A Death Trap and Live Bait

Under the cold moonlight, the campfire stretched Lynn's shadow across the withered grass.

Dull thuds came from deep inside the barn, one after another.

The Jackal's report that a group near the oak grove had set its sights on the farm did not add to the pressure. Instead, it instantly cleared Lynn's thoughts.

He had never intended to stay at Greene Farm.

The place was too open to defend.

Hershel's notion of a "sanctuary" was a death wish in this world, not to mention the walker horde the barn incident had drawn in the original story.

Staying meant waiting to die.

But the system mission had locked him in: [Save Hershel's family].

These people had to go with him to the zoo base alive. That was nonnegotiable.

His original plan had been to use the chaos at the barn to force Hershel to face reality, then take everyone away by force.

But dinner had erupted into a shouting match. The old man's stubbornness had exceeded all expectations.

Using force would only make everyone resist, and might even hurt Maggie and Beth.

Only three days remained.

Now these bandits had delivered themselves to his doorstep.

They wanted supplies, the RPG, and everything on the farm. They planned to strike during the chaos.

That made this an opportunity.

A cold-blooded plan took shape in Lynn's mind.

He quickly pulled a small military encrypted radio from his tactical vest's inner pocket, flicked out the antenna, and pressed the transmit button, keeping his voice extremely low:

"Jackal, copy?"

After a brief crackle of static, The Jackal's flat synthesized voice sounded: [Copy, boss! Target group remains in position. Continuing observation. No change in behavior.]

"Keep your eyes glued to them," Lynn ordered curtly. "Any movement-gathering, handing out weapons, starting vehicles-report immediately. Stay silent. You cannot expose your position."

[Understood! Will report at critical points.]

The indicator light went out.

Lynn put away the radio.

His gaze swept over the camp and settled on the figure curled up in the shadows-Merle Dixon.

This lunatic had now become the perfect bait.

He nodded to Davis, who was keeping watch at the edge of camp.

Davis understood and moved silently to Merle's side like a shadow.

Without speaking, he simply rapped his knuckles three times against the jeep's hood.

Merle's eyes snapped open, fierce with the shock of waking.

He looked at Davis, then followed his gaze to Lynn beside the campfire. His mouth stretched into a silent sneer. Dusting himself off, he swaggered over with unusual quiet.

"Boss? We got some fun?"

Merle kept his voice low, barely containing his excitement.

Lynn got straight to the point. "One and a half kilometers southwest, at the edge of the oak grove. Eight to ten people. Hunting shotguns, machetes, a pickup with steel plates welded onto it.

"They've got their eyes on us. They want the guns, the rocket launcher, and the farm's supplies."

The excitement in Merle's eyes instantly gave way to naked savagery.

He licked his lips. "Ha! Scumbags! They dare come after us?"

"They want to strike during the chaos. Probably before dawn," Lynn said flatly. "I want them to move now. Immediately."

Merle understood at once and grinned viciously. "Got it! Play bait, lure the snake out of its hole, right? Draw those bastards out, then..."

He drew a finger across his throat. "That's my specialty!"

"Not just draw them out." Lynn stared at him. "Enrage them. Make them throw caution aside and attack ahead of time, with the farm as their target.

"Make plenty of noise. Let them think their chance has come, but don't let them actually hurt our people, especially Hershel's family."

He stressed, "Your job: first, expose yourself. Let them know where you are and make them think you've got something they want on you-information or valuable goods.

"Second, run toward the farm. Lead them straight into the farm fence. Ideally, get them fighting the farm's people first.

"Third, come back alive. Do not let this get out of hand."

Merle bared his white teeth. "Relax, boss! Making trouble and running away-I'm a professional.

"I guarantee I'll have those bastards howling mad, chasing me like rabid dogs and snapping at the farm."

He rolled his neck with a soft crack, his eyes brimming with malicious eagerness. "I'll go deliver their 'present' right now."

Lynn said no more.

He trusted Merle to stir up trouble just as he trusted The Jackal to kill.

