Andrew stood in front of the bodies, his weapon hanging loosely in his grip, eyes locked on the sprawled corpses of the men who'd made the hotel a prison. Blood still pooled beneath them, seeping into the fine carpet—an ugly contrast to the once-luxurious surroundings.
"This had to be done." The thought settled heavily in his mind, but without hesitation.
He'd seen their type before—men who wore fear like armor and used cruelty as a weapon. In the army, he'd crossed paths with warlords, insurgents, militia leaders who preyed on the weak . These raiders weren't any different. Give them a gun, strip away consequences, and they thought they were kings. It wasn't desperation that drove them—it was opportunity.
And the worst part? They thrived in the silence of others.
If you turned your back on men like these, they didn't fade away—they followed. They hunted. They waited for signs of weakness. Ignore them, and they saw it as permission. Run from them, and you just made yourself prey.
No. That wasn't an option.
This? This wasn't vengeance. This was prevention. Cut out the rot before it spreads.
He looked toward the door where the captives had been taken into the hallway . Their eyes haunted. Their voices broken. If there had been any doubt, it vanished the moment they stepped into this room.
The raiders had chosen violence. And now, they'd died by it.
He exhaled slowly, the weight of leadership pressing on his shoulders. But it was a burden he'd carry every time—because someone had to.
Just then, Whitaker stepped into the VIP room, her boots quiet against the blood-specked floor. She came to a stop in front of Andrew, face set and focused.
"We engaged the raiders when they tried to flee," she reported crisply. "The driver was hit—lost control. The vehicle crashed just beyond the front gate. Moments later, walkers started emerging from the forest, likely drawn by the gunfire. We closed and locked the main gate."
Andrew nodded, processing quickly. The situation was contained for now .
"Good work," he said, glancing around the room one more time before turning his attention fully to her. "Check all entrances into the hotel—doors, windows, service access points. Barricade everything. We're holding here until morning; I want daylight before we start clearing the area outside or dealing with the wreck."
He paused, then added, "Move one or two vehicles to block the main gate. Just in case something else stumbles our way."
Whitaker gave a firm nod. "Understood," she said, turning on her heel to relay the orders.
Leaving the VIP room, Andrew moved methodically down the hallway, his boots silent on the plush carpet as he began checking the adjacent rooms one by one. The air inside the hotel was heavy—not just with the scent of blood and smoke, but with something deeper… the weight of suffering still lingering .
Then Andrew cought up with Ramirez , Dawson , the rescued officer and the three women that were assaulted , which were led away by Ramirez . Leaving the police officer with Andrew and Dawson.Still shaken the officer spoke through clenched teeth. His voice was low, hoarse .
"We tried to turn this place into a shelter," the officer said, eyes scanning the empty hallway with haunted precision. " People who looked for a safe place came , Families, couples, elderly , even a few staff stayed behind to help. We had maybe forty, fifty people at the start."
Andrew nodded grimly .
"Then those bastards came," the officer continued, a bitter edge creeping into his voice. "Next thing we know, they took our food . Then the weapons. Then they took the resort. Anyone who resisted… didn't last long."
He paused, jaw clenched. "The ones who tried to run were shot , killed like dogs.Some hid. But most just… gave up."
"And her," the officer said after a long silence, venom in his voice. "That woman with their boss. She she enjoyed it. Got off on it, watching people get torn down. Psychological games, always whispering things to break people apart. She'd smile while someone begged for their kid's life. Cold. Manipulative. Sadistic. She was a sociopath "
Andrew looked at the man with a quiet, weary pity in his eyes. "She got what she deserved, then. They all did."
The man nodded, his expression tight with emotion. "Thank you… for saving us. For saving my family."
Andrew returned the nod solemnly. "You're welcome. But it's not over yet. I need you to gather the remaining survivors from the hotel. I want to address them."
"I'll take care of it," the officer replied, then turned to rejoin his wife and daughter, his steps a little steadier now.
With that conversation finished, Andrew made his way back down to the first floor. The soft thud of boots on the stairs echoed in the otherwise quiet hotel. When he reached the lobby, he saw several of his soldiers dragging furniture into place—couches, tables, and even vending machines—wedging them against doors and reinforcing windows where possible. The low scrape of heavy wood and the occasional grunt of effort filled the air.
Andrew joined them, silently lifting the end of a long table to wedge it across the glass entrance. The team worked in a rhythm born of military habit, focused and efficient. It took them close to half an hour to finish securing the main floor.
Once everything was in place, Andrew stepped away from the barricade and walked toward the large front windows. Through the cracks between the furniture and curtains, he couldn't see much beyond the resort's front gate—but he could hear them. The groans of the dead drifted faintly on the night air, interspersed with the soft scraping of feet on pavement. They hadn't made it inside the resort grounds… not yet. But they were out there.
He stared out into the darkness for a moment, shoulders tense. The dead were gathering. And come morning, they'd have to figure out how to deal with that too.
...
