Ramadan Mubarak Saiid To You Brothers And Sisters And Every One Of You Out There. May Allah Bless You.
We didn't linger.
The convoy reformed quickly, the same as we arrived: the truck I drove in first, the tanker truck bringing up the rear.
Engines growled under added weight, suspensions dipping but holding.
The drive back was slow, intentionally deliberate.
Every turn was taken wide; every stretch of road scanned twice.
We didn't pursue speed; we didn't want to push our luck, which took us a lot longer to reach our destination than the first time.
When the farm finally came into view, the gates opened early. People were already waiting.
I rolled in first, my load intact. Then the tanker followed.
It dwarfed everything around it—the fences, the trucks, the people. A moving promise of light, power, mobility, and more importantly, a better tomorrow.
When the engine shut down, the farm went quiet. No one cheered.
Hershel stepped forward first, his eyes scanning the length of the tanker. His expression didn't show joy, just calculation. "That's… substantial."
"It's full," I confirmed.
A murmur rippled outward. Carol covered her mouth briefly.
Andrea stepped closer to the flatbed, staring at the strapped barrels as if they might disappear if she blinked.
Daryl circled the tanker once, then slapped the metal lightly.
"That'll run everything for a while," Morgan said calmly.
Glenn grinned. "Longer, if we're smart about it."
Shane shook his head slowly. "We could run supply runs for months."
I didn't correct him. Maybe we could, but that wasn't the main reason why we got the fuel.
The tanker was parked near the barn, grounded.
The flatbed was unloaded carefully; barrels rolled down and stacked in the barn under cover, followed by boxes of hoses, spare filters, parts, and tools.
No one rushed. This wasn't a marathon.
As the sun dipped down, the farm felt different. Not louder, but more… alive. More prepared.
Rick stepped beside me as the last barrel was secured. "This changes everything," Rick said quietly.
I nodded once. "Yes."
The adrenaline wore off the second the work stopped.
Not all at once, not dramatically, just in the way shoulders start to ache once you stop moving.
Rick felt it first in his lower back when he bent to unlace his boots.
Morgan's hands were steady as always, but there was a faint tremor in his fingers once he finally relaxed.
Merle rolled his neck twice like it owed him money. I looked the same as ever, but was a little winded mentally.
Jenny's voice came from the porch. "Hot water's ready!"
That did it. Merle barked a short laugh. "Now that's what I'm talkin' about!"
Hot water ran down my back, steam curling against the tile that had seen better decades, fogging the cracked mirror.
Dirt loosened and swirled down the drain in thin brown rivers.
Dust, diesel smell, and the metallic tang of fuel washed away in steam.
For a few minutes, there was nothing in my mind—just heat and silence.
I closed my eyes and let the tension bleed out of muscles and bones.
A few minutes later, I stepped out, toweling my hair dry, my mind already moving ahead.
We gathered around the table again. Plates were simple but filling: bread, canned goods, some preserved vegetables Hershel insisted on rationing.
The mood wasn't celebratory, but it was light, like something heavy dropped off everyone's shoulders.
The kids were giggling in the side among themselves as they ate.
Afterward, the mothers ushered in the children out of the room to sleep.
Daryl leaned back in his chair. "So, what's the plan now?"
Rick looked at me.
I didn't hesitate. "We stop thinking small."
The room stilled.
"We've secured the farm. We've secured fuel. That means range." I rested my forearms on the table.
"It's time we think long-term."
Rick frowned slightly. "You've got something in mind?"
"Yes." I let that hang for a moment. "Operation P.A.D.R.E."
The name landed heavy. Hershel blinked. "That's military, right?"
I nodded slowly. "During my time as a soldier, a federal government initiative was enacted by the U.S. military, code-named Operation P.A.D.R.E., It's purpose was to ensure that agencies could continue the operation of their essential functions in the event of an international emergency."
I stopped, looking at the bewildered expressions on most of the group's faces.
Sighting, I continued. "Meaning, in the event of a global disaster, like what we are in now, the military would enact Project P.A.D.R.E. to ensure the continuation of the country's future and the federal government by evacuating key political and military personnel and distributing supplies needed to rebuild.
The government would then deliver shipping containers filled to the brim with the needed supplies to various survival groups in order to build new communities so that a trade network could be established."
Pausing, I reached for a cup of water before continuing.
"According to some research I did, this operation was drafted as early as 1972.
They spent years of study to provide the right geographical, meteorological, and topographical conditions to ensure the communities P.A.D.R.E. builds would survive.
My eyes wandered around as i continued. "These pre-selected locations were designated into regions and color-coded for the shipping containers based on various locations and their climates.
Deserts were color-designated as yellow, temperate locations as green, coastal locations as red, and polar locations as blue."
I stopped, took a sip from my cup before continuing. "Only three regions were prioritized, and only two to three locations in each region were to be established. And you can guess which region was left out."
"Polar," Morgan answered with a grimace.
"Bingo," I said, letting out a wry smile. "Polar region was conveniently left out, and only two to three locations were selected in the other three regions."
"So few?" Rick asked, taken aback.
"Yeah. Desert region had Lea County, New Mexico and Pinal County, Arizona.
Temperate region had Cat Island, the Bahamas, and Venado, Mexico.
The coastal region had Malheur County, Oregon and the Gulf of Mexico."
Silence fell.
I continued anyway. "But as you can probably guess, that didn't pan out.
The Wildfire Virus killed off many, and those who died of natural causes returned and finished the rest off from the inside, leaving Project P.A.D.R.E. uninitiated.
Which means all the supplies that were meant to rebuild civilization were left untouched, guarded by hordes of walkers.
And I intend to make use of it."
(To be continued...)