Morning came bright and clear over the outskirts of Savannah.
The convoy rolled out just after first light.
The box trucks were heavy—really heavy.
The suspension creaked over uneven asphalt, engines working harder than usual, but inside the cabs, the mood was complex.
The super horde at the Padre Shipyard had put a solid wrench through my original plan; no way around that.
I'd seen enough through the binoculars to know the place was a dead zone for now—wall-to-wall walkers packed thick around the docks and buildings.
Too many.
Too dense.
Walking in there right now would have been suicide, plain and simple.
And it wasn't just that; transporting the containers without a suitable ship would just be a pipe dream for now.
So we'd pivoted.
Loot hard, pull back, and reassess later.
I wasn't the type to get stubborn when the board changed, and loot we did.
The looting spree had paid off immensely.
Warehouses, strip malls, pharmacies, supply depots, gun stores, garages—we moved through the outskirts of Savannah with methodical speed, filling every bit of space we could manage.
Food and water crates were packed tight.
Medical supplies were packed and secured.
Spare parts and electronics were wedged in with careful spacing so nothing shifted too much on the road.
This wasn't even close enough to offset the supplies we could have gotten by looting the Padre Shipyard, nor was it intended to, but every bit of supplies we can get in this new unforgiving world would make sure we could live to fight another.
Maybe I should just return myself to loot everything by myself. Maybe that would be the safest and best option, I thought to myself.
Shaking my head, I returned my focus fully on the road. Beside me, Rick sat a little looser than usual.
Behind us, Daryl was following us in the second truck, holding steady distance.
The outskirts of Savannah slowly shrank in the mirrors as the convoy pushed back home.
More trees, less abandoned vehicles, fewer walkers wandering the roadside.
Once we'd put a comfortable distance between ourselves and the city, I reached for the radio.
Click.
"Farmhouse, this is Zephyr. Come in."
Static popped briefly before Shane's voice came through. "Zephyr? You boys good?"
I kept my voice even. "We're good. Real good. Rolling back now."
Rick's voice twitched faintly at that.
A pause on the other end—long enough to tell half of the farm was probably listening in.
Shane came back. "Copy that. Everything still on track?"
My eyes stayed forward on the empty stretch of road. "Plans changed," I said simply. "We'll brief when we arrive. For now—we're on the road home."
Silence sat for a beat, then Shane came again, more serious this time. "...Roger that. We'll be waiting."
I clicked the radio off and set it back in place.
The cab settled into a steady rhythm—the low engine growl and the occasional thump from the cargo area behind us.
Rick leaned back slightly on his seat. "Still can't believe how packed that shipyard was," he muttered.
I gave a small nod. "Yeah."
"Which means," Rick continued, "someone drew them in."
"...Or someone turned inside and turned the rest with him." I finished,
"And frankly, I don't like any of these theories."
Silence settled in as I focused forward on the road ahead.
The farmhouse came into view just past mid-afternoon.
Dust kicked up behind the trucks as they rolled down the familiar dirt road.
The engine noise carried ahead of them.
I eased my foot off the gas, slowing down a notch as we neared the gates.
Up ahead was movement.
Dale's RV sat where it always did, angled for a clear line of sight down the approach road.
Two figures were perched on top: Dale and Morgan, both already watching.
Dale lifted his binoculars first, held them steady, then his shoulders dropped in visible relief.
He slapped Morgan lightly on the arm and pointed down the road.
Morgan leaned forward, squinting.
A second later, he was already climbing down the ladder.
By the time the trucks rolled into the yard, people were coming out from the house.
Doors opening, boots on wood, voices carrying.
I brought the truck into a slow stop near the barn.
The engine idled rough for a second before I killed it.
Then Daryl's truck rumbled in and parked off to the side.
The sudden quiet felt loud.
The drivers' doors opened almost in sync.
Rick hit the ground first, stretching his back with a grunt.
Daryl dropped down from the second truck, shouldering his crossbow in tow.
I stepped down last.
Carl came running toward his dad and tackled him into a hug. "Dad!" He exclaimed in glee.
Rick staggered backward a few steps before he steadied himself. "Woah there, squirt," he said as he lifted Carl up in his arms.
Suddenly, Ghost came running towards me, tail swinging up a storm. "Woof! Woof!"
I crouched down. "Hey there, boy," I said as I gave him a couple of rough rubs on his neck and the back of his ears. "I missed you so much."
While teasing Ghost, Dale stepped a few feet away and looked past me.
Then he let out a low whistle. "Well… I'll be."
Morgan's brow lifted slightly. "You weren't kidding on the radio."
"Found some good spots," I said as I righted myself up.
More footsteps approached.
The rest of the group was closing in tow: the Harrison sisters alongside Beth, Lydia, Jacqui, and the kids hung back near the porch.
Their eyes widened as they took in the loaded trucks.
Tom and Dr. Gale came out together, the doctor eyeing the loaded trucks with growing interest.
Shane pushed through the middle of the group, posture tight but clearly relieved.
Hershel came out last from the house, measured and steady as always, but his eyes sharpened the moment he saw how low the trucks were riding on the suspensions.
Then—Maggie came around the side of the house.
Her hair was pulled back rough, sleeves rolled, dirt still on hands from work.
She slowed when she saw the trucks, then her gaze slid straight to me.
Not subtle.
Not even trying to be.
Merle caught it immediately.
Of course he did.
He barked out a rough laugh.
"Well damn," Merle drawled, stepping forward with a slow step. "Y'all look like you robbed half the damn state."
Daryl rolled his eyes but didn't argue. Rick, still holding Carl in his arms, let out a tired breath, cracking up a smile.
"We did alright," I said.
(To be continued...)