The rest of the morning was noise and sweat. Morgan and Jim worked the fences, plugging the holes and weak spots they found while setting up a few warning traps made out of cans and spare metal. I checked their work around noon—sturdy work. Dale kept a steady watch on the roof of his RV, occasionally calling out a quiet update: "A walker at the far ridge… moving north. Not our concern yet."
Duane was on water collection duty, drawing water from a nearby well. Jenny and the sisters were in the kitchen sorting canned goods, labeling, prepping for long-term storage. The smell of something actually cooking drifted through the farmhouse; it almost felt like life again.
I spent the day mapping scavenging routes—farm roads, stores, residential buildings, the local sheriff station, and possible abandoned convoys—and running perimeter checks with Ghost.
By sundown, the fences were done, alarm traps were set up, and the watch rotation held steady. The group gathered by the fire pit out back. Jenny had made a soup from meat, canned beans, and vegetables—hot, real, and it tasted like hope. Dale cracked a dry joke about retirement plans. Amy laughed softly, Duane throwing scraps of meat to Ghost, chuckling as Ghost snatched them in the air. I sat slightly apart, watching, listening. For the first time since the world ended, there was something close to peace here.
As the flames flickered and the others drifted to sleep, I fetched my notepad. Sheriff Station was underlined twice. My first target for tomorrow.
The morning air was colder than usual. I stepped out; Ghost trotted beside me, tail low, nose twitching at the scents on the wind. The others were already stirring. Jenny was in the kitchen preparing breakfast, handing me a cup of coffee. The others joined us soon.
"I'm heading out. If you have something you need, write me a list and I'll try to get it," I said.
They looked at each other. "Heading out early?" Morgan asked.
"Got some errands to do," I replied, sipping my coffee. "The sooner we're armed and trained, the better." They nodded. "I'll be back by sundown. If I'm not, assume the roads are blocked. Don't go looking."
The others frowned lightly at that. "You be careful out there," Dale said softly. "You know what it's like."
"Yeah, don't worry," I replied. "We'll hold the line here." Morgan gave a short nod.
I headed for the truck, frowning a little. I gotta find something with more storage than this. As I tossed my pack into the passenger seat, Amy came jogging, handing me a list. Her cheeks pink, she scurried back inside. I raised an eyebrow, reading through the list. I let out a chuckle: Of course she'd be embarrassed. The list read: sanitary pads and other female hygienic products.
Shaking my head, I continued. Jenny requested more food, the pantry's getting low. Andrea craves chocolate. Jim wanted tools. Dale, medicine. I paused briefly at that, already planning a trip to loot hospitals later. Duane wanted comics. I chuckled at that one, tucking the list in my jacket.
Ghost jumped into the truck as I climbed after him. The old engine roared to life as the farmhouse faded in the rear view. The road was quiet at first—too quiet. Cars littered the sides, doors open, belongings scattered. The city loomed ahead, smoke still curling from the horizon.
"Stay sharp, Ghost."
King County Sheriff Office sat southwest at the edge of Atlanta. I parked behind a delivery truck, cut the engine, and stepped out, rifle raised. Ghost moved beside me, silent and alert.
The station looked pristine, left untouched by what happened outside. The sound of a fence clanging drew me. A walker in a sheriff outfit, trapped behind a fence—the same one Rick encountered. I drew my knife and calmly stabbed him through the eye. The walker hit the floor like a puppet with its strings cut. I fished for a bolt cutter from my Inventory and cut through the fence, reaching to loot the body. I found a holster with a service pistol attached to it, keys (which I assumed belonged to the sheriff office), and some ammo.
I headed for the front doors. Finding them locked, I tried the keys I looted from the walker. A couple of tries, and the doors unlocked. The inside looked empty. I began scouring the place room by room, looting whatever I could: water dispensers, coffee machines, alloy tables, a few scattered bullets here and some walkie-talkies. The desks netted me more bullets and snacks and a few handcuffs. I looted every computer I could find; could be useful later. The room of evidence netted me a variety of weapons and drugs that I could trade.
The real jackpot was the armory. I realized Rick didn't take nearly a quarter of the weapons inside. I found more than five dozen standard issue firearms and rifles, like Glock 22s, Smith & Wesson M&P, Beretta 92 series, as well as shotguns, dozens of boxes of different kinds of ammo, riot gear, as well as less lethal weapons like tasers, rubber bullets, tactical vests, etc.
Everything went to my Inventory, save for two duffle bags I filled with a few weapons, ammo, and gear before leaving.
I checked the property for any generators or solar power set up I could loot. I found a massive diesel generator in the basement with a considerable amount of fuel barrels, all of which found its way to my Inventory. A solar power setup on the roof, which I swiftly dismantled and stored, and a couple of medium units outside that I took as well. By the time I walked out, I had enough gear to outfit a small army.
In the parking lot, I found a couple of sheriff cruisers, which had ammo, radios, and some first aid kits I scavenged. I spent the next couple of hours dismantling and storing the cruisers for parts. I took the engines, batteries, wheels, radiators, etc.—basically everything but the chassis.
(To be continued...)