No one spoke for a few seconds after I finished.
People were thinking.
Shane was the first to break the silence.
"So what?" His voice was low but edged. "We just sit on our hands now?"
I didn't rise to that.
I stayed where I was, both hands braced on the table. "We pick the next step carefully."
Glenn leaned forward a little. "We got options, right? I mean—there's that prison."
That pulled eyes around the room.
Merle snorted. "Now there's a thought."
Rick glanced up. "Talk."
Glenn shifted in his seat, hands moving as he spoke. "Found it during one of my earlier scouting missions. It's inland. Heavy walls, fences already in place. If we clear it…" He shrugged. "Could be a solid fallback."
Hershel's brow creased, but he didn't interrupt.
I reached out and slid the map a few inches, my finger landing on the prison mark. "It's defensible."
That earned a small nod from Rick.
I tapped my finger once more on the prison mark. "But we don't know the interior density."
Daryl spoke without looking up. "Could be packed."
"Exactly."
My finger moved in a slow circle over the prison area. "Clearing that structure isn't a clear sweep. It's cell by cell, block by block. High manpower, high fatigue. Plus, it'd be mostly in the dark."
Shane leaned back with a quiet exhale through his nose.
He knew what that kind of grind looked like.
Hershel finally spoke, his voice calm but firm. "And while you're doing that, the farm runs thinner on hands."
No argument there.
That didn't kill the idea, but it sure cooled it down.
Morgan shifted forward in his chair. "What about the coast?" he asked. "If PADRE is still the long game… maybe we start looking for the ship first."
Rick's eyes flickered up. "Continue."
Morgan rubbed his chin slowly as he thought it through. "Marinas, commercial docks… something big enough to move containers. We find the lift capacity first…"
He glanced at me. "…then PADRE becomes a different conversation."
Daryl pushed off the wall. "Less walkers than that shipyard mess," he muttered.
"Maybe," I said.
I straightened slightly, my eyes moving between them. "Coastal work cuts both ways."
I tapped the map near the shoreline. "Open sightlines mean less hard cover."
I tapped my finger on the map again. "Herds drift toward the water by sound and due to fewer obstacles in front of them."
Tapping again, I continued, "And if something goes bad out there…"
My finger stilled. "…fallback options are limited."
The room absorbed that.
Merle scratched his jaw. "Still better than headbuttin' a prison full of biters," he muttered.
A few quiet huffs of agreement followed.
Then Dale spoke from near the back, his voice careful. "What about meeting in the middle?"
That turned heads.
Dale shifted his weight, one hand resting on his lap. "There are rail yards, inland shipping depots, warehouse clusters."
He gestured vaguely. "Places where containers might already be sitting… without us needing a boat first."
Glenn straightened fast. "Yeah. Yeah, that—that's actually smart."
Rick looked at me again.
I didn't answer immediately.
I studied the map carefully, fingers still, breathing slow.
Then I moved.
Tap—rail line.
Tap—industrial zone.
Tap—secondary depot.
When I spoke, my voice was quiet but settled. "Lower exposure."
Tap. "Higher yield than random retail sweeps."
Tap. "And scalable. Small teams can work it without tying down the whole group."
Morgan leaned back slowly.
That made sense.
Shane's posture eased a fracture; even Daryl gave a short grunt.
I finally looked up.
"We build capacity first," I said, simple and grounded.
My gaze moved around the room, landing on each of them in turn. "Prison stays on board."
Rick nodded once.
"Coastal recon happens when we have clean windows." Morgan gave a small, approving dip of his chin.
Flattening my hand on the map, I continued, "But the next move…"
I tapped the inland logistic corridors. "…We work the regional shipping and rail network."
Silence held for a second, then Hershel exhaled slowly. "That," the older man said, "sounds like something we can survive."
No one pushed back.
No one looked uneasy, just tired—people seeing a path that didn't get them killed tomorrow.
"And lastly", I turned to Glenn, who perked up seeing me turn to him.
"You'll be in charge of scouting the railyards," I said.
"Make sure to record everything that looks even remotely helpful. Entry points, walker density, survivor signs—the works. But be careful; if things get dicey, you are to abandon the mission and flee."
"Alright boss, you got it," Glenn replied, giving me a cheeky salute that eased the atmosphere a little.
Letting out a chuckle, I turned to the rest. "Alright, meeting adjourned."
Chairs shifted back.
The meeting broke apart in low voices and tired movements.
Rick lingered long enough to fold the map before heading upstairs.
Shane peeled off toward the porch, already shifting to watch mode.
Dale drifted toward his RV to sleep, while Morgan, joined by his wife, headed to their room.
Carol moved through the kitchen, beginning the slow nighttime reset.
Somewhere upstairs, a door clicked shut.
I didn't stay.
I walked to my room, closing the door to the meeting room behind me.
I headed up the stairs one at a time, fatigue finally settling into my shoulders now that the planning was done.
Upstairs
My room was dim when I stepped inside. Quiet.
I shut the door behind me and toed off my boots near the wall.
The mattress dipped slightly when I sat, resting my forearms on my thighs for a second while I exhaled.
Long day.
Longer road ahead.
I leaned back into the pillow, one arm coming up behind my head.
The door suddenly creaked softly.
My eyes shifted toward it just as Maggie slipped in and closed it with careful fingers.
She didn't say anything at first, just leaned back against the door, watching me with that familiar, sharp-eyed look. "You look like you're about to pass out," she said quietly.
"Working on it," I said, letting out a huff of amusement.
Her mouth curved.
She crossed the room in soft steps and stopped beside the bed.
For a second, she just stood there looking at me.
Then, she reached down, caught the front of my shirt, and pulled me enough to meet her halfway.
The kiss was quick at first.
My hand came up automatically, settling at her waist.
Maggie made a small sound against my lips, not surprised in the slightest.
When we finally broke apart, she stayed close—close enough that her forehead nearly bumped mine.
There was a glint in her eyes now: amused, aroused, dangerous.
"You know," Maggie murmured hoarsely, her voice low. "For someone who's always five steps ahead…"
My brow lifted slightly. "…you missed one important detail."
My thumb brushed absently along her side. "Which is?"
Her grin widened. "These farmhouse walls." She leaned just a fraction closer. "Thin as paper."
I went very still.
Flashbacks of the past couple of days flashed through my eyes.
The strangely teasing looks I've been getting finally made sense.
Maggie's shoulders started to shake—she was clearly enjoying this more than she should.
"I'm just saying," she continued, barely containing the tease in her voice.
"Between the last time and tonight… I'd bet half the house has already figured it out. Dad already did," she continued. "I do not wish to have that uncomfortable conversation again."
A quiet breath left my nose. "That explains the strange looks I've been getting."
"Oh, it definitely explains the looks," Maggie said, entirely too pleased with herself.
Then she shifted gears. "You have no idea how much I've been roasted by Carol and Jenny the day you left to scout the shipyard," she said huffily.
But the playful glint in her eyes betrayed her look.
"So," she added softly, fingers curling at my side, "maybe we should keep it a little quieter this time."
I studied her for a half a second.
"Yes, ma'am."
Her answering smile was quick and bright—and she kissed me again, longer this time.
The lamp clicked off a few minutes later.
Downstairs, the farm settled into night watch and quiet breathing.
Upstairs, however, was a different story.
(To be continued...)