Chapter Text
Like so many great tragedies of the past, the fall of Howe’s began with something small. Something seemingly insignificant, in the grand scheme of things.
Namely, that Troy Bolton, top lieutenant of William Carver, was an idiot.
He was also a man with a long history of opportunistic substance abuse, which may have had some relation to the former.
One night, the second night Troy had spent back in Howe’s after trapezing all over the southeastern United States with his master, he was busy in his quarters celebrating his newfound opportunity to lord his tiny amount of authority over their new prisoners in whatever ways he saw fit.
Considering his history of substance abuse, it wouldn’t come as a surprise to most that said celebration involved a bottle of pills he should never have had but had managed to swipe from Howe’s collection of medicine.
Considering that he was an idiot, it wouldn’t come as a surprise to most that he’d decided to mix these pills with alcohol he should never have had, but had managed to swipe months ago on a scavenging run to a nearby drugstore.
Someone who wasn’t an idiot, or who hadn’t fried their brain through years of drug use, would have known that mixing medicine with alcohol was rarely a good idea.
Unfortunately for Troy, and for the rest of Howe’s that night, he was both.
Having already drunk half the bottle of what was some very strong whiskey, Troy’s judgement was impaired enough that he thought nothing of shoveling half the pills into his mouth at once, chasing them down with a long drag from the bottle.
He’d worked hard after all. Why not enjoy himself?
It wasn’t much long after that when Troy began to feel very, very sleepy.
He dragged himself into bed, chuckling with his last conscious thought at how much fun he’d have pushing around the prisoners tomorrow as he collapsed.
Troy fell asleep, too drunk and high to realize what a terrible mistake he’d made.
Troy never woke up. Perhaps many would have considered that a blessing, if not for what happened next.
Troy never woke up, but something else did in his place.
Derek Colt had been up terribly early that morning to help deal with lurkers that had broken into the expansion.
Any other leader would have recognized his service to the community, and given him a chance to rest up for the next time he was needed.
William Carver was not any other leader.
The result was that, like any other day, Derek worked himself to the bone, only to find himself working a night shift on guard duty on top of all that.
As one would expect, Derek was extremely tired as he did his rounds through the halls of Howe’s.
If he hadn’t been, things might have gone very differently.
That night, as Derek passed through the ‘Main Suites’, the original quarters that had been built for Howe’s, which contained the nicest rooms in the settlement and perhaps not coincidentally housed Carver himself as well as his top enforcers, he found himself stumbling over a corroded section of the floor.
He yelped as he fell into a heap, quickly picking himself up and reassuring himself that no one was around to see his humiliation.
He did this right in front of Troy’s door. A door that was cracked open.
That wasn’t a cause for concern. Troy had broken it the other night when the lock had gotten stuck, and he hadn’t been patient enough to try and jimmy it a little.
Any other night, none of this would have meant anything.
This was not any other night.
As Derek continued his patrol down the hallway, his brow furrowed at the sound of a door creaking open behind him.
Turning around, he was greeted with the sight of Troy, hunched over and groaning under his breath.
Derk was very tired that night.
If he hadn’t been, his instincts honed through years of survival in the post-outbreak world would have activated, and he would have at least exercised caution until he could be sure that Troy wasn’t a walker.
As it was, half-delirious with exhaustion, Derek simply let out a huff at the sight of a drunk Troy who’d apparently decided to wander the halls.
“Are you kiddin’ me?” Derek sighed as he walked back towards Troy, who was stumbling forward to meet him. “You know what Carver’s gonna say if he sees you like this? You know he’s pulling a late night.”
As much as Derek would have liked to ignore Troy all together, he knew Carver would somehow find a way to spin things around on him if he didn’t take care of this.
It was that impulse, that desire to avoid punishment from the harshest boss he’d ever had, that cost Derek his life.
“Troy, you hearin’ me? Troy, what are you-urgh!”
Reflexes dulled by his lack of sleep, Derek never even had a chance to defend himself as the undead Troy lunged forward, sinking his teeth into his throat.
It was over in a matter of seconds.
The walker formerly known as Troy soon grew bored with it’s meal, and at the sound of a door opening further down the hall, it eagerly got back to it’s feet in search of fresh prey.
Just a few minutes later, what was left of Derek would rise up to do the same.
In the meantime, Troy had claimed two more victims, a nice young couple whose female half had gotten up for a late night bathroom break.
She never had time to scream, and neither did her boyfriend, another one of Carver’s guards who’d thought himself lucky in not having to pull night duty for a change.
In less than ten minutes, the population of walkers within Howe’s had quadrupled. Like any virus worthy of the name, it was eager to spread itself far and wide, and it did so with a terrifying efficiency.
Troy, Derek, and that young couple may have been the first, but they were far from the last.
Not even close.
With every new victim, the walkers’ numbers only grew.
