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89.47% The Walking Dead : Lee Everett / Chapter 17: Chapter 17 : The Price of Safety

Chapter 17: Chapter 17 : The Price of Safety

As Lee woke up, a sliver of dawn light illuminated the room he had chosen in the fuel station. It wasn't much—just four walls, a cot, and enough space for his makeshift family to huddle together—but it was theirs, a fragile sanctuary amidst the chaos. The faint rustling of movement outside reached his ears, but inside, it was still and calm. His family remained close, their breaths steady, a reminder of why he fought so hard to keep them safe.

Rising slowly, Lee stretched, feeling the ache in his muscles from days of unrelenting survival. He stepped out of the room, the cool morning air brushing against his face as he took in the scene outside. Glenn was busy at the entrance, working with Kenny and Shawn to reinforce a wall. They were piling scrap wood, metal sheets, and whatever else they could find to seal off the station further. Each swing of a hammer and scrape of a tool was a testament to their determination to survive.

Lee's eyes fell on Shawn, who moved with surprising ease now. His leg had healed well, thanks to the supplies they had scavenged from the drugstore and the expertise of Hershel and Patricia. It was a rare victory in a world where loss was far more common.

Glenn looked up, meeting Lee's gaze. There was a quiet understanding between them. Glenn nodded, and Lee returned the gesture. He felt a pang of gratitude that Glenn had stayed, choosing their group over his risky plan to go to Atlanta in search of his friends. Glenn, too, had come to terms with the grim likelihood that his friends were gone, lost to the nightmare that had engulfed the world. Yet, Lee knew it wasn't just resignation that kept Glenn here. It was a calculated decision. Together, they had a better chance of finding a secure place, and Glenn had come to trust Lee's instincts and his skill at keeping the walkers—and other threats—at bay.

With Lee, Glenn believed they could protect more people, and save more lives. It was hope, fragile but real, that anchored him to their group.

Lee made his way to the car parked at the main entrance—a makeshift barricade against intruders. He climbed in through the door accessible from inside the station, maneuvering over to the opposite door. Opening it cautiously, he pushed away the large dustbin he had wedged against it for added security. Once he was outside, he repositioned the dustbin back into place, ensuring the barrier was intact.

"Where are you going?" 

Kenny's voice called out, laced with concern.

Lee turned to him. 

"To look for the place I promised. I'll be back by noon. Don't go outside unless it's necessary. If anything comes up, use Sandra's Walkie-Talkie to contact me."

Kenny, Glenn, Shawn, Natasha, Lilly, and Carly had all expressed their concerns, and their shared belief that Lee shouldn't go alone. Each of them had their reasons, from Kenny's instinct to stick together for safety, to Glenn's unease at leaving a member of the group vulnerable. Shawn had even volunteered to go despite his recent recovery, while Lilly and Carly emphasized the danger of splitting up in such uncertain times. Their voices overlapped in heated discussion, united by the same underlying thought: Lee shouldn't do this on his own.

It was a good thing that Hershel's family was still sleeping in the room otherwise there would have been even a big cluster to stop him.

But Lee had cut them off before their arguments could gain any ground. His tone was firm, resolute—a leader's tone.

"No" 

He said, his gaze sweeping across their faces, meeting each one. 

"I need to do this alone. If we all leave, who's going to keep everyone else safe here? Someone has to stay behind and make sure this place stays secure."

His words were like a shield against their protests. One by one, they fell silent, though their expressions betrayed their reluctance. Glenn's lips pressed into a tight line, and Kenny let out a frustrated sigh, crossing his arms over his chest. Lilly and Carly exchanged a glance but didn't argue further. Even Shawn, who had seemed the most determined to join, eventually backed down.

"You know we're just trying to look out for you" 

Kenny said finally, his voice low but steady.

"I know" 

Lee replied, softening slightly. 

"But this is something I need to do. It's not just about finding a safer place—it's about knowing what's out there, what we're up against. If something happens to me, you'll know I did it for the group."

They didn't like it, but they let him go. Lee could see it in their eyes—the worry, the fear of what might happen if he didn't return. But he also saw something else: trust. Even in their disagreement, they trusted his judgment. That trust was a heavy burden, but it was also what kept Lee moving forward.

Lee turned and walked into the forest that bordered the fuel station. The path was unmarked, the thick canopy of trees above casting shadows that danced with the early light. He didn't know exactly where the place he sought was located, but he couldn't afford to wait. Time was a luxury they didn't have.

His mind churned with thoughts as he moved, his Knife in hand, ready for any threats that might emerge. He needed to harden himself for what lay ahead. This world demanded a cruel calculus—some people couldn't be saved, and trying to do so could mean risking everything. It was a harsh reality, but one Lee had begun to accept. Survival meant making impossible choices.

