The scene unfolding on Peachtree Street below was a horrifying spectacle of impending doom. Rick Grimes, their newfound beacon of hope, was swallowed by a tidal wave of the dead. His horse, shrieking in terror, was pulled down by a mass of grasping, decaying bodies. For a sickening moment, Rick himself vanished beneath the writhing horde. Then, impossibly, he was up, a lone figure sprinting through the chaos, his revolver flashing, making a desperate, zigzagging dash towards the hulking, silent form of an abandoned M1 Abrams tank at a major intersection.
He scrambled onto its hull, walkers clawing at his boots, and with a final, desperate heave, wrenched open a hatch and tumbled inside just as the full weight of the herd engulfed the massive war machine. The tank became an island of olive-drab steel in a roiling, groaning ocean of undeath.
On the rooftop of Harrison's, a collective gasp of horror and despair went up.
"He's trapped!" Andrea cried, her hand flying to her mouth.
"God, no…" Jacqui whispered, her eyes wide with terror.
Shane slammed his fist onto the concrete parapet. "Damn it! I knew coming into the city was a mistake! He's dead meat in that tin can!"
Ethan watched, his System rapidly processing the scene below, his own fear a cold knot in his stomach.
[Canon Protagonist 'Rick Grimes' status: Alive. Location: M1 Abrams tank, corner of Forsyth and Marietta. Surrounded by massive walker herd (estimated 300-400+). Vehicle structurally sound, but occupant is trapped. No immediate means of escape detected.]
Glenn, his face pale, was frantically trying to raise Rick on the walkie-talkie. "Rick! Rick, do you copy? Are you in there? Are you alright?"
Static answered him.
Back at the quarry camp, Dale's voice, relayed through Glenn's radio which was still intermittently connecting, would be painting a grim picture for Lori. Ethan could only imagine her anguish. (Self-correction: The previous chapter established Rick made contact with Glenn's walkie from the Sheriff's Dept. So, Rick has a radio. Glenn has a radio. Dale at the camp has a radio. The communication link is more direct than a simple relay from Glenn to Dale for Lori. Rick, if he can, will try to talk to Lori directly, or his general broadcasts will be picked up by both Glenn and Dale).
Suddenly, Rick's voice, weak, static-filled, and laced with exhaustion, crackled through Glenn's walkie-talkie. He must have gotten the tank's radio working, or was using his own. "Lori…? Carl…? I'm… I'm trapped… inside a tank… corner of Forsyth and Marietta… So many of them… I don't know… can't get out…" The signal was weak, broken by bursts of static and the horrifying sound of walkers clawing at metal.
Hearing Rick's voice, however faint, galvanized Glenn. He lowered the binoculars he'd been using, his expression transforming from horror to a steely resolve. "I can get to him."
"Are you nuts, Glenn?" Shane exploded, whirling on him. "That's a suicide run! There must be five hundred of those things down there! You won't make it halfway!"
"He came into this city looking for his family, for us," Glenn argued, his voice tight with conviction. "He's alive in there. We can't just leave him. I know these streets, Shane. Better than anyone. There are alleys, service ways… I can draw some of them off, create a diversion. Get him out through the top hatch."
Ethan, his mind racing, quickly processed the System's tactical overlay of the area around the tank. Glenn's idea was insane, but…
[System analysis: Glenn Rhee's proposed rescue plan. Risk Level: Extremely High. Probability of solo success: <5%. With Host's current knowledge and available resources to augment plan: Probability of success increases to approximately 30-35%. Optimal route: Forsyth Street alley, utilizing rear access of adjacent office buildings to approach tank from relative cover. Diversionary tactics critical.]
"He's not wrong, Shane," Ethan said, stepping forward, his voice surprisingly calm. He had to support this; it was canon, it was Glenn. "One person, moving fast, using the chaos… it's a slim chance, but it's a chance. The main herd is fixated on the tank itself. If Glenn uses the alley off Forsyth, like he said, and comes up behind those burned-out office blocks, he can get very close with minimal exposure until the last fifty yards." He was making it sound like his own sharp tactical assessment, based on his "knowledge of the city."
"And how do you know so much about that specific alley, Miller?" Shane challenged, his eyes narrowed.
"I got a good look at the city map when I was an intern at Harrison Memorial, used to walk around these parts on my lunch break sometimes," Ethan lied smoothly, a backstory he was slowly constructing. "That alleyway always had less foot traffic."
Before Shane could argue further, Ethan turned to Glenn. "Wait a second." He accessed his System Shop. He had 146 BP. The 'Smoke Grenade (Non-Lethal Diversionary)' was 50 BP. A crucial tool.
[Purchase Confirmed: 'Smoke Grenade (Non-Lethal Diversionary)'. BP -50. Current BP: 96.]
He "fumbled" in his backpack, then pulled out the familiar canister. "Found this in a military surplus store before everything went to hell. Never thought I'd need it. If you get pinned down, or need to create cover to get Rick out of that hatch, this could give you the few seconds you need." He pressed it into Glenn's surprised, grateful hand.
"A smoke grenade?" Glenn's eyes widened. "Man, Ethan… this is… this could actually make a difference! Where do you keep finding this stuff?"
"Just lucky, I guess," Ethan said with a shrug. "Now, listen." He grabbed the tattered city map they had. "If you take this alley here," he quickly traced the System's optimal route with his finger, "it doglegs, then there's a series of deep-set loading docks. Use them for cover. It'll bring you out almost directly behind the tank. When you get Rick, fall back through here," he indicated another path, "towards the old Public Library. It's a big building, lots of ins and outs, might be easier to lose a pursuing herd in there if you need to go to ground before making it back here."
Glenn nodded, memorizing the route, his expression a mixture of fear and fierce determination.
Shane still looked unconvinced but didn't actively stop him. The sound of Rick's occasional, desperate, static-laced transmissions, pleading for Lori and Carl, was probably wearing down his objections. The rest of the group watched in tense silence. Andrea gripped her shotgun, Jacqui wrung her hands. T-Dog looked grim. Morales crossed himself.
"Alright," Glenn said, taking a deep breath, tucking the smoke grenade securely into his vest. He had his water, his pipe, and now, a slightly better plan and a tool for confusion. "Wish me luck."
"You don't need luck, Glenn," Ethan said quietly. "You got this." He hoped he sounded more confident than he felt.
With a final, determined nod to the anxious faces on the rooftop, Glenn Rhee swung himself over the parapet and onto the top rungs of the ancient, rusted fire escape. He began his perilous descent into the walker-infested streets of Atlanta, a lone, brave figure on an almost impossible mission.
The group on the rooftop watched him go, each creak of the old metal ladder echoing in the sudden, profound silence, broken only by the distant, hungry moans of the dead and the faint, desperate crackle from the walkie-talkie that held the fate of their leader.