: ibuprofen, anti-diarrheal pills, antibiotic ointment, heavy-duty painkillers, allergy meds.

Tsk. This was exactly why a group needed a doctor. An ordinary person would've walked right past all of it.

"Lin, you done? Don't sit down yet — I found some more good stuff."

Lin Feng moved over quickly. "What kind of good stuff?"

Marcus led him into the storage room and pointed at a stack of cardboard-boxed items on the upper shelves.

"This is the real prize. Even a proper pharmacy might not have all of it at once. Elastic splints, sterile gloves, IV infusion bags, medical alcohol, tape — all of it. We're taking everything."

Lin Feng nodded and started moving items off the shelves one by one.

Doctor said it was good. That was enough. Just get it done.

Merle and Daryl came down from the second floor not long after, Merle carrying a small bag packed tight and straining at the seams.

Lin Feng didn't ask what was inside. They'd find out back at camp. Right now the only thing that mattered was getting everything loaded and out the door.

Neither Merle nor Daryl wasted words about it. Both set to work immediately, and the four of them started shifting everything into a single room.

They cycled through it, three hauling, one resting and watching the perimeter.

When the storage room was finally empty, Lin Feng wiped his forehead with a sleeve. "That everything?"

Marcus nodded, about to answer, when Merle cut in. "You guys check the evidence room? Might still be something worth grabbing in there."

All three of them went still. A collective blank stare turned toward Merle.

"How... how do you even..."

Merle's expression shifted. Lin Feng wisely shut his mouth.

"Let's go take a look. Marcus, stay here and rest."

Marcus, stamina clearly running low, nodded and wiped the sweat off his forehead. "Fine by me."

Merle led them through the building with the ease of someone who'd walked these halls before. The door sign for one particular room had long since fallen to the floor. Merle didn't even glance at it, just produced a key found upstairs, worked it twice, and the lock clicked open.

Lin Feng watched Merle the whole way there.

If Rick had been the one leading like that, there wouldn't have been a second thought. But Merle? Merle moved through this place like it was home.

The three of them stepped inside.

Before anyone started searching, they spotted what was laid out on the table: several machetes, a pair of tactical axes, and one quality katana.

"What the hell? How did this stuff end up in here — murder weapons?"

Merle scoffed. "Who knows. Find something like that in someone's car or house, it becomes a threat to public safety. So they bring it back in as evidence." A shrug. "Obviously."

While talking, Merle had already started popping open lockers and digging through them, moving with practiced efficiency. Three Glock handguns. Two.38 snub-nosed revolvers. Three old pump-action shotguns. One scoped Winchester hunting rifle.

Lin Feng stopped asking questions. Pack it. Pack all of it.

They could make extra trips to the vehicles. What they couldn't do was leave any of this behind for someone who might lose their mind at a moment's notice.

Leaving it would be nothing but waste.

None of them were slow, and it didn't take long. Soon everything was packed and stacked to one side.

Lin Feng set his load down and looked at Merle. "Anywhere else left to check?"

"The fuck you looking at me for? You think this is my house?"

"OK." Lin Feng turned. "Daryl, let's go clear the walkers out of the back lot and get the vehicles ready. Merle, grab the keys. We need to move."

Daryl nodded, unslung the compound crossbow, and walked with Lin Feng toward the rear of the station where the cruisers were parked.

➤ Next: Even Cheaters Get Tired

Chapter 26 - Even Cheaters Get Tired

Lin Feng and Daryl crossed the corridor together and reached the back door of the police station.

Probably for security reasons, whoever built the place hadn't put any windows back here. Just a heavy iron door.

This time Lin Feng left the fire axe behind. He wanted to see how the katana held up in real combat.

Back when he was still watching the show, Michonne made it look effortless, steel flashing, every stroke lethal.

Maybe he could pull it off too.

He glanced at Daryl, who could cover him if things went sideways, then at the Bowie knife at his hip.

Let's go.

He gave Daryl a short nod, turned the handle, looked out, and stepped through.

The iron door let out a long creak. Every walker drifting through the backyard snapped its head around at once and started shuffling toward him.

Farther out, more were already converging on the sound.

"I'll handle these. You close the door — OK?"

"Yeah."

One word. Daryl didn't spare a glance at the walkers moving toward Lin Feng. Just raised the crossbow and walked back toward the iron door.

Lin Feng didn't waste time either. Delay meant complications. He lifted the blade and swung a flat horizontal slash at the nearest walker.

A brief drag traveled through the hilt, then nothing. The resistance vanished.

One stroke. Clean decapitation.

A flicker of surprise crossed Lin Feng's eyes, but his hands never stopped.

A long blade needed room. Crowd it and you had a tiger with no claws, waiting to be put down.

His technique with the katana amounted to four things: horizontal slash, diagonal sweep, overhead chop, direct thrust. Not techniques, really. More like instinct with reach and weight behind it.

But that was the thing, the man was strong.

Most of the walkers never made it to within three paces. A sweep of steel, then the dull, heavy thud of bodies dropping.

Daryl locked the door and turned back to support, and stopped.

