They were now driving through the rural backroads outside Atlanta, the kind of quiet, open stretches surrounded by dense tree lines and scattered farmhouses — the kind of country roads that once felt peaceful but now felt suffocatingly empty. Using a map taken from the truck stop, Andrew kept the convoy moving, leading them deeper into the countryside where a few soldiers hoped to find their families.
The landscape bore the fresh scars of collapse. Mailboxes hung open, mail left abandoned in front yards. Small gas stations and general stores stood with their doors ajar, windows either smashed or eerily intact, as if waiting for customers that would never come. Shelves inside were picked over, some knocked down in a rush to grab whatever could be carried. A few cars sat half-buried in ditches or abandoned on the shoulder, doors left open as though their drivers had fled mid-journey.
The dead they passed along the way were pale, bloodied, eyes glazed with that awful emptiness. Clothes hung torn, blood spatter staining collars and sleeves. Some wandered near fence lines, drawn by the sound of passing engines, others stood still in the middle of the road until one of the vehicles veered to avoid them.
Smoke could be seen here and there in the distance — the aftermath of house fires, still-smoldering wrecks . Yards had children's toys scattered in the grass like frozen memories of a world that ended too quickly to be understood.
They were heading toward Mert County, last time the soldiers spoke with their families , they spoke of people gathering inside a secured, fenced-off area guarded by local police. It wasn't much, but part of the group was holding onto the hope that their loved ones might be there. At least two of the soldiers knew that their families went seeking shelter in the area. For the others… the search would have to continue.
The drive took over two hours along winding backroads, slowed by debris, abandoned vehicles, and the occasional lone walker stumbling onto the road. The convoy moved carefully, stopping only when necessary, navigating through the rural stretches of Georgia that still looked intact — at a glance.
Inside the Humvee, the atmosphere had grown heavy. The engine hummed steadily as trees passed by in a blur.
Breaking the silence, Erik spoke up from the back seat.
"You think the military's gonna get this under control?"
His voice was hopeful, but thin — like even he didn't believe it.
Yumiko, sitting near the window, shook her head.
"If the bombings in the city were supposed to be 'control'… it didn't look like it," she muttered, eyes fixed on the passing building's.
Jun-hyuk, grunted his agreement.
"They wouldn't have bombed their own cities if it wasn't already lost."
Andrew kept his eyes on the road ahead, hands tight on the steering wheel.
Erik finally turned to him.
"What about Fort Benning, man? You really think it'll be safe? They thought those safe zones would hold too… until they fell apart."
Andrew hesitated for a moment. He knew what the show had hinted about places like this. Fort Benning might still be a safe place — or it could already be gone.
"It's a military base," he answered finally. "If there are soldiers left there , then it should be able to hold out . But the problem's not the dead… it's the living. The more people flee to it, the harder it'll be to keep control. If it's overwhelmed, it won't matter how many soldiers are there ."
The others didn't respond, and the Humvee rolled on in a thick, uneasy silence.
...
The convoy slowed as the road began to slope upward, a long stretch of cracked asphalt leading up a gentle hill. At the crest of the rise, Andrew caught sight of something ahead. Frowning, he raised the radio and gave the signal for the vehicles to halt. One by one, the Humvee and the trucks rolled to a stop .
Andrew stepped out onto the road, scanning the area. The soldiers quickly followed, jumping down from the trucks and fanning out cautiously but staying within cover.
Jun-hyuk moved up beside Andrew.
"Why'd we stop?" he asked quietly.
Andrew pointed down the road.
"There."
An overturned car lay across both lanes, partially blocking the road. Inside, what looked like a walker was slumped against a cracked window. Andrew was about to suggest clearing it when a sudden, desperate scream cut through the air.
The shout came from the car itself.
The supposed walker was a woman, filthy and bruised but very much alive, waving frantically and crying out for help. Instinctively, Erik, Jun-hyuk, and a couple of soldiers took a step forward, ready to sprint toward her.
"Wait!" Andrew barked, holding up a hand.
They halted, turning to look at him.
"Why?" Erik demanded.
Andrew's gaze stayed locked on the scene ahead.
"Something's not right."
"What do you mean?" Jun-hyuk asked, confused.
Andrew exhaled slowly.
"It's been days since all of this started. You all know how screams will get you swarmed with walkers. Would you be yelling like that, knowing it could draw them from miles around?"
The question hung heavy in the air. No one answered.
Turning away, Andrew went back to the Humvee and retrieved a pair of binoculars from the glove box. Returning to his position, he raised them to his eyes and carefully scanned the area.
The overturned car was strange. The road was mostly empty. There were no other wrecks nearby, no debris fields, no skid marks or collision scars on the cracked asphalt. No signs of how the car had overturned in the first place.
Then Andrew shifted his gaze to the buildings lining either side of the road — and realization hit him.
