They moved quickly, each falling into a silent routine. The men checked their weapons while the women secured the doors and shuttered the windows. The house was filled with the subtle clatter of locks clicking and the soft creaking of boots on wood. Outside, the farm was still. The moonlight washed over the fields, pale and cold.
Shawn adjusted the scope of his rifle and peered into the distance.
"See anything?" Otis murmured beside him.
Shawn shook his head slightly. "Nothing… yet."
They stood there side by side, staring into the dark tree line. Then, faintly, movement. Just at the edge of the forest where the moonlight broke across the underbrush. Two silhouettes stood for a brief moment—not walkers, upright, steady, watching.
Otis raised his rifle halfway. "You seein' this?"
"Yeah," Shawn whispered. "They're just standin' there."
The figures didn't move closer, they didn't run. They vanished back into the darkness.
"Go wake Dad," Shawn said quietly, his heart pounding now.
A couple minutes later, inside the house. "They were there," Shawn said, his voice shaking slightly. "Two of 'em, maybe three. Not walkers. Standing still, like they wanted us to see them."
Hershel's expression hardened, eyes narrowing as he reached for his coat and rifle. "They're testing us," he said simply, "seeing how we react."
Maggie looked pale. "What do we do?"
"We wait," Hershel said. "We don't panic. If they wanted violence, they'd have made their move already."
Otis frowned. "And if they're plannin' somethin' for later?"
Hershel looked at him, his voice low but certain. "Then we make sure we're ready when they do."
The house fell into uneasy quiet again. The distant windmill creaked as it turned, and the farmhouse light flickered from the lanterns. Maggie lingered by the window long after everyone else gone to their posts, eyes locked on the tree line. Her gut twisted with dread. Whatever, whoever was out there wasn't just passing through, and she had a feeling tomorrow would bring blood.
Zephyr's POV
The next day, we were up before the light of the dawn shined across the horizon. I stood in the open barn, tightening a couple suppressors onto my pistols. The faint click of metal echoes against the walls. Behind me, Rick checked his sidearm, racking the slide once before holstering it with the kind of precision that only came from years of habit. Daryl, on the other hand, was leaning against the workbench, testing the compound bow I'd given him—an find of an old scavenging run In the early days of the apocalypse. He pulled back the string smoothly.
I glanced at him. "How does it feel?"
Daryl gave a short nod. "Smooth, quiet. Can hit a squirrel at fifty yard if I'm not drunk."
I smirked faintly. "Then you'll do fine."
Rick looked up. "You think this is serious? Maggie sounded spooked on the radio."
My expression hardened, but my tone stayed measured. "When people like the Greenes—cautious, isolated—start talking about being watched for days, either someone's testing them or planning to move." I turned to face them both, my voice low but firm. "We're not taking chances. We go, assess, track. If it's nothing, we shake hands and go home. If it's raiders, we deal with it. We're not out to make friends. You see a threat, you eliminate it. Clear?"
Daryl gave a grunt of approval while Rick gave a firm nod. "Clear."
We climbed into the truck and drove away. The drive toward the Greene farm was uneventful but heavy with unspoken weight. The dirt road stretched long between the cornfields and grazing pastures. Rick stared out of the window, his jaw tight.
"Hard to believe they've been watched for days," he muttered.
"Not hard if you've been in the field long enough," I replied. "Patience and routine. That's all a raiding group needs. Wait for patterns, find the weak spots."
Daryl spat out of the window. "Ain't no shortage of scum waiting to take what's left."
"Exactly. We're heading there now," I said, my voice level, calm, but beneath the surface there was a subtle edge. "They've been lucky it's just surveillance. If the raiders were reckless, they'd already have struck."
We pulled up near the Greene farmhouse around mid-morning. The Greene family was already up, waiting for us, tension thick in the air. Otis and Shawn were posted near the fence line, rifles slung over their shoulders, eyes bloodshot from lack of sleep. Hershel stood by the porch with Maggie besides him, both visibly weary. Beth peeked out from behind the doorway, clutching a mug of hot tea.
Maggie was the first to step forward. "You came fast."
I climbed down from the truck, giving a faint smile. "You sounded worried. I don't ignore warnings."
Hershel stepped forward. "Zephyr," he greeted, tipping his hat, though his expression was lined with concern. "Glad you came."
I nodded back. "Maggie said you've been seeing shadows in your fields."
Hershel exhaled, looking toward the tree line. "Not just shadows. We've caught glimpses. Men. Two, maybe three. Never close enough to get a clean look. They don't approach, they just watch."
Rick and Daryl stepped up, scanning every shadow. "Testin' your nerves," Daryl muttered.
"Footprints?" Rick asked.
"Some," Otis said, "near the fences. Found cigarette butts too. Ain't ours."
I crossed my arms and said, "Cigarettes mean complacency. They're too confident. Not scouts. Probably sentries keeping tabs before the main group moves."
Maggie and Beth looked visibly worried. Patricia lingered behind, clutching at a first aid bag, while Annette stood close to Hershel, her hand resting on his shoulder. I studied them. These were good people, not hardened survivors like these at the farmstead. They'd held into the illusions of safety longer than most, but that illusion was cracking fast.
Daryl's eyes swept the fields. "Tracks'll be fresher closer where they hole up. If they've been watchin', they're settin' up somewhere nearby."
I nodded. "That's where we start. Hershel, keep everyone inside. No one works the fields till we clear this up."
Hershel hesitated. "You're saying this could turn violent?"
"It's not a matter of could Hershel," I said bluntly. "It will."
(To be continued...)