Inside the office, the atmosphere was heavy with the faint scent of tobacco.Hershel sat quietly, pipe in hand, while Jason sipped his tea slowly, savoring it the way it was meant to be—not gulped down like water, but appreciated, one thoughtful sip at a time.
Jason finally set his cup down on the table with a soft clink.He crossed his legs, rested his hands casually on his stomach, and raised an eyebrow.
"I'm guessing Mr. Hershel didn't invite me here just for tea," he said smoothly."Let's skip the small talk. Speak your mind."
Hershel's grip tightened around his pipe as he stared at Jason with searching eyes."I want to know," he said slowly, "how much you really know."
Jason smiled faintly, as if he had been expecting the question.
"I know everything about this farm," he said coolly. "Including the zombies locked up in your barn."
The moment the words left Jason's mouth, Hershel's hand trembled.A clump of tobacco spilled out of his pipe onto his shirt, filling the room with a sharp, bitter smell as sparks burned small holes into the fabric.
"Ahh!" Hershel winced, hurriedly putting the pipe down and brushing the hot ashes away.He swallowed hard, pale-faced, and stared at Jason in disbelief.
"Have... have you been here before?" Hershel finally stammered.
"You've never seen me before," Jason said flatly. "Don't bother asking how I know.What you should be asking is—what are you going to do about it?"
The old man opened his mouth to defend himself, but Jason wasn't interested in excuses.
He slammed his palms on the table with a loud BANG, making Hershel flinch.
"You're a veterinarian, not an idiot," Jason snapped. "You of all people should understand life and death. Those things in your barn—they're dead.Their brains have been hijacked by the virus, running on instinct alone. They eat people, Hershel. They infect the living. They're not your neighbors anymore. They're not your family."
"I..." Hershel began, his voice weak, but Jason cut him off ruthlessly.
"Do you have any idea what would happen if they broke out of that barn?!" Jason roared."Maggie, Beth—your daughters—would be ripped apart!Just like the chickens you fed to those monsters. There wouldn't even be bones left!"
Behind the door, Maggie, who had been eavesdropping, gasped and accidentally bumped into the frame, making a loud thud.Jason heard it but didn't even glance her way.
He leaned forward, towering over Hershel, his voice low and dangerous.
"I'm telling you the truth," he said, each word like a hammer blow."The dead can't come back to life.You believe in God? Fine.Where is He now?This world has fallen apart. Shout to your God, Hershel! Let's see if He answers!"
Each word hit Hershel harder than the last, shattering his fragile beliefs.It was like someone had injected a freezing sedative into his blood—he could neither move nor think clearly.
For months, Hershel had clung to his illusions, hiding away on his farm, hoping the outside world would somehow fix itself.Other than a few desperate refugees at the beginning—who tried to steal his land and harm his family—Hershel had kept himself and his daughters isolated, untouched.
Jason's arrival had changed everything.
Hershel had seen Jason's group: how they lived, how they fought, how they survived.He was different from those who had come before—stronger, clearer, honest in a brutal way.
Just as Hershel was struggling with his thoughts—
BZZZT!
The radio crackled urgently.
"Jason! Jason! There's a young zombie behind the farm! It's approaching the cabin! I'm heading there now!"
Jason's eyes sharpened instantly.He turned, his hand already reaching for his weapon.
The conversation with Hershel would have to wait.