The Third Dixon [The walking dead]

Chapter six

The light behind the doors faded to a clinical white as they crossed the threshold, the metal sliding shut with a final, echoing thud that made Measi flinch despite herself. Her gun was already up, tucked tight to her shoulder, muzzle tracking every corner, every shadow. Old habits. Survival habits.

"Daryl, you cover the back," Rick ordered, voice low but steady. "Hello? Hello?"

Measi moved instinctively, drifting a step away from the kids but staying close enough to put herself between them and anything that might come out of the dark. The air inside smelled wrong—not rot, not smoke, but sterile. Clean in a way that made her skin itch.

"Watch those doors," Shane said, sweeping his shotgun toward a side corridor. "Watch for walkers. Hello?"

A sound—soft, mechanical—clicked somewhere ahead.

Every gun snapped up at once.

Measi's finger tightened against the trigger as a man stepped into view. Middle-aged. Blond. Clean-shaven. Wearing a lab coat that somehow looked untouched by the end of the world. The way he stood—rigid, controlled—told her he wasn't helpless. Not by a long shot.

A gun cocked.

"Anybody infected?" the man asked.

Daryl didn't lower his crossbow. If anything, he shifted slightly, one eye trained on the doctor, the other flicking back to Measi. Protective. Suspicious. Exactly how she felt.

Rick answered evenly. "One of our group was. He didn't make it."

The man studied them, gaze moving from Rick to Shane, then lingering—too long—on the children. Carl. Sophia. And then Measi. She met his stare without blinking, chin tipped up just enough to say don't mistake me for a kid.

"Why are you here?" the doctor asked. "What do you want?"

Rick didn't hesitate. "A chance."

Measi watched the doctor's eyes flick again to the kids, to the blood on their clothes, the exhaustion written into every line of their faces. She almost smiled. People always softened when children were involved. It was a weakness—but a useful one.

"That's asking an awful lot these days," the man said at last. "You all submit to a blood test. That's the price of admission."

Rick nodded. "We can do that."

The doctor gestured toward the open doorway behind them. "You got stuff to bring in, you do it now. Once this door closes, it stays closed."

Measi didn't wait for another word. She shot Daryl a look—now—and the two of them moved as one, slipping back outside into the humid night. Walkers were already drifting closer, drawn by noise and light.

"Two on your left," Measi muttered.

Daryl took one cleanly. Measi dropped the other with a quick shot, then another with her knife when it came too close, blade sliding into the skull with practiced precision. No hesitation. No wasted movement.

They grabbed packs, ammo, whatever they could carry, sprinting back as the dead closed in. Measi fired once more, then ducked inside just as the doors began to seal.

The metal slammed shut behind them.

Silence fell—heavy, unreal.

Measi exhaled slowly, lowering her gun but not letting go of it. She scanned the room again, heart still racing. Safe didn't mean harmless. Shelters could turn into traps just as fast as open ground.