Dixon Brothers POV
The Dixon brothers rode their bike like a wolf shadowing a herd. Merle spat tobacco juice to the side. Restless, he'd been cursing under his breath for the last hour, eyes scanning the horizon like he was itching for trouble. "Damn fool idea following a stranger," he muttered. "Some punk soldier thinking he's George damn Washington."
Daryl kept his focus on the road. "He's keeping us alive, Merle."
Merle sneered. "We don't need him. We don't need any of them, lil' brother. We can go, just you and me, together. There ain't nothing that can stop us."
"And then what?" Daryl snorted. "We won't last much there by ourselves, Merle, and you know it."
Merle grumbled under his breath but didn't answer.
Daryl's voice was low but steady. "World's changed, Merle. Maybe rules ain't bad to have."
Merle barked a laugh. "That's the thing, lil' brother—men like him always start with rules. The next thing you know you're bending the knee."
Daryl's eyes softened slightly, not pity, just resignation. He loved his brother but he knew Merle was a storm, always waiting to break. Shaking his head a bit, he glanced at Zephyr's truck up ahead as he continued watching the truck, something in him stirred. Not fear, but a flicker of respect. He didn't trust him yet, not by a long shot, but the man moved with purpose, same as any seasoned hunter. At least that earned him some respect.
Zephyr POV
The afternoon sun hung high by the time I raised a hand and slowed the truck. The rest of the convoy followed, engines rumbling to a halt. We'd reached a stretch of forest road that curved toward the farmstead. Rick leaned forward, squinting. "Looks quiet."
"Quiet doesn't mean safe," I murmured, stepping out. Ghost hopped down beside me. The air was thick with the smell of pine and decay. I scanned the tree line, every shadow, every movement. Nothing stirred, but my guts told me to stay cautious.
I motioned to the others to stay put as Rick and I scanned the road ahead. The group watched with uneasy silence—some clutching their weapons tighter, others whispering prayers. It didn't take much before we returned. I gave a sharp nod. "We're clear. Move slow, keep tight formation."
The convoy crept forward, the dirt road narrowing before opening into the wide stretch of farmland that I fortified. Even from a distance it was clear this wasn't some random hideout—the fences were reinforced, the gates were secured, and the solar panels gleamed faintly in the sunlight. Smoke curled lazily from the chimney. For the first time in weeks, hope flickered in the survivors' eyes.
When we finally rolled into the open yard, Morgan was already outside with his rifle, Gale beside him. Duane waved excitedly as he saw Ghost.
"Welcome back," Morgan said, voice steady but pleased.
I smiled faintly. "Good to see you, Morgan."
I raised my hand, calling everyone's attention. The chatter quieted. I looked at the new arrivals: some tired, some wary, all uncertain. "This place," I began, voice firm, "isn't a rest stop. It's a home, if you earn it." I let that hang in the air for a moment before continuing. "There are rules. Simple ones: no stealing, no killing, no rape, no betrayal. You break any of these—you're gone, permanently."
Shane's jaw tightened but he said nothing. My eyes swept across the crowd, stopping briefly on Merle who smirked like he was daring him to say more. "You work, you eat, you fight, you protect. That's how we survive."
The silence that followed was heavy, but it wasn't hostile. It was the silence of people realizing, maybe for the first time, they were standing somewhere that could actually last.
"Dr. Gale will check on anyone with injuries," I added. "Then we'll get you settled." I paused, then glanced toward Carol and Sophia. "You two rest. You've earned it." Carol nodded softly, gratitude in her tired eyes.
As evening settled, the group gathered by the fire pit. Names were exchanged. Stories were cautiously shared. Morales introduced his wife, Miranda, and their children, Louis and Eliza. Glenn cracked a few nervous jokes to lighten the mood. Duane was elated to have more friends his age. T-Dog and Jacqui stuck close to the group, still trying to process the change.
Daryl stood at the edge of the circle, arms crossed, eyes scanning everything—the fences, the exits, the people. He didn't miss much. Merle, on the other hand, seemed content to test the boundaries. He nudged a beer can with his boot, smirking. "Ain't bad for a boy scout camp."
I didn't rise to the bait. "You're free to leave if you don't like it."
Merle grinned widely. "Oh, I like it just fine, Captain."
Shane watched the exchange, jaw working. Rick sat beside the fire, silent, watching Zephyr with quiet understanding. The man led like he'd done this his whole life. Maybe he had.
When the fire burned low, I walked the perimeter with Ghost at my side. The farm was quiet now, almost peaceful. Behind me, laughter broke out faintly from the campfire, Glenn cracking a joke about canned beans, Duane giggling. I allowed myself a rare smile. I knew it wouldn't last forever. 'Nothing ever did', I thought to myself. But for now, we have a foothold, a chance to rebuild something out of the ashes.
I looked up at the stars. "Tomorrow," I murmured, my hand resting on Ghost's head, "we start again."
(To be continued...)