We didn't linger in the yard long once the first wave of awe and relief wore off.
People peeled away in twos and threes—voices overlapping, plans already forming about unloading inventory and fuel checks.
The routine.
Rick clapped my shoulder once after he sat Carl down before heading to the house, already calling for Lori.
Daryl muttered something about checking his bike and drifted toward the barn with his usual loose, quiet strides.
Merle hung back long enough just to smirk.
"Try not to break the damn bed this time, Soldier Boy."
I didn't take the bait; just gave him a flat look and walked past.
Inside, the farmhouse felt cooler, quieter.
The faint smell of cooked food still lingered in the air.
Climbing up the stairs, I headed for my room.
I shut the door behind me when I got inside.
I exhaled slowly for the first time since we'd rolled in.
Then, I moved on autopilot—gears off first.
Knife to the table.
Sidearms and rifle cleared and set down.
Boots next, dropped near the wall.
Only then did I head for the bathroom.
The shower took longer than usual.
Hot water beat against my shoulders, washing away road grit and the fine layer of Savannah dust that seemed to cling to everything.
Muscles that had been tight for days finally started to loosen.
Twenty minutes in, I cut off the water, gave myself a quick dry, and donned clean clothes.
By the time I came downstairs, the house had shifted into evening mode.
The smell of dinner filled the air.
Jenny and Carol moved between the kitchen and dining area with practiced efficiency, with Beth pitching in here and there.
The younger kids were already half-asleep at the table.
Maggie glanced up when I entered. Her mouth twitched faintly. I didn't react, just took my seat.
Dinner was a quiet affair.
People were hungry enough that conversations stayed light—questions about the road, about the trucks, about whether the run had been worth it.
Rick handled most of the surface answers.
I let him.
After the plates were cleaned and the young ones started drooping where they sat, Hershel clapped his hands once—gentle but firm. "Alright, kids. To bed."
Chairs scraped against the floor lightly.
Carol and Lori moved the children along, Beth and Eli shepherding the last of them up the stairs.
Within minutes, the house settled into a lower, more serious quiet.
Adult quiet.
"Meeting?" Rick looked toward the meeting room.
I nodded once.
They gathered quickly: Rick, Daryl, Morgan, Hershel, Shane, Merle, T-Dog, Jacqui, and Dale.
Glenn sat near the front, attentive.
Maggie slipped in last and took a seat along the wall.
Everyone settled.
I remained standing.
I rested my palm flat on the table instead, grounding myself there.
"We reached the Savannah outskirts late afternoon," I said.
My voice stayed even, controlled. "Roads were worse the closer we got. More abandoned vehicles, more blockages. We had to detour a couple of times before we found a clean approach."
Rick gave a small nod; he'd seen it himself. I shifted my weight slightly.
"We holed up in a two-story house a bit deeper in the outskirts the first night. Quiet position, good cover."
A pause.
My fingers tapped once against the table. "Middle of the night, Rick woke us up."
Daryl's jaw moved once, remembering.
"Large herd," I continued. "Didn't hear them coming until they were already moving past our position."
Carol's hand stilled where it rested in her lap. "How large?"
Dale asked quietly. I glanced at him. "Too large to count in the dark. Enough to make movement suicide."
That settled heavy.
I continued before the tension could spiral. "They weren't drifting. They were moving with purpose."
Rick finally spoke, voice low. "They were heading to our destination."
I nodded once. "Toward the coast."
Understanding started to ripple through the room.
Morgan leaned forward. "Toward Padre?"
"Yes." I pushed off the table and began to pace—once, slow and deliberate. "We adjusted route at first light. Avoided the shoreline, moved inland, and found elevation to get eyes on the island."
I stopped and looked at Rick.
Rick gave a short nod. "A water tower."
I faced the room again. "We cleared the surroundings. Quiet. No complications."
A beat, then— "Shipyard's overrun."
No drama, just fact.
Shane swore under his breath.
Jacqui's shoulders sank slightly as she put her hand in T-Dog's.
I continued, tone unchanged. "Dense herd across the yard. Piers packed. Spillover along the shoreline still drawing in strays." I said, pausing slightly. "Reminds you of something?"
I let the question hang.
"The fuel depot," Morgan said in quiet realization.
"Bingo," I said, cracking a slight smile before I continued. "Even if we committed to clearing it..." I let the sentence hang for half a second. "...we don't currently have the lift capacity to capitalize."
Hershel frowned. "Meaning?"
I looked directly at him. "Containers out there aren't backpack jobs."
Merle snorted. "Damn right they ain't."
I ignored him. "We'd need a functioning vessel. Something with real cargo capacity. Not a fishing skiff, not a pleasure boat."
Rick rubbed his jaw slowly. "And we didn't see anything usable?"
"No."
Silence again, thicker this time.
"No direct road to the island," I continued. "Meaning we can't get the trucks directly there. So a cargo ship is of utmost importance."
Then, I shifted gears. "The trip, however, wasn't wasted."
That pulled eyes back up.
"We spent the last two days sweeping the outer commercial zones."
I started listing, ticking points off on my fingers. "Warehouses first, then retailers. Pharmacy clusters. Light industrial."
Glenn straightened a little. "How much did we pull?"
"Enough that the trucks complained on the way back."
A few tired huffs of amusement broke the tension.
Even Daryl's mouth twitched a little.
I finally rested both hands on the table again.
"Bottom line," I said quietly. "Padre's not off the board."
I looked around the room, meeting eyes one by one. "But we don't touch it blind. And we certainly don't touch it without preparations first."
(To be continued...)