Reaching the Department of Public Works, Andrew drove through the front gate, which was promptly shut behind them by one of the officers . He parked the vehicle near the entrance and stepped out, taking in the organized commotion around him. Civilians were busy loading supplies into the military trucks and any vehicle with usable cargo space. The sun casting long shadows over the battered compound, its silence broken by the clatter of crates and murmurs of urgency.
After a brief check on the people and confirming that the wounded soldier's condition had stabilized, Andrew made his way toward the storage unit. Officer Lawson and Private Kyle followed closely behind, while Caleb remained behind to keep an eye on the injured man and assist where needed.
Approaching the storage door, Andrew drew his sidearm, expecting to find the last captured raider still tied up as they had left him. But just as his hand gripped the latch, the door burst outward.
The raider lunged from the shadows, snarling, wielding a jagged piece of scrap metal honed into a crude blade. Acting on instinct, Andrew twisted his body, deflecting the attacker's knife-wielding arm, then slammed his shoulder into the man's chest, sending him stumbling. In one fluid motion, Andrew swept the raider's legs out from under him, and the man hit the concrete hard.
The raider scrambled, trying to regain his footing, but found himself staring down the barrels of three raised weapons.
He didn't beg. He grinned—wild-eyed, filthy, bleeding from one ear, and already ranting. "You think this changes anything?" he spat, hate dripping from every syllable. "I'll gut you in your sleep. I'll carve your f—"
The rest of the sentence was lost to a sharp crack as Andrew calmly pulled the trigger. The raider's head snapped back, and he collapsed in a heap, the improvised blade clattering beside him.
Silence fell again, thick and heavy.
Andrew exhaled slowly and holstered his pistol. "We can't afford to leave loose ends," he said simply, his voice devoid of emotion. "Especially, not men like him ."
Neither Kyle nor Lawson responded. They understood.
With the last raider finally dealt with, Andrew, Kyle, and the officer made their way back to the main yard, where the civilians had just finished loading the last of the supplies into the military trucks and a few other available vehicles. The group, though weary, moved with quiet determination—ready to leave behind the place that had offered temporary safety but little comfort.
A quick final check was made to ensure nothing essential had been forgotten. Children were helped into the back seats, bags were secured, and ration crates double-checked. The wounded soldier, still pale but stable, was gently lifted into the bus by the two officers, who took care to keep pressure off his bandaged leg.
With everyone accounted for and the vehicles ready to move, Andrew climbed into the driver's seat of the Humvee . Kyle slid into the passenger seat beside him, scanning their surroundings with his rifle in hand. Caleb took position behind the wheel of the military truck, nodding once as Andrew gave him the signal.
The engines of the convoy rumbled to life, breaking the morning stillness. Andrew adjusted the mirror, eyes flicking from the rearview to the road ahead. With a deep breath, he guided the Humvee forward, leading the line of vehicles out through the main gate, back onto the winding road that would take them to the resort .
...
On the road back to the resort, the convoy came to a sudden crawl.
Up ahead, an ambulance sat skewed across the asphalt, its front end smeared with dark, dried blood. The windshield was cracked, and one of the side mirrors dangled uselessly. It didn't take much to guess what had happened—whatever had been driving it must've hit a walker and lost control.
But that wasn't the worst part.
Seven walkers surrounded the vehicle, clawing at the metal and slamming their fists against the sides with alarming aggression. Their groans were loud, frantic, echoing off the nearby trees.
Andrew, at the front of the convoy, slowed to a stop. He narrowed his eyes at the ambulance, debating whether it was worth the risk. Someone could still be alive in there. But then the walkers turned.
They had noticed the convoy.
What made Andrew's stomach twist wasn't just the fact they'd seen them—it was how they moved. These weren't the typical slow, shambling corpses they encountered until now . No, they were fast—almost jogging, though their steps were erratic, unbalanced. Not quite runners, but damn close. Like how he remembers the zombies from Call of Duty Zombies would run, only slower and more unbalanced.
"Shit," Andrew muttered, jumping out of the vehicle. Kyle was right behind him.
They raised their weapons and opened fire.
Kyle's rifle wasn't silenced. The cracks of gunfire ripped through the air, loud enough to stir every walker within a mile. There was no time to waste.
A walker lunged too close—Andrew sidestepped, tripping it with his boot before putting a bullet clean through its skull.
In less than a minute, the area was silent again. Seven bodies laying dead on the asphalt .
Andrew didn't wait.
He approached the back of the ambulance cautiously, gun raised, and knocked hard on the double doors.
"If anyone's in there, come out with your hands up!"
After a tense few moments, the rear doors of the ambulance creaked open.
Andrew and Kyle kept their weapons trained on the opening, ready for anything. But what stepped out wasn't a threat—just one weary-looking cop and two paramedics, their faces pale and drenched in sweat.
Seeing no danger, Andrew and Kyle lowered their weapons.
"Thank you," one of the paramedics breathed, glancing back at the mangled walker bodies on the ground. "You saved our lives."
They noticed the convoy parked behind Andrew and quickly asked if they could join.
Andrew gave a short nod. "We're heading to a secure location. You can come, but grab anything from