The first light of morning crept over the quarry rim, pale and hesitant, turning the sky from black to bruised gray. The camp stirred slowly, as though reluctant to acknowledge the new day. The camp was quiet, save for the occasional rustle of leaves in the wind and the soft crackle of the rekindled fire. Smoke rose in thin, straight columns; the scent of boiling coffee mingled with the lingering odor of pine and damp earth.
Alister had risen before the others, his body protesting the night's inadequate rest. He moved to the lakeside, the same spot where he had conducted his morning training upon first arriving at the camp. The memory of that initial session his sword slicing through the air with practiced precision, the rhythm grounding him in an unfamiliar world felt distant now, overshadowed by the events of Atlanta. His armor, still encrusted with dried gore and marked by dents, weighed heavily upon him. He drew the broken sword, its jagged edge a stark reminder of the siege's toll, and assumed his stance. His movements were deliberate but labored, each swing testing the limits of his fatigued muscles and the compromised plates.
As he practiced, the sun climbed higher, casting long shadows across the water. The exercise served not only to maintain his form but also to process the lingering guilt that gnawed at him the belief that he had failed Jacqui by allowing her to venture alone through the vent. His strikes grew more forceful, channeling the turmoil into motion, until sweat mingled with the remnants of blood on his skin.
Dale, ever vigilant from his perch atop the RV, noticed Alister's solitary figure by the lake. Descending with careful steps, he approached quietly, his expression one of quiet concern. "Alister," he called softly, not wishing to startle the knight. "You should be resting. That armor looks like it's seen better days and so have you."
Alister lowered his sword, breathing steadily. "Rest eludes me, Dale. The mind replays what the body has endured."
Dale nodded, his eyes reflecting understanding. "I saw how you watched over Jacqui last night. You blame yourself for her wound, don't you? But she made it because of you. That's no failure it's sacrifice. We all carry burdens here, but sharing them lightens the load."
Alister's gaze softened slightly, though the tension in his posture remained. "Your words are kind, but the oath I swore to protect those under my charge demands more."
Dale placed a reassuring hand on Alister's shoulder, mindful of the dented pauldron. "You're not alone in this fight anymore. Here," he said, handing over a small bundle: a rag, a bottle of scavenged oil, leather straps from an old belt, and wire salvaged from a vehicle. "These might help with the armor. Clean it first, then bind the loose sections. It's not a forge, but it'll hold until we find better."
Alister accepted the supplies with a nod of gratitude. "Thank you. I shall make use of them."
As Dale returned to the RV, the camp fully awoke. The group gathered around the fire pit in a loose circle. Rick stood near the center, hands in his pockets, posture tense yet composed. Shane leaned against the side of the RV, arms folded, his expression guarded. Lori remained close to Carl, who sat quietly on a log, watching the adults with wide, serious eyes.
Glenn, Andrea, and T-Dog sat on camp chairs or crates, still marked by the previous day's ordeal clothes stiff with dried blood, faces drawn. Alister joined them, his armor partially disassembled on a nearby tarp: gauntlets, one pauldron, and the damaged breastplate laid out like a surgeon's instruments. He had begun the repairs with Dale's supplies, binding a cracked section with leather and wire.
Daryl crouched near the fire, sharpening a bolt for his crossbow with deliberate strokes. Merle lounged against a tree trunk, whittling idly at a stick, smirk in place but eyes sharp.
Rick spoke first, his voice low but carrying clearly. "We made it back. All of us. That's the important part. But we can't pretend yesterday didn't happen. We lost nothing permanent, but we came close. Too close."
He glanced at Jacqui's window in the RV, then at Alister. "We also gained something. A reminder that when we work together, we survive things that should kill us."
Shane shifted his weight. "We survived because we got lucky. Luck runs out Rick."
Rick met his gaze evenly. "It wasn't luck. It was planning. It was holding the line. It was trusting the person next to you."
Andrea spoke quietly. "We need more than trust. We need supplies. Medicine. Ammunition. Food. Jacqui's stable now, but if someone else gets hurt like that…"
T-Dog nodded. "We're running low on everything. Antibiotics won't last forever."
Glenn rubbed his face. "The guns we dropped in Atlanta… they're still there. If we can get back in, quietly, we could—"
"No," Shane cut in. "Not yet. We just crawled out of that city. We're not going back in blind."
Daryl looked up from his bolt. "Ain't blind if we plan it right. Hit quick. Get what we need. Get out."
Merle laughed under his breath. "Listen to the tin man. He's got the right idea. Walk in covered in guts again. Worked once, might work twice."
Alister, who had been listening in silence, finally spoke. "The camouflage is effective, but it is not foolproof. The dead do not see, but they can still hear, still feel movement. And the city is vast. What we did yesterday was born of necessity. Repeating it without better preparation would be folly."
Merle snorted, stepping closer with a cocky grin. "Oh, listen to the fancy talk. You think you're some kinda hero in that rusty tin can? Bet you tripped over your own feet back there, big man. What, you swing that broken stick and expect respect?"
Alister rose to his full height, his voice calm but edged with authority. "I fought through a horde to ensure my companions' survival. I do not seek respect from mockery, nor do I tolerate it from those who hide behind words rather than deeds. If you doubt my resolve, test it though I advise against it."
The camp fell silent. Merle's smirk faded slightly, his eyes narrowing as he assessed Alister anew. After a tense pause, he chuckled, but it lacked its earlier bite. "Alright, tin man. You got spine. Respect that. Maybe you're not all show after all."
Rick considered, then nodded once. "Four of us. Small. Fast. In and out."
Andrea crossed her arms. "And if something goes wrong?"
"Then we adapt," Rick said simply. "Like we did yesterday."
The fire popped. A log settled. No one spoke for several seconds.
Finally, Shane exhaled. "Fine. But we do this smart. No heroics. No one plays knight in shining armor."
Alister inclined his head slightly. "I play only what is necessary."
Rick looked at each of them in turn. "We rest today. Clean up. Repair what we can. Eat. Sleep. Tomorrow we plan the route. The day after, we move."
He paused, letting the words settle.
"We're not just surviving anymore. We're building something. And we do it together."
The circle remained silent, but the silence felt different now less heavy, more purposeful.
The sun rose higher. Smoke drifted upward. The camp began to move again, each person turning to the tasks of the day.