Merle slipped back to the jeep. Instead of taking a machete, he pulled a suppressed pistol from beneath the seat and tucked it into the back of his waistband, then pocketed a few empty shell casings and a small, shrill electronic whistle.

After one last glance at the main house and barn, his face twisted into an almost deranged grin. Then he slipped into the darkness beyond the camp and crept toward the oak grove.

Deathly silence returned to the camp.

Only the crackling campfire and Lynn's figure remained.

He focused, picking out the wind, the cries of night owls, and his companions' restless tossing and turning.

He was waiting-waiting for Merle to light the fuse, waiting for those greedy hyenas to bare their fangs.

Time passed.

The moon sank westward, and the darkness before dawn approached.

Suddenly!

"Wheeeee-!!!"

An ear-splitting electronic whistle erupted from the southwest, piercing the night. Even the lights in the farmhouse came on.

Then Merle's wildly provocative laughter and curses carried on the wind:

"Hahaha! You bastards behind the oaks, quit fucking hiding! I can see your asses!"

"You useless fucks with your fire pokers think you can come after your granddaddy Merle?!"

"Want the rocket launcher? Want supplies? Want the farm's women? Come on! Granddaddy's right here! Come out and take them if you've got the balls!"

"I've got Scarface's goods right here on me! Come take them if you dare! I'll beat the shit out of you!"

"Too scared? Bunch of spineless, ball-less pussies! All you can do is hide behind trees and drool? Pah! Trash!"

His filthy taunts struck directly at the bandits' greed and anger. The rocket launcher, supplies, the farm's women... Merle goaded them again and again with the foulest language.

At the edge of the oak grove.

"Motherfucker!!" The scar on Tony's face twisted as he grabbed his double-barreled shotgun, knuckles white and teeth grinding. "That son of a bitch! He's fucking dead!!"

"Calm down, Tony!" Dave tried to restrain him, his own eyes behind his glasses filled with murderous intent. "He's baiting us!"

"Baiting us? I'll skin him alive!" Tony roared, shoving Dave aside. "He knows Scarface! He knows what we want! We can't let him get away!"

"Does he really have Scarface's goods?" Skinny Monkey's eyes lit up.

"Who gives a shit! Kill him! Take the farm! The women and everything else are ours!"

Another bandit roared, his eyes bloodshot.

Merle's words were like poison, igniting their savagery and greed.

"Fuck!" Seeing that he could no longer hold his companions back, Dave's eyes hardened. "After him! Don't let him escape! He's heading for the farm! Perfect! We'll take it in the chaos!"

The oak grove rang with the metallic clatter of guns being cocked and blades being drawn, mixed with low snarls. Seven or eight figures burst from the trees like enraged hyenas, charging toward Merle's curses.

The modified pickup's engine roared. Its headlights tore through the darkness like monstrous eyes as it hurtled toward the farm.

Merle looked back as he ran, hurling the vilest curses while sprinting at full speed toward the farm fence.

The electronic whistle in his hand shrieked every so often, guiding them precisely.

Inside the farm fence, every light in the main house was on.

Hershel, Maggie, Beth, and Jimmy rushed to the porch windows. By the moonlight and the distant headlights, they watched the chase across the open ground in horror.

"Outside! What's happening?!" Hershel shouted in alarm.

"It's those people from earlier today! They're chasing Merle!" Maggie gripped her rifle, recognizing Merle, the pursuers' weapons, and the pickup. "They're coming this way! They're coming for the farm!"

Roaring engines, curses, a piercing whistle-the threat of death slammed toward the isolated farm far faster than expected.

Lynn's plan had worked.

The death trap he had laid began to turn, dragging everyone into a bloody vortex.

Beside the campfire, Lynn opened his eyes. The distant headlights and the farm's lights reflected in his pupils, cold as iron.

He pressed the radio's transmit button:

"Jackal. The targets are moving. Follow the plan. Lock onto the leaders and wait for my signal."