Night settled heavily over the quarry.
The fires had burned down to embers, leaving only faint red glows scattered across the ground. People slept in fragments—some in tents, some on bare earth. The air was cool, and every sound carried farther than it should have.
Harry's group had set their camp slightly apart. Not in defiance—out of habit. Minimal light. No unnecessary movement.
Harry stood at the edge of their perimeter, holding his bow loosely. His sword rested nearby, still sheathed. Not out of fear—out of discipline. A weapon should be close, but not always in hand.
He was counting.
Distances.
Approaches.
Shadows.
He didn't hear the footsteps—he felt them.
"Can't sleep," a quiet voice said to his left.
Daryl appeared as if he'd always been there. No noise. No rush. The crossbow hung easily from its strap.
"No," Harry replied. "You either."
"Someone's gotta watch," Daryl shrugged.
They stood in silence for a while. Not tense. Just listening.
"You look like you're measuring everything," Daryl said eventually.
"I am," Harry answered calmly. "Time to reach us. From where. Who hears it first."
Daryl nodded.
"Useful habit."
He slowly turned his head toward the main quarry camp.
"See that?" he asked.
Harry followed his gaze.
A lone figure stood on the rise above the camp. An old RV behind him. No light. Binoculars raised.
"Dale," Harry said.
"Yeah," Daryl confirmed. "Only one actually guarding the perimeter."
"Alone?" Harry asked.
"Always," Daryl replied. "Others think that's enough."
Harry was quiet for a few seconds.
"That's dangerous," he said.
"He's old," Daryl answered. "But not stupid."
"He shouldn't be alone," Harry added.
Daryl gave a dry huff.
"Try telling the camp that."
What Only a Few Notice
The wind carried a sound.
Not footsteps.
Not bone on gravel.
Metal.
Harry tensed instantly. So did Daryl.
"You hear that?" Daryl whispered.
"Yes," Harry said. "Not a walker."
They both looked toward the old road beyond the quarry.
Something moved between abandoned cars. Low. Slow. Careful.
"A person," Daryl said. "One."
"Scavenging," Harry replied. "Not us. Food."
They didn't move. Didn't raise an alarm.
"Dale'll see it," Daryl said.
And he did.
A faint shift of light. Binoculars changing angle.
The figure on the road froze. Hesitated. Then quietly withdrew back into the dark.
"He caught that alone," Harry said.
"Always does," Daryl replied. "Ain't fair."
"No," Harry corrected. "It's dangerous."
Morning
Morning came without incident—and that was what bothered Harry.
People woke unaware of how close danger had passed. Fires were relit. Arguments sparked over nothing.
Dale sat beside his RV with a mug of coffee. His eyes were red, but alert.
Harry approached alone.
"You saw him," Harry said without preamble.
Dale looked up. Not surprised.
"Yeah," he answered. "One. Looking for leftovers."
"You were alone," Harry said.
"As usual," Dale shrugged.
"That shouldn't be usual," Harry replied calmly. "A perimeter doesn't hold with one man."
Dale sighed.
"I've told them. Not everyone wants to listen."
"They will," Harry said. "Eventually."
Dale studied him.
"You don't talk just to talk."
"No," Harry agreed. "I've seen how this ends."
A moment passed.
"If you want," Dale said slowly, "you could show me how you'd set it."
Harry nodded.
"I can."
What Changes
Later, Andrea noticed Dale wasn't sitting alone anymore.
Someone stood nearby.
Then another.
Not all at once.
Not announced.
But the perimeter began to live.
Daryl watched from a distance.
"He taught them," he said quietly.
"No," Harry replied. "He just showed them it could be done."
Daryl nodded.
"That's worse for Shane."
"Yes," Harry said. "Because now the camp is starting to think."
The wind swept through the quarry again.
And for the first time in a long while, the night left behind not fear—
—but structure.
End of Chapter 16