A guard caught off-guard while their attention was on the herd lurking in the distance.
The odd straggler who’d snuck off to a hidden corner to enjoy a cigarette or chocolate bar they’d been able to keep from Carver’s prying eyes.
Stan, Howe’s top mechanic who’d been so distracted searching through a toolbox for the right equipment to fix the bay door Troy had dented that he never noticed the source of his task creeping up behind him until it was too late.
Luke, a fugitive who’d been sneaking around in search of food to fill his starving stomach only to become the food.
Four walkers became nine. Then twelve.
And soon enough, this growing pack found themselves in the midst of a full buffet.
While Carver and his main lackeys enjoyed the relative comfort of the Main Suites, and those in lesser positions of importance had the benefit of the other quarters that had been built around the settlement, most denizens of Howe’s slept communally, in one sectioned-off corner of the hardware store.
This sleeping area, packed tight with the ordinary people of Howe’s resting fitfully in their sleeping bags, only had one way in or out.
A fire safety violation in better times, but in a world of living dead it turned out to be an even more deadly mistake.
The walkers descended on the sleeping humans, wasting no time in tearing into those closest to the exit.
Not all of them died silently. Some had enough time to wake up, to realize what was happening to them even as they were torn apart.
Some had enough time to scream.
No one had ever expected walkers to be a problem within Howe’s. The most the average person worried about was being singled out by Carver, or perhaps that the settlement’s ‘involuntary labor force’ would break free and exact revenge.
When the rest of the sleepers were awoken by the dying screams of their fellows, it was only human nature what happened next.
A panic ensued.
People were trampled. Fights broke out as some mistook others for walkers. One man threw another into the waiting jaws of a lurker in a desperate attempt to save himself.
All in vain, of course. There was only one way out, and that way was blocked by the rapidly growing horde.
Amidst screams of agony and desperate pleading to a God most of them had never been much interested in before that moment, the number of walkers rapidly ballooned. Fifteen, then twenty. Thirty. Forty.
Carver had been quite an ambitious man, recruiting so many people to fulfill his vision of a new world.
In their last moments, most of those recruits died cursing the day they’d ever stepped foot into Howe’s.
If one good thing could be said to result from the carnage, it was that the walkers’ presence within Howe’s was no longer unnoticed by the still-breathing population. It was impossible for anyone not to notice, after all the noise.
Unfortunately for those still alive however, there was no stopping the dominos once they began to fall.
Among those remaining guards on duty who had not yet been ambushed and killed, there were two broad reactions to the realization that a rapidly-growing horde was inside the walls of Howe’s.
Some charged right into the danger zone, blazing away with their automatic rifles in a desperate attempt to clear out as many of the dead as possible.
Others went for the armory, reasoning that they’d need some extra firepower to take care of things.
In different ways, each choice turned out to be a lethal mistake.
Those who went for the armory found their path blocked by walkers, what little ammo they had proving to not be enough to clear a path.
Even if they had gotten to the armory, they would have found the doors locked.
Two sets of keys for the armory existed within Howe’s; one belonged to a guard who’d been one of the first to be taken by surprise by an undead Derek. The other stayed with Carver at all times, who at the moment was rather preoccupied.
As a result, those who went in search of new weapons died in vain, fighting their way to an armory they wouldn’t have been able to open.
And those who’d chosen tackle the horde head-on, well…
They were able to cull the walkers. Maybe around half of them, before they ran out of ammo, forcing them to flee or be ripped to shreds.
What they hadn’t considered during their attempt at heroism, much to the grief of those still alive, was the herd outside.
Knowing how much danger Howe’s would be in if the herd noticed humans nearby and attacked, Carver had given strict orders to everyone within the settlement to avoid unnecessary noise. No shouting, no power tools except for what was absolutely needed… and no gunfire.
One could certainly argue that said gunfire had been necessary, considering how drastic the danger presently was.
In the end though, it made no difference.
Heads turning at the sound of gun shots in the distance, the herd to the south of Howe’s began making their way across the parking lot. The screams and shouting that became audible as they drew closer only hastened their shambling steps.
Before long, a herd of walkers thousands strong was washing over the strip mall that housed Howe’s, tearing down the poorly-constructed walls of the expansion and bashing on every door or window they could reach.
It wouldn’t be long before a hole was made, and the entire herd poured inside.
If Howe’s had not been utterly doomed before, it surely was now.
“We can take one of the trucks. It’s our only way out!”
Truthfully, Vince didn’t know if they’d even be able to push through the herd or not, even in a vehicle, but it was their best shot.
He sprinted between the aisles of Howe’s main floor, faster even than when he’d been running from the police all those years ago, all while gunfire and pained screams echoed all around him.
Along the way, Vince almost slipped on a puddle of blood, the source of which was no longer there.
Bonnie was by Vince’s side, a now-empty AK-47 white-knuckled in her hands. Becca trailed behind them, struggling to keep pace.