The place he was searching for was St. John's Dairy Farm. He knew of it—a farm with defenses that could rival most places. It boasted an electric fence that not only kept walkers out but killed them upon contact. The farm supposedly had livestock, including a cow, and enough resources to sustain a small group. Though it was a dangerous place, it was a risk worth taking. Compared to Hershel's farm, which had vast open spaces and was difficult to patrol, St. John's was smaller, and more manageable. It could become the safe haven they desperately needed.

After walking for nearly an hour, Lee emerged into an open area. The dense trees gave way to rolling fields, and in the distance, he saw it. The farm. St. John's Dairy Farm. Its silhouette stood stark against the horizon, surrounded by fields of grass and enclosed by a fence that glinted faintly in the sunlight.

Lee dropped to a crouch, blending into the tall grass as he scanned the area. His eyes darted over the farmhouse, the barn, and the surrounding fields. The place looked quiet, almost eerily so. There were no signs of movement, no people, no walkers. His grip tightened on his Knife as he watched, waiting, searching for any indication of life.

Lee crouched in the tall grass, There they were, The St. John's Kids, Two brothers.

The two brothers had to be eliminated. It wasn't just a necessity—it was survival. This family was a plague, a twisted breed of monsters who preyed on the living. Cannibals. They lured people into their farm with warmth and kindness, kept them close like unsuspecting livestock, and when the moment was right, they struck. Cutting off limbs. Keeping victims alive to harvest them piece by piece. They were the worst kind of evil, the kind you never see coming until it's too late.

Lee had no choice. His group's survival depended on this. Taking the farm meant food, shelter, and safety—things that were becoming harder to find. But taking it also meant bloodshed, something Lee had never done before. Killing walkers was already a bitter pill to swallow, knowing they had once been human. Killing the living? That was a line he never thought he'd cross.

The two brothers were on the front stairs of the house, casually sitting as if the world outside wasn't a nightmare. Lee watched them from the cover of the trees, his breath steady but his heart racing. He moved carefully, circling the perimeter to reach the back of the property.

Pulling a stool from his inventory, he positioned it outside the electrified fence. The faint hum of the current buzzed in his ears, a deadly reminder of what would happen if he miscalculated. With a steadying breath, he stepped onto the stool and leaped over, landing silently on the other side.

He didn't bring anyone with him. Not because he didn't trust them, but because they weren't ready. None of them were. Killing wasn't something you could ease into—it was all or nothing. And a single moment of hesitation could get them all killed. Lee wasn't willing to gamble their lives on inexperience. If someone had to bear this weight, it would be him.

The back door was ajar, an oversight born of arrogance. The electrified fence gave the St. Johns a false sense of security. They believed no one would dare to cross into their territory. Lee smirked grimly at their mistake as he pushed the door open wider, his footsteps silent against the creaking wood.

The kitchen greeted him first, the air thick with a grotesque scent that made his stomach churn. It was faint, but unmistakable—rotting flesh, masked by spices and something sour. He froze, his eyes scanning the dimly lit room until they landed on her.

The matriarch of this hellish family. The Mother of the St. Johns. She stood by the counter, her back to him as she hummed a hauntingly cheerful tune. A butcher's knife gleamed in her hand, and a chunk of meat lay on the cutting board—raw and disturbingly pink.

This woman, this monster, had raised her sons to see humanity as a buffet. She had passed down her twisted mindset, turning them into predators who saw no difference between a cow and a man.

Lee clenched his fists. The time for hesitation was over.

He moved swiftly, each step measured and deliberate, though his mind churned in chaos. The weight of what he was about to do pressed heavily on his chest, like a storm cloud gathering above. He could feel the anger boiling in his veins, a visceral disgust for the St. Johns and the horrors they had inflicted on others. They deserved this—every ounce of justice, no matter how brutal.

But in the back of his mind, that old part of him, the part that had once believed in a world with rules and morality, still screamed. 

Killing was wrong. 

It always had been. 

It always would be.

Yet the world had changed. There were no courts, no prisons, no law left to stop people like the St. Johns. If Lee didn't act, they would keep preying on the helpless, and his people could be next. He couldn't let that happen.

He clenched his jaw, forcing his thoughts to be still. This wasn't about right or wrong anymore. It was about survival.

As he moved closer to his target, his hands began to steady, his breath becoming slow and even. The time for second-guessing had passed. This would be his first human kill, and he had to be ready to carry the weight of it.

It wasn't just an act of violence—it was a necessary sacrifice for the lives of those he cared about. Lee gripped the handle of his Knife tighter, his resolve hardening like stone.

He was ready. Or at least, he had to be.

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[A/N] : MERRY CHRISTMAS TO ALL OF YOU!!!


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