Chapter 121: Cry for Help
Morning
The morning mist hanging over the Port of Savannah had yet to disperse.
A gray haze covered the sea, blurring the line between water and sky.
On the docks, a group of survivors worked around several damaged boats that had been dragged ashore. Some scraped away barnacles, others dismantled usable parts, while a few struggled with rusted bolts and screws. The constant clanging of metal echoed through the fog.
Most of these vessels had been lost during the early days of the apocalypse.
Some had been stranded in mudflats.
Others had crashed into piers as panicked civilians tried to escape the outbreak.
Many had capsized entirely, their hulls now covered in oysters and marine growth.
Savannah was finally becoming safe.
A four-meter-high wall made from shipping containers now surrounded the settlement, while black-clad clone soldiers cleared walkers building by building.
For the first time in months, people felt secure enough to focus on rebuilding instead of merely surviving.
Today, they were preparing to restore a fishing boat.
A young man crouched beside the stern of an old yacht, wrench in hand as he struggled to remove a heavily rusted propeller.
The bolt refused to budge.
He spat into his palms and tried again.
This time, the bolt shifted slightly.
Unfortunately, his grip slipped.
Splash!
The wrench fell into the water.
"Damn it."
He leaned over the side and peered down.
The tool had already vanished beneath the murky depths.
Then he heard something.
An engine.
Not a car.
A boat.
The young man looked toward the sea.
The fog was too thick to see anything clearly, but the sound was growing louder.
Closer.
Closer.
He stood and shouted toward the shore.
Others heard it as well.
People abandoned their work and gathered at the dock, staring into the mist.
Several black-coated soldiers arrived moments later, rifles in hand.
Everyone watched the fog in silence.
Then a speedboat burst through the haze.
It raced toward the harbor at high speed, its bow slicing through the water.
The vessel was in terrible condition.
Bullet holes covered the hull.
The windshield had shattered, spiderweb cracks spreading across the remaining glass.
A figure lay slumped over the controls.
Motionless.
No one could tell whether he was alive or dead.
At the rear of the boat, a man crouched while holding a little girl tightly in his arms.
Both were soaked to the bone and shivering in the cold morning wind.
The speedboat slowed but still slammed into the dock's tire barriers before finally stopping.
The man slowly raised his head.
Blood covered his face.
His lips were pale.
Dark circles hung beneath his eyes.
When he saw the armed soldiers waiting on the dock, his lips trembled.
"Help..."
His voice was barely audible.
"Please... help us..."
Two soldiers immediately boarded the vessel.
They turned over the unconscious man lying across the controls.
It was a young man.
A gunshot wound had torn through his shoulder.
Blood soaked half his clothing, and the flesh around the wound had turned dark purple.
His eyes were half-open.
His pupils were dilated.
His breathing was shallow and rapid.
One of the soldiers checked his pulse.
"He's alive!" he shouted.
"Severe blood loss, but he's still alive!"
---
Lee carefully stood while still holding Clementine.
His exhausted legs nearly gave out beneath him.
A soldier quickly stepped forward and supported him.
Clementine stood quietly beside him.
She was trembling, but she didn't cry.
Instead, she clung tightly to Lee's shirt and stared at the black-clad soldiers.
Her eyes were cautious.
Wary.
Like a frightened animal trapped in a corner.
A familiar figure stepped out from the crowd.
Andrea.
Dressed in black combat gear with a pistol holstered at her waist, she approached and crouched until she was eye level with the little girl.
"I remember you."
A faint smile appeared on her face.
"Your name is Clementine, right?"
Clementine nodded.
Her lips parted slightly, but no words came out.
Andrea stood and turned toward Lee.
"What happened?"
"Where's the boat we gave you?"
Lee took a deep breath and quickly explained everything.
The drug lord.
The resort hotel.
The prisoners.
The kitchen workers who had risked their lives to help them escape.
The firefight.
Peter being shot.
The desperate flight across the sea.