She was shivering, tear tracks running down her face. Becca had been lucky enough to have slipped off to the bathroom when the massacre in the living quarters had begun, allowing herself to survive until she’d found Vince and Bonnie.
Shel, her sister, had not been so fortunate.
There was no sign of Russell or Wyatt either, but right now Vince couldn’t worry about that. They just had to focus on surviving.
Carver was screaming something about ‘fighting back’ and ‘saving their community’ over the loudspeakers, near incoherent with the feedback of the microphone. Vince paid it no mind, simply considering it good luck that the idiot would draw all the dead his way.
“Hold on a minute,” Bonnie panted, slowing down as they passed by the rolling door that led out in the Pen. “What about everyone in there?”
“What about them?” Vince huffed, acutely aware that every wasted second lessened their chance of making it out of this.
Becca remained silent, in shock over what was happening.
“We can’t just leave them,” Bonnie protested. “They don’t deserve that!”
Vince wanted nothing more but to argue, to say it would take too long, but he knew if he did that he’d be the one wasting their time.
“Fine,” Vince bit out. “Do it quickly. If they screw us over, it’s on your head.”
It was an empty threat, considering how likely it was that they were all about to die anyway, but Bonnie just nodded quickly.
“Of course. Thank you, Vince.”
She hurriedly moved to unlatch the door, pushing it up to reveal the prisoners all standing on the other side.
They looked frightened, anxious, but also tired. They’d probably been sleeping as well before, well…
Before.
“What’s going on?” one of them demanded, the grey-bearded redneck guy. “What’s happenin’ out there?”
“Walkers are overrunin’ Howe’s,” Bonnie explained frantically, while Vince tapped his foot impatiently. “We think-the herd-it doesn’t matter now. You wanna come with us? We’re gettin’ out of here in a truck.”
There was no time for argument or debate, even the prisoners seemed to know that.
“We’ll come with you,” Carlos said firmly. “Come on, everyone, we have to move quickly.”
“What-what about Luke?” a little girl with a baseball cap asked, and Vince had to furrow his brow at the seemingly meaningless question. ‘We can’t just-”
“There’s no time,” the redneck interrupted her, urging the girl on with a hand on her back as the prisoners poured out of the Pen.
Sure enough, they were able to open up one of the loading bay doors to find a truck parked just outside, still ready to go.
Even better, the walkers in the south had thinned themselves out, having spread to encircle the rest of the strip mall. It was the perfect opportunity for Vince to plow through what little resistance remained, hands gripping the steering wheel tightly.
Vince didn’t know what the future would hold now. He was just grateful to make it out alive.
…Hopefully the former prisoners would also be grateful, enough to not turn on them once the shock had worn off.
Back in Howe’s, Carver continued to scream into his office’s microphone, face red with rage, a vein bulging in his forehead.
Fight back! Prove yourselves worthy of the new world! How could you all be so pathetic? Worthless! This is your own fault!
Simple, inspiring messages to urge his remaining people on as they were hunted down and devoured.
He continued to yell and shout and scream, as the last of the gunfire petered out.
As the final screams were cut off into choking gurgles.
As dozens of walkers forced their way through the meager barricade Carver had been able to set up in an attempt to secure his office amidst the carnage.
Carver screamed, still ranting and raving even as many pairs of hands, still warm but rapidly growing cold, grabbed hold of him and tore into his flesh.
William Carver died at the hands of all those who he’d failed, who he’d brought to Howe’s with promises of safety and prosperity only to treat them as toys for his own personal power fantasy.
Carver died, staring into the blood-drenched face of his top lieutenant, foam still clinging to his lips from the mixture of pills and alcohol he’d taken.
All the while, blaming everyone but himself until the very end.
For anyone who’d known William Carver, they’d never have expected anything else.
By the time the sun rose the next morning, Howe’s had gone deathly quiet.
With no more prey to be found, the walkers within had either wandered off or simply stood in one place, waiting for the next time someone would be foolish enough to catch their attention.
The undead Troy tripped down the stairs that led to the office and broke both it’s legs, now forced to crawl for however much longer it’s unlife would persist.
What was left of Derek found a nice spot in a corner, laid down, and went very, very still. Like many other walkers, it would remain there until something alive happened along to disturb it. Just a shame it was incapable of enjoying the opportunity to rest.
As for Carver, the mastermind of this failed community?
There wasn’t even enough left to come back. Just scraps of flesh or clothes and bloodstains all over the disheveled office.
Perhaps some would consider it a blessing, if they were the type to think that a person’s soul was trapped inside each walker, forced to endure a shambling purgatory for months or years until they were put down.
But Carver knew better.
Where he’d found himself now, surrounded by many of those he’d lured into his web of power and abuse, well…
Life as a walker would have been Heaven in comparison.