The van rolled southbound with the sun now fully risen, light spilling across shattered storefronts and abandoned vehicles like a cruel mockery of normalcy. Rick kept the speed steady not fast enough to draw attention, not slow enough to invite it. The duffel bag of guns sat between the seats, heavier than its weight should have allowed.
They did not speak much.
Daryl watched the road behind them through the side mirror, then leaned forward, tapping the glass twice. "They're still movin'."
Rick adjusted the mirror. In the distance, far down the highway, the herd remained visible no longer a single mass, but a long, broken spine of bodies flowing northward. They moved unevenly, some lagging, others catching up, but the direction never changed.
"They haven't turned," Glenn said quietly. "Not even a little."
Alister shifted on the bench seat, the armor whispering faintly as he leaned forward. "Migration does not scatter easily. Once begun, it carries momentum. Hunger drives them now not sound."
Rick's jaw tightened. "How long before they reach the quarry?"
Alister did not answer immediately. He studied the road, the distant movement, the angle of the sun.
"If unimpeded," he said at last, "two days. Perhaps three. Less if something draws them."
Glenn swallowed. "Like a campfire?"
"Or a gunshot," Daryl added flatly.
The words hung in the air.
Rick exhaled slowly through his nose. "Then we don't wait. We warn them as soon as we're back."
They drove another mile before Rick slowed, easing the van off the road behind a burned-out delivery truck. He cut the engine.
Daryl was already out the door, crouched low, binoculars raised. Alister followed, moving carefully, axe still strapped but machete loose in his grip. Glenn stayed near the van, scanning nervously, while Rick joined Daryl at the edge of the overpass.
Below them, the highway curved gently north.
The herd stretched farther than it had before.
"Jesus," Glenn muttered when he joined them. "There's more than earlier."
"They're merging," Daryl said. "Smaller packs fallin' in line."
Alister nodded once. "The dead follow patterns when scarcity forces them. What began as many becomes one."
Rick stared at the slow, endless movement. The city had not died quietly it was emptying itself, bleeding outward.
"How do we stop that?" Glenn asked.
Alister shook his head. "You do not stop a tide. You move before it arrives."
Rick straightened. Decision hardened in his posture. "Then we move the camp."
Daryl glanced at him. "Shane ain't gonna like that."
Rick didn't look away from the road. "He doesn't have to like it. He has to listen."
Silence followed not agreement, but understanding.
They watched another ten minutes, committing the sight to memory. Rick marked landmarks mentally billboards, wrecks, bends in the road anything that might help them estimate progress. Then he turned back toward the van.
"Let's go," he said. "Every minute we wait is one we don't have."
The return drive felt longer.
Not because of distance but because of what waited at the end of it.
Glenn kept glancing at the duffel bag, then at Rick. "They're gonna want to know why we went back."
Rick nodded. "And I'll tell them."
Daryl snorted softly. "Yeah, you need to."
Alister watched the passing trees, the quiet countryside that still pretended the world hadn't ended. "When you lead men through war," he said calmly, "truth spoken early prevents blood later."
Rick glanced at him in the mirror. "That's your experience talking?"
Alister met his eyes. "It is written in history."
The van crested the final ridge overlooking the quarry.
From here, the camp looked the same as it had days ago peaceful, almost idyllic. Smoke rose gently from the fire pit. The RV sat unchanged. Figures moved slowly between tents.
Too slowly.
Rick felt it before he understood it.
Something was wrong.
He slowed the van.
Daryl noticed it too. "Why ain't anyone waving?"
Glenn leaned forward. "There's a crowd by the fire."
Rick pulled the van to a stop at the edge of camp, engine idling.
No one approached.
Rick opened the door.
The moment his boots hit the gravel, the air felt different thick, heavy, like the aftermath of a storm. Conversations nearby were hushed. Faces turned toward him, then away. Carol sat on a log near the fire, wrapped in a blanket, Andrea beside her.
Dale stood near the RV, hands clasped tightly in front of him.
Rick's eyes searched the camp, counting faces.
One was missing.
He looked at Shane.
