Group A gathered just beyond the tree line, voices kept low. The discussion turned, inevitably, to the unknown voice on the radio the supposed ally. Rick's unease was obvious, mirrored by Glenn's nervous pacing. Neither liked the idea of introducing another variable when walkers were already pressing in.
Alister and Daryl, however, were noticeably calmer. To them, uncertainty was worse than confrontation. Better to know who or what they were dealing with than to leave a question unanswered.
Rick exhaled slowly.
"Okay," he said, a gruff edge in his voice. "We don't know this person. And we are not letting them know where our camp is. Understand?"
"Right right," Glenn said quickly, rubbing his palms together. "We need to be smart about this. We're already dealing with walkers. The people back at camp can't afford another risk."
Daryl shifted his weight, eyes fixed on the trees.
"I can get to her," he said. "Y'all head back to camp."
"No," Rick replied immediately, tone sharp. "I need you back there. I want Alister to handle this."
Daryl frowned. Rick continued before he could protest.
"Your brother won't be happy if I send you out alone. And we all know how Merle is. Don't we?" Rick turned to Alister. "You up for this?"
Alister inclined his head slightly.
"Hm. It is what must be done."
He began unfastening his armor, the soft clink of metal carrying in the quiet air. He handed it to Rick without ceremony.
"I will not need this," Alister said calmly. "Mobility matters more. Hand me the map, and I will retrieve this person you speak of."
Rick took the armor, surprised by its weight even after days of seeing Alister wear it.
"Thank you," he said sincerely. "Be back before nightfall. If you're not—"
"We will come for you," Glenn finished quietly.
Alister nodded once, then turned and walked away as Rick and the others headed back toward camp.
---
As Alister moved alone.
The solitude stirred memories he did not expect. He laughed softly to himself as his memories resurfaced his time as a knight's squire, sent alone into the woods by a master who was renowned in war and infuriating in every other way. A man undefeated by many, yet incapable of eating barracks food without complaint. A man who taught Alister everything by forcing him to endure hunger, cold, and discipline.
He glanced down at the weapons in his hands.
An axe familiar, yet unfamiliar at the same time, changed by this new world.
A sword which is heavy, unbalanced, never meant for true combat.
The afternoon sun spilled across cracked concrete roads, alien beneath his boots. No dirt paths. No stonework. Just endless gray stretching through a dying land.
"This place is not my own," Alister thought. "A plague unlike any other. The dead walk. Life fades with every moment wasted, because I am only one man. With no army, no brothers beside me, no master that guides me."
His grip tightened.
"I will not let this world end."
He did not know when those words became a vow rather than a thought but he knew why he carried them.
Because he was a knight.
Conviction. Pride. And trust on humanity.
Alister walked on with renewed purpose.
---
Rick returned with the others and immediately called for a meeting. Glenn spread his maps and notes across a crate as the group gathered.
The group gathered tight around the crate where Glenn's maps were spread. No one sat. No one relaxed. The quarry felt smaller now, the tree line closer than it had ever been.
Rick stood over the map, finger marking slow, deliberate lines.
"We tracked the horde for hours," he said. "They're moving southeast. Not fast but steady. Based on spacing and the terrain, we've got less than a day before they're within visual range."
A murmur rippled through the group.
Glenn spoke next, voice precise. "They're not one mass yet. Two main clusters, several trailing groups. If they completely merge with each other, we lose any chance of slipping out unnoticed."
Dale adjusted his glasses. "What's our days of margin?"
Rick didn't hesitate. "Hours. Not days."
Andrea leaned forward. "And our route?"
Rick tapped the map. "Industrial service road east. Fewer abandoned vehicles. Narrow enough to control movement, wide enough to move people fast."
Morales frowned. "What about noise? Our kids might be in danger."
"That's why the timing matters," Rick replied. "We move before they can merge. If we miss that, we don't force it."
Merle scoffed. "So what we sit on our hands and hope the dead follows your schedule?"
Rick met his stare. "No. We prepare in advance, and we move when the window opens."
"Window," Merle repeated, grinning without humor. "You keep sayin' that word like it ain't a damn drop."
Shane stepped forward, arms crossed tight. "He's not wrong about one thing, Rick. This plan depends on too many variables. Horde speed. Wind. Noise. One mistake and we're funneling families into a kill zone."
Andrea shot him a look. "So what's your alternative?"
Shane didn't blink. "Fort Benning. Military base. Controlled perimeter. Real defenses. We stop running and go somewhere meant to hold."
