Chapter 34 — A Fleeting Illusion
Doug's fingers froze on the radio dial.
The last line from the broadcast—"prioritize self-rescue"—echoed in the air, accompanied by distant gunfire and blaring alarms.
It was like a bucket of ice water, extinguishing the fragile spark of hope they had just kindled from their newly acquired supplies.
The courtyard fell into a suffocating silence.
Only the distant groans of walkers and the radio's faint static reminded them that this wasn't a nightmare—this was reality, raw and merciless.
"God… oh God…" Katjaa whispered, clutching Duck tightly, her face pale as paper.
Kenny's hand tightened instinctively on his son's shoulder. His lips pressed into a hard, grim line.
"CDC… National Guard…" Lee muttered hoarsely. "Even they're… falling?"
"Police stations, relief points—everything's collapsing. And you still plan on going to Savannah…"
Glenn slumped to the ground, all traces of excitement from earlier gone.
In its place appeared a deeper dread—helpless, hollow, bone-deep.
"Savannah isn't a relief zone."
Hank's voice cut through the air like a blade.
He rose to his feet, gaze sweeping across every frightened face.
"That broadcast was old—before the federal emergency order. Atlanta is still holding out. The military is establishing new quarantine and rescue zones as we speak."
He stepped forward, picked up the radio still spitting static, and shut it off with a sharp click.
"This changes nothing."
His eyes dropped to the small pair of arms wrapped tightly around his leg.
Clementine was clinging to him, her big brown eyes shimmering with fear.
"Rescue never truly existed. From the start, the only people we could rely on were ourselves—and that hasn't changed."
His words struck everyone like a hammer, snapping their drifting morale back into place.
"The officer's right."
Kenny exhaled heavily and forced himself to straighten.
He slapped the hood of the pickup. "Better to rely on ourselves than wait for miracles!"
"Food, water, fuel—hell, we're already doing better than yesterday!"
Lee nodded. Determination returned to his eyes.
"At the very least, now we know more about what we're facing."
Hank unrolled the map again, planting his finger firmly on the Macon County Sheriff's Department.
"Our target for tomorrow stays the same."
"I'm taking Glenn to the station for ammo. Without bullets, we're not going anywhere."
"Huh? Me? Again?"
Glenn felt his soul leave his body. Today alone was wilder than his entire life so far.
"Of course," Hank replied, face perfectly serious despite the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
"We work well together. You know the roads. There's no one better."
"Once we restock," Hank continued, sweeping his gaze across the group, "we leave this town behind. We head to Savannah—just like we planned."
"It's coastal. If things get bad, we can take a boat and head out to sea. And…"
He paused, glancing down at Clementine.
"There's someone there worth searching for."
The clear objective steadied the group's hearts again. Fear was still there—but buried beneath a stronger, sharper will to survive.
"Alright. Night watch in shifts. The rest of you—rest while you can," Hank ordered.
"Kenny, Lee—you take first watch."
"Carley, Doug—you're up for the second half."
"Everyone else, get some sleep. Conserve your strength."
No one argued.
After everything that had happened today, exhaustion washed over them like a rising tide.
Silently, they cleaned up the area and retreated to the RV or their rooms.
Clementine, however, tugged at Hank's sleeve, refusing to let go.
"Hank… I'm scared…"
Hank knelt, scooping her gently into his arms.
"What are you scared of?"
"Scared I won't find Mom and Dad… scared of the walkers…"
She buried her face against his shoulder.
Carrying her to the RV door, Hank looked out into the endless night.
"Listen, Clem," he said quietly but firmly. "This world is bad. It's dangerous and unpredictable."
"But fear won't help you find your parents. Fear won't make the walkers disappear."
He brushed a hand through her hair.
"What we can do is become stronger. Smarter. More careful. And keep moving—one step at a time."
"I'll protect you until we find them. I promised you that."
Clementine lifted her head.
Even in the darkness, Hank's blue eyes still shone—sharp, determined, unwavering.
There was something in them that made her feel safe.
She nodded hard.
"Mm!"
Hank carried her into the RV, settling Clementine onto the inner bunk.
"Sleep. I'll be right outside."
He stepped out and closed the door gently behind him.
Kenny and Lee were already in position, weapons in hand, occupying two vantage points overlooking the courtyard.
Hank didn't head to rest. Instead, he sat down beside the RV's tire, pulled out a small handful of loose rounds—barely a dozen.
He had burned through all his ammo in today's fights; what he carried now was scraped together from splitting the remaining rounds between Carley and Lee.
Just enough for a single magazine.
Click.
He pressed the release, slid out the empty mag, and began loading 9mm rounds one by one.
It was a slow, monotonous task… yet somehow grounding—almost soothing in its familiarity.
Finally, the last round slid in.
Hank thumbed the magazine into place with a sharp snap, chambered a round with a smooth pull of the slide, flicked on the safety, and holstered the P226 at his side.
[Handgun Skill Level Up]
[Handgun Skill Lv. 30 — 0/30000]
[Passive Unlocked: Suppressive Burst]
(Maintains high fire rate while drastically reducing muzzle climb through advanced grip and recoil control.)
(Allows ultra-rapid firing with remarkably tight grouping.)
(At 10 meters: 3-round overlap.)
Hank exhaled slowly, leaning back against the cold rubber of the tire, and closed his eyes.
Exhaustion surged over him like a crashing tide. Sleep pulled at him instantly—
—until, in the very moment his consciousness began to slip—
His eyes snapped open.
In the darkness, his blue irises contracted sharply like a nocturnal predator startled awake.
A sensation—faint, fleeting, but unmistakable—stabbed the back of his neck.
Someone was watching him.
His body didn't move outwardly, but every fiber of muscle tightened like coiled wire.
His gaze swept the courtyard in a silent, precise arc.
Kenny's silhouette was visible at the far end of the second-floor walkway, leaning on the railing as he scanned the motel exterior.
Lee remained crouched in the opposite shadows, weapon trained on the gate.
Inside the RV: silent.
Carley and Doug were resting, waiting for their shift.
Everything… looked normal.
Hank's brow furrowed.
His senses were sharper than most—especially in this dead-quiet night, when even a shifted pebble could sound like a warning.
That momentary chill hadn't felt imagined. It felt like a pair of unseen eyes had locked onto him—then vanished.
He kept perfectly still, listening.
Hyper-attuned.
Alert to every whisper of wind, every creak of old wood, every distant groan.
Only the eternal howling of walkers…
The wind moaning through a broken sign…
Minutes passed. Two. Maybe three.
Nothing.
The tension slowly leaked from his muscles. In its wake came an even deeper exhaustion.
He pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling the sore, swollen pulse behind his eyes.
"…Hah."
A tired laugh escaped him—half self-mockery, half resignation.
Was he just worn out?
Hours of fighting, constant vigilance—even his enhanced body had limits.
Sometimes his sharpened senses caught fragments of meaningless nighttime noise and mistook them for danger.
He let his head rest once more against the cold tire, eyes drifting shut.
It was just an illusion.
That was what he told himself, burying the sudden spike of unease deep inside, forcing his breath to steady and slow.
Even if, in the back of his mind, something whispered otherwise.