"I think it's pretty safe here," Morgan said firmly. "If you run around, you'll just run into more of them."
Jason frowned. Morgan's hesitation was understandable, but Jason couldn't afford to be cautious right now—not in a world like this.
"You really think this place will stay safe forever?" Jason asked quietly. He looked at Duane, then back at Morgan. "I get it—you're trying to protect your son. But this house? It's just an island. The food, the water… it'll all run out. And then what? This whole town will become a graveyard, and you'll be trapped in it."
He let the silence settle before continuing. "It's like grazing sheep in one field. Sooner or later, the grass dies. Then the sheep starve."
Rick, now stronger after a night of rest, stepped forward. "We plan to head to the police station. There are weapons, ammo—maybe even supplies. After that, we find somewhere else. Somewhere we can actually survive, not just sit around and wait for death."
The world had changed. Rick was finally starting to accept that. His old badge and rules didn't matter here. Only adaptability did.
"I…" Morgan hesitated, his eyes locked on a distant street. Something—or someone—was still holding him back.
Jason noticed the look and softened his tone. "Look, I know what you're thinking. But you've got Duane. If you keep clinging to what was, you might lose what you still have."
Morgan opened his mouth but said nothing. After a long pause, he nodded slowly. "Alright. I'll go with you. But when we're done—when I have a gun—I want you to help me with something."
Rick noticed the tension but didn't pry. They weren't close enough for that. Not yet.
So the four of them set out, riding old bicycles they'd found in the garage. They were quiet, fast, and didn't make the kind of noise that drew a horde. It was a small, green miracle—eco-friendly travel in the apocalypse.
Rick insisted on stopping at his house first. When he stepped inside, his heart skipped. The bags were gone.
"They made it…" he whispered, emotion swelling in his throat. "They're alive."
Overwhelmed, he turned and hugged Jason, who stood awkwardly in surprise before patting him on the back.
The hope in Rick's eyes was contagious.
Their next destination was the police station.
But danger was already there.
Zombies roamed near the building—dozens of them, many still in tattered police uniforms, some even wearing riot gear. A few lay on the ground, half-chewed and grotesque.
The group crouched behind a wall, watching.
"We need a way in without getting spotted," Jason whispered.
His eyes landed on a ladder against the far wall. "There. That ladder leads to the second floor. If we can reach it quietly, we'll avoid most of them."
The others followed his gaze. The ladder looked promising, but a cluster of zombies blocked the path. Some wore helmets; most bore savage bite marks. Once protectors of the town—now monsters.
Rick clenched his fists, pain flickering across his face. "We have to put them down."
Jason turned to him, surprised.
"They were my colleagues," Rick said, voice tight. "They don't deserve to be like this. Let's end it."
Jason nodded. No words were needed. The old world was gone—but honor, at least, could remain.