Dale shook his head slowly. "Assuming it's still standing. Or occupied. Or not already fallen."
Shane snapped back, "And the CDC's any better? We don't even know if anyone's alive there."
Rick's voice cut through, low but firm. "We know the CDC is designed for containment. Thick walls. Backup power. Scientists. If there's answers anywhere, it's there."
Carol spoke up quietly, but everyone heard her. "What about the children? If something goes wrong on the road—"
"That's why we don't improvise," Rick said. "That's why Party A scouts ahead and prepares. We don't move until we're ready."
T-Dog nodded. "Route's tight, but doable. Better than stayin' here waitin' to get surrounded."
Merle tilted his head. "Funny thing is, nobody asked if we want to follow you, Sheriff."
Daryl's voice was sharp. "Enough."
Merle turned on him. "No, let's talk about it. Because every time we follow one of Rick's plans, we're bettin' our asses on maybes."
Rick stepped closer, not raising his voice. "This isn't about me. This is about detailed timing. Distance. Time. Staying here gets us killed."
A heavy silence followed.
Jacqui, seated near the RV doorway, spoke up despite the strain in her voice. "We can't defend this place. Not with our numbers. Not with kids."
That landed harder than shouting ever could.
Glenn swallowed. "We've seen what happens when groups hesitate."
Shane exhaled slowly. "And we've seen what happens when they gamble."
Rick held his ground. "That's why we plan. That's why we adapt. And that's why we don't split ourselves arguing."
Merle chuckled darkly. "And what about your mystery soldier on the radio?"
Every head turned.
Rick answered evenly. "That's being handled. Separately."
Rick cleared his throat. "Until we know more, she's just information. Not an asset. Not a threat. Yet."
Shane's jaw tightened. "Or she's a problem we haven't met face-to-face."
Rick folded the map carefully. "Which is why nobody moves alone except the person we already trust to handle it."
No one missed who wasn't there.
Rick looked around the group. "This plan isn't perfect. But it's the best option we have with the information we have right now. If anyone has something better something actionable say it."
No one did.
Rick nodded once. "Then we prepare. Quietly. Precisely. And we move when the opportunity opens."
---
Alister studied the map one last time, committing its unfamiliar symbols and straight-lined roads to memory. The terrain meant little to him, but distance, angles, and proximity did. The markings placed the unknown ally close too close to the moving dead to remain unattended for long.
He folded the map carefully and moved.
He advanced alone, steps light despite the weapons at his side. Without his armor, the world felt wrong exposed but he welcomed the freedom of movement. Every sound carries on farther than it should have. Broken branches. Loose gravel beneath his boots.
Then he felt it.
Not a sound. Not movement.
Presence.
Alister's hand slid to the machete at his hip in one smooth motion. He turned, muscles tensed, blade rising—
A heavy thud interrupted him.
He stopped short.
A woman lay collapsed several feet behind him, her face pale, body unable to move except the shallow puffs of her chest. She fell forward, her body hitting the ground dull and strong, as if whatever strength she had moved her this far ran out.
A rifle lay tangled in her hands, fingers still locked around it even in unconsciousness she would not let go of it.
Alister approached carefully, blade lowered. He crouched, checking for breath, for wounds. No bite marks. No blood. Just pure exhaustion hunger can be seen with her hollowed cheeks, dehydration tightening her skin.
His eyes caught the glint of metal at her throat.
A necklace.
He gently lifted it, reading the engraved name.
Elena Vasquez.
So this was the soldier.
Alister exhaled quietly. "You have walked far," he murmured, more to himself than to her.
He scanned the surroundings once more, listening for any sign of the dead drawn by her collapse. Nothing immediate but still, this was no place to linger.
He sheathed the machete and slid the rifle from her grasp, checking it with unfamiliar caution before slinging it across his back. Then, with careful deliberation, he gathered her into his arms.
The motion was instinctive.
A princess carry, a proper way to carry a maiden.
The weight was familiar. Too familiar.
For a fleeting moment, memory surged back to him. Stone halls, torchlight, the scent of linen and herbs, his wife's breath shallow against his chest as he carried her through corridors that promised safety and happiness and well until it couldn't.
His jaw tightened.
"This time," he said quietly, voice firming with resolve, "I will not be too late."
The afternoon sun broke through the clouds as he turned back toward the quarry, the concrete road stretching ahead like a foreign battlefield. But a day comes and goes once again.