Chapter 69 Shane! Shane!

Magnus Vane didn’t bother reloading the Remington immediately. Instead, he slung the shotgun back across his shoulder and brought the Quality 5 Stone Sledgehammer into his hand just as one of the walkers buried beneath the pile of bodies began trying to push itself upright. With Strength Lv10, his chance of turning a clean strike into a devastating headshot had become almost absurd, and one casual swing was enough to prove it again. The hammer connected with a wet crack, the walker’s skull bursting apart so violently that fragments and dark blood splattered across the nearby wall. Magnus barely felt the impact through the handle.

“Rick, Shane, T-Dog—switch to melee!” Magnus shouted over the noise. All three men were wearing the heavier protective turnout gear Magnus had distributed that morning, and each was strong enough to handle close-range fighting without panicking the moment a walker grabbed at them. Rick immediately drew his machete, while T-Dog switched to his crowbar and moved forward without hesitation. Shane, however, remained where he was, his eyes unfocused as though the fighting around him was happening somewhere far away.

“Shane!” Glenn yelled from behind.

Shane jerked as if someone had physically struck him. His eyes snapped back into focus, and he hurriedly drew his machete before moving beside Rick. Magnus noticed every second of that delay, but he didn’t comment on it; he simply turned back toward the remaining walkers and kept swinging. One after another, the dead collapsed beneath the hammer until only a single walker remained staggering over the bodies.

“Last one!”

Magnus stepped in and crushed its skull with one clean blow.

The corridor finally went still.

He exhaled slowly and looked across the pile of corpses covering the bottom of the staircase. “Same rule as before. Check every body, finish anything that can still move, then pile them together.” While the others began working through the dead with knives, machetes, and axes, Magnus stepped onto the first stair and turned back toward the group. “Once you’re done here, clear the staff cafeteria and see if there’s anything usable left inside. Rick, Daryl, Merle, Glenn—handle that.”

Rick nodded.

Magnus’s eyes moved to Shane.

“Shane. You’re with me.”

Several people looked toward him immediately.

Shane barely reacted.

He simply followed Magnus upstairs with the same numb expression he had carried since morning.

Glenn watched them disappear around the turn in the stairwell, then wiped walker blood from his jaw with his sleeve. He leaned closer to Rick and lowered his voice. “You think that’s a good idea?” Glenn had known Shane since the quarry camp, long before Rick returned, and had seen enough of the man’s temper to understand how quickly things could become ugly when pride got involved. Magnus was just as forceful in his own way, and putting both men alone inside a half-cleared building looked like the kind of decision that could end badly.

Rick took a slow breath. “Magnus is harder on people than I would be, but he isn’t reckless with his own.” He looked toward the stairwell where the two men had disappeared. “He said everyone who went in today was coming back out, and when Magnus gives his word, he takes it seriously.” Rick remembered how Magnus had treated Carl even while training him harshly, and how he had returned Daryl and Merle alive after everyone else had begun fearing the worst. “They’ll be fine.”

The second floor of the administration building appeared to have been designed as a rest area for correctional staff working long or irregular shifts. A few bunk beds remained pushed against the walls, while several offices and storage rooms lined the corridor farther ahead. The arrangement made sense for a large prison complex; staff could eat downstairs, sleep or rest here, then return to duty without leaving the grounds entirely. Magnus walked in front with the Stone Sledgehammer hanging loosely in one hand, while Shane followed several steps behind with his head lowered.

Neither man spoke.

Their boots made the only sound in the hallway.

Magnus continued forward until they were roughly halfway down the corridor, then briefly raised his eyes toward the suspended ceiling. Several panels were misaligned, leaving narrow gaps between sections, and something about the darkness above them immediately caught his attention. The corner of his mouth moved slightly.

He said nothing.

Instead, Magnus quickened his pace.

Shane didn’t notice.

Magnus passed beneath the center of the hallway.

Then the ceiling came down.

CRASH!

Several panels collapsed almost at once.

Rotten bodies dropped with them.

Two walkers fell completely free and slammed onto the floor, while several others were trapped at the waist above the ceiling, their lower bodies dangling from the broken framework as they twisted and reached downward. Three more crashed around Shane, cutting off his path and surrounding him before he fully understood what was happening.

Magnus stopped several yards away.

Then folded his arms.

He didn’t move to help.

Shane’s dazed expression vanished the moment the growling began around him. One half-rotted walker dropped directly into his arms, and instinct made him catch the torso before he even realized what he was holding. The corpse snapped its teeth inches from his visor while its ruined hands clawed uselessly against the heavy protective gear.

“Jesus Christ!”

Shane threw it away so hard that it slammed into the wall.

His heartbeat exploded.

