Chapter 52 — Merle Goes Down… Again
Merle charged like a bull that had finally snapped—
roaring, wild, ignoring Daryl's desperate grip on his arm.
This time, he'd learned.
He didn't throw another straight punch.
Instead, he suddenly whipped out a low sweeping kick,
aimed viciously at Hanks' supporting leg—
a kick strong enough to crack bone.
But…
With Agility 4 and Insight passives burning under his skin,
that "fast" attack looked to Hanks like it was moving through syrup.
Hanks didn't even bother stepping away.
He simply adjusted—
bending his knee slightly,
turning his ankle inward—
And let Merle's shin slam directly into the hard side of his military boot.
"THUD!"
"AGH—!"
Merle's breath exploded out of him as agony knifed up his leg.
It felt like he'd kicked a steel pillar—
and lost.
And in that brief stutter of pain—
Hanks moved.
He flowed in like a shadow, cutting straight into Merle's exposed centerline.
His left elbow snapped upward—
a brutal uppercut aimed at the underside of Merle's jaw.
Merle's eyes widened.
He barely got an arm up.
CRACK!
The block saved him from going unconscious,
but the impact numbed his arm to uselessness
and sent him stumbling backward—off-balance, vulnerable.
Hanks did not allow him even a heartbeat.
His right hand shot out—not as a fist—
but with fingers spread like an iron trap.
He snagged Merle's blocking arm,
yanked hard sideways,
and in the same smooth motion—
his right foot hooked Merle's rear ankle.
A flawless takedown.
A perfect destruction of balance.
Merle felt the world tilt.
Felt the ground vanish beneath him.
And then—
"BOOM!!"
The earth shook with the impact.
Dust exploded outward.
Birds scattered from the trees.
Merle Dixon went down hard.
This one wasn't a simple fall.
This one rattled ribs, rearranged organs,
and punched the air clean out of him.
He couldn't breathe.
Couldn't rise.
Could barely even think.
He coughed violently, clutching at his chest, vision swimming.
The entire fight—
from charge to collapse—
had taken less than five seconds.
Fast.
Efficient.
Merciless.
A masterclass in power, speed, and technique.
---
Daryl lay on the ground with Lee's Glock at his head,
cold sweat soaking his brow.
He hadn't even seen the exchange—
only the results.
His older brother—
the man who'd fought grown men since he was twelve—
lay crumpled in the dirt.
Again.
Lee swallowed hard.
He knew Hanks was strong.
But watching it happen was something else—
a brutal, awe-inspiring kind of inevitability.
---
Hanks stood in the amber light of sunset,
shadow stretched long behind him.
He exhaled a slow ring of smoke,
not even winded.
His voice was calm.
Almost bored.
"Still want more?"
Merle wheezed, coughing uncontrollably.
His face twisted—not in defiance, but disbelief.
He lifted a trembling hand—
as if he wanted to say something.
But it dropped uselessly into the dirt.
His eyes shut tight.
His chest heaved.
He didn't get up.
Merle Dixon…
finally accepted the truth.
He was beat.
And he knew it.
He was completely, utterly defeated.
In the face of overwhelming strength, all that outlaw bravado of his looked laughably flimsy.
Daryl glanced back at Lee.
Lee gave a small nod and holstered his pistol.
Only then did Daryl finally exhale, rushing over to check on Merle.
Hanks' lips curved ever so slightly.
He had recognized this iconic pair the moment he saw them.
The brothers—
one hot-headed and violent, respecting only strength,
the other hard on the outside but soft on the inside.
For men like this, small talk and diplomacy were pointless.
You didn't bond with them through conversation—
you bonded through fists.
Especially Merle.
If he didn't take a few punches the size of a clay pot, he wasn't going to sit down and talk like a civilized human being.
Hanks flicked his cigarette butt to the ground and crushed it under his boot.
Then he stepped forward and held out a hand to the man lying on the dirt.
"Can you move?"
His tone was calm, no longer icy—
"If you can move, get up. The ground's cold."
Merle's eyes snapped open.
He stared at the extended hand, then at Hanks' expression—
as if searching for mockery.
But he found only calm.
Breathing hard, he hesitated… then clenched his jaw and grabbed the strong hand.
With barely any effort, Hanks hauled him up like pulling a carrot out of dry soil.
Merle steadied himself, immediately jerking his hand away.
He turned aside awkwardly, rubbing his aching chest and back, but didn't spit out another curse.
"Lee, collect their crossbow and knives," Hanks ordered.
Then he added, "We'll keep them for now."
Lee moved quickly, gathering the fallen compound bow, hunting knife, arrows, and spare blades.
Merle's jaw twitched—he clearly wanted to protest—
but one glance at Hanks and the words died in his throat.
Daryl stayed silent.
This outcome was already far better than he'd expected.
Hanks ignored them and walked to the deer carcass that had stopped twitching.
He bent down, slipped both arms under its legs, tightened his core, and hoisted the nearly 200-pound buck onto his shoulder.
Strength, endurance, and load-bearing—
all of it worked together.
For him, this weight was nothing.
"Follow me."
Hanks tilted his head toward the brothers, tone leaving no room for refusal,
then started toward the camp with steady, unhurried steps.
Lee followed behind, gun raised, gesturing for the Dixon brothers to stay between them.
The setting sun stretched their shadows long across the thinning woods.
Before long, the riverbank came into view, along with the makeshift camp formed by two battered vehicles.
Kenny, perched atop the RV, noticed them first.
He saw Hanks carrying a deer—
and behind him, two ragged, dangerous-looking men.
Instantly, his voice sharpened:
"Lee! Report! Officer?!"
His shotgun lifted a few degrees.
Carley and Katjaa were startled awake, eyes fixed on the newcomers.
Clementine peeked from behind the car door, tiny hands gripping the metal, worry etched on her face.
"It's fine," Hanks' voice rang out, steady as ever.
"Ran into a couple hunters. Dinner just got better."
Only then did Kenny and Carley relax—slightly.
But their eyes kept sweeping over Merle and Daryl, judging, evaluating.
Lee jogged forward and whispered a quick summary of what had happened.
Hanks turned to the still-tense brothers and pointed toward the river.
"There's water there. Wash up."
Then he nodded toward Katjaa.
"Get them some water. We'll all have venison tonight."
Merle and Daryl exchanged looks.
Then they looked at Hanks—
the man who had flattened one and disarmed the other…
and yet treated them with a strange, straightforward fairness.
After a long moment, Daryl gave a small nod, tugged at his reluctant brother,
and the two silently walked toward the river.