Bet Street's northern gate.
Old Walter tut-tutted as he watched the convoy of covered wagons carry away weapons and ammunition, his mind a mix of complex emotions.
"If that guy had distributed the guns earlier, maybe we wouldn't have lost."
The survivors of Bet Street had never even touched a gun because their respected town mayor had never intended to let them afford one.
As for the reason, he could see it clearly.
Compared to the Looters, who could be appeased with wealth, it was the Scavengers beneath his feet, constantly hungry, who truly scared him.
Old Charlie, who had just returned from pacifying the survivors, happened to hear this and cracked a thin smile before casually responding,
"The result would have been the same."
"Why?"
"Do you have faith?"
Old Walter was taken aback.
"Faith?"
Charlie glanced meaningfully at the Blue Jackets, full of spirit and steadfast at their posts.
"They do."
