The next four days blurred together. Each morning followed the same rhythm—gears checked, routes confirmed, vehicles rolling out while the sun was still low.
The fuel depot grew quieter with each passing day. The air was less crowded with sound and movement. The dead are still there, no doubt—just fewer of them. I led the timing everyday, spacing them out so nothing rushed, nothing panicked.
Merle and Morgan took their lanes without a problem now. Movement practiced, familiar, honed through days of repetition. The walkers followed like they always did—slow, drawn by noise and motion, by instinct.
By the second day, the clusters were smaller. By the third day, they were tighter, clinging closer to the depot itself.
The quarry never changed; the plan remained absolute. The drop worked like magic. Whenever walkers reached the edge, they would stumble forward and vanish—bodies tumbling head-first into the stone, cracking and breaking as the gravity finished what the fall began.
Some hit the ground hard enough to stop moving entirely. Others still twitched at the bottom, trapped among the wreckage of those that had fallen before them. It didn't matter; none climbed out, and none would ever climb out.
The ropes Rick prepared stayed anchored, tested again and again as Merle, Morgan, and me used them to lower ourselves just enough to be out of reach and let the dead pour past us. Daryl and Rick worked the ridge everyday, silent and efficient, putting down anything that veered off course with extreme prejudice before it became a problem.
By the fourth morning, the fuel depot was almost still.
The depot barely felt like a threat anymore. What had once been a crawling mass was reduced to a handful of walkers lingering close to the tanks. They roamed slowly, without purpose.
I took one look and shook my head. "There's no need to lure them anymore. We finish them here."
Rick agreed immediately. "Yeah, it'd be overkill to lure them out now."
We moved together, spacing out naturally as we entered the depot grounds. No raised voices, no unnecessary noise—just controlled movement and clear sightlines.
Morgan took the first, stepping in with practiced calm, his machete dropping the walker before it could even turn. Rick followed, knife under the jaw, easing the body down so it didn't clatter against the metal. Merle handled his with blunt efficiency, putting a bolt through the skull from close range, muttering under his breath, "Shoulda gone over the edge with the rest of your pals."
I moved through the remaining walkers with practiced ease, stepping inside their reach, redirecting weight, ending them cleanly before they could grab or stumble into me.
Less than ten minutes later, the depot was finally clear. No movement. No sound.
Rick walked the perimeter once more, checking blind spots and corners, then nodded. "That's it."
Morgan rested his back against the fence. "The depot's clear."
Merle spat into the dirt. "That's about it."
With the depot now cleared, the place settled into a heavy, empty quiet—the kind that made every footstep sound louder than it should. The tanks loomed overhead, rust-streaked but intact, and the open yard stretched wide without anything shuffling through it.
I let out a long breath. "We take stock."
That was the cue. I moved first, not rushing, already shifting from clearing to assessment: gates, fuel lines, storage warehouses. I checked locks, tested doors, glanced up the tanks for leaks or obvious damage.
"Nothing breached," I said. "Looks like it was shut down clean."
Merle followed me toward one of the service buildings, yanking the door open with a grin. Inside, shelves lined the walls—tools, hoses, sealed containers stacked where they'd been left.
"Jackpots come in small packages too," Merle said.
Rick checked another structure and came back with a nod. "Backup generator's still here. Looks untouched."
Morgan crouched near a pallet of sealed drums, running a hand over the lid. "Fuel's still viable if we're careful."
I paused, taking it all in. The depot wasn't just clear—it was usable.
"We mark what we can move today," I said. "Rest we secure and come back for."
Merle snorted. "Ain't nobody else claimin' it now."
"You never know," I replied calmly. "We can't get sloppy."
Daryl agreed. "We'll bring the trucks tomorrow. No rush."
We stood there for a moment longer, surrounded by the quiet proof of what five days of hard work had earned us, before we went to haul what we could take with us now.
The trucks came in slow and deliberate. Two pickup trucks and the box truck rolled through the open depot gate, engines idling as they spread out across the yard. The place still felt strange without the dead.
We didn't waste time.
Merle and Rick started with the drums closest to the service buildings, checking seals before muscling them into the truck beds. Metal rang softly against steel as they rolled and lifted, careful not to rupture anything. I moved methodically, counting as I went.
"Take what we secure without stacking too high. We don't need everything today."
We loaded until the pickups sagged slightly under the weight and the box truck's cargo area filled with drums strapped down tight. Fuel, oil, sealed containers—nothing loose.
Merle wiped sweat from his brow and glanced around the yard. "Hell of a haul."
"Not even close," Rick said.
I wandered farther than the others. At the far end of the depot, parked cleanly within painted lines, sat a tanker trailer—long, industrial, untouched. Its steel body was dull but solid; hoses capped, fittings intact.
I walked the length of it slowly, hand resting against the cold metal. No obvious damage. No leaks. The placard still legible.
Morgan approached, eyes widening slightly. "That'll hold a lot."
Rick joined us, letting out a quiet breath. "Too much for today."
I nodded. "Exactly."
Merle smirked. "You're thinkin' tomorrow?"
"I'm thinking long term," I replied. "We fill it, tow it back, and the farm won't worry about fuel for a long while."
Rick considered it, eyes moving from the tanker to the loaded trucks. "We need time. Clear daylight, full escort, and rest," Morgan added.
I stepped back from the trailer. "So we leave and come back first thing tomorrow."
Merle gave the tanker a pat as we walked away. "Don't go nowhere."
With the trucks fully loaded and nothing else urgent to grab, we sealed the depot back up as best as we could before we rolled out.
(To be continued...)