The convoy did not take the same route back. Instead, they deliberately made a small detour east, avoiding Greene Farm and the surrounding area.
Calista was not sure where the horde had gone, so taking the longer way around was safer than running into it.
The weather was good. Sunlight filtered through the thin clouds, falling over the withered grass and woods lining both sides of the road. From time to time, they saw abandoned vehicles and walkers wandering aimlessly through the fields, but those scattered walkers could do nothing against a convoy this large.
Calista sat in the passenger seat of the lead vehicle, her gaze drifting over the scenery outside the window.
No horde.
Her memories of the original storyline had grown hazier the longer she had been in this world. Now she could only remember the general plot points. Many of the details were already unclear.
Calista carefully tried to recall the original storyline, searching for where the massive horde that had once swept through the farm might have gone, but all she could find were a few vague fragments.
In The Walking Dead, hordes always seemed to appear suddenly and disappear just as mysteriously, with no clear pattern at all. They were more like random moving natural disasters in the apocalypse.
The only thing she could be sure of was that hordes did migrate.
Maybe something else drew them away. Or maybe they simply rotted away in some valley somewhere…
She pushed the lingering worry aside for the moment and said to Carver, "Pull over. We'll rest here for twenty minutes and grab something to eat."
The team members got out one after another, stretching their stiff bodies.
The chill of late autumn was already obvious. Every breath they exhaled came out in a white mist.
As soon as Carver got out, he stretched, then leaned over beside Calista, who was checking the map. "Calista, at this speed, we'll definitely reach the planned stop before dark. I know this road. I could drive it with my eyes closed."
Before Calista could answer, Mike, who was checking the tires, cut him down without even looking up. "Yeah. Just like that 'shortcut' you said you could find with your eyes closed last time, the one that made us drive an extra two hours."
He kicked the tire hard to check the pressure.
Carver choked on his words and glared at Mike, but Mike completely ignored him.
On the other side, Michonne leaned against a bare tree trunk, holding her katana.
After Leah finished checking the vehicles, she walked over and handed her a canteen.
"Michonne, your katana is special." Leah's voice was as calm as ever, but there was clear admiration in it.
Michonne took the canteen and glanced at the combat knife at Leah's waist. "So is yours."
After a brief silence, Leah asked, "Who taught you?"
"I trained on my own," Michonne replied briefly.
"You're good," Leah said sincerely. "We should spar sometime."
Michonne nodded.
She was about to unscrew the canteen when a slightly hesitant set of footsteps approached.
It was Daryl.
He was holding the crossbow he never parted with and seemed to have just finished checking the string. His eyes shifted for a moment before finally landing on Leah.
"Ahem." Daryl cleared his throat, his voice a little dry, as if he rarely started this kind of conversation. "That move earlier… when you were taking out the walkers. It was clean."
He was referring to the way they had worked together earlier when they got out to clear the walkers blocking the road.
Leah turned to look at Daryl, a trace of confusion in her eyes. She did not understand why he had suddenly brought it up.
Daryl grew uncomfortable under her gaze. His fingers instinctively rubbed over the rough grip of his crossbow, and he avoided looking directly at Leah as he added, "I mean, you picked a good angle… Most people would've blocked or backed off."
It sounded like he was evaluating her tactics, but there was an awkward emphasis in his tone.
Leah did not think too much of it. She only thought it was rare for this usually quiet newcomer to comment, so she nodded. "Right. When it lunges forward, the nerve plexus under the arm is exposed. That's a weak point. Moving in is better than blocking head-on."
Her answer was crisp and direct. She had completely missed Daryl's clumsy attempt to start a conversation.
Daryl grunted in acknowledgment, then had no idea what to say next.
The atmosphere became subtly awkward.
He stood there stiffly, his tall frame looking oddly out of place. His gaze passed over the side of Leah's face before quickly shifting away, finally landing on the combat knife at her waist, as if he had found another topic.
"That knife of yours… doesn't look flashy, but it's well kept," Daryl said, trying to keep the conversation going.
Leah casually drew the combat knife. The movement was natural, and the blade reflected a cold flash of sunlight.
"My sister gave it to me. I'm used to using this in close combat." She kept it brief. Then her wrist turned, and the combat knife slid silently back into its sheath. The whole motion was clean and sharp.
Daryl watched her move, a flicker of interest flashing through his eyes, but all he did was grunt again and nod.
He wanted to say more, maybe ask about her time in the military, or talk about what he knew about using a crossbow. But when the words reached his mouth, something seemed to block them, and in the end, all that remained was silence.
Michonne leaned against the tree with her arms crossed, her gaze sweeping over Daryl's tense profile. Understanding flashed quickly through her eyes, and for once, the corners of her mouth nearly betrayed a smile.
She said nothing. She drank from the canteen, then handed it back to Leah.
After a short silence, Leah seemed to decide the conversation was over. She nodded to Daryl and Michonne, then turned and walked toward the front of the convoy to check on the other vehicles.
Daryl watched her back until she had walked away. Only then did he let out a breath, feeling both relieved and a little disappointed.
He lowered his head and wiped his already gleaming crossbow again, as if some invisible dust had gotten on it.
Wells moved a crate out of the trunk. It held spare ammunition and some tools.
He called to the others, "Can someone take a look at this? The latch on this crate seems a little loose."
Danny immediately poked his head out from beside the vehicle. One side of his headphones was still hanging from his ear, and he was holding a portable radio he had been adjusting. "Hold on, Wells. Let me try to contact the prison signal first… There's a lot of interference in this damn place."
Merle was leaning against the car door, awkwardly digging through his pocket with his left hand for a cigarette. Danny's sudden appearance startled him, and his movement jerked too wide. The precious cigarette dropped to the ground.
He clicked his tongue in distress, quickly picked up the cigarette, carefully blew the dust off, and stuck it into his mouth.
Jenson was leaning alone against the back of the heavy truck. He carefully unzipped his gun bag and pulled out his sniper rifle, then habitually used the rifle's high-powered scope to scan the surroundings.
When he turned the crosshairs toward the sky behind them, a small black dot appeared in the scope.
Jenson narrowed his eyes. At first, he thought it was a smudge, so he carefully wiped the lens with a soft cloth.
Once it was clean, he raised the sniper rifle again and aimed in that direction.
In his field of view, the small black dot was still there, and it was growing larger fast.
That… that was not a smudge. And it was not a bird.
"Guys, take cover! There's a helicopter coming!"
Jenson hurriedly warned everyone.
...
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