The finger already resting on the trigger pulled away. Daryl lowered the bowstring, removed the bolt, and slotted it back into the front clip.

Nothing left to worry about. In the time it had taken to lock one door, seven or eight walkers were already on the ground. The only one left was the farthest out, still stumbling forward.

Lin Feng thrust once. The tip punched through the skull and out the other side. Done.

He pulled the blade free, checked the edge, and clicked his tongue.

Sharp, genuinely sharp. But the edge had already started rolling.

Verdict: viable as a regular weapon, if you didn't mind the upkeep.

He wiped the blade clean on a walker's coat, sheathed it, and turned to look at the two Ford Crown Victoria P71 cruisers parked in the yard. A quiet worry surfaced: would they even fit all the supplies?

He let out a soft sound and looked toward the street. The walkers were still out there. Might as well clear them, then have Merle and the others bring the pickups around.

If this were an emergency he'd have driven straight out. But things were still under control, which meant doing this right.

Daryl glanced at the cruisers, then at Lin Feng's face, and understood immediately. Daryl turned to study the walkers locked on the other side of the door.

"Have Merle and the others start loading. I'll clear these things out and bring the pickups around."

Daryl nodded, then headed back inside.

Lin Feng stepped forward with the katana. Earlier doubts, officially withdrawn. Whoever invented this weapon, good work.

The walkers outside the iron door spotted a living person approaching and grew agitated, low growls and ragged snarls spilling out of them.

"Easy. One at a time."

Swish.

The pale blade punched through a skull. Lin Feng let the momentum carry it into the next walker.

Zero casualties. One side, anyway.

He pulled back, stabbed again. The harvest began. EXP ticked steadily upward.

When Merle and the others came outside and saw the cruisers, they figured out the plan without being told. A few curses, then they got to work hauling supplies to the vehicles.

Lin Feng was having the time of his life. Before long his EXP hit a hundred, and behind the gate there were still twenty-plus walkers waiting their turn.

He hadn't seen EXP come in for days. His eyes had gone bloodshot. The blade work got smoother with every stroke, faster, easier.

It didn't take long. The small horde was gone.

"Merle — take someone and bring the trucks around." Lin Feng rolled his aching arm as he said it.

Merle didn't argue. Took Daryl and headed straight for where the pickups were parked.

Lin Feng rested for a moment, then checked the EXP panel.

[112/200].

Eighty-eight short. More work to do.

He pushed the iron door open and kicked through the pile of walker corpses stacked up against it. Leave that mess and it'd catch on a chassis, and then things got complicated.

Merle was quick. The truck rolled up to the back gate in no time. Merle watched Lin Feng and Marcus step clear, and then laughed, stomped the gas, and rammed straight into the backyard.

Lin Feng didn't get the chance to call Merle an idiot. Because behind those two trucks came another small horde. Twenty-something walkers and growing, more arriving by the second.

"Load everything now! I'll hold them! Move!"

He shouted it, set the katana down, and switched to the real instrument of choice, the fire axe, then walked out to meet them.

"Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Has this kid lost his mind?! Go back him up — don't let the idiot die out there!"

Daryl nodded, raised the crossbow, and went.

Merle turned toward the station door. "Doc, we need to move faster. Our Butcher Captain's out there waiting on us."

Said it without breaking stride, didn't look back.

Marcus nodded calmly and followed.

Outside, Lin Feng worked through the walkers with steady efficiency. When a cluster tried to close in, he stepped back two paces, opened the distance, and started chopping.

No overcommitting. No rushing. One to two steps of space, always.

Daryl watched the rear. Any walker that got shoved forward and crept too close to Lin Feng caught an arrow before it could finish the step.

Time passed.

Lin Feng started feeling it.

By rights, twenty-odd walkers should have been done long ago, but they kept coming. Streaming in from the surrounding streets, folding into the mass, replacing every body he put down.

His arms ached like they'd been packed with lead. Each swing cost more than the last.

His chest pumped hard. The air he pulled in was thick with the rot-stench of the dead, and his stomach turned with it, wave after wave of nausea that wouldn't settle.

He kicked a walker back, axe still in hand, and started giving ground. "Daryl, pull back! Switch weapons!"

Daryl turned, and found Merle and Marcus already coming out, each carrying two guns.

Merle's grin was wide. "Knew it. In the end, big brother's still the one cleaning up your mess."

Daryl, for once, didn't fire back. Just slung the crossbow over one shoulder, raised a middle finger, and took the rifle.

Lin Feng took the Remington from Marcus. His face was soaked in sweat. He racked the pump and felt the grin come up anyway, sharp and ugly.

He turned toward the horde and walked.

He raised the shotgun and pulled the trigger. The blast tore through the front rank and scattered pieces of walker across the ground.

"Come on then, you sons of bitches!"

Earlier, he'd kept it quiet to avoid drawing a larger crowd. Now he wanted them fast and he wanted them dead, and if there was a little personal satisfaction in the noise, well. That too.

The gunfire cracked out across half the town and didn't stop for a long time.

➤ Next: When It Comes to Repaying Kindness with Enmity