As he lowered the binoculars, voices beside him were rising. Erik and a soldier were arguing with the others, insisting they had to help the woman. The rest urged caution.
Andrew cut through the tension with few firm words :
" It's an ambush."
Silence fell. All eyes turned to him.
"What do you mean?" Erik asked, his expression darkening , a glint of panic in his eyes.
Andrew gestured to the scene ahead.
"The overturned car, the lack of wreckage, no signs of a crash, and a woman screaming loud enough to wake the dead? It's a lure.
Aside from the over turned car there isn't anything else to use for cover .Check the windows."
A couple of soldiers raised their scopes, scanning the upper floors of the nearby buildings.
"I don't see anyone," one muttered.
"You're not supposed to," Andrew replied. "Not until it's too late."
The group tensed. Weapons were quietly readied.
"I don't like the idea of just walking away," Erik said, frowning. "Maybe it's not an ambush. Maybe she really does need help."
"Yeah," added one soldier, Private Caleb , his voice edged with unease. "What if it's not a trap? We can't just leave her like that."
Andrew looked at the two of them, his expression unreadable.
"You two are good people," he said.
Both Erik and Caleb managed faint, hopeful smiles at that — until Andrew added,
"And those tend to be the ones to die first."
The smiles vanished.
Andrew turned to the group, his voice taking on a commanding tone.
"Either way, we need to clear the road. If it's an ambush, we deal with it — if it's not, we'll know soon enough. Here's the plan. Two of you stay here to guard the vehicles and civilians. The rest of us split into two squads. I'll take Squad One, Whitaker has Squad Two."
He pointed to the sides of the street as he spoke.
"Squad One will move along the left side. Squad Two on the right. Stay in cover — they are trying to draw us out ."
Andrew lifted the binoculars again, scanning the buildings near the overturned car. This time, movement caught his eye — a silhouette shifting in the shadows of a second-story window.
His jaw tightened.
"It's confirmed. This is an ambush," Andrew said sharply, turning to the others.
"I had visual on one of the possible hostiles, second-story window, in the building to the right of the overturned car."
A tense silence settled for a moment.
"We don't know how many there are," said another soldier, Corporal Mason Briggs, his brow furrowed. "It's dangerous to move in with just eight of us."
Andrew gave a firm nod, and the others quietly agreed.
"You're right," he admitted. "In that case — we keep our distance, get them to come to us. If they realize we didn't fall for their ambush, they might lose coordination in response."
"We can use the scattered vehicles and those storefronts for cover," suggested Corporal Whitaker, gesturing toward the nearby buildings and parked cars.
"We dig in, force them to reveal themselves ."
"What about walkers?" someone else asked. "What if a large group shows up while we're dug in?"
Andrew turned, scanning the area around the overturned car again, then shook his head.
"I don't see any nearby. Even with all that woman's screaming, nothing's shown up. They must have cleared this stretch ahead of time to stage this ambush."
After a beat, he spoke again.
"Alright — updated plan. Squads remain the same. Hold your positions, watch those windows and alleyways , and stay sharp. They'll might try to flank us when they realize we're not taking the bait."
The soldiers exchanged tight nods and quietly moved into formation.
They began cautiously moving toward the overturned car, weapons at the ready. Squad One on the left kept their sights on the building to the right, while Squad Two on the right watched the building on the left, covering each other's advance.
As they drew closer, the woman trapped in the car started waving frantically, calling out for help . The soldiers halted several meters away, spreading out behind abandoned vehicles and storefronts, never taking their eyes off the windows and doors ahead.
The woman's behavior shifted — her frantic cries grew more forced, her eyes darting nervously toward the buildings as if expecting something.
From behind the frame of a pickup truck, Andrew shouted,
"We know you're there! Come out !"
For a moment, everything went still. Even the woman fell silent, her act abandoned now that the element of surprise was gone.
Then, from the building on the left, three men stepped out — the same thugs from the truck stop. Leading them was the man with the shotgun, striding up beside the overturned car.
The woman crawled out from the wreckage, standing now, a small pistol gripped in her hand.
"Looks like you're smarter than we gave you credit for," the leader called out. "Doesn't really matter though."
At that moment, several more figures appeared at the shattered windows above — men and women, most armed with pistols, a small few with hunting rifles.
"After we finish with you, we'll go pay a visit to those folks you left behind."
Without waiting for another word, Andrew raised his weapon and fired — the shot aimed squarely at the leader's head. But the man reacted quickly, dragging one of his own people in front of him. The unlucky raider caught the bullet in the neck, collapsing in a spray of blood as the others ducked behind the overturned car.
Chaos erupted as gunfire cracked through the street.
The raiders opened up, though most of them were sloppy, without any firearm training. Bullets snapped past the soldiers and pinged off the abandoned cars, but few came close. Andrew and the others held their ground, using cover and discipline to their advantage.
When the raiders' magazines ran dry, Andrew gave the order.
"Now — return fire!"
