Free The Walking Dead: Invasion by Robert Kirkman Page A

of pines above a neighboring river.
    â€œAt first, I thought I was seeing things,” Stephen Pembry says finally, pacing the short length of the RV’s kitchen area. Outwardly serene, Jeremiah sits on the small sofa across the interior, his long legs crossed diffidently as he listens. He holds his cup of tea, but he hasn’t taken a sip since they started. He is rapt, transfixed, galvanized—not by their story per se , but by the inherent providence beneath the surface of it. Fate wanted them to stumble upon these figures on this random hill. The emotion wells up in the preacher as he listens, a combination of rage, excitement, and something unnameable, something almost erotic. “There they were, just as plain as day,” Stephen marvels. “I thought I was seeing ghosts. But I knew deep down I wasn’t. I took a closer look with the binoculars just to confirm what I already knew.”
    Reese speaks up from the other side of the kitchen, where he’s been nervously tapping a spatula on the edge of the tiny stove. “It was Lilly Caul , Brother … Lilly Caul and that young buck she was always hanging out with.”
    Jeremiah has a pleasant smile painted like clown-white on his face as he mutters softly, “Tommy Dupree.”
    â€œRight! Dupree … that’s it … Tommy Dupree. He was the son of that fella, was helping us.”
    â€œCalvin.” The preacher’s voice is even, measured, almost tender. “Calvin Dupree.”
    â€œCalvin, right!” Reese cocks his head. “Didn’t the kid blow him away?”
    Stephen Pembry chimes in, “That’s right, the little shit killed his own father.”
    Reese marvels, “If they made it outta that place alive … I wonder how many more of them did!”
    â€œMay I ask a silly question?” The big preacher carefully sets his drink on the side table. “Did either of you simpletons think of tracking these two?”
    Reese and Stephen share a jittery glance. Reese stammers, “The thing of it is … we figured … the fuel was the most important thing … at that moment … considering the situation … and we could … we thought—”
    â€œYou thought ?!” The preacher levers himself off the sofa and rises to his full height, which is formidable in any context, but especially in the tiny dollhouse of the RV’s living area, his huge pompadour hairdo scraping the ceiling with the imposing posture of a golem. The preacher clenches his massive fists. “Who told you to think ? Don’t you realize what you let slip through your fingers?! DO YOU NOT REALIZE WHAT THIS MEANS?!” Each young man starts, wincing at the booming voice of the master orator. “I want you two numbskulls to get your asses back out to that abandoned dairy farm on the double, and I want you to fan out and search the area. Bring Leland’s night vision goggles and enough provisions to keep you going for a while, because it may take days, weeks maybe, to find these people. But you will find them, or you might as well not come back. You understand? And when you do find them, I want you to keep your distance, follow them, keep an eye on them, and find out everything you can about how they survived that herd that overturned our Caddy and nearly killed us. Do you understand? Tell me you understand. Each of you! I want to hear you say, ‘I understand.’ NOW! SAY IT!”
    Almost in unison, their warbly, choked voices announce that they understand.
    â€œOkay.” The Reverend Jeremiah Garlitz lets out a pained sigh, smooths his hair back, stretches his neck, and gives a nod. “Now get outta my sight.”
    The two young men nearly stumble over each other in the process of departing.
    Jeremiah turns away from the door and listens to the cheap aluminum screen bang as the men make their exit. He takes in a deep breath and exhales