"Maggie!" Hershel looked at his daughter in shock, fuming with rage, "You can't say that! They are all our family and friends!"
"They aren't!" Maggie broke down, "They're just a bunch of monsters trying to bite us to death!"
"That's only because they're sick! Just like..."
"Just like Duck?!"
Maggie cut her father off directly. As soon as that name was mentioned, Hershel's flushed face instantly turned deathly pale. He looked as if all his strength had been drained, freezing in place.
Louis's heart stirred; as expected, there was something wrong.
It seemed Lee's group hadn't just stayed at the farm for a few days. Their departure might have involved more than just the threat of The Believers.
"Do you still remember Duck?" Maggie did not let her father off. She turned around and began to tell the story to the unaware Rick and the others.
"About a month ago, Kenny's family and Professor Lee's group stayed here."
"That day, Kenny's son Duck got too close to the barn out of curiosity. A hand reached out from inside, grabbed him, and bit his arm!"
Maggie stared at Hershel, tears streaming down her cheeks.
"What did you say then, Dad? You said, 'Don't touch him, it's just an infection, we need to observe'... You even wanted to lock him in a room and stuff him into that damn barn after he died!"
"If it wasn't for Kenny..."
Maggie took a deep breath but still firmly finished her sentence.
"If it wasn't for Kenny pushing you away like a lunatic and, right in front of all of us, hacking off his son's arm with an axe while he was still alive..."
"Then Duck would be rotting in that barn right now!"
Everyone was left speechless, shocked by the gruesome description.
"Kenny was right, Dad!"
Maggie lowered her voice as much as possible, yet she still couldn't completely control her emotions. "Even with one less hand, Duck is at least still alive! He can still call Kenny 'Dad'! He can still smile!"
"And you? Your so-called mercy almost killed a child!"
"That's why Lee and the others all left! That's why even that little girl Clementine didn't dare look at you!"
"They'd rather go outside and face a world full of monsters than stay in your home, guarding a barn full of Walkers!"
Hershel staggered back and slumped into a chair.
Watching this scene unfold, Dr. Jenner sighed and spoke up, "I'm sorry, perhaps I didn't express myself clearly enough just now, leading you to a misunderstanding."
"I am a virologist, Hershel. I studied that thing at the CDC until the very last moment."
Dr. Jenner looked the old man straight in the eyes, cruelly shattering his final illusion.
"I am telling you with full responsibility that the moment the host dies, that virus completely destroys the frontal lobe of the brain—the place where consciousness, emotions, and memories are generated."
"What drives those shells to stand up now is nothing but the most primitive hunger instinct remaining in the brainstem."
Dr. Jenner pointed to his own head. "They are dead. That is an irreversible biological fact."
"The serum theory I mentioned earlier was only for living people who haven't turned yet, an attempt to delay their deaths, not to resurrect a corpse that has already begun to rot."
Hershel's face was as white as paper, and his straight back slumped, as if his spine had been removed.
Following that, Rick stepped forward.
"Hershel, look around this room."
He pointed behind him; there was Sophia, who hadn't yet recovered from the shock; Carl, who was clutching his mother's hand tightly; and Maggie, who had just argued with him and was covered in tears.
"There are children here, elderly people... and your family."
Every word he spoke seemed to strike at Hershel's heart. "Hershel, you've stayed on this farm for too long. You haven't seen what's truly happening outside."
"Those things haven't been human for a long time."
"They have no conscience, let alone mercy. They only have an appetite for living things."
"I know it's hard to accept all this, but we must face reality." Rick looked at him with a firm expression.
"That wooden door can't hold them back forever. If they break out, or if someone accidentally walks in... the tragedy of Kenny's family will repeat itself."
"When that time comes, the one bitten to death might be your daughter Beth."
At this point, Rick sighed and said solemnly:
"Don't let the living be buried with the dead."
"But... what if they still have feelings?" The old man's voice carried a sob, like a helpless child. "If they are still 'alive', how can I..."
"Mr. Hershel."
Louis, who had been quiet all along, now slowly walked up to the old man.
His deep blue eyes were as clear as water as he quietly gazed at Hershel.
"I know you love them very much," Louis said softly. "But I want to know... do you believe in the existence of a soul?"
Hershel was stunned and nodded subconsciously. "Of course."
"Then, please try to imagine this."
Louis slowly guided the old man's thoughts. "If they really are still alive, if their souls are truly still imprisoned in those rotting, rigid shells that have nothing left but hunger instincts..."
"They cannot speak, they cannot think. They can only watch helplessly as they turn into monsters, forced to harm and devour the loved ones they once cherished..."
Louis took a step forward, looking directly into the old man's eyes.
"To them, wouldn't that be the most cruel form of torture?"
"Even if there really is a medicine in the future that can 'resurrect' them, when they recall the things they've done—"
"The sensation of biting into flesh, the memories of devouring their own kind... when they wake up, can they really continue to live happily as if nothing happened, without any burden?"
"Perhaps there are indeed people in this world whose hearts are strong enough to ignore all that, but Mr. Hershel, do you think the 'patients' in the barn, your family, can endure it?"
Hershel looked up in shock, his eyes filled with trembling.
"We aren't killing people, Mr. Hershel."
Louis reached out and gently pressed his hand on the old man's trembling hand, saying the words that completely shattered his mental defenses.
"We are releasing those imprisoned souls."
"Let them rest in peace."
He looked into Louis's clear eyes, as if he saw some kind of redemption there. Two trails of tears slid down his cheeks.
With a trembling hand, he fumbled a ring of keys from his breast and placed them on the table.
"...Take them... out."
...The afternoon sun gradually dipped westward, gilding the tranquil farm with a blood-colored golden edge.
Before the barn, everyone instinctively formed a semi-circle, but they did not approach.
Although Rick and the others held guns, their muzzles were lowered—this was Hershel's request.
"These are my family, my friends, my neighbors."
Hershel refused help from anyone else. The old man took off his jacket, rolled up his sleeves, and held a long-handled pitchfork that had been sharpened.
"I once kept them locked in the darkness of this barn, swearing to cure them... but now, since God has given the answer, this guilt must be ended by my own hands."
He stood before the barn doors, took a deep breath, and nodded to Maggie and Shawn in front of him.
"Open it. Just a crack."