Morning broke with crimson light spilling over the horizon. Our forces were ready.
Leah stood beside me, Merle to my left, and thirty armed fighters lined up behind us. Guillermo had spent the night ensuring every gun was loaded, every weapon prepared. We were a storm waiting to break.
We were only waiting for Daryl.
Just then, he returned, his face grim under the morning light. "There's at least two dozen of them," he said. "Mostly gathered around a small outpost north of the tracks. That's where they're holding the prisoners."
I nodded. "Then we move."
Morgan and Guillermo saw us off. "Good luck," they said quietly.
We climbed into the vehicles and moved out—silent, focused, determined.
Within minutes, we reached the outskirts of their camp. We slowed to a crawl. I could see the structure where they kept their captives. Two guards posted. No alarms yet.
I turned to Leah. "Take the Reapers north and start the attack. Cause a diversion. Make it loud."
She nodded, then broke off with her unit.
Merle and I stayed behind with the rest. "We'll secure the prisoners."
I gave a signal. Merle moved in silently, took one guard. I took the other. Quick, clean.
"Clear," I whispered. We pushed forward and breached the building.
Prisoners, shaken and bruised, stared back at us with wide eyes. "You're safe now," I told them. "Stay down and don't move until we secure the area."
Gunfire echoed in the distance.
Leah had begun.
Time to strike.
"You, you, and you—guard this building," I ordered. "No one gets in."
"Yes, sir."
The rest followed me. Sasha, Antonio, and Miguel were with us.
We circled around, using the terrain to our advantage. Leah's team was drawing their fire—perfect.
We flanked them, ambushed them from the rear. Surprise shattered their formation. Several dropped before they could even turn around.
"Drop your weapons! Hands in the air!" I shouted as we cornered the survivors.
One by one, they surrendered.
I counted ten left. Among them—Gareth and Mary.
Gareth stepped forward. "You're making a grave mistake."
"Oh really?" I said, stepping closer. "Like the one where you butcher people, hang their bodies like meat, and feed off them?"
That shut him up.
Mary raised her hands. "You can't do this. Please… we can change. Let us go back. We'll stop. We'll disappear."
"No," I said, locking eyes with Gareth. "You crossed a line we can't uncross."
Then I looked to them, kneeling. "We can't go back, Bob."
I gave the signal.
My people raised their weapons.
One by one, each of the remaining cannibals was executed.
They deserved it.
The stench of death still lingered as we stepped away from the execution site. Silence hung heavy in the air, broken only by the distant cries of the newly freed prisoners—survivors of something unspeakable. There were twenty of them, shaken but alive. I could see the trauma etched into their faces. Some wept quietly—families torn apart, friends lost. One woman clutched a child, muttering a prayer under her breath. They had witnessed horrors, and now they had a second chance.
I ordered Leah and her team to sweep the area for supplies. Within the hour, they found a modest stash—canned food, ammo, bandages, and painkillers. A small victory, but valuable nonetheless. Sara would appreciate the medical supplies. Every wound we could treat meant one more person could keep fighting.
We came with thirty. Now, we're heading back with fifty. That's a win in my book.
As our convoy rolled back to camp, I stared out the window in thought. This wasn't just about vengeance anymore. It was about survival, growth, and preparation.
When we reached the camp, I ordered Morgan to take care of the newcomers. "Help them adjust," I told him. "Give them food, check on their health, and make sure they feel safe."
Then I called for a camp-wide meeting.
I stood in front of them all, all the people, and now all eyes were on me.
"The cleansing," I began, voice firm, "is complete."
Murmurs swept through the crowd. Some nodded. Others stared in silence.
"But we're not done. This was just the beginning."
I looked out at them—survivors, fighters, families. They deserved more than just safety. They deserved a future.
"It's time to grow. We've survived, yes, but now we build. We need to bring more people in. Reach one thousand strong."
They looked at each other, surprised. One thousand? That was ambitious.
"I know the risks," I continued, "but the benefits outweigh them. With strength in numbers, we can protect ourselves against any future threat."
"Even the CRM, I thought."
I turned to Glenn and Michonne. "I want you two to lead a team to Atlanta and nearby areas. Look for survivors—families, good people. Bring them back. Anyone willing to work, contribute, and live by our rules is welcome."
They nodded. They knew what was at stake.
Later that afternoon, I finally had a moment to breathe.
With the raid complete and the camp starting to settle, I decided it was time to focus on what mattered most—my family. After days of blood, gunpowder, and strategy, I needed something real. Something grounding.
Carl was sitting on a log near the edge of the camp, quietly cleaning his revolver. The sun was casting a warm, amber glow over him, making him look older than he should've. Wiser. I hated that this world forced him to grow up so fast, but I was proud of the man he was becoming.
I walked over and sat beside him. "Mind some company?"
He glanced up, a small grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Not at all."
We didn't talk much at first. Just sat there, watching the camp move. People were being fed, new arrivals were getting water and bedding. Kids were running around again—laughing.
A few minutes later, I heard footsteps behind me. Maggie.
She walked up, her hand resting on her belly in that subtle way she always did now. She gave me a tired smile and sat beside me, leaning into my side. I wrapped my arm around her and kissed her temple.
"How are you feelin'?" I asked softly.
"Tired. But good," she said, resting her head on my shoulder. "She's been kicking a lot lately."
Carl looked over, eyes lighting up. "She?"
Maggie chuckled. "Just a feeling."
I placed my hand gently over hers on her stomach. "Strong kickin', huh? Just like her mom."
She laughed at that, and for a moment, everything felt right.
We sat there, the three of us, with the sun setting and the world a little quieter than usual. Around us, the camp felt alive—people talking, cooking, helping the newcomers.
And with Maggie carrying our child, that future felt closer than ever.
Carl leaned back, looking up at the sky. "You think she'll grow up in a better world?"
I looked at Maggie, then at him. "That's what we're fighting for."
And in that moment, I wasn't Rick the leader, the fighter, the planner.
I was Rick—the father, the husband.