Rick POV
It had been twenty minutes since we split up from the rest, another ten or so minutes left to reach our destination: the place where the first team the Governor sent out to look for Michonne was located.
Admittedly, this was the harder one of the two teams since it was led by Shumpert.
According to Zephyr and what Michonne told us, Shumpert was a deadly archer and sniper who rarely spoke, but he was one of the few in the Governor's inner circle.
Taking him out here would greatly lessen Woodbury's threat to us.
Doing that, however, was easier said than done.
I had to take him down first in one clean shot. If I missed, that man had the skills to pick most of us off one by one in these woods before he went down.
We were about five minutes from reaching the spot when I stopped and held my hand up, signaling the others to halt. I looked at the guys next to me—specifically Morales, Glenn, and T-Dog.
"Alright, look," I said, keeping my voice down to a harsh whisper. "I will take care of the leader first, quick. That'll leave the rest panicked and disorganized, which should make them easier for you to take down."
I paused to take in their reactions before I continued. "Shane will keep an eye on the side to make sure nobody flanks you."
Shane nodded from his position, adjusting his grip on his rifle.
"You guys just follow what you practiced back at the farm and you'll be fine."
Glenn swallowed hard and nodded nervously. "Yeah, just like we practiced, right?"
"Right," I said. "Now let's go."
We crept through the thick brush, keeping our boots light on the ground until the smell of camp smoke hit us through the low branches.
I spotted them—four men total.
Three were sitting around a small camping stove, grease on their hands as they ate cold beans out of a tin.
Shumpert was standing on a flat rock ten yards back, his heavy crossbow resting in the crook of his arm, his eyes slowly scanning the trees.
I dropped to one knee, resting my elbow on my joint to steady my arm.
I raised my suppressed pistol, lining up the iron sights on Shumpert's head.
I didn't breathe.
I just squeezed the trigger smoothly.
Pfft.
The round took Shumpert right in the temple.
He dropped straight down onto the rock without making a sound, his heavy bow clattering against the stone.
"Go!" I barked before the three guys by the stove could even take in what had just happened.
Glenn and T-Dog burst out of the tree line with their weapons up.
"Don't move!" T-Dog roared.
One of the Woodbury guys panicked and reached blindly for a shotgun laying on his sleeping bag.
Morales didn't hesitate; he fired two suppressed rounds right into the guy's chest, knocking him flat into the dirt.
The second guy scrambled backward, trying to pull a revolver from his holster, but Shane stepped out from behind an oak tree and brought the butt of his rifle down hard across the man's face.
Bone cracked and the guy hit the dirt unconscious, his revolver dropping into the grass.
The fourth guy threw his hands straight up into the air, dropping his tin of beans.
"Don't shoot! Jesus, don't shoot!"
It was over in six seconds—dirty, fast, and quiet.
Glenn stood there, his hands shaking slightly on his gun, staring at the bodies on the ground.
T-Dog kicked the revolver away from the knocked-out guy and stood over him with his weapon trained on his head.
I stepped out of the bushes, lowered my pistol, and looked over the scene.
None of our guys had a scratch on them.
"Good job, everyone," I said, catching my breath as the adrenaline started to fade. "Tie these two up and drag the rest into the brush. Rest for ten minutes, then we move to the next team."
Zephyr POV
It's been a couple of hours since we took down the first spy camp.
During this time, we also managed to take down the last two spy camps and the scavenging team relative ease, though the later took a bit more effort than the two spy camps, mainly due to the terrain being unfriendly.
The ambush tactics proved correct time and time again.
Now, the only thing left is that courier. We snag him, and we're done.
"Huh, that was easy," Merle said, leaning back against a pine tree with his arms crossed over his chest.
Daryl, who was standing right next to him, elbowed him hard in the ribs, causing him to yelp.
"Don't jinx it, damn it," Daryl growled.
"Ow! What the hell, Daryl!" Merle groaned, rubbing his side.
The rest of us chuckled softly at the Dixon brothers' shenanigans, keeping the noise down so it wouldn't carry through the trees.
"Alright," I said, stepping up. "Let's continue as we were. Return to your hiding places and wait for that courier to arrive."
The guys nodded and we split up in different directions, taking cover behind thick trunks and dense berry bushes that lined the dirt logging road.
Just as forty minutes passed, we heard the faint sputtering sound of a dirt bike engine approaching the camp.
I immediately knew it was the courier who had arrived.
We stayed dead still in our positions, waiting for him to pull right into the trap.
A few seconds later, a scuffed red dirt bike came into view, kicking up a trail of dry dust.
The rider stopped the bike near the abandoned tarp, parked it on its kickstand, stepped down, and took off his helmet.
He looked young, not even twenty.
He looked around the empty camp and frowned, not spotting the three spies who were supposed to be sitting there.
"Jack! Liam! Henry! Where are you guys?" the courier yelled, his voice echoing off the trees.
Only silence met his call.
The courier grew visibly nervous.
His eyes darted around the thick tree line, and his hand slowly drifted down toward the leather holster at his hip.
"Guys, this isn't funny!"
"Why don't you put down your gun, son?" Merle said, stepping out from behind a wide oak with his rifle trained straight at the kid's head.
The young man, startled, spun around to face Merle with his pistol half-drawn from his belt.
"Drop it," I said, stepping out from his left side with my suppressed pistol raised, followed immediately by Daryl, Morgan, and Michonne coming out from the brush behind him.
The courier's face went completely white. His jaw dropped as he looked at the five of us circling him with our weapons up.
"W-who are you guys?!" he stammered, his voice cracking. "What did you do to Jack, Liam, and Henry?!"
"None of your goddamn concern, son!" Merle snapped, stepping a foot closer. "Now, if you want your head to stay connected to your shoulders, you better put that gun down and keep your hands where we can see them!"
The courier froze.
He hesitated for a bit, fine beads of sweat glistening on his forehead as he looked from Merle's rifle to my pistol.
He knew he didn't have a chance in hell.
Ultimately, he let out a long sigh and dropped the weapon down into the dirt.
"Good call," I said, stepping forward to retrieve the fallen pistol.
"What are you gonna do to me?" the kid asked, his hands shaking high above his head.
"That depends entirely on how loud you scream when we tie you up," Daryl grunted, stepping up with a coil of thick rope in his hands.
"Keep your mouth shut and you might actually live to see tomorrow."
"Tie him tight to that tree back there," I ordered, turning back to look at the dirt bike resting on its kickstand. "Merle, search his pack. See if he's got any written notes or radio frequencies on him."
"On it, boss man," Merle said, dumping the contents of the courier's canvas bag onto the ground.
I picked up the kid's helmet off the seat, wiping the dust off the visor with my sleeve.
Everything was falling into place.
The scouts were cleared out, the search parties and the scavenger team are being dealt with, and Woodbury's none the wiser.
"Morgan, call Rick's group," I said, looking out toward the main highway. "Tell them Phase One is finished. It's time to get ready for the main event."
(To be continued...)