Chapter 57 — Exploring Farms and Ranches
The farm had been abandoned for at least three months.
Half of the barn fence had collapsed. The wood was chewed and splintered—whether by Walkers or livestock was impossible to tell.
Inside the cattle pen, only dried dung and scattered bones remained. The sheep pen was even worse; a few tufts of dirty wool still clung to the fence, swaying in the wind.
The stable door hung wide open. Hay was scattered across the ground, trampled into mud and rotting into black mold.
Merle stepped out of the house and spat a mouthful of unidentified food onto the ground.
"Not a single trace left," he muttered, wiping his hands.
"Those things ate everything. Cattle, sheep, horses—nothing left."
Daryl followed behind him, holding a cardboard box filled with a dozen eggs.
"At least we found these," he said. "Bring them back and we might be able to hatch chicks."
Merle glanced at him sideways.
"You planning to sit on them yourself?"
Daryl's expression didn't change.
"Believe me, I'll shove them down your throat and let you incubate them instead."
Merle grinned, showing slightly crooked teeth.
"Careful. Don't get weird with me. I don't swing that way."
Daryl ignored him, carefully placing the box into the truck bed and covering it with an old cloth.
Merle leaned over, peeking at the eggs.
"Don't forget me when they hatch. I want to see the chicks first."
Daryl walked away without answering, clearly resisting the urge to punch him.
Daryl pulled out his cigarette case.
Empty.
He crushed it and threw it aside, cursing under his breath.
Then he pulled out the last cigarette from a small pack, lit it, and took a long drag, squinting.
"Boss's cigarettes don't last at all…" he muttered.
"I'm going to have to 'borrow' a few packs from him later."
He turned and shouted toward the others rummaging through the farm.
"Hey! Any seeds we can plant?"
A few men came out of the warehouse, empty-handed.
"No good. The seeds either sprouted or went moldy—touch them and they fall apart."
"What about farming equipment?" Daryl asked.
"It won't start. Batteries are dead, fuel is gone. Even if we had gas, the belts are stiff. It'd break the moment you turn it on."
Merle cursed loudly and flicked his cigarette butt away.
"Get in! Next farm!"
The convoy moved again.
Merle sat in the passenger seat, opening another pack of cigarettes—cheap domestic ones from the Hive supermarket.
He lit one and frowned.
"Tastes like crap," he muttered, "but it does the job."
He cracked the window slightly and let the smoke drift out.
The interstate stretched endlessly ahead. Fields of overgrown weeds lined both sides, with abandoned cars scattered along the roadside.
The sun was setting, bathing everything in a warm orange glow.
Merle squinted at the road ahead, calculating the next farm's location.
The radio crackled uselessly—no signal.
Then, vehicles appeared ahead.
Three or four pickup trucks and civilian Humvees were coming in the opposite direction.
Merle straightened slightly and rested a hand on his weapon.
Both convoys approached each other at speed.
Through the windows, they could see each other clearly now—men armed, standing in truck beds, dressed in mismatched clothing.
Their eyes met briefly.
No one slowed down.
No one stopped.
They passed each other like ghosts.
The engines faded into the distance.
Only silence remained.
Merle kept his hand on the gun for a moment longer, then leaned back.
"Relax…" he said casually. "Their bullets can't punch through this vehicle."
A few men exhaled in relief.
Some loosened their grips on their weapons. Others holstered them.
Merle added calmly, "An RPG could, though. Or a heavy machine gun."
Silence returned instantly.
Daryl glanced at the rearview mirror.
"Think they're survivors from nearby?"
Merle shrugged.
"Who knows. Could've stopped them and asked."
"They wouldn't have liked that," Daryl said.
"That's the point," Merle replied with a grin. "In this world, sticking together is the only normal thing left."
The convoy moved on.
Merle changed the radio channel and tapped his fingers to an imaginary rhythm, as if nothing had happened.
In the other convoy—
A young man in the truck bed kept looking back until the black armored vehicles disappeared completely.
He tapped on the driver's window.
The driver rolled it down slightly.
"Are those military?" the young man asked.
The driver shook his head.
"Doesn't look like it. Black vehicles. Red and white logo. Like an umbrella. Probably some company."
"A company?" the young man laughed. "There are still companies left?"
"Who knows."
The driver tightened his grip on the wheel.
"They looked expensive."
A brief silence followed.
Then the young man leaned forward.
"What are we waiting for? Let's turn around, chase them down, rob them. Saves us the trip to Atlanta."
The driver didn't respond.
The passenger glanced between them.
In the lead vehicle, a man in a wrinkled plaid shirt sat quietly. A scar ran across his face.
He stared forward in silence.
Finally, someone asked, "Boss? Should we turn back?"
Silence.
He thought for a long time.
Atlanta was far. The roads were dangerous. Fuel was limited.
But those vehicles…
They were tempting.
Still, something about them felt wrong.
Too organized. Too clean. Too deliberate.
He shook his head.
"Go to Atlanta," he said finally. "Don't take unnecessary risks."
"What if we see them again?"
"Then we decide next time."
He leaned back and closed his eyes.
"Report back to the Governor. Let him decide."
The convoy continued toward Atlanta.
The sky darkened into deep red as the sun set behind them.
The city ahead looked like a row of tombstones rising from the earth.
Meanwhile—
The farm team found nothing at the second location.
Nor the third.
Merle finally gave up and ordered everyone to return.
By nightfall, the convoy arrived back at the CDC.
The container wall was complete now—an enormous gray fortress.
Guards recognized the vehicles and opened the gate.
Merle jumped out first, shouting orders for the eggs to be taken to incubation storage.
He walked toward the main building, cigarette in hand.
After a few steps, he paused and glanced back at the road.
Empty.
Dark.
Nothing there.
He turned and continued walking.
Upstairs, the lights of the third-floor office were still on.