Chapter 47 Narrowing Down the Prison — Merle’s Loyalty

“Next, we can narrow it down by road access,” Magnus Vane said as his finger moved across the Georgia road map. “A prison needs reliable access for staff, transport buses, deliveries, emergency vehicles, and inmate transfers, but it wouldn’t normally sit right beside a major commercial highway with constant civilian traffic.” He traced several state routes before moving toward smaller roads branching through the countryside. “So we’re probably looking for something off a main route, farther into a rural area where one dedicated road leads toward the facility.”

Magnus vaguely remembered the prison’s surroundings from The Walking Dead. There had been open ground immediately around the perimeter, but beyond that, thick Georgia woodland covered much of the surrounding area, with the main approach running toward the front gates. That meant they could remove large stretches of open agricultural land and heavily developed suburbs from consideration. “Three sides should have substantial woods nearby, with the actual facility sitting on slightly elevated ground,” Magnus explained, slowly eliminating more sections of the map.

“There’s another thing,” he continued. “A facility that size can’t be completely isolated from emergency services. It would have its own medical area and basic emergency plans, but there should still be a town with a hospital, fire department, fuel, and other infrastructure within reasonable driving distance.” Magnus tapped several smaller communities marked on the map. “Not right next door, but close enough that an ambulance or fire crew could reach the place if something serious happened.”

Using that assumption, Magnus eliminated another large section of the search area. Cities were already out, along with the most densely populated suburbs, and now isolated regions with no practical supporting infrastructure could also be ignored. When he combined those factors with the forested terrain he remembered, his finger finally stopped over the southwestern portion of the map. The remaining search zone covered roughly forty miles of heavily wooded country.

Magnus looked up at the group gathered around him. “The prison isn’t a tourist attraction, so don’t expect it to be highlighted on an ordinary road map like a hotel or state park. This is still only an estimated area, but I’m confident we’re getting close.” He tapped the forested region again. “Once we start working the smaller roads down there, something as large as a correctional facility should be visible from the right hill or clearing.”

Glenn studied the route with a slight frown. “How long before we actually get there?”

“That’s harder to answer.” Magnus leaned back and looked over the map again. “Under normal conditions, driving straight there wouldn’t be a big deal, but the highways are useless in too many places. Wrecks, abandoned cars, blocked ramps, and herds mean we’ll keep getting pushed onto county roads and detours.” With Dale’s RV controlling the convoy’s maximum speed, they also couldn’t simply race ahead whenever a road opened.

Magnus estimated the route with one finger. “If every main road were clear, we could probably make this trip in two days. With the detours we’re taking, though, the total distance could approach five hundred miles before we actually reach the right area.” Several people exchanged looks at that number, but Magnus continued calmly. “And that’s assuming we don’t lose time to blocked bridges, mechanical trouble, supply stops, or walkers.”

If things went smoothly, Magnus could already picture the schedule. They could spend another few days traveling, rest before entering the search zone, then use Daryl and Merle to locate the prison itself. The following day could be spent scouting the perimeter and clearing the first sections, followed by a larger assault once everyone understood the layout. Ideally, within a week they would be sleeping behind prison fences instead of beside unfamiliar roads.

Rick remained crouched over the map, his beard noticeably thicker than it had been when Magnus first met him in Atlanta. He understood the part Magnus wasn’t emphasizing: several more days on the road meant several more nights exposed to walkers, hostile survivors, accidents, and whatever else the collapse threw at them. Still, giving up on the prison now would mean returning to the same uncertainty they had been living with since the quarry. Rick took a slow breath and made his decision.

“All right,” Rick said. “From here on, every vehicle takes responsibility for the people riding in it. If something goes wrong, radio Magnus or me immediately instead of trying to handle something serious alone.” His eyes moved across Shane, Daryl, Glenn, T-Dog, Andrea, and the others. “At night, every vehicle keeps at least one person awake. Until we get where we’re going, no pointless arguments and no fighting among ourselves.”

