The pickup rumbled through the reinforced gate just as the sun fully set. The watchmen on today's shift—Morgan and Morales—lifted their hands in greeting before swinging the gate shut behind me. The lights strung across the inner yard glowed warm and steady, fed by the windmills and the rows of scavenged solar panel arrays I had set up a couple of weeks ago.
A familiar comfort, Ghost hopped out first, landing silently and bolting to where the kids were gathering bowls for dinner. The kids immediately dove for Ghost, smothering him with affection. Ghost soaked it all in like a king draped in his court's love—tail wagging lazily, tongue rolling.
I followed, hauling myself out of the driver seat with a grunt, stretching myself for a bit before I took off the tarp from the bed truck, revealing the supplies piled high. Immediately people hurried over—Glenn, Shane, Rick, Daryl—to help unload. T-Dog and Jacqui joined in seconds later.
"Looks like you had a good haul today, Z," Daryl said as he lifted one of the heavy crates.
I shrugged, removing my gloves. "Found a commercial strip near the depot; was already pretty looted. I just double-checked where most scavengers would ignore."
We hauled everything inside to be sorted: tools and electronics to the workshop, food stuff to the kitchen, medical supplies into Dr. Gale's cabinet, blankets and gear into the community bins. Some remaining boxes were left for later cataloging. It didn't take long; the group had experience now—efficiency born from survival.
Inside the farmhouse, bowls of stew were passed around, cornbread split open, and the conversation turned lively. Even Ghost had a plate of scrap meat from Daryl and Merle's hunting earlier, sat on the floor beside my chair. It was a warm moment, but everyone knew it wouldn't last. Rick wiped his mouth, leaned toward me, and spoke in a low tone.
"You found something big?"
"Yeah," I replied. "We need to talk. All of us."
Rick nodded once and stood. He called out, "Meeting room in ten."
The mood shifted instantly—not panicked, but focused. Everyone understood what meeting meant now: something serious. The guys gathered at the meeting room while Carol, Lori, Jenny, Patricia, and Miranda took the children to coax them to sleep. I placed my scouting notebook at the table, flipping through until I reached my observations.
Rick leaned forward. "What did you see?"
I exhaled slowly. "More than expected. Way more."
Shane crossed his arms. "How many is 'more'?"
I tapped the notebook. "Last week, Glenn counted more than three hundred. Today?" I looked at each of them in turn. "It's over a thousand at minimum."
A ripple of uneasy murmurs traveled through the room. Glenn went pale in the face. "A thousand? How... how does the number jump like that?"
"Migration," I said. "Drift patterns changed. They're gathering, forming a super horde, and more are funneled from the east right through the depot grounds."
Rick frowned. "The property… completely covered?"
"Blanketed," I confirmed. "Every catwalk, every lane between the tankers, all outer fencing. You can't move ten feet without brushing shoulders with a walker."
Shane swore under his breath. Dale rubbed his face. "Then clearing them is impossible."
"Not impossible," Shane countered. "Just suicidal."
I nodded. "Which is why killing them isn't the solution. Displacement is."
Rick leaned forward. "Explain."
I tapped three points at the edges of the depot sketch. "I checked fencing integrity around the whole perimeter. Some sections are weak enough that with the right lure, the walkers will bleed out from the depot grounds into open country. Slowly. Controlled."
Merle raised an eyebrow. "Like herdin' cattle."
"Exactly," I said. "Lead the walkers in clusters instead of the full lot."
Morgan scratched his chin. "How long does a thousand-strong drift take?"
"A day for the initial breakaway," I said. "Two or three for the rest. But it can be done without risking a single shot."
"And the noise?" Hershel asked.
"There won't be any," I said simply. "Ghost and I moved through the entire west and south fencing silently. I had to take a couple dozen blocking critical choke points silently. Took hours, but it didn't stir the horde."
Rick nodded slowly. "So your recommendation is… controlled redirection?"
I shrugged. "It's the only realistic option."
"Who's going to participate?" Hershel asked me.
"Rick, Daryl, Merle, and Morgan," I answered.
Hershel nodded once with a light frown between his brows. "It's still dangerous, but far better than you going alone."
"Going alone in this situation is pointless because I won't be able to control a horde that big," I said. "If it was just a couple hundreds, that would have been a different story."
Hershel looked at me but relented nonetheless. Daryl leaned forward. "Just say the plan straight, Z. We'll figure the rest out."
I nodded and circled three sections of the fence on the sketched out depot with a red pencil. "These are the compromised areas: rusts, bends, or partially collapsed. Walkers are already pressing against them. The walker density is keeping the pressure uniform. If we weaken one spot further, they'll naturally flow out toward the path of least resistance."
Rick frowned. "Which spot gives us the safest opening?"
"This one," I said, tapping the southern section. "It leads straight to open fields. No buildings, no tree lines, no choke points. Once they spill out, they'll scatter along the natural dip in the terrain."
Daryl nodded slowly. "Less chance they'll double back."
"Exactly," I said.
Rick rested his hands on the table. "So what's pulling them out? Noise? Bait?"
"No noise," I said immediately. "We're not going to swing a horn or fire rounds. That'll drag the entire horde in one clump and we'll lose control. We want drift, not a stampede."
Daryl clicked his tongue. "So bait then."
I smiled slightly. "Bingo."
(To be continued...)