Molly and I ran forward, hopping from rooftop to rooftop. I moved fast—too fast for her to keep up.
"Slow down!" she called, struggling to match my pace.
I eased up just enough for her to catch up. She glanced at me sideways, studying my face.
"You seem very calm. Aren't you afraid? Or angry? She is your Clementine, isn't she?"
"Who said I'm not angry?" I replied as we ran. "I'm scared and angry at the same time. But right now, anger won't help. I need a clear mind."
Molly smiled faintly. "Clementine was right. You really do love her, don't you?"
I didn't answer and kept running. The silence clearly bothered her.
"Fine. Keep your feelings to yourself," she muttered, veering off toward another church in the distance.
"Be careful," I called after her.
"I'm always careful," she replied, drifting farther away. "Worry about yourself."
I continued alone.
I sprinted with everything I had. Roof tiles cracked beneath my feet with every step. After nearly fifteen minutes, I reached the inner circle of Crawford.
Thick black smoke rose into the sky, nearly brushing the clouds. Even from this distance, I could smell burned flesh and blood—sharp, metallic, suffocating.
I stopped and looked down.
Piles of bodies burned in the streets. Others slaughtered one another openly. Every block was soaked in blood—walls, pavement, abandoned cars. Armed men prowled everywhere, killing anyone they came across.
In the distance, a bell rang. Most of the people turned and drifted toward the sound.
I forced myself not to panic. Slowly and carefully, I descended, focusing on my surroundings—counting movements, tracking anyone within a fifty-foot radius. Luck was on my side. No one was nearby.
I scanned the area for the manhole. After nearly a minute, I spotted it—blocked by a wrecked car.
I pushed the car aside. Metal screeched against concrete.
Shit.
Footsteps approached.
I pressed myself behind the wrecked car. From the sound alone, I knew it was just one person, coming from the corner.
"What the hell was that noise?" He muttered, moving closer.
He examined the car, then noticed the scrape marks on the ground. Confusion crossed his face.
The moment he turned his back, I struck.
One clean swing of my sword severed his head. His eyes widened in confusion and fear, but he didn't even have time to scream before his head struck the floor, followed by his body. I wiped the blood from my blade and briefly glanced at his twitching corpse before searching his pockets. Inside, I found a knife. I took it without hesitation and lifted the manhole cover.
I pressed the radio. "I've opened the manhole."
No response.
Seconds passed. My nerves tightened.
Then—static. "Okay. Which manhole did you open?" Lee's voice finally came through.
I looked around for landmarks. A collapsed coffee shop stood nearby.
"Near the coffee shop—Freedom Café," I said. "That's my location."
"I'll be there," Lee replied. Then his voice hardened. "Max, go back to the group. I'll handle this myself."
I wasn't surprised.
"Lee, you need me," I said firmly. "Crawford is overrun by hunters. Survivors are being slaughtered. If they find you alone, they'll kill you."
"The man who contacted me is still alive in the command center," Lee said calmly. "That means he has authority. He won't order his men to kill me before talking. That's why I'm telling you to leave. You're young—you don't need to risk your life."
"Don't tell me what to do," I snapped. "I'm here to rescue Clementine—with or without your permission."
Silence filled the radio.
Finally, Lee exhaled. "Fine. Watch the area from above with Molly. Inform me if anything goes wrong. And wait for my call."
The radio clicked off.
I clipped it back onto my belt and climbed onto the rooftop, moving deeper toward the library. With every step, the atmosphere grew heavier—oppressive, suffocating—like the air itself was warning me to turn back.
I reached the building beside Crawford's library command center and looked down into the empty parking area.
Hundreds of people were tied together with ropes. Survivors.
They cried quietly as executions and enslavement happened right beside them.
A man holding a knife approached a young woman.
"You," he said coldly. "Slave—or meat. Choose."
She couldn't have been older than twenty. Terror stole her voice. Tears streamed down her face as she struggled against the ropes binding her hands.
"Stop struggling, bitch," the man snapped. "Answer me."
She tried to flee. She didn't even make it two steps.
The knife flew.
It lodged deep into her skull. She died instantly, her body twitching once before going still.
The man didn't flinch. He turned to another hunter and said casually, "Put her with the meat."
Then he walked toward a teenage boy who had wet himself in terror.
The sight was horrifying, even for me.
But this was the world we are currently living in.
I forced myself to ignore the screams and focus on the library.
I was here for one reason.
To save Clementine.
Once I did, I would leave this place behind forever.
I leapt forward and landed silently on the library's rooftop.
I focused on sensing everyone inside. At least thirty-five people occupied the building. One of them had to be Clementine.
Then I heard the rumble of a jeep engine below.
I looked down as a jeep pulled up in front of the library. Two men climbed out, escorting Lee toward the entrance before disappearing inside.
Worry gnawed at me. Nothing about this was unfolding the way it had in the original timeline.
The man on the radio was the same one whose food and supplies Lee's group had looted months ago. That theft had cost him his family, and he had never forgiven them.
In the original timeline, he had been a broken, grieving man.
Not the leader of the hunters.
I steadied my breathing.
If killing everyone inside the library was the only way to rescue Clementine, then that was exactly what I would do.