The resort's ballroom, once a place for weddings and conferences, was quiet now, the light's kept dim to not attract the attention of more walkers . The grand chandeliers hung in silence above a crowd of weary, hollow-eyed survivors—men, women, a few children clutching the hands of their guardians. There were just over two dozen of them. Many bore visible signs of what they'd endured: bruises, bandages, dirty clothes, trembling limbs. Some had fresh welts or healing cuts. Others had nothing but the thousand-yard stare.
The air was heavy with silence, broken only by the soft shuffle of feet and the occasional muffled sob. Most kept their distance from each other, as if afraid even to speak, unsure of what came next.
Andrew stood at the front of the room, just below the slightly raised stage. Whitaker stood a few steps behind him, arms folded, face unreadable. The other soldiers remained close by, posted at the doors or watching the crowd, but with weapons slung—calm, non-threatening.
Andrew took a step forward and cleared his throat, his voice cutting gently through the quiet.
"The raiders are gone," he said. "Their leader is dead, and the rest either ran or were put down. You're safe now."
There was no applause. Just stillness—and the sound of someone beginning to cry softly in the back of the room. A few heads lowered, some people exchanging glances. Fear still clung to them like a second skin.
"You don't need to hide anymore," Andrew continued, voice steady. "No one's going to hurt you here. You don't have to look over your shoulder."
A man standing near the middle of the crowd—older, sunken cheeks, a faded polo shirt that once might've belonged to a resort employee—raised his hand and spoke, voice tinged with both suspicion and fatigue. "So… what now? You take over? You and your people running things now?"
The question wasn't shouted, but it held weight. Around him, others looked to Andrew, anxious, waiting.
Andrew looked at the man for a long moment before answering, not with anger, but with a quiet conviction. "Yes," he said. "We are going to take control of the resort."
A few people shifted, tense. Andrew raised a hand to calm them, then continued.
"But not to abuse, or steal from you. Not to harm anyone. We're not like them. We're soldiers . We're not going to let that happen again."
He stepped forward, voice lowering but firmer now.
"We're taking control to protect you. To keep this place safe. We have others—families, kids, elderly people , depending on us. We're going to bring them here. And we're going to build something where no one has to be afraid when the sun goes down."
There was a pause—silent, stretched—but the air felt just a little less heavy.
Someone murmured a quiet, "Thank you."
Another nodded slowly.
A child whispered something to their mother and leaned against her shoulder.
And just like that, the tension cracked. Not gone—but shifted. Changed into something that might, eventually, become trust.
Andrew looked around the room, meeting as many eyes as he could.
"You've all been through hell," he said. "But you're still here. That means something. You survived. Now we build something better."
Finishing what he wanted to say, Andrew took a breath and looked over the room one last time. His voice softened, but carried with the same calm authority.
"Now it's late. Please, go back to your rooms. Clean yourselves up—take a shower ,and rest. You're safe now."
For a moment, no one moved. Then, slowly, people began to stir. A few exchanged cautious glances, still unsure, but they started to move . The ballroom gradually emptied, groups peeling away and making their way to their rooms, many walking with slouched shoulders and slow, weary steps.
Whitaker stepped up beside Andrew, her voice quiet but direct. "What now?"
Andrew didn't look at her immediately, his eyes following the last of the survivors out the door. Then he answered.
"Now we need to contact the people we left at Mert County."
He turned to face the rest of the squad, most of them gathered around in the ballroom. "Out of those who have their families at Mert , can any of you contact them ?"
One soldier raised a hand slightly. " Sir. My wife and daughter are there. But… I don't have my phone. I lost it in Atlanta, during all the chaos."
Several others muttered agreement.
Andrew reached into a side pouch of his vest and pulled out his own phone—battered, but still working. He held it out toward them.
"Do you remember the number ?"
The soldier nodded. "I do. I had to dial it by heart a dozen times ."
Andrew handed the phone over. "Send a message first—let them know it's us, that it's safe to answer. Then call. Put it on speaker."
The soldier took the phone carefully . He tapped out a short message and pressed send. They all waited.
Moments later, the phone buzzed gently in the soldier's hand—a message had come through.
"No problems on our side. We're just glad you're all okay. Not hurt, I hope "
A breath of relief passed through the group. The soldier holding the phone smiled faintly, he then pressed the call button. The person on the other end responding imidietly.
"Hello ..... yes , we're fine. Everyone made it out in one piece.... Yes , don't worry . Now i need you to go find one of the police officers and give him the phone " said the soldier.
He then looked up and handed the phone to Andrew.
Andrew took the phone and brought it to his ear. He could hear the voice of one of the officers on the other end " hello , this is officer Luke Danner . Andrew responded "It's me,we secured the resort. The raiders have been dealt with. And we have found more survivors , they are safe ."
He paused a moment to let that sink in before continuing.
"In the morning, we'll send a team back to you. They'll guide you here. This place is more defensible than the public works building. Cleaner, better sheltered, and with some amenities still working. We'll need to organize things here quickly, but it's safer than anywhere else we've come across so far."