Shane stood near the treeline, rifle slung low, posture rigid. When their eyes met, something unspoken passed between them recognition, challenge, and something darker.
Rick stepped forward. "What happened?"
No one answered immediately.
Dale swallowed. "Rick… we need to talk."
Rick nodded once. "Yeah," he said quietly. "So do I."
Behind him, the van engine finally died.
Rick stood still for a moment longer, letting the weight of the camp settle around him. The quarry felt smaller than it had before compressed, as if the walls themselves were leaning inward.
Daryl came up beside him, voice low. "Something happened while we were gone."
Rick nodded. "Yeah."
He turned slightly, scanning faces. Glenn lingered near the van, eyes darting between Carol and Shane, unease etched plainly across his features. Alister stepped down last, boots crunching softly against gravel. His presence drew eyes armor scarred but upright, posture composed but even he seemed to sense the shift. His hand rested near the axe haft, not in threat, but habit.
Rick took a breath and raised his voice—not loud, but firm enough to carry.
"Everyone," he said. "I need you here."
The camp hesitated, then slowly gathered. No one spoke. Even the children were quiet.
Rick waited until they formed a loose semicircle, then continued. "We went back for the guns. We got them." He gestured to the duffel Glenn set at his feet. "But that's not the most important thing we brought back."
Shane's jaw tightened.
Rick pressed on. "There's a herd moving north. Big one. Bigger than anything we've seen so far. It's not wandering. It's migrating."
Murmurs rippled through the group.
"How far?" Andrea asked.
"Far enough that it's not a question of if," Rick answered. "It's when."
Dale stepped forward. "Rick… how long?"
Alister spoke before Rick could. His voice was calm, measured, but carried weight. "Two days. Perhaps three. Less if the dead are drawn by sound."
That silenced the murmurs.
Rick nodded once in acknowledgment, then continued. "This quarry is in their path. If we stay, we risk being overrun. Not by a handful. By hundreds."
Sophia clutched Carol's hand tighter.
Rick's eyes flicked to Carol, then back to the group. "I know today's already been hard. I can feel it. But we don't have the luxury of waiting."
Shane stepped forward at last. "You don't know they'll come straight through here."
Rick turned to face him fully. "I saw them, Shane. We all did."
"That don't make you right," Shane shot back. "We're hidden here. Quiet. Moving now could get people killed."
Alister shifted slightly, armor whispering. "Remaining still when danger approaches has killed more people than flight ever has."
Shane snapped his gaze toward him. "This ain't medieval warfare, tin man."
"No," Alister replied evenly. "It is worse. The enemy does not fear death."
Rick raised a hand before it could escalate. "Enough. We don't argue this now."
He looked around the circle. "We rest tonight. At first light, we start planning a relocation. Routes, vehicles, supplies. We do it methodically."
"And if people don't agree?" Merle asked from the edge, tone sharp.
Rick didn't hesitate. "Then they make their choice knowing the risks."
Silence followed not approval, but resignation.
Rick turned toward Dale. "Jacqui?"
"Stable," Dale answered quickly. "She can travel if we're careful."
Rick nodded. "Good."
His gaze lingered on Shane a second longer than necessary, then he turned away.
Alister watched the exchange quietly. He saw the fracture not as a sudden break, but as a fault line widening under pressure. He had seen such divisions before. Armies didn't fall because of the enemy alone. They fell because command fractured.
He stepped closer to Rick, lowering his voice so only the four of them Rick, Glenn, Daryl could hear.
"The dead are moving with purpose," Alister said. "But so are men. Choose unity carefully. Once it breaks, it does not mend easily."
Rick met his eyes. "You think it already has?"
Alister didn't answer directly. "I think you are still standing at the hinge of the door."
Rick absorbed that.
Daryl glanced south, toward the invisible highway. "Either way, we don't got long."
Rick nodded once. "Then we don't waste time."
He turned back to the camp. "Get some rest. We move soon."
The group dispersed slowly, conversations hushed, glances uneasy. The quarry settled again but this time, the calm felt false, like still water before a flood.
Rick remained standing, staring out over the treeline.
Far beyond it, the dead were coming.