His words came out rapidly and sometimes incoherently, but Andrea understood enough.
As she listened, her expression darkened.
Not with fear.
With anger.
Her hand slowly tightened around the grip of her pistol.
Her knuckles turned white.
"How many hostages are still on that island?"
Lee shook his head.
"I don't know."
"There are a lot."
"The kitchen staff who helped us are still there."
"They stayed behind so we could escape."
Andrea remained silent for several seconds.
Then she released her grip on the pistol and turned toward headquarters.
---
Inside her office sat an old black telephone connected directly to the relay station.
Andrea picked up the receiver.
She dialed the CDC.
---
At the CDC headquarters, Wu Fan sat in his office on the third floor.
The numbers on the system panel continued climbing.
610,000 points.
Not sixty thousand.
Over six hundred thousand.
Selling ten nuclear warheads alone had earned him half a million points.
Atlanta's cleanup operation was progressing smoothly.
Every walker eliminated contributed additional points to the system.
Early growth had been slow and cautious.
Now the benefits were compounding.
Like any successful enterprise, once the foundation was established, growth accelerated exponentially.
Wu Fan lit a cigarette.
Smoke drifted lazily beneath the office lights.
Then the telephone rang.
He answered.
"Boss, there's a situation in Savannah."
Andrea's voice came through the line, accompanied by faint static.
Wu Fan listened quietly.
When she finished speaking, he remained silent for several moments.
Clementine.
The little girl who had survived from childhood to adulthood in another world.
The girl who had learned every lesson survival could teach.
The girl who had lost nearly everything.
And now she was here.
In Savannah.
Within his territory.
Wu Fan flicked ash from his cigarette.
He glanced toward Amy.
"Has Hunk returned yet?"
Amy shook her head.
"No."
"Atlanta's cleanup is only sixty percent complete."
Wu Fan picked up his radio and switched to Hunk's channel.
"Hunk."
"Bring back five hundred men."
"We have a mission."
A brief pause followed.
Then Hunk's calm voice answered.
"Roger that."
---
At that moment, more than nine thousand clone soldiers were sweeping through Atlanta street by street.
Hunk stood atop a department store, binoculars in hand as he surveyed the city below.
The radio crackled.
After listening to the transmission, he lowered the binoculars and turned toward the stairwell.
Orders had been received.
Five hundred soldiers immediately began converging from across the city.
Like streams flowing into a river, they moved silently and efficiently toward the designated assembly point.
No confusion.
No hesitation.
No wasted movement.
Within minutes, they stood assembled in an open area at the city's edge.
Waiting.
Then the sound of rotors appeared overhead.
Ten Osprey transport aircraft approached from the north.
The thunder of their engines shook the ground.
The aircraft descended in formation.
Landing one by one.
Their rear ramps lowered.
The soldiers boarded with machine-like precision.
No pushing.
No shouting.
Every man knew exactly where he belonged.
At the front stood Hunk.
His gas mask concealed his face.
The red lenses reflected the sunlight like burning embers.
He boarded the final aircraft.
Moments later, the rotors accelerated.
The formation lifted into the sky.
Their destination:
Savannah.
---
Back at the CDC, Wu Fan set down the radio.
His thoughts drifted toward Clementine.
He remembered her first walker kill.
He remembered her holding Lee's hand and saying:
"I'll be okay."
That was another world's story.
A future that hadn't happened here.
This Clementine hadn't lost Lee.
She hadn't learned to shoot.
She hadn't become the hardened survivor who trusted no one but herself.
Maybe she never would.
Perhaps things could be different.
Within his territory, she could simply be a child.
She could go to school.
Make friends.
Grow up normally.
Wu Fan turned off the system panel and lit another cigarette.
Of course, survival training wouldn't hurt.
After all, unexpected talent often revealed itself under the right circumstances.
Outside the window, ten Ospreys and a Puma helicopter had already become tiny black dots on the horizon as they flew toward Paradise Island.