Another pause, then more firmly:
"Start getting everything ready at first light. Load up what we need most into the vehicles—food, meds, clean water, fuel. We'll come for you when it's clear."
There was an affirmative response on the other end, and the call ended a moment later.
Andrew lowered the phone and looked around at the tired but alert faces of the soldiers.
"Alright," he said, his tone shifting to a steadier, practical one. "Find some empty rooms. Clean up, get the blood off your gear, change if you can. After that, we'll regroup and sort out the night watch schedule."
A few nodded immediately. Others hesitated just a beat, exhaustion settling over them—but they all moved without argument.
With the size of the hotel, there was no shortage of available rooms. Even once the rest of the group from Mert County arrived, there would still be plenty of space left—more than enough to house everyone comfortably.
The soldiers, including Andrew, made their way to the third floor, each finding a room to themselves. They took off their gear and stripped off the clothes that had absorbed days of sweat, dust, and grime—filth clinging to them like a second skin after long days of marching, combat, and tension. Under the warm stream of the showers, they scrubbed themselves clean, letting the water wash away exhaustion, blood, and dirt alike.
Many looked at their worn gear and filthy uniforms afterward, mentally noting they'd need to find a way to clean everything properly—when there was time. But for now, rest came first.
An hour later, the soldiers regrouped in the lobby, freshly washed, alert, and ready. There, they worked together to set up a night watch rotation. It was decided that four pairs would take turns, each on watch for an hour and a half. Andrew insisted on taking the last shift alone.
The night passed without incident. The raider's weapons and ammunition, collected and sorted earlier, had been locked in one of the side rooms for safekeeping. Some of the soldiers had nearly depleted their own ammo during the firefight, so the extra gear was a welcome resource.
The hotel remained quiet and dimly lit. Shifts rotated as planned, with each soldier quietly waking the next pair. During his solitary shift, Andrew patrolled the halls slowly, MP5 slung across his chest, thoughts heavy.
He found himself pacing near the wide front windows, staring into the night.
They would need solar panels, he thought—plenty of space to place them. And a proper perimeter. The fencing still needs to be reinforced , as of now isn't enough to hold off real threats for to long. The surrounding forest posed both a danger and a resource. They'd have to see what they can do about it .
By morning, the lobby slowly filled with rested soldiers, their footsteps echoing on the floor. It was still early, sunlight filtering softly through the windows.
Andrew issued orders. Two soldiers were sent to upper floors , to opposite ends of the hotel to survey the area from the balconies. Once they confirmed no walkers were nearby, the soldiers began removing barricaded furniture from key entrances.
At the front gate, most of the walkers had dispersed. Only a few still lingered, dragging themselves aimlessly along the perimeter fence. One soldier, now armed with a captured AK and several loaded magazines strapped to his vest, stood ready. He had exhausted his ammo for his M4 rifle the day before, and Andrew had authorized the substitution until resupply became possible.
Before heading out to Mert County, Andrew wanted to be sure that the resort was secure. He selected four soldiers and ordered a perimeter sweep using the resort's golf carts. They acknowledged and headed off toward the small building where the carts were parked.
Andrew, accompanied by the remaining four, moved to the main gate. The two vehicles, which had been used as a blockade, were moved out of the way . As they did, the few walkers still pressed against the gate reached through the metal bars, fingers clawing at the air. Andrew ordered knives only—quiet kills.
The team moved cautiously. The walkers weren't many, but some managed to grip at sleeves or forearms as the soldiers stabbed through the fence. None were bitten, but the close contact left a few shaken—unsettled by just how close it had been.
Andrew watched their faces, then held up a hand, halting the effort.
He raised his MP5. With smooth, deliberate shots, he eliminated the remaining dozen walkers with suppressed bursts. His intention was to make them used to using melee when dealing with walkers . There is still work to do.
Thirty minutes later, the four soldiers who had been sent to scout the perimeter returned. Their report confirmed that the resort grounds were clear—no walkers inside the fence. However, they had spotted several roaming just beyond the perimeter, likely drawn in by the earlier noise but still scattered and not in large numbers.
During that same half-hour, after securing the main gate, Andrew and the remaining four soldiers turned their attention to a grim but necessary task: removing the corpses of the dead raiders from the hotel. Working quickly and in silence, they carried the bodies out, placing them far enough from the hotel to be properly disposed off later . The air was thick with tension and the sour stench of death, but no one complained. The job had to be done.
With the immediate area secured and the interior of the resort cleared, Andrew gave the signal to move forward with the next phase.
Alongside Privates Kyle and Caleb, he prepared one of the vehicles for departure. They loaded supplies, checked fuel levels, and ensured their weapons were ready in case of trouble. Once everything was in place, the three of them set off, Andrew at the wheel.
They took the main road out of the resort at first, but quickly diverted onto side routes when needed—narrow, winding paths that kept them away from potential blocked roads. The landscape around them was quiet but tense, reminders of civilization slowly crumbling all around: abandoned vehicles, collapsed power lines, and walkers roaming the road's.