Chapter 38 — Glenn Is Captured
Hank shifted his weight, braced one foot against the metal wall of the duct, sucked in a breath—
—and smashed his shoulder into the vent grate with everything he had.
THUD! THUD! THUD!
The heavy impacts echoed through the maintenance bay below.
After several bone-rattling strikes, the screws finally began to give.
Hank mustered every last drop of strength—
CRASH!
The entire grate, frame and all, tore free and plummeted.
The instant it fell away—
Hank launched himself after it, aiming for the stack of folded canvas on top of the tool rack below.
WHUMP!
He landed hard. The tool rack groaned and swayed under the weight, but the canvas piles absorbed most of the impact.
He'd hit badly enough to knock the wind out of him, ribs screaming and vision flashing white—
—but nothing was broken.
"Jesus—!" Hank wheezed, rubbing his chest, unstrapping the assault pack.
Half-crouched on the tool rack, hand axe in one hand and his P226 in the other, he swept the room with sharp eyes.
Silence.
Clear.
His gaze landed on the vehicle sitting in the middle of the bay.
A black-and-white Crown Victoria police cruiser.
Pristine. No smashed windows. No blood. No damage.
As if someone had simply parked it here for maintenance before the world ended.
Hank almost laughed.
If he could get the engine running, he could blow through the shutter gate and escape—
a thousand times safer than going back the way he came.
After one more cautious check around the room, he jumped down from the tool rack and crossed to the car.
He wrapped his hand around the driver's door handle—
CLICK.
Unlocked.
Hank slid into the seat. The key was still in the ignition.
Heart pounding with anticipation, he twisted it—
RRR—rrk—rrr—
The starter groaned weakly. The dashboard lights flickered once…
…and died completely.
Dead battery.
"God damn it!"
Hank slammed his palm against the steering wheel, rage snapping through him.
He popped the hood. One look confirmed the issue: the battery was dry, and the terminals oxidized.
Even if he knew how to jump-start a car—
where the hell was he going to find a working battery in this burning hellhole?
He looked toward the exit — the shutter gate leading to the rear alley.
Beside it was the wall-mounted control box: buttons and a key slot.
He hit the button. Nothing.
Power outage.
He unlocked the manual override, grabbed the pull handle, and heaved upward with full strength.
GRRRRR—!
The shutter rose ten centimeters before jamming solid.
He dropped to one knee to look through the gap—
—and his stomach sank.
A heavy U-lock had been clamped around the shutter track from the outside.
Someone during the outbreak had locked the entrance shut from outside—
to stop anything inside from getting out… or anything outside from getting in.
"FUCK!"
Hank punched the metal shutter, sending a deep metallic boom across the room.
The perfect vehicle was right there—
and the only exit was locked shut.
He pressed his fingers to his temples, thinking fast.
Kick open the front entrance and run through the walker horde?
Try to find another route out of the building?
His eyes roamed the room again—
Then stopped on the wall.
A heavy hydraulic cutter.
Thick jaws designed for cutting rebar.
"That's it."
Hank snatched up the tool and hurried back to the shutter.
He wedged the cutter's jaws through the ten-centimeter gap and clamped them around the U-lock's steel shackle.
He gripped the long handles and pressed with every fiber of strength his body had.
The metal groaned—buckling slowly—
His enhanced strength surged, tendons standing out on his neck and arms—
SNAP!!!
The lock snapped clean in two.
Hank exhaled in relief, dropped the cutter, grabbed the shutter's pull strap, and yanked upward—
RATTLE—RATTLE—CLATTER!
The heavy steel gate rolled up smoothly.
Cool, fresh morning air swept into the room.
The exit was open.
Hank turned back toward the cruiser—
eyes blazing with determination—
He was getting out of here alive.
He was getting back.
Back to Glenn.
Back to Clementine.
Back to the others.
Fresh air poured in from the open shutter, and Hank felt his racing mind settle.
Clarity returned.
His sharp gaze swept the maintenance bay again — and then froze.
Against the wall, plugged into a socket, sat a portable car jump-starter.
A faint green indicator light flickered on its side.
The building had lost power long ago, but the unit had enough internal battery left to hold a small charge — not much, but maybe just enough.
Hank sprinted over, ripped the plug from the socket, and hauled the jump-starter to the police cruiser.
He clamped the battery leads on in seconds.
He sucked in a breath, jumped into the driver's seat, and twisted the key.
Tak… tak… tak…
The starter still rasped — but there was power this time.
The dashboard lights flickered wildly.
"Come on… come on… COME ON!"
WHRRR—ROOOOAR!!!
The engine exploded to life, coughing black smoke through the tailpipe before stabilizing into a deep, fierce idle.
"YES!"
Hank slammed his fist in triumph, immediately shut the engine off, lunged out of the car, disconnected the jump-starter, and threw it onto the passenger seat.
He rushed back to the shutter gate and yanked it fully open—
Then leapt back behind the wheel, buckled in, slammed the shifter into Drive, and eased onto the gas.
The V8 growled like a freed animal.
The cruiser rolled out of the maintenance bay and climbed the ramp into the rear alley of the Sheriff's Department.
Harsh sunlight hit his eyes.
Hank steered one-handed, the other grabbing the car's radio mic.
He tuned to Glenn's channel.
"Glenn! Do you copy?!"
"This is Hank — I'm out! Where are you?!"
Static.
Then a faint rustling.
Then — not Glenn's voice.
"Glenn? Ahhhh. You mean the delivery boy?"
Hank slammed the brakes — the tires screeched across loose gravel.
He snatched the radio mic, voice like a blade.
"Who the hell are you?! Where is Glenn?!"
A mocking whistle floated through the speaker.
"Tsk, tsk. Someone sounds emotional. Is he your boyfriend or something? You're awfully worked up."
Hank's jaw clenched. His grip on the mic whitened.
The stranger chuckled — amused, cruel.
"Relax. He's fine. For now."
"But in a little while?"
"Hard to say. Someone might cave his skull in with his own baseball bat."
The words hit like a punch.