Chapter 25 – Conflict Inside the Motel
Noon sunlight spilled across the courtyard of the motor inn.
After taking the nitroglycerin tablets, Larry's condition finally stabilized.
Some color had returned to his otherwise ashen face; his breathing steadied, and the trembling in his hands slowly subsided.
He no longer needed support.
Now he moved like an old lion regaining strength—slow, heavy, territorial.
His eyes swept over the courtyard with a predatory gloom.
Every so often, that harsh gaze landed on the front gate—
on Lee, who was tightening wire and hauling boards to reinforce it.
Lee could feel that stare burning holes in his back, needle-sharp and hostile.
He tried to ignore it, focusing on the work—
bracing a plank against the inner frame, pulling wire taut until it creaked.
"Hmph. Strong, aren't you."
Larry's voice cracked through the stillness like a cold slap.
"Bet this sort of hard labor comes easy, huh? Must've gotten plenty of practice in prison."
Lee froze.
His hand slipped; a stray metal burr sliced his finger.
A bead of blood welled up.
He turned slowly, expression complicated.
"Sir… I'm only doing this so everyone can be safer."
"Safer?" Larry barked out a laugh—quiet, but sharp enough for the entire courtyard to hear.
"Safe with a murderer in our group?"
Murderer.
The word slammed into the air like a gunshot.
Lilly stiffened instinctively. Without realizing it, she edged closer to Glenn.
Carly didn't react—she'd known from the start, back at the pharmacy.
Katjaa gasped softly and pulled Duck closer.
Kenny shot her a reassuring look—subtle, but firm. He wasn't distancing himself from Lee.
Hanks had been dozing lightly in the RV.
The raised voices cut through the haze, and he opened his eyes just in time to hear the accusation land.
His gaze sharpened instantly.
Lee's face turned ghost-white.
He opened his mouth, but no sound came out.
The past he tried so hard to bury had just been ripped open in front of everyone.
"Dad!" Lilly hissed, panic rising in her voice.
She understood how reckless he was being.
Numbers mattered—insulting people when you weren't the strongest side was how fools got killed.
But Larry only grew louder.
"What? Am I wrong?" he sneered.
He jabbed a thick finger toward Lee.
"Do any of you know who this man is? Why he was locked up?"
"He killed someone! A living, breathing man! All because the guy slept with his wife!"
"Someone who can't control his temper—
that's a ticking time bomb! You want him sleeping under the same roof as us?!"
The courtyard fell silent.
So silent you could hear distant walkers groaning beyond the fence.
Lee's eyes squeezed shut.
His fists clenched—then slowly loosened, powerless.
He had no defense.
It was the truth.
Then—
"Oh? Just because the guy slept with his wife?"
A calm voice cut through the tension like a blade.
Hanks.
He walked from the center of the courtyard toward them—step by steady step—
stopping right between Lee and Larry.
His tone was level, but carried the weight of someone who had seen blood and death and wasn't impressed by either of them.
"Old man, if someone were screwing your wife, what would you do?
Sit in the corner and pretend you're not a spineless excuse of a husband?"
"Because if a man can't even stand up when his wife is violated—
then what the hell is he calling himself a man for?
A father for?"
Hanks took a small step forward.
Larry was taller, broader—
but the aura rolling off Hanks, forged by killing and danger and survival, crashed down like a physical force.
Larry flinched.
For the first time, uncertainty flickered in his eyes.
Hanks' right hand hung casually at his side—
or at least, it looked casual.
But Larry noticed it.
That hand was only an inch away from the holstered pistol on Hanks' thigh.
A tiny detail.
A deadly warning.
Larry's pupils contracted sharply.
The rest of his angry tirade jammed in his throat like a bone he couldn't swallow.
Hanks didn't raise his voice; he didn't need to.
"He paid the price. The courts judged him."
His gaze was cold, steady.
"But now there is no law. No court. No order.
Outside, the only justice is whatever can outrun a walker or outshoot a raider."
His tone suddenly turned razor-sharp.
"Right now, the only standard that matters is—
Can you fight?
Can you find supplies?
Can you protect others when the world goes to hell?"
He stepped forward, looming over Larry.
"And you? You're a sick old man who can't go ten minutes without needing someone to fetch your medicine, your water, your food—
and when you're done eating, you still have the guts to point fingers and curse?"
Larry's face went the color of cold ash.
Hanks didn't stop.
"Lee."
He turned his head, but his tone allowed no room for argument.
"Go rest. You need strength for later."
Lee inhaled deeply—shaky, wounded.
He gave Hanks a complicated look, then silently walked toward the rooms.
Larry's jaw trembled.
Anger burned in his eyes, but fear smothered it quickly.
Because he understood something:
The look in Hanks' eyes—
that quiet, formless killing intent—
was not a bluff.
One more word, and Hanks might very well put a bullet through him.
Lilly watched the scene unfold, watched her father deflate under pressure, watched Hanks turn away like swatting a fly.
Her lips pressed into a thin line.
Anger, fear, frustration—she swallowed them all.
She wasn't blind.
In a straight fight, her father wouldn't last a second.
"From now on," Hanks said, sweeping his gaze across the group,
"I don't want to hear any more pointless arguments. Save your mouths for eating—we need every calorie."
His tone ended the confrontation like a slammed door.
"Rest. All of you.
Lilly, Glenn—come with me."
The rest hesitated only a few seconds before dispersing.
Hanks led the two of them to a quieter corner of the courtyard.
He spoke directly, without ceremony.
"My goal is simple. I'm taking Clementine to Savannah."
His eyes locked on them.
"You're either staying… or you've got your own plans."
Hanks had no intention of dragging a crowd of liabilities with him.
If it had been just Glenn, maybe—but the rest? Impossible.
Lilly immediately shook her head.
"Savannah? That place will be worse than here," she said sharply, then softened a little.
"My father can't handle long travel. We heard broadcasts—National Guard setting up quarantine and rescue zones."
Her eyes hardened.
"We're staying.
This motel is defensible. We're safer here."
Hanks nodded once.
Glenn, however, shifted uneasily.
He looked at Hanks.
Looked at Lilly.
Then hung his head.
"I… I can't go to Savannah.
And I can't stay here either."
He swallowed, voice trembling with worry.
"I have to go back to Atlanta. My friend T-Dog is still there. I don't know if he's alive. I have to find him."
Hanks wasn't surprised.
"Fine," he said simply. "Everyone has their own path."
He paused.
"Before we leave here for good, I'll try to gather supplies. Some for the road, some for you all."
"After that…"
He shrugged lightly.
"You're on your own."
Both Lilly and Glenn nodded, understanding the weight of his words.
Glenn hesitated, cheeks flushing slightly.
He fidgeted, then finally blurted out:
"H-Hanks, officer… um… one more thing.
I—I need a car."
He grimaced.
"My car got shot to hell last night…
If I don't have one, I can't make it back to Atlanta."
Hanks didn't even blink.
"Fine. If we find a suitable one, it's yours."
Glenn lit up like a kid on Christmas.
"R-Really?! Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!"
"Don't celebrate yet," Hanks snorted.
"We still need to find one. And find gas."
He jerked his chin toward the gate.
"You're coming with me into town later."
As he spoke, he was already walking toward the RV, tapping the metal frame lightly.
"I also need to figure out if this big hunk of junk still runs."