Everyone nodded.

Shane briefly glanced toward the fire engine, where Lori and Carl were sitting behind the glass. Lori noticed him and gave a small acknowledgment before looking away, and Rick quietly caught the entire exchange without commenting. Whatever existed between the three of them wasn’t something he wanted exploding while the group was stranded on the road. For tonight, keeping everyone alive mattered more.

The short meeting ended, and Daryl walked over with his crossbow resting across one shoulder. “Me and Merle’ll take the roof tonight,” he told Magnus, patting him once on the arm. “If anything comes near the road, I’ll wake you.” The fire engine stood nearly ten feet tall, making its roof one of the safest watch positions in the convoy; walkers wouldn’t easily reach it, while anyone approaching on foot would have difficulty spotting the sentries before Daryl spotted them.

Magnus nodded. “Works for me. Wake me if you see anything strange.”

He climbed back into the passenger side of the fire engine and watched the lights around the convoy gradually disappear as people settled in for the night. Magnus positioned the modified Stone Sledgehammer between his legs with the barbed head resting against the floor, folded his arms over the end of the handle, and closed his eyes. Outside, the suburbs had become eerily quiet compared with Atlanta, and after the scattered conversations died away, only insects and the occasional night sound remained.

The night passed without incident.

Magnus slept until the first pale light of morning began filtering through the windshield.

His eyes opened slowly.

He was just beginning to stretch when his peripheral vision caught a dark shape beside the window.

Magnus reacted before his brain fully caught up.

His fist shot toward it.

“Shit!”

The figure jerked backward so violently that it nearly disappeared over the roof.

“Bro, you trying to kill me?”

Magnus blinked once.

Merle Dixon cautiously leaned his head back over the edge of the fire engine roof, keeping considerably more distance this time. Sweat had appeared across his forehead despite the cool morning air, and he stared at Magnus’s fist as if he had just watched a wrecking ball stop inches from his face. “It’s me, man. Not a damn walker.”

Magnus relaxed against the seat.

“I know.”

Merle stared at him.

Magnus smiled slightly. “If it were Daryl, I wouldn’t have thrown the punch.”

Merle looked offended for approximately half a second before grinning. “Come on, brother. Don’t do me like that. I’m your best friend.”

Magnus’s lips curved upward.

He understood exactly what Merle was really saying.

For someone like Merle Dixon, calling another man his best friend wasn’t sentimental small talk. He was making it clear that when the group eventually settled somewhere permanent, his loyalty would remain with Magnus. Unless Magnus deliberately abandoned him, Merle was promising that he wouldn’t be the one to turn against him.

That carried more weight than the words themselves suggested.

Merle had been watching Magnus’s reaction carefully ever since speaking, and only when he saw the faint smile did his shoulders relax. He had noticed the changes around the group just as clearly as anyone else: Lori’s attitude toward Magnus had softened, Rick increasingly treated Magnus as an equal in major decisions, and even Hershel had chosen to leave his farm partly because of the future Magnus described. Once they reached the prison, Merle suspected Magnus would become one of the central figures holding the entire settlement together.

And Merle intended to make sure nobody forgot who had been beside him from the beginning.

He was crude, selfish, and frequently impossible to tolerate, but he wasn’t stupid when his own survival was involved. Magnus had rescued him from that Atlanta rooftop before he was forced to cut off his own hand, helped recover the stolen motorcycles, and repeatedly treated him as useful instead of disposable. Merle had plenty of reasons to stay on Magnus’s side even without calculating what position it might give him later.

By the time Magnus climbed down from the fire engine, most of the convoy was already awake and preparing to move. Daryl was checking his motorcycle, Rick was inspecting the vehicles with Dale, and the others were eating quick breakfasts rather than wasting daylight cooking. Magnus had little appetite, so he settled for two slices of bread with honey and a bottled coffee drink. Once he finished, he climbed into the driver’s seat and started the fire engine.

The convoy was ready for another day on the road.

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