The convoy rumbled down the cracked highway, the stench of smoke still clinging to their clothes.
The quarry burned behind them, its black plume stretching high into the sky like a beacon.
Engines roared ahead.
Joe's eyes narrowed as a gang of motorcycles surged into view, cutting across the road.
They slowed to a stop, engines growling, tires screeching on the asphalt.
One rider dismounted slowly, slinging a massive RPG over his shoulder.
The leader grinned wide, yellow teeth flashing. "Well, well. Look what we got here. Step out of the trucks. Nice and easy. Hand everything over, and maybe we let you walk."
The Wolves had been rabid. These men were something else... cocky, armored in leather, armed like scavenger-kings.
Joe's gaze cut to Rick. Just a look. Rick gave the slightest nod.
The trucks went silent. For a heartbeat, the only sound was the wind.
Then, doors slammed open.
Joe, Rick, Kenny, Abraham, and the others spilled out, rifles barking in unison. The air cracked with automatic fire.
Joe's shots cut straight to the biggest threat.
The man with the rocket launcher jerked as bullets tore through his chest, the weapon clattering uselessly to the pavement.
"Tame them down!" Joe roared.
The rest of the group followed his lead, sweeping their rifles across the bikers before they could even level their weapons.
Screams ripped through the air as leather-clad bodies hit the asphalt.
A biker scrambled for cover, firing wild, but Kenny's glock barked twice. One to the shest, one to the skull, silencing him mid-scream.
Abraham's rifle thundered, putting another man flat on his back.
The ambush unraveled in seconds. The bikers hadn't expected resistance... hadn't expected professionals.
Their arrogance cost them everything.
When the dust settled, the only sound was the hiss of cooling .
Bodies littered the road, blood seeping across cracked blacktop. The RPG lay abandoned, streaked with crimson.
Joe lowered his rifle, smoke curling from the barrel. His face was expressionless, calmly surveying the scene.
He swept his eyes over the bikes and fallen bikers, then at his people.
"You see?" he said, voice low but steady. "That's why we don't stop. That's why we don't hesitate."
Rick reloaded, breathing hard. "They thought we were weak."
Joe looked down at the corpse with the rocket launcher. "Now they know better."
The group stood among the bodies, the victory theirs but the smoke from the quarry still twisted high above.
A signal visible for miles. And somewhere out there, other eyes might already be watching.
Joe slung his rifle and strode forward.
His boot nudged the corpse of the biker leader. The man's glazed eyes stared skyward, lips frozen mid-smirk.
Joe crouched, yanked the keys from his pocket, and twirled them once around his finger before standing.
"Strip 'em," Joe ordered.
His crew moved without hesitation. Rifles, pistols, knives... everything was taken.
Ammo was pocketed, vests and packs ripped free. Even the boots and gloves were pulled from the dead.
Kenny and Abraham manhandled two of the motorcycles up into the back of a truck, securing them with rope.
Heath and Scott loaded weapons into crates, silent but efficient. Annie sliced at a biker's saddlebags, grunting until they ripped open, cans of food and spare parts spilling out.
Joe swung his leg over the leader's motorcycle. The engine coughed once before roaring alive, a guttural growl that cut through the still air.
The sound turned heads, it was a symbol, a reminder of who they were.
Rick glanced over at him. "Gonna ride that all the way home?"
Joe smirked faintly, revving the engine. "Damn right."
The convoy re-formed, trucks loaded heavier than before, the bikes lashed down tight.
Joe revved the motorcycle, the growl rolling across the road as he pulled ahead to lead.
The group drove back toward Alexandria without another interruption, their shadows long in the late sun.
They left behind nothing but blood and silence on the cracked blacktop.
By the time the gates came into view, the quarry smoke was just a smear against the horizon, but the motorcycles' roar carried through the air.
...
The convoy rolled back into Alexandria at dusk, engines low and heavy.
No logs, the barrels now empty... everything that wasn't needed had been thrown into the quarry fire.
What they carried back now was different. Crates of scavenged weapons, saddlebags full of supplies, and motorcycles strapped tight to the trucks.
Joe led at the front, astride the biker leader's hog, its engine growling like a warning.
The gates swung shut behind them. Deanna stood waiting, Reg at her side, a crowd gathering quick.
Her eyes fixed on the arsenal piled in the trucks. Rifles, pistols, even the rocket launcher, its tube still streaked with blood.
She stepped forward, voice taut. "Joe. What happened out there?"
Joe cut the bike's engine and swung off. His voice carried so the whole crowd could hear.
"The quarry's no longer a problem."
Cheers erupted, hands clapping, shouts echoing against the walls. People hugged, some nearly crying with relief.
Joe let it swell for a heartbeat before lifting his hand. Silence fell sharp.
"But on the way back, we ran into another group. Bikers. Armed heavy. One carried this." He jerked a thumb at the RPG in the truck bed.
The murmurs started immediately, sharp and fearful. Someone called out, "The Wolves?"
Joe shook his head once. "No. A different group."
The whispers grew louder, unease rippling through the crowd.
Joe's tone cut through like steel. "Doesn't matter. We wiped them out. Every last one. No survivors. Nobody knows they're gone but us."
Relief broke again, softer this time, ragged but real. Shoulders slumped, breath released.
"Go home," Joe said, voice calm but firm. "Eat with your families and rest peacefully. Tomorrow, we'll keep building."
The crowd dispersed quickly, moving back to their homes in the fading light, voices hushed.
Rick stepped up beside Joe as they started toward the house.
...
The house was quiet, the faint babbling of Miracle and Chloe carrying from upstairs.
Joe sat at the table, cleaning his katana with calm precision. Rick leaned against the counter, arms folded, brow furrowed.
