Chapter 50 — Merle & Daryl
Hanks slept hard—
but not for long.
He didn't wake naturally.
He woke because something in his instincts screamed.
The same sensation he felt back at the motel…
the inexplicable prickle of being watched.
His eyes snapped open.
The sky was burning orange — sunset.
He'd slept nearly the entire afternoon.
And the atmosphere of the camp had changed.
Kenny and Lee were still on watch —
but their posture was different now, sharper, coiled like springs.
Kenny was half-crouched atop the RV, shotgun trained toward the western tree line.
Lee was using the pickup door as cover, Glock gripped tight, scanning the same direction.
Clementine was awake too, sitting beside Katjaa, nibbling on food.
The moment she saw Hanks sit up, she ran to him and wrapped her arms around his leg.
Hanks ruffled her hair gently, but his eyes were already analyzing the field.
"Talk to me," he said, voice rough from sleep.
Lee didn't waste time.
"There's movement, officer. West woods. Not walkers."
Kenny added without shifting his aim:
"Yeah — whatever's out there ain't shambling, and it sure as hell ain't making walker noise. Too quiet. Too damn deliberate."
They had been watched for almost half an hour.
Then silence.
Hanks frowned.
A human threat was far more dangerous than a zombie one.
Anyone patient enough to observe rather than rush in already wasn't simple.
They were either evaluating the camp…
Waiting for the right moment…
Or waiting for reinforcements.
Hanks made a decision instantly.
"Lee — with me. We flank through the riverbank."
"Kenny, hold high ground. Fire support if things get loud."
"Carley, keep the kids alive. Nothing gets past the RV."
Carley nodded sharply, already checking her mag.
Clementine, hearing there was action again, quietly retreated to Katjaa and took Duck's hand.
Hanks slung both weapons into the fastest-draw position and signaled Lee.
They didn't enter the woods from the front.
They used the riverbank slope as cover, moving quietly downstream for nearly a hundred meters before slipping into the trees.
Hanks' Stealth + Insight passives kicked in.
His steps were soft as a ghost, barely disturbing leaves and mud.
Eyes sharp, scanning every shadow, every branch, every blind spot.
Lee followed closely, copying his movements, breath held shallow.
The woods smelled of damp earth and rotting vegetation.
Light dimmed quickly beneath the tree canopy.
After nearly fifteen minutes of stalking, Hanks suddenly raised his fist — stop.
Lee froze instantly.
Hanks had heard it — faint scraping… and the slow, heavy rhythm of someone's breathing.
Hanks pointed. The two split left and right, using trees as cover, inching forward.
Through the brush, the scene revealed itself:
A small clearing.
A ranger's cabin — weathered wood walls, broken window glass.
At the door, two men.
The first — a tall, heavily built bald man in a torn leather jacket — was kneeling at the cabin door, grunting as he tried to pry off the padlock with a hunting knife.
"Come on… fuckin' thing… open!" he growled through his teeth.
Several feet away, beside a large oak tree,
lay the fresh corpse of a buck.
A crossbow bolt was buried deep in its neck —
the body still twitching. Recently killed.
Right behind the buck was another man.
A lean man with a crossbow slung over his back — eyes sharp, posture tense — stood guard over the deer's corpse.
Unlike the bald man wrestling with the lock, this one missed nothing.
These weren't walkers.
They were two armed survivors.
Brothers, most likely — and from the looks of it, they wanted whatever supplies were inside that ranger cabin.
Hanks evaluated instantly.
Two men.
One with a crossbow.
One with a knife.
Not organized raiders — their gear was too rough, their movement too cautious.
But that didn't make them any less dangerous.
If anything, desperate loners were more unpredictable.
Hanks leaned toward Lee, whispering in a breath that barely stirred the air:
"I'll subdue. You cover. No gunfire unless there's no choice."
Gunshots would attract attention — walkers, or worse, other people.
Lee swallowed hard and nodded, tightening his grip on the Glock. His palms were slick with sweat.
Hanks signaled.
Both men moved — quiet as shadows, using the trees to close the distance.
Hanks angled toward the crossbowman — the true threat.
Lee crept toward the bald man working the knife.
Step by step, the gap closed.
Their footsteps were swallowed by the soft forest floor.
Only the rustle of wind in the leaves remained.
The bald man finally lost patience and snarled — pushing with all his weight.
CRACK!
The padlock snapped.
"Ha! I told you, Daryl! Ain't no damn lock keeps Merle Dixon out!"
He reached for the doorknob—
—and froze when Daryl suddenly whipped his head toward the woods.
Because Hanks moved.
He exploded forward — four times boosted agility sending him flying from the trees like a launched arrow.
Daryl reacted on instinct.
"Merle!"
The crossbow snapped upward —
but Hanks was already there.
His left hand clamped the man's wrist like an iron vice, wrenching it downward—
and his right elbow drove into Daryl's temple like a hammer.
THUD!
Daryl staggered, vision white-out, the crossbow clattering into the leaves.
He didn't go down — tough as rawhide — but he was stunned.
Lee rushed forward and kicked the fallen crossbow out of reach, Glock aimed at Daryl's skull.
Merle spun on instinct, eyes going wide at the silhouette barreling toward them.
He roared — abandoning the cabin door and lunging with the hunting knife.
Hanks didn't retreat.
He stepped in.
The blade sliced past his vest by inches — and then Hanks' left hand caught Merle's wrist, squeezing so hard the bones ground.
"GRAH!" Merle snarled in pain, swinging with his free fist.
Hanks' head snapped aside — the punch whooshed past his ear — and then he yanked Merle forward, ripping his balance—
and drove his knee into Merle's gut like a battering ram.
WHUMP!
The impact folded Merle in half.
The knife dropped.
Stomach acid and canned meat sprayed onto the pine needles.
Hanks didn't stop.
His elbow came down like a guillotine — smashing into the back of Merle's neck.
The bald giant's eyes rolled white. His legs gave out.
He crumpled — out cold.
It had taken seconds.
Two men — hardened survivors — both neutralized in a single exchange of violence.
Lee still had his gun trained on Daryl, who was struggling to get up, breath ragged, eyes unfocused but burning with fury.
"Don't move!" Lee barked.
Daryl obeyed the barrel of the Glock — not because he was scared of Lee…
…but because his eyes were locked on Hanks.
Fear.
Not obvious.
But there.
Because whoever the hell this man was…
his speed, his control, his brutal efficiency—
were not normal.
And Daryl Dixon knew fighters.
This one was something else.
Something very dangerous.
Something fast enough to kill both of them before either could scream.