The Walking Dead_ The Road to Woodbury - By Robert Kirkman Page 0,48

his flannel shirt are scissored off. His arms are heavily muscled.

At first, things are happening almost too quickly for Josh to track as he stands his ground with the barrel of his .38 pinned on Bandanna Man.

From behind the checkout lanes, Bob Stookey charges toward the intruders with his Desert Eagle gripped in both hands, commando-style, his red-rimmed eyes wide with drunken heroism. “LET HER GO!” The object of his pique stands behind the bandanna dude, held captive by a younger member of the raiding party. Megan Lafferty squirms angrily in the grip of a wild-eyed black kid, a greasy hand across her mouth, keeping her quiet.

“BOB—DON’T!” Josh bellows at the top of his lungs, and the booming authority of his voice seems to slam the brakes on Bob’s gallantry. The older man falters at the end of the checkout lanes, stuttering to a stop a mere twenty feet from the guy holding Megan prisoner. Breathing hard, the old juicer stares helplessly at Megan. Josh can see the emotions all stirred up in the older man.

“Everybody chill!” Josh orders his people.

Scott Moon appears behind Bob with the old squirrel gun raised.

“Scott, cool it with the shotgun!”

The man in the bandanna doesn’t lower his AK-47. “Let’s dial it down, folks, come on—we’re not looking to get into any O.K. Corral–type situation here.”

Behind the dark-skinned dude stand five other men with heavy-duty weaponry. Mostly in their thirties, some black, some white, some in hip-hop street attire, others in ragged army fatigues and down vests, they look rested and well fed and maybe even a little high. Most importantly to Josh, they look as though they would just as soon start blasting as engage in any kind of diplomacy.

“We’re cool,” Josh says, but he’s fairly certain that the tone of his voice, the set of his jaw, and the fact that he too has refrained from lowering his gun—all of this probably sends a countervailing message to Bandanna Man. “Aren’t we, Bob? Aren’t we cool?”

Bob mumbles something inaudible. The Desert Eagle remains in its upright, locked position, and for a brief and awkward moment, the two groups stand each other off with guns pointed at key pieces of anatomy. Josh doesn’t like the odds—the intruders are packing enough firepower to take down a small garrison—but on the other hand, Josh’s side has three working firearms all pointed, at the moment, directly at the raiding party’s leader, whose loss might put a serious kink in this little posse’s group dynamic.

“Let the girl go, Haynes,” Bandanna Man orders his underling.

“But what about—”

“I said let her go!”

The wild-eyed black kid shoves Megan toward her comrades, and Megan stumbles for a moment, nearly falling, but then manages to stay upright and stagger over to Bob. “What a bunch of fucking dicks!” she grumbles.

“You okay, sweetie?” Bob asks, putting his free arm around her, but not taking his eyes (or the barrel of the magnum) off the intruders.

“Assholes snuck up on me,” she says, rubbing her wrists, glowering back at them.

Bandanna Man lowers his gun and addresses Josh. “Look, we can’t take any chances these days, we didn’t know you from Adam … we’re just looking after our own.”

Unconvinced, Josh keeps the .38 beaded directly on Bandanna Man’s chest. “What does that have to do with snatching that girl outta the truck?”

“Like I said … we didn’t know how many of you we were dealing with … who she was gonna warn … we didn’t know anything.”

“You own this place?”

“No … whaddaya mean? No.”

Josh gives him a cold smile. “Then lemme make a suggestion … as to where we go from here.”

“Go ahead.”

“There’s plenty of stuff left in here … why don’t y’all let us pass and you can have the rest.”

Bandanna Man turns to his gang. “Guns down, guys. Come on. Step it on back. Come on.”

Almost reluctantly the rest of the intruders comply and lower their weapons.

Bandanna Man turns back to Josh. “Name’s Martinez … I’m sorry we got off on the wrong foot.”

“Name’s Hamilton and it’s nice to meet you and I’d appreciate it if you’d let us pass.”

“No problema, mi amigo … but can I just make a suggestion to you before we conclude our business together?”

“I’m listening.”

“First off, is there any way you could stop pointing those guns at us?”

Josh keeps his eyes on Martinez as he lowers his gun. “Scott, Bob … go ahead … it’s okay.”

Scott puts the shotgun on his shoulder and leans against a checkout belt to listen. Bob