"Feels like more groups are popping up every time we leave those walls," Rick muttered. "First the Wolves. Then those bikers. Who the hell else is out there?"
Joe didn't look up. "Doesn't matter how many. What matters is we're not blind. We expect them. We plan for them. That's the difference between livin' and gettin' buried."
Rick studied him, jaw tightening. "You really think Gabriel will try somethin'?"
Joe slid the katana back into its sheath, the metal clicking sharp. "I know he will."
...
The walls loomed silent under moonlight.
Up in the watchtower, the lone guard stifled a yawn. Behind him, Gabriel crept up the ladder, eyes wild, hands trembling around his Bible.
"Brother," Gabriel whispered.
Henry turned, confused. "What're you..."
Gabriel lunged. His hands clamped down, choking him. Henry struggled, slammed elbows, clawed at his face but Gabriel held on.
His face was twisted in madness, whispering prayers as the man's eyes rolled back. Henry went limp, his arms collapsing at his sides.
Gabriel staggered down the tower, sweat pouring, muttering, "Holy work… holy work…" He reached the gate, trembling hands unlocking the heavy latch.
The gate creaked open.
Wolves poured through the gap, blades glinting, whispers sharp and eager.
Gabriel stepped back, tears in his eyes, whispering, "Kill him first… kill the devil…"
One Wolf sneered, knife flashing. "Sure thing, preacher."
The blade plunged into Gabriel's chest. His breath hitched, eyes wide. He collapsed at the foot of the gate, blood soaking his robe.
The Wolves filed inside, grinning, closing the gates behind them. Their shadows crept forward, blades and axes in hand.
...
From the shadows near the houses, Joe lifted a flashlight. One flicker. Then another.
A hundred feet away, Rick, Daryl, Kenny, Carol, and Lee tensed in their positions, rifles already raised.
The Wolves barely had time to blink before the night split with suppressed fire.
Pfft! Pfft! Pfft!
Bullets tore through skulls and chests.
Wolves dropped in droves, confusion snapping into panic. Some shouted, some swung wildly into the dark, but the silenced gunfire cut them down where they stood.
Daryl stepped out from cover, crossbow steady, bolt after bolt finding its mark.
Lee's rifle cracked in rhythm, Kenny letting out a low laugh as his shots punched holes through Wolves staggering for cover.
Rick moved like a machine, each pull of the trigger ending another threat.
Joe walked forward into the open, katana slung on his back, rifle spitting quiet death.
His eyes caught the moonlight, almosy glowing as he dropped any stragglers.
He was calm and efficient as if he'd been waiting for this exact moment all along.
Within minutes, it was over. The Wolves lay scattered, silence swallowing their screams.
The smell of blood hung thick in the cool night air.
Joe lowered his rifle, voice carrying steady across the stillness.
"They thought we were prey." He looked around at the corpses, then back to his people.
"They were wrong."
His boots crunched as he walked across the carnage, stepping over bodies until he reached the gate.
There, slumped in a spreading pool of his own blood, was Gabriel. His glassy eyes stared upward, lips still parted as if whispering one last prayer.
The knife wound in his chest was dark and deep.
Joe crouched beside him, resting his elbows on his knees. For a moment, he just studied the preacher's face, calm and detached.
Then he spoke, low, meant only for the dead.
"You were right about one thing, Gabriel." He tilted his head. "The devil does live here. But tonight, you tried to do his work."
Joe straightened, rising to his full height. He gave the corpse one final look, then nodded once, almost like a man paying respects.
"Thanks for luring 'em in."
He turned on his heel, leaving Gabriel where he lay as he rejoined Rick and the others to begin the cleanup.
When the last skull was pierced and the last Wolf dragged to the truck, only one body remained by the gate.
Gabriel.
He lay sprawled in the dirt, blood soaking his clerical collar, his cross bent beneath him.
His lifeless eyes stared skyward, unblinking.
Rick stood over him, jaw tight. "What about him?"
Joe's expression didn't change. "He wanted the Wolves in. He got what he wanted."
Daryl spat to the side. "Ain't no reason the rest need to know."
Joe nodded once. "Load him with the rest."
Kenny grabbed the ankles, Rick the arms, and together they tossed Gabriel's corpse into the pile of Wolves.
His black robes disappeared under the heap of bloodied leather and torn flesh, just another body among enemies.
The tailgate slammed shut. Joe climbed into the cab, eyes forward, voice flat. "Nobody needs to know about this. We'll just let them know the wolves are no longer a threat."
Rick nodded beside him.
Ten miles away, when the corpses tumbled out into the ruined town square, Gabriel went with them.
No marker. No prayer. No trace left behind.
When the truck rolled back into Alexandria, the people inside slept soundly, never knowing their preacher was gone.
...
The sun rose over Alexandria, golden light washing across the walls.
Kids played in the streets, neighbors shared breakfast, and workers gathered to continue working on defenses.
But one voice was missing.
The church bells didn't ring that morning.
No sermon, no scripture muttered from the pulpit. The benches sat empty, the altar cold.
Someone mentioned it in passing, "Strange not to see Father Gabriel this morning."
Another shrugged. "Maybe he went off to pray somewhere. He does that."
And that was it.
Days passed. Some noticed the church staying empty, the door closed, but no one asked too loudly.
Gabriel had always been strange, always withdrawn. Maybe he'd wandered. Maybe he'd broken under the weight of it all.
No one pressed further.
And for Joe's people, that was the point. The preacher's name was never spoken at the table, never whispered to Deanna, never brought up in the open.
His disappearance was left to fade into rumor, half-questions with no answers.
Gabriel was gone. But Alexandria moved on, none the wiser to the truth.
That he had betrayed them, and Joe had buried him in silence.