Next day was a flurry of action.
Since we were to take the prison, I had to commandeer the whole operation.
Glenn and Daryl had departed early on before most people were awake to get the scouting done.
First thing I did after that was having Jim do a round of maintenance to the armored trucks to get them ready for what's to come; after all, it's been a while since they've seen action.
Then I tasked Rick and Shane to take some men to get the supplies that would be needed to clear the prison ready, such as food, water, weapons, ammo, tools such as bolt cutters and such, fuel, medical supplies, etc…
Next, I had to donate my blood again for Dr. Jenner's research.
He had informed me yesterday that his reserves were nearing depletion.
Doing that, however, didn't take long; that was probably the easiest task of the day so far.
It wasn't until it was almost eleven AM that Daryl and Glenn came back.
We held a small meeting upon their arrival.
According to their findings, it wasn't much different from canon. Small mercies.
They didn't enter the prison, which was a sound idea on their part, keeping the danger to a minimum.
They just did a few rounds around the perimeter, took notice of the state of the fences, the number of walkers, and the state of the buildings before they came back, and that was more than enough info to plan our next course of action.
After listening to what they had to say, next came deciding who will be among the prison cleaners and who will stay to guard the farmhouse.
We sat around the heavy wooden table in the meeting room, looking over the rough sketch Glenn had drawn on a scrap piece of paper.
"The outer yard is swarming," pointing a dirty thumb at the drawing, "maybe thirty or forty biters wandering between the two chain-link gates. But the fences are holding fine, no breaches from what we could see."
"That's good news," Shane said, leaning over the back of a chair. "Means once we clear that yard and lock the outer gate, we've got a secure staging ground."
"Yeah, but clearing 'em out without drawing every rottin' corpse in a five-mile radius is the tricky part," Daryl added, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. "We make too much noise, we'll have a herd piling up against the outer fence before we even get inside."
"Which is why we're taking a tight, experienced group," I said, looking around at the men in the room. "Stick to melee weapons and suppressed guns only. We can't afford to be loud, and we certainly can't afford taking every able hand. The farm still needs heavy guards while we're gone."
"I'm going," Rick said immediately, his voice leaving no room for argument. "My family is here, but if we're securing this prison for our future, I need to be on the front line."
"Count me in too," Shane said with a grin, cracking his knuckles. "I've been getting restless lately. Time to crack some skulls."
"I'm coming," Daryl grunted. "My crossbow's silent. You're gonna need that if you want to keep things down."
Merle, who was sitting near the window cleaning under his fingernails with a hunting knife, let out a harsh laugh. "You think you're going without me, little brother? Not a chance in hell. Besides, somebody's gotta make sure you goodie two-shoes don't mess it up."
I looked over at T-Dog, Morgan, Morales, and Glenn.
"T-Dog, Morgan, Morales—you guys stay here," I said. "I need people I trust running the perimeter watch at the farm. If anything comes down the road, you three are in charge of defense."
T-Dog nodded. "Got it, Zephyr. You can count on us."
"What about me?" Glenn asked, looking eager. "I scouted the place out. I know the layout of the yard."
"You did a great job on the scout, Glenn," I told him, clapping a hand on his shoulder. "But I need you here to help T-Dog and Morgan manage the supply runs and keep the farm running smooth while the heavy hitters are out. If we run into trouble at the prison, I need to know the home base is solid."
Glenn looked a bit disappointed, but he nodded nevertheless. "Alright, fair enough."
So the strike team was set: Rick, Daryl, Merle, Shane, and me. Five guys who knew how to handle themselves in a fight, heavy on muscle and silent takedowns.
"All right," I said, standing up from the table. "That's settled. We eat, double-check our gear, and head out in thirty minutes."
I walked back out into the bright morning sun, feeling the nervous energy buzzing around the yard.
The farm was moving like a well-oiled machine.
Jim was wiping his greasy hands on a rag near the idling armored trucks, checking the engine oil one last time.
Rick was loading extra ammo crates into the back of the lead truck, while Daryl was strapping his quiver tight against his vest.
Maggie came up to me near the porch, wrapping her arms around my waist and leaning her head against my chest. "You be careful out there," she murmured softly.
I wrapped my arms around her, holding her tight for a long moment and breathing in her scent.
"Always am," I said, pressing a kiss to her temple. "We're just clearing the yard and locking down the gates today. We'll be back before you know it."
She looked up into my eyes, giving me a firm nod. "I know. Just... bring everyone back in one piece."
"I will."
I stepped back, grabbed my rifle and gear bag from the porch, and walked over to the lead armored truck.
Rick climbed into the passenger seat, while Shane, Daryl, and Merle piled into the back with the supplies.
I slid behind the wheel, turned the key, and brought the engine roaring to life.
Morgan swung the heavy container gate open, waving us through with a sharp nod.
I hit the gas, the tires kicking up dirt as we rolled out of the farm gates and onto the open highway, heading straight for the West Georgia Correctional Facility.
(To be continued...)