The soldiers opened up, sending controlled bursts and sharp shots into the exposed positions. Raiders who had foolishly stood in the open or failed to duck in time were cut down. In the brief exchange, five of them were dropped .
The remaining raiders who were smart enough to take cover , reloaded their weapons.
A second later, the shooting resumed as those still alive fired back. One raider holding a scoped hunting rifle, positioned in a second-story window of the building on the right, managed to shoot one of the soldiers — a young private — in the leg as he ducked into a store entrance.
The soldier fell down in the open , screaming in pain .
Before the shooter could line up another shot, a nearby soldier kept him pinned down with suppressive fire, giving Andrew enough time to rush forward, grab the wounded man by his vest, and drag him to cover.
Andrew pulled the wounded soldier , setting him down gently against the tire of a car . Without wasting time, he grabbed a compression bandage and a tourniquet from the soldier's individual first aid kit attached to his vest.
"Hold still," Andrew muttered, he checked the wound , seeing that the bullet passed through , he quickly tightening the tourniquet above the wound to stop the bleeding, then packing the wound and wrapping it tight with the bandage. The soldier gritted his teeth but nodded his thanks.
The gunfire around them raged on. While the raiders' aim was sloppy and undisciplined, their sheer numbers were proving a problem. A stray round cracked against the helmet of private Ramirez, the female soldier was crouched behind a smaller car . The force of the impact knocked her backward to the ground .
"Ramirez!" one of her squadmates shouted, quickly checking on her. She was conscious but dazed, blinking hard.
"She's good! Helmet stopped it — but she probably has a concussion," the soldier called out.
It was starting to look grim — ammo was starting to run low, and the raiders were slowly trying to flank them. Andrew gritted his teeth, weighing options, when suddenly a shrill scream cut through the gunfire… then another.
The shooting faltered. Andrew risked a quick look over the hood of the car.
Then he saw it.
Several of the raiders who'd been killed earlier were now staggering to their feet — as walkers. Blood streaked their clothes, and milky dead eyes fixed on their former companions. Chaos erupted in the raiders' ranks as the dead fell upon the living, tearing into them .
Andrew's gaze locked on the raider leader — the man was wrestling with the corpse of the man he'd used as a shield minutes before, now a bloodthirsty walker.
"They're breaking ranks! Light 'em up!" Andrew shouted.
Andrew and the soldiers opened fire again, taking advantage of the confusion. Several raiders dropped as they tried to flee.
The leader, clutching his bleeding shoulder from a well-placed round, managing to stagger into an alley with a handful of survivors.
Seeing the remaining raiders fleeing down the street, Andrew lowered his weapon, heart still pounding. He decided to not give chase — they need to preserve ammo .
"Ammo check!" he called out.
One by one, the soldiers called back what they had left. Andrew himself had a nearly empty mag, one half-full, and two full. He swapped out the spent magazine for a full one and made a mental note to refill from the duffel bag when this was done.
Some of the others weren't as fortunate — one soldier was down to a single mag, another barely had two left. The firefight had burned through their supplies faster than expected.
The killed raiders now stumbled back to their feet now as walkers , together with the one's outside they turned their attention to Andrew and his soldiers . But with precise headshots they were dealt with without problems.
Once the final shots were fired at the last shambling walkers , Andrew ordered the area secured.
"Check every body — if they don't have a bullet in the head, finish it. Strip them of weapons and ammo. Anything useful, take it."
To many this felt weird and wrong , but complied.
As the squad fanned out, Andrew looked at the two buildings that they will need to clear. This made him remember the Library scene from Fear TWD , how the soldiers tried using rifles in close quarters , resulting in many deaths , his eyes eventually landed on a couple of large, plastic storage bins stacked by the side of a looted store. An idea struck him .
He walked over, grabbed the lids, and ripped them free. They were sturdy enough and thick enough to absorb a walker's bite and hold them back. Turning back to his men, he raised one in his hand.
"Listen up," he barked. "Inside those buildings, rifles are gonna be more trouble than they're worth — too long, too easy to grab, too loud. We'll clear the walkers room to room, quiet. Two with these as shields," he raised the bin lid for emphasis, "two with knives. One holds them back, one stabs. Got it?"
The soldiers exchanged glances, a mixture of uncertainty and reluctant admiration.
"Seriously?" one of them muttered.
"Unless you've got riot shields in your back pocket, this is what we've got," Andrew shot back.
Corporal Whitaker gave a short nod.
"Good. Whitaker and Mason , you two stay with the wounded . Watch the alleys — if those bastards circle back or if more walkers show up, you hold them."
"Yes, sir."
Andrew pointed at the three closest soldiers. "You're with me . Knifes at the ready . We move tight, slow, one room at a time. No noise unless we have to , we made enough already."
Then, he gave the makeshift shields to the two soldiers that are going to be at the front. With that, Andrew led the small clearing team toward the first building's door.