Next day came in a flash.
As soon as I woke up, I slowly untangled myself from Maggie, who was still blissfully asleep and had her limbs wrapped all around me like a human-sized octopus.
I was careful not to wake her up this early.
As soon as I managed that, I slowly swung my legs to the side of the mattress and stood up.
I stretched my back with a grunt, feeling it snap back into position with a satisfying pop.
I grabbed my clothes off the chair, put them on, and retrieved my silenced pistols and my bow that I had done maintenance on yesterday from the small table in the room.
I holstered the pistols on my hips, shouldered the bow, and grabbed my pack off the floor.
I did a double check around the room just in case I had forgotten something important. Only then did I step out.
The hallway was chilly and quiet, the morning sun barely creeping through the high windows.
I righted my pack on my shoulders and headed straight for the kitchen to grab breakfast before we headed out into the woods.
Upon reaching the kitchen, the teams were already there, sitting around the long table.
They were just waiting on me so we could eat and get this show on the road.
Merle was the first to say something. "Bout time you came, boss man. We almost thought you slept in!"
"Almost did," I joked back, pulling out my chair.
The rest chuckled, cutting through the nervous tension hanging in the room.
I sat down at my usual seat at the head of the table.
Carol and Jenny came by carrying heavy trays, setting down plates of scrambled eggs, hash, and crispy bacon alongside mugs of steaming coffee for everyone.
We thanked them for the food and we dug in right away.
We exchanged small talk while eating, keeping our voices down so we didn't wake up the kids in the back rooms.
Between bites of bacon and gulps of black coffee, we went over the map one last time, further refining the plan until every man knew his exact job.
Rick double-checked his radio frequency while Daryl made sure he had enough steel-tipped bolts stuffed into his quiver.
Once every plate was cleared and the coffee mugs were empty, we stood up, checked our weapons one last time, and stepped out of the kitchen and onto the porch.
The morning air was crisp and cold, mist hanging thick over the dirt yard.
We walked together until we reached the outer gates of the settlement.
The heavy metal containers towered over us.
Dale was up on top of one of the converted containers, giving us a low nod as he watched the treeline.
Right there by the gate, we split up according to the plan.
Rick, Shane, Morales, Glenn, and T-Dog went their way, slipping out through the side gap to go ambush the teams the Governor had sent out to look for Michonne.
They were taking the long path around the ridge to flank them from behind.
Daryl, Merle, Morgan, Michonne, and me took the opposite direction.
We moved fast and quiet, heading straight for the locations of the spies and the courier to take care of them quick before we moved on to set an ambush for the Woodbury scavenger team.
The forest was dead quiet as the five of us cut through the thick brush.
The trees were tall, casting long gray shadows across the damp ground.
Daryl took the lead, stepping around dry twigs like he—the seasoned hunter he was—with Merle right behind him carrying his scoped rifle down at his hip.
After about forty minutes of steady walking, Daryl slowed down and held up his hand, dropping into a low crouch behind a mossy log.
The rest of us immediately sank into the high grass behind him, making sure we stayed quiet.
Daryl turned his head back, pointing two fingers toward his eyes, then pointed out through a gap in the pine trees.
About fifty yards out, tucked into a small ravine near a dry creek bed, was the first observation camp.
They had a small camouflaged tarp stretched between the trees, a few sleeping bags rolled out on the dirt, and a couple of lawn chairs set up near a cold pit of ashes.
Two guys were sitting in the chairs, binoculars slung around their necks, while a third guy was leaning against a tree stump, picking at a wooden block with his pocketknife.
They looked lazy.
They looked bored.
They had no idea we were standing right behind them.
One of the two sitting on the lawn chairs—the younger-looking one—suddenly spoke.
"Look at them," he pointed toward our settlement, "blissfully unaware. They don't even know they're being watched," he sneered, spitting a mouthful of turbid phlegm to his side.
"What do you expect?" the guy sitting next to him said. "They think they're safe behind these containers, but they have no idea."
I unslung my bow from my shoulder, slipping an arrow out of the quiver and resting it against the riser.
Daryl loaded a bolt into his crossbow with a soft metallic click, while Michonne slid her katana out of its scabbard without making a single sound.
I looked at Daryl, held up three fingers, then pointed to the guy by the stump.
Daryl nodded once, aiming his crossbow toward the guy sitting on the left side of the fire pit.
Morgan and Merle stayed back, holding their suppressed rifles ready just in case someone tried to run or scream.
I took a deep breath, drew the bowstring back until the fletching brushed against the corner of my mouth, sighted down the shaft, and…
Thwip!
My bowstring slapped my wrist guard at the exact same second Daryl pulled his trigger.
My arrow caught the guy by the stump straight through the throat before he could even look up from his wooden block.
He dropped like a sack of wet flour, his knife clattering against the dirt.
A split second later, Daryl's bolt slammed right into the chest of the second scout, driving him backward out of his lawn chair.
The third guy—the young-looking dude—bolted upright, his eyes going wide as he reached wildly for a shotgun resting against the tarp pole.
He didn't even get his hand around the barrel.
Michonne burst out of the bushes like a ghost, closing the distance in three long strides, and swept her blade through the air.
The guy opened his mouth as if to say something, only to gurgle out blood instead.
He grabbed at his throat and collapsed sideways into the dirt, completely dead before he hit the ground.
The whole engagement took less than five seconds.
Clean, quiet, and brutal.
"Check their gear," I whispered, stepping out of the brush and pulling my arrow free from the stump guy's neck, wiping the tip clean on his jacket.
Merle moved around the camp, dragging their bodies under the tarp and kicking dirt over the dark spots on the ground.
He dug through their pockets, pulling out a couple of walkie-talkies, extra pistol magazines, a crude hand-drawn map of our farm's perimeter fence, and a couple cigarette packs.
"Lazy bastards didn't even set up tripwires," Merle grunted, tossing a pack over to Daryl. "The Governor's running out of good men if this is the best he's got."
"Don't get cocky," Daryl muttered as he caught the pack and slipped it in his pocket. "We still got two more camps to wipe, plus that runner on the dirt bike."
"He's right," I said, putting my bow away and pulling one of my suppressed pistols from its holster.
"We stick to the plan. We clear the next two camps set up near the logging trail and wait for the courier. Move out."
(To be continued...)