Cold sweat immediately soaked his back.

When he looked up, he saw Magnus standing farther down the corridor.

Watching.

Not helping.

Shane stared at him in disbelief.

For one ugly second, a thought flashed through his mind.

Is he trying to kill me?

The walkers moved closer.

Shane took a step backward.

Then another.

He instinctively reached up as though to run a hand through his hair, only for his fingers to strike the hard protective hood covering his head. The failed motion seemed to make his anxiety worse. He was forced backward until his shoulders touched the wall, and his mouth opened as if he were about to call Magnus—or the others downstairs—for help.

Then he stopped.

His expression changed.

Maybe this wasn’t such a bad way for things to end.

The thought came quietly.

Almost peacefully.

Shane’s arms lowered.

His machete hung loose at his side.

The walkers continued closing in.

Their movements were slow, nothing like the Berserkers Magnus had faced during the Blood Moon, but that somehow made the moment worse. Their shriveled skin had darkened almost black, stretched tightly across bone, while empty eye sockets and broken teeth gave their faces a dried, corpse-like appearance. Shane closed his eyes as the nearest one reached him.

His breathing became faster.

Too fast.

Magnus watched carefully.

Even through the visor, he could see Shane’s face beginning to redden from the surge of adrenaline. The man might have decided in his head that dying would be easier, but his body clearly disagreed. Magnus’s eyes narrowed slightly.

Still lying to yourself.

If Shane truly wanted to die, he could have removed the heavy gear before following Magnus upstairs. One bite would have been enough to settle everything. Instead, he was standing there wrapped in layers designed specifically to keep walker teeth from reaching skin.

That told Magnus all he needed to know.

Shane didn’t want death.

He wanted relief.

And those were not the same thing.

The nearest walker finally bit down against the heavy fabric covering Shane’s shoulder.

Its teeth failed to penetrate.

Shane’s eyes flew open.

His pupils tightened.

The numbness disappeared from his face as though someone had flipped a switch inside him.

His machete came up instantly.

Shane drove the blade through the open mouth of the walker in front of him, angling it upward until the point punched into the brain. He ripped the weapon free, turned, and swung again at the corpse approaching from his left. The strike cut through the side of the skull and dropped it before it could grab him.

Then Shane exploded.

Every movement carried anger.

Not fear.

Not hesitation.

Anger.

He hacked through another walker, stepped around a fallen body, and drove his shoulder into the next one before bringing the machete down. Another reached from behind, but Shane turned fast enough to catch it by the throat and slam it against the wall. The force of his movements became heavier with every kill, as though all the frustration he had carried since Rick returned was finally being given somewhere else to go.

Magnus remained exactly where he was.

Watching.

Within half a minute, nearly every walker that had fallen from the ceiling was down.

Blackened blood streaked Shane’s protective gear.

His breathing became ragged.

Only one walker remained.

Shane moved behind it, locked one arm around its neck, and pulled the corpse backward against his chest. The walker thrashed uselessly while Shane brought the machete up in his other hand. Instead of stabbing through the skull normally, he slid the blade horizontally into its open mouth.

Then pulled.

The blade tore through dead flesh.

Shane kept cutting.

Slowly.

Forcefully.

Until the top portion of the walker’s skull came away.

The rest of the corpse collapsed.

For several seconds, Shane simply stood there holding the ruined upper half of the head while its jaw continued snapping weakly. Blood dripped from the machete, from his gloves, and from the edge of the severed skull. His arm was visibly trembling from adrenaline and exertion.

Then he turned toward Magnus.

The look in his eyes was completely different.

Magnus saw anger there.

But also life.

For the first time since Shane woke that morning, the man looked fully present.

This had probably been one of the most dangerous close-range fights Shane had faced since the outbreak began. He had done it with nothing more than a machete and protective gear, without gunfire or anyone stepping in to save him. Magnus couldn’t help feeling impressed.

That’s Shane.

Whatever else the man had become confused about, his instinct to survive was still viciously intact.

Shane walked straight toward him.

The half-severed walker head dropped from his hand and landed at Magnus’s feet.

“What the hell are you trying to do?”

His voice was low.

Dangerously controlled.

Sweat ran down his face beneath the visor, and his entire body still shook slightly from what had just happened. The machete remained clenched in one hand, and the way Shane stared at Magnus made it look entirely possible he might use it next.

Magnus didn’t step back.

“What am I trying to do?”

He moved closer instead.

“I wanted to see Shane Walsh awake again.”

Shane’s grip tightened.

Magnus took another step until only a short distance separated them.

“You spent all morning walking around like you were already dead.”

He stared directly through the visor into Shane’s eyes.

“I wanted to know if there was still somebody in there worth bringing back.”

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