The quarry lay quiet beneath the mid-morning sun, deceptively serene after the tension of the previous days. Smoke drifted lazily from the fire pit, birds called in brief intervals, and the children moved carefully among the tents. But the calm was fragile. Everyone felt it.
Rick stood at the center of the camp, map spread across a crate, markers indicating the roads and forest paths leading away from the approaching herd.
"We split into two groups," he said, voice low but firm. "Party A will scout the roads, observe the horde, and clear the path if we need it. Party B stays here packs, supplies, and support. Radios stay on. Check in constantly."
Daryl adjusted his crossbow. "And the roads? Which way we heading?"
Rick traced a finger along a broken service road. "East, through the industrial district. Less traffic, fewer dead. Quietest approach to the next safe point."
Alister stepped forward, armor faintly creaking as he moved. "We will need precise timing. The dead advance slowly, but in force. Any misstep, and Party B could be compromised."
Shane's jaw tightened, already bristling. "You're not moving fast enough. Staying here will just slow us down."
Rick's gaze held him. "We move with care. Not haste."
Carol approached Dale, gently helping Jacqui adjust on her cot in the RV. "She's stable," Carol whispered. "Bandages are clean, no fever."
Dale nodded, keeping a careful watch. "She stays put for now. No strain, no carrying. She can help where she can, but we're not risking her."
Jacqui's eyes followed the adults quietly. "I'll stay," she said softly. "Just… let me help where I can."
Rick nodded once. "Under Dale's supervision."
The morning air was sharp, carrying the faint smell of smoke and decay. Rick, Glenn, Daryl, and Alister moved in a tight wedge along the cracked asphalt of a service road. Every shadow seemed to flicker with movement. Every distant groan twisted into a potential threat.
Alister led with measured steps, each footfall placed deliberately to minimize the clank of his armor. "Two clusters ahead," he whispered, raising a hand toward the faint shapes moving north along the highway. "They move with hunger, not random wandering."
Daryl squinted, crossbow ready. "How many we talking? Ain't just a couple dozen, right?"
Alister crouched briefly, scanning the uneven terrain and debris-strewn road. "Too many to count by sight alone. But spacing suggests a slow merge. Momentum is building. A tide strong enough to overwhelm our unprepared positions."
Glenn scribbled furiously in a notebook, counting walkers as best he could. "It's not constant. Some lag, others far forward. If they keep merging…" His voice trailed off.
Rick cut in, voice low but firm. "Then we don't wait. We need to map the gaps, the safe spots. If we do this right, the camp can relocate without risking exposure."
Alister's eyes scanned the horizon, noting every building, vehicle, and landmark. "Notice the wind direction. Their smell follows it. Any sound will carry more than you anticipate. Our presence must remain subtle."
Daryl muttered under his breath, adjusting the crossbow strap. "Subtle in that tin armor, huh?"
Alister's gaze didn't shift. "Armor is a tool, not a bell. The weight is predictable. Movement planned carefully produces no more noise than necessary. You will see it if we must demonstrate."
Rick nodded, marking positions in the notebook. "We'll need reference points. Buildings, wrecks, signs anything to gauge their approach."
Glenn leaned over the shoulder of a collapsed street sign. "There," he said, pointing. "That overpass. Could act as a choke point if we need to funnel or delay them temporarily."
Alister crouched beside him. "Do not underestimate them. Even a gap is temporary. Any obstruction buys minutes, not hours. If we must engage, strike precisely, then withdraw. The dead respond to persistence, not strategy."
Rick exhaled slowly. "We need timing down to the minute. Our window is small. We approach camp, deliver supplies, and observe from a safe perimeter. Then if necessary provide cover for relocation."
Daryl scanned behind them. "Sound like a plan. Ain't no way we let the kids or others get caught."
Alister nodded once. "Protection requires patience first, force second. Every distraction must be calculated. Every step measured. The enemy can sense weakness as easily as noise."
The group moved forward, weaving through abandoned cars and over crumbling sidewalks. Glenn counted and noted the spacing, Daryl kept his crossbow ready, Rick adjusted their path to avoid obvious high-traffic areas, and Alister occasionally paused to gesture toward patterns in the dead's movement, his voice low, instructive, almost clinical.
"See the convergence?" Alister whispered, pointing toward a narrow stretch of highway. "Two clusters will merge here within the next hour. If we can predict their speed, Party B can adjust camp positions safely. Avoid direct confrontation unless unavoidable."
Rick nodded, absorbing the data. "We keep eyes, report every shift over the radio. Any sudden movement report immediately."
The distant groan of a wandering walker echoed faintly. Alister's hand rested on the haft of his axe, fingers tightening subtly. "Do not react to every sound. Measure, observe, and move. Panic is contagious. Let them not infect your mind."
Glenn swallowed, gripping his pen like a weapon. "I'm recording it all. Every walker, every gap, every merge."
Daryl smirked faintly. "You planning to write a thesis after this?"
Alister's gaze flicked briefly toward Daryl, unamused but not hostile. "We are recording history. Survival is not instinct alone. It is observation, calculation, and execution."
Hours passed with slow precision. They mapped out the horde's flow, noting choke points, clusters, and lagging individuals. Alister's guidance kept the group disciplined, even under the ever-present weight of dread. They moved quietly, communicating in gestures and hushed whispers, as if every noise might summon a hundred more to follow.
Finally, Rick crouched behind a crumbled wall, binoculars scanning the horizon. "We've got enough data. Time to report back. Party B needs to start adjusting camp positions now."
Alister rose, testing his armor with a soft flex of the joints. "The path is recorded. The horde's movement predictable. We return, and the quarry can be vacated with minimal risk if executed as planned."
Daryl let out a low whistle. "Tin man's right. We ain't walking blind. Makes me feel… less dead walking."
Rick allowed a small smirk. "Good. Now let's get this info back, and keep our heads down. We're out before nightfall. And we still have a camp to prepare."
The quarry hummed with quiet urgency. Fires burned low, smoke curling skyward, but no one lingered for warmth. Every motion was efficient.
Dale crouched beside the radio, fingers adjusting the dial as static hissed through the speaker. He had been coordinating frequencies for the past hour, careful not to broadcast longer than necessary.
"Rick? Glenn? Daryl?" he said into the mic, voice calm but edged with tension. His eyes flicked toward the treeline. "Party A, do you read me? Over."
A brief pause then Rick's voice came through, distorted but steady.
"Copy, Dale. We hear you. How's it looking back there? Any problems?"
"So far, smooth," Dale replied. "Everyone's moving according to assignment. Camp's quiet. How about your end?"
"We've got a layout," Rick said after a beat. There was a tightness beneath his control. "It's a narrow window, but it's workable. We're heading back to camp now. Over."
"Understood," Dale said. "Radio check every ten minutes. Don't push your luck."
Static crackled.
Then another voice cut through. Faint and unfamiliar.
"Hello… anyone… copy?"
Dale froze. His hand tightened around the microphone. "Unknown caller, identify yourself," he said carefully. "This is Dale, from a survivor camp. Who's speaking?"
The static surged, then cleared just enough.
"Military… Fort Gillem," the voice said. Female. Controlled, but tired. "Sergeant Elena Vasquez. Are you… survivors?"
Dale's eyes widened. He swallowed."Stand by," he said quickly, then turned the dial. "Rick Party A you hearing this?"
Rick's voice came back immediately, sharper now. "We copy. Repeat the identification."
Dale keyed the mic again. "She says she's Sergeant Elena Vasquez. Military. Claims she's alone and looking for shelter."
There was a short pause radio silence heavy with calculation. "Sergeant," Rick said finally, voice calm but cautious, "this is Rick Grimes. We're a civilian survivor group. How many are with you?"
Static, then her reply. "No one. Unit's gone. I'm alone…"
Dale exhaled slowly through his nose. "Sergeant Vasquez, do not move toward us yet," he said. "Give your location. Landmarks only."
"I'm at a four-way intersection," Lena replied. "Trees to the east. Overpass west. Visibility's low. I'm staying put."
Dale knelt and scratched a quick map into the dirt beside the radio. "Copy that. Keep your radio on. We'll decide the next steps before dark."
"Understood," Lena said. "I'll wait."
The signal faded back into static.
Shane leaned in close, voice low. "Military, huh. Could be useful... or trouble."
Dale nodded, eyes still on the radio.
"That's why Rick decides. For now, we listen and prepare."
He keyed the mic one more time. "Party A, you heard all that. New contact north. Possible ally. We'll brief you when you're back in visual range."
Glenn's voice came through faint but clear.
"Copy that. Horde's still shifting. Two clusters merging north.
Dale straightened, resolve settling in.
"Understood. Everyone proceed as planned. Stay sharp."
Meanwhile, the rest of Party B moved quickly:
Carol and Amy packed essentials blankets folded tight, water's filled and sealed, medical kits checked twice, packed food. Neither spoke much, but their movements were efficient, practiced by necessity rather than habit.
Andrea and Lori reinforced backpacks, tightening straps, redistributing weight. Andrea paused once, staring toward the treeline before forcing herself back to work.
Shane, Morales, while Carl came with them, they moved along the camp's edge, dismantling anything that might slow them later and reinforcing what remained.
Merle lingered near the perimeter, knife resting loosely in his hand. He'd heard enough over the radio to be curious.
"A soldier, huh," he muttered to the empty air. "Let's see if she's worth the trouble."
Dale moved constantly between the radio, the RV, and the camp issuing short, precise instructions.
"T-Dog, extra ammo by the RV. Morales, help Jim with the pulleys. Allen, check the perimeter lines no slack. Merle," Dale added sharply, "stay where you are."
Merle scoffed but didn't argue.
Jacqui remained inside the RV, propped carefully against pillows, watching shadows move past the window. She hated being still but she understood why.
When Dale checked on her, she met his eyes with quiet resolve. "I'll be ready," she said softly. "When it's time."
Dale nodded. "That's all I ask."
As dusk deepened, radios crackled intermittently with brief updates positions adjusted, supplies accounted for, no movement from the treeline yet. The camp was surviving, adapting to the new world.