He starts to back away from her, which sends a wave of relief down Martinez’s midsection.
“I don’t mean to be rude,” Stevens says to the woman, “but I must be going. I’m sorry.” The doctor turns and joins the others.
Martinez leads the group around a corner and pauses on the edge of the sidewalk for a moment, adrenaline surging. For a brief instant, he considers cutting Stevens and Alice loose. They know too much, and they’re too tied into the community—they could be a huge liability. Worse than that, they may know Martinez a little too well. They could easily see through his gambit. Maybe they have already. Maybe they’re just playing along.
“Doctor?” Alice goes over to Stevens and puts a hand on his shoulder. Stevens looks crestfallen, rubbing his face. Alice speaks softly. “That woman’s son…?”
“I can’t think about that right now,” the doctor mutters. “It’s just too—I just can’t. We have to get out of here—we may not have another chance.” He takes a girding breath, looking down, shaking his head. “These people—they’ll just have to get along without us.”
Alice looks at him. “You’re right. I know. It’s going to be okay.”
“Hey!” Martinez hisses an urgent whisper at them. “Save it—we don’t have time for this right now!”
He gets them moving again—down a boardwalk, across another road, and down a side street toward the mouth of an alley two hundred yards to the south.
The hush that has fallen over the town bothers Martinez. He can hear the hum of generators, the rustling of branches against the wall. Their footsteps sound like pistol shots in his ears, the beating of his heart loud enough to lead a marching band.
He picks up the pace. The passersby have dwindled away. They’re alone now. Martinez increases his stride from a trot to a steady run, the others struggling to keep up. A moment later, he hears the one named Michonne make a strange comment to somebody behind him.
“Stop looking at me like that,” she says between heaving breaths as she runs. “Don’t worry about me.”
Glenn’s voice is barely audible over the noise of their churning footsteps and heavy panting. “Okay—sorry.”
“Keep it down!”
Martinez hisses a breathless whisper at them over his shoulder as they approach the mouth of the alley. Shooting his gloved hand up, he brings the group to a stop and then leads them around the corner of an adjacent building and into the litter-strewn darkness.
The alley is bound in thick shadows, sticky with the stench of garbage cans lined along one wall, a single flickering emergency light at the far end providing the only illumination. The beating of Martinez’s heart kicks up a degree. He quickly surveys the area. He sees the sentry at the far end of the alley.
“Okay—wait here a minute,” he says to the others. “I’ll be right back.”
Now Martinez faces another grand performance—a role within a role within a role—as he sniffs back his nerves and starts toward the end of the alley. He can see the young gang-banger on the lift platform thirty yards away, his back turned, an AK in his arms as he stares over a temporary barricade of riveted steel panels.
On the other side of the barricade lies the dark outskirts and freedom.
“Hey—hey, kid!” Martinez approaches the sentry with a genial wave. He keeps his voice casual but authoritative, as if giving a pet cat an order to get off the dinner table. “I’m taking over for you!”
The kid flinches with a start, and then he turns and looks down. Hardly out of his teens, with a spindly body decked out in hip-hop regalia, a headband drawn around his Jheri curls, he looks as though he’s playing cops and robbers on the perch. He also looks slightly stoned and more than a little paranoid.
Martinez comes closer. “Hand me that rifle and run along. I’ll cover the rest of your shift.”
The kid starts climbing down with a shrug. “Sure, man—whatever.” He hops to the pavement. “But, uh … why you doin’ this? You need me somewhere else or somethin’?”
Martinez reaches for the AK in the kid’s arms, again with that pet owner tough love in his voice. “Don’t ask any questions. I’m doing you a favor here. Hand me the gun, thank me—and enjoy your time off.”
The kid stares at him, handing over the firearm. “Uh … sure.”
The kid walks away, heading back down the alley, mumbling to himself. “Whatever … whatever, man … it’s your show … I just work here.”
*
The others huddle behind the adjacent edifice until the sentry has emerged from the alley and sauntered off into the night, muttering an off-key version of some obscure rap tune. They wait until the kid vanishes around a corner. Rick then gives Glenn a nod, and they slip into the alley—one by one—quickly traversing the length of dark, reeking, garbage-stained pavement.
Martinez is waiting for them on the lift perch, gazing down at them with businesslike fervor. “Come on!” He motions them over. “We get over this wall and we’re home free.”
The group gathers at the base of the barricade.
Martinez looks down at them. “This worked out better than I thought it would—but we still need to hurry. One of the Governor’s goons could walk by any minute.”
Holding his stump, Rick looks up at him. “Right, right … and you think we’re not in a hurry to get out of here?”
Martinez manages a tense smile. “Yeah, I guess I see your point.”
Behind Rick, a voice murmurs something that Martinez doesn’t catch at first.
Rick starts, spins, and looks at Michonne. Glenn does the same. In fact, they all turn and look at the black woman, who stands in the shadows, looking grim and stoic as she stares off at the night.
“I’m not leaving yet,” she utters in a voice so cold and committed it could be a declaration of name-rank-and-serial-number.
“What?!” Glenn gawks at her. “What are you talking about?!”