Rick's brow tightened. "You mean… we draw them out ourselves?"
"Not all thousand at once," I clarified. "We break the horde into clumps. Small enough to control, big enough to matter. We each lead them one part at a time, straight to the quarry."
"How big are we talkin' about?"
"A hundred, give or take," I said with a shrug.
Glenn whistled softly. "That's still a lot of walkers."
I nodded. "It is. But with the three of us working together, it's doable." I pointed at the depot sketch. "Alright, this is the most important step: the lure."
I drew three arrows leaving the depot. "We'll have three lure points. Three runners: me, Morgan, and Merle."
Morgan raised an eyebrow. "We each taking a cluster?"
"Exactly," I said. "Not all at once. Controlled pulls. We break the horde into fragments—about a hundred or so per cluster. Each of us gets their attention and leads them down the single road towards the quarry."
I flipped the pages of my notebook to the sketch of the quarry. "It has a wide drop, at least eighty-plus feet. Big enough for the entire horde to tumble over at once."
Merle smirked. "Heh. First time the dead are chasin' me and I ain't even done nothing wrong."
Morgan rolled his eyes. "Just keep pace, keep distance, and no showboating."
I nodded firmly. "You two stay consistent. Don't sprint and don't slow down too much. Keep them locked onto you. The moment you break their line of sight, they'll scatter."
Morgan tapped the map. "So, no slip-ups?"
"None," I replied.
"So how are we gonna make the dead-heads tumble over to the quarry without us tumbling over as well?" Merle asked.
"We use ropes," I said simply.
"Ropes?" Morgan repeated.
"Rick's gonna be the one in charge of setting ropes for us to use when we reach the cliff. Rick will go ahead to the quarry edge with heavy-duty climbing ropes. He'll anchor multiple lines into the strongest points of the cliff face—old support bolts, embedded steel beams, natural rocky protrusions—creating three narrow vertical routes."
I traced the path on the map. "When we lead the walkers to the cliff drop, we each take a rope and climb less than halfway down. We press ourselves to the cliff side to avoid colliding with the tumbling walkers."
"Oh hell naw! I ain't doing that bullshit!" Merle shouted.
I looked him dead in the eyes. "Look, this is the only way we can do this without making too much noise and scattering the horde."
Merle's eye twitched, snorting. "Hillbilly cliff diving with dead folk breathing down my damn neck? Hell of a way to spend the week."
Morgan gave him a side-eye. "Ain't nobody diving. We've got ropes and a cliff face steep enough to stick to."
"Yeah, yeah," Merle grumbled. "Just sayin', if one of y'all slips, I ain't jumping down after you."
I smirked. "Good. If you jumped, you'd land on walkers. They'd complain you taste worse than boot leather."
A few chuckles cut through the tension. I straightened up. "Listen up. Tomorrow's mission happens in phases."
Phase One: Gather a cluster each, roughly a hundred walkers, from the depot outskirts.
Phase Two: We unite the clusters on the main road and lead them toward the quarry. No gunfire unless absolutely necessary. Radios open at all times.
"Got it," Morgan said.
"Phase Three: At the quarry, we move across the cliff rail to the ropes Rick will have rigged. Press ourselves against the cliff wall. Don't rush, don't slip. As long as we stick tight, the walkers will try to push toward us and tumble straight over the edge."
Merle grimaced. "Can't believe we're making ourselves bait. Damn circus."
"You'll manage," Rick said simply. "Just follow the path and don't improvise."
I continued. "Phase Four: Daryl clears off strays that wander off the route. Once Rick gets the ropes in place, he will join him. No ranged shots unless we have no other choice. Everything is close quarters so we don't pull a secondary cluster."
Daryl grunted. "Easy enough. I'll handle it."
Rick nodded. "You got it."
"Lastly, Phase Five: We repeat the process a couple more times, depending on how fast the horde responds to the thinning perimeter."
"We are not clearing the stragglers at the depot until the final day?" Morgan asked.
"And if more walkers get pulled over by the thinning herd?" I answered. "We adapt. But so far, the pattern is consistent."
Rick exhaled. "Good. Everybody get some sleep."
"We start at dawn," I said.
The next morning, the light was cold and sharp. The red pickup sat idling near the gate. I stood near the tailgate, tightening a strap on my pack. Morgan arrived next, adjusting his gloves and tightening the straps on his machete holsters.
Merle came last, carrying his crossbow slung over his shoulders and a belt full of spare bolts. Rick rode up in the box truck—this one hauling heavy rope coils, pitons, and steel anchors. Daryl walked alongside with his hunting gear, stopping next to Merle.
"You screw up," Daryl said flatly, "I'm leavin' your ass to the herd."
"Family reunion's off to a warm start," Merle drawled.
Jenny and Duane were wishing Morgan good luck with worried looks, while Lori and Carl were beside Rick, conversing in hushed voices. I could see the anxiety etched into Lori's face as Rick repeatedly assured her of his safety.
Maggie came over to me. She looked uneasy as well. "Good luck," she whispered. She pecked my cheek. "For good luck. Stay safe."
Her cheeks pinked. I nodded, somewhat absentmindedly, catching the teasing look Daryl sent in my direction. I cleared my throat. "Everyone ready?"
"Ready," Morgan, Daryl, and Rick answered in unison.
I nodded. "Then let's get it done."
Merle muttered something profane but climbed into my truck anyway. I gave them one final warning. "No heroics. You get overwhelmed, you break off and fall back. Don't force a run if you don't have the numbers."
They nodded. I climbed into the truck, and Ghost followed suit.
"Then let's get a move on."
And we rolled out.
(To be continued...)