Daryl Dixon POV
Halfway up the route, hidden behind a fallen highway sign, Daryl was at work. He perched like a silent hawk, his crossbow braced, eyes on the walkers.
Whenever a walker drifted from the clusters, he let most wander for a moment, tracking their direction. If they angled off the main path—if they staggered toward the tree line of the opposite field—he would take them down.
Thunk. A bolt straight through the temple. Silent and efficient. No alerting the main herd.
For a while, he worked alone. Suddenly, he heard a faint movement behind him—a tread too clean to be a walker. Rick slipped out of the bush, sweat on his forehead, covered in dust.
"Ropes are set," he whispered. "All anchors are tight. Pitons held better than expected."
Daryl didn't look away from the herd. "Good. Zephyr's pack comin' in heavy."
Rick crouched beside him. "He keeping spacing alright?"
Daryl smirked. "Man got it down to a science."
Another walker strayed off the opposite ditch. Thunk. Rick exhaled quietly. "Alright, let's keep the path clean."
Side by side now, the two men covered the stragglers. The pressure grew as the clusters approached the convergence point.
Zephyr POV
The bend in the road came into view—the convergence point I had marked. The road tightened ahead, trees closing in until there was only one way forward. I slowed my pace, eyes flickering briefly to either side as the sound behind me grew heavier.
I lifted the radio to my mouth. "Merle," I said quietly. "I'm slowing. Meet me at the bend."
A second later, static crackled. "Yeah," Merle replied. "I see it."
I switched channels. "Morgan. The bend. Ease in."
"I'm on my way," Morgan answered.
I adjusted my pace, letting my steps fall into a slow, steady rhythm. Behind me, the walkers pressed closer, their groans thickening as the distance shrank.
Merle came into view from the right, backing into the center of the road. His walkers dragged along behind him, bumping into one another, drawn forward by his movement. From the left, Morgan emerged, calm as ever, his walker cluster hot on his heels.
The three of us met at the bend. No pause. No words.
We turned and walked forward together. Behind us, the change was immediate. Three separate flows of walkers collapsed inward, pulled by the same direction. Bodies collided, hands clawed at the air, teeth snapping, and groans stacked on top of each other, swelling until the sound filled the road.
For a moment, the mass wavered. A few walkers stumbled, pressing into each other. I didn't speed up, nor slowed down. I kept pace. Merle stayed by my right, matching my pace without thinking about it. Morgan held the left, steady and controlled.
The pressure evened out. Eventually, the dead corrected themselves, rising and pushing forward as one. When I looked back, the road was filled from shoulder to shoulder—no gaps, no separate lines. Just one massive horde following us.
Merle let out a low breath. "Well… that worked."
Morgan nodded once. "They're moving clean."
Daryl and Rick POV
When Rick and Daryl saw the unified herd spill into the main road, their expressions hardened. It was enormous—a wall of bodies stretching across the highway, packed and rolling forward like a living storm.
"Jesus…" Rick muttered under his breath.
Daryl didn't blink. "Zephyr's leadin' it clean. Let's keep 'em from thinnin' out."
Together, they moved along the elevated ridge path, each shadowing a side of the herd and picking off the few walkers that managed to slip away from the edges. Daryl's shots were surgical. Rick took the far walkers with his hatchet, avoiding noise altogether.
The two flanked and guarded the herd, letting Zephyr, Merle, and Morgan keep the center. Slow and steady.
Zephyr POV
It took hours of steady walking with the horde behind us before the quarry came into view. Like a wound in the land, the trees thinned until the ground dropped away into open air. Pale rock cut into the earth, its jagged walls catching the light in harsh angles.
Wind rolled up from the pit, carrying dust. I felt it before we saw it—the subtle change in the air, the way sound carried differently near open space. I slowed down, not enough for the walkers to shrink the distance, but enough to steady the line.
Merle noticed and tightened his grip on his crossbow. "That's it, ain't it?"
"Yeah," I replied. "We're coming up on the ridge."
We eased our pace together to the edge of the cliff. Upon arriving, each went ahead to his designated rope. I took mine and gave it a strong tug, wrapped it around my waist, and took position near the cliff. Morgan and Merle followed suit.
"You ready?" I asked.
Morgan answered, jaw tightened but steady, "Let's just get it on with it."
Merle drawled, but I could see the nervousness underneath. I nodded once. "Alright, let's begin."
I took a deep breath before I shouted, "Over here!"
I grabbed the rope and stepped backward over the edge. The line went taut. I lowered myself a few feet down the cliff face, my boots finding narrow ledges. I pressed closer to the stone.
Morgan exhaled and followed suit. Merle descended last, cursing as a walker slammed into the rock not far from him. "Oh, fuck me sideways!"
We hung there—not too far—just low enough to let the walkers pass overhead and slam into the quarry below. Walkers tumbled down one after another. Soon, it was like a waterfall of corpses falling headfirst into the quarry.
Thud! Thud! Crack! Thud! The sound layered over itself—bone on stone, flesh on rock. A relentless rhythm that rolled down the quarry cliff.
Merle stayed tight on his rope, his eyes flickering between the walkers and his rope, muttering something profane. Morgan held to the left, sweat on his brow but calm as he watched walkers fall headfirst to their demise.
The ropes creaked softly under our weight. The dead thundered past, and the plan held.
(To be continued...)