The convoy, Dale's sturdy Winnebago and the sputtering pickup truck, lurched onto the I-85 interchange. The wide expanse of the interstate stretched before them like a concrete scar on a dying land. It wasn't the complete standstill they'd encountered on Highway 316, but it was far from clear. Abandoned vehicles littered every lane, some crashed, others simply left where their owners had given up. And among them, the ever-present, shambling figures of the dead moved with their grotesque, timeless persistence.
Ethan was in the pickup with Glenn, tasked with driving slightly ahead of the RV, picking a path through the debris. Lily was safely in the RV with Lori, Carl, and Sophia. Every so often, Glenn would lean out, tire iron ready, to shove a stray walker away from their path if it got too close, or they'd communicate with Dale via crackling walkie-talkies about upcoming obstructions. But Ethan's mind was miles away from the immediate dangers of navigation. The dead soldier's journal felt like a brand in his pocket, its words a screaming counterpoint to the fragile hope that propelled the group forward. The System's revelation about the CDC was a cold, heavy stone in his gut: Extremely low viability... Self-destruct protocol potential.
[INTERNAL CONFLICT: REVEAL JOURNAL CONTENTS TO GROUP LEADERSHIP? CURRENT PROBABILITY OF POSITIVE OUTCOME (RATIONAL REASSESSMENT OF CDC GOAL): 40%. PROBABILITY OF NEGATIVE OUTCOME (PANIC, ACCUSATIONS, LOSS OF TRUST): 60%. OPTIONAL MISSION REMINDER: 'INFLUENCE GROUP TRAJECTORY AWAY FROM CDC HAZARD'. STATUS: PENDING HOST ACTION.]
The System's cold probabilities didn't make the choice any easier. Sixty percent chance of a negative outcome. He could cause panic, be seen as a doomsayer, a troublemaker. Rick had just regained his family, just asserted his leadership with a clear, hopeful goal. Shattering that now…
"See a way through up ahead?" Glenn's voice cut through his turmoil. "Looks like a damn pile-up by that overpass."
Ethan forced his attention back to the road. The System highlighted a narrow, barely passable route along the shoulder. "Think we can squeeze through on the right, by the embankment," he said into the walkie-talkie, his voice sounding distant even to his own ears. He expertly navigated the pickup through the tight spot, the RV lumbering carefully behind.
Glenn and Dale were starting to rely on his 'good eye' for routes and his 'luck' in spotting trouble before it happened. But it was all a lie, a carefully curated performance orchestrated by the silent, unseen intelligence in his head, an intelligence that was now telling him they were leading everyone into a fire.
During a brief stop a few miles down I-85, necessitated by an overheating radiator on the pickup, Ethan watched the group. Lori was trying to organize their dwindling food supplies. Carl was attempting to teach Lily a simple string game, a fleeting moment of childhood innocence. Rick and Shane were poring over Dale's map on the hood of the RV, their brows furrowed, discussing the best approach to Atlanta's outskirts. Hope, fragile but tenacious, still clung to them.
Ethan knew he couldn't keep silent for much longer. The weight of the secret was too much. He decided Dale, with his calm demeanor and thoughtful nature, might be the first person to approach.
As Glenn worked on the pickup's radiator with T-Dog, Ethan walked over to Dale, who was topping off the RV's water tank from a jerry can.
"Dale," he began, his voice low. "That military checkpoint we passed… it got me thinking. They were well-armed, fortified. And they were overrun. If they couldn't hold out, what does that say about a place like the CDC, right in the heart of a major city?"
Dale paused, his expression sobering. "It says the odds are long, son. Real long. But it's the only lead we've got that speaks of science, of answers. Sometimes, a long shot is all that's left."
"But what if it's not just a long shot?" Ethan pressed, his hand instinctively going to the pocket with the journal. "What if it's… a known failure?"
Before Dale could respond, a crackle came over the RV's CB radio, a feature Dale had been tinkering with, trying to pick up any signals. Usually, it was just static. But now, a garbled, looped voice, weak but discernible, cut through.
"...Atlanta… lost… Repeat: City of Atlanta is lost… Containment failed… CDC status… compromised… Protocol… fire… active… Do not approach Atlanta… Stay away…" The message repeated, a ghostly, automated warning from a world that had already died.
A chilling silence fell over the group members who were close enough to hear it: Rick, Shane, Lori, Dale, Glenn, and Ethan. The children, thankfully, were further away, distracted.
[EXTERNAL INTELLIGENCE CORROBORATED: AUTOMATED EMERGENCY BROADCAST CONFIRMS SYSTEM ANALYSIS OF ATLANTA AND CDC STATUS. SIGNIFICANT INCREASE IN PROBABILITY OF GROUP ACCEPTING WARNING IF PRESENTED WITH FURTHER EVIDENCE.]
This was his opening. The universe, in its grim way, had just handed it to him.
"Rick… Dale," Ethan said, his voice steadier now, the decision made. He pulled the bloodstained soldier's journal from his pocket. "Back at that checkpoint… I found this. On one of the soldiers. I think… I think you all need to hear what it says. Especially the last entry."
All eyes turned to him, then to the small, ominous-looking journal in his hand. Rick stepped forward, his face a grim mask, the earlier hope in his eyes replaced by a dawning, terrible understanding as he locked eyes with Ethan. The fragile optimism that had carried them this far down I-85 was about to be put to its most severe test.
The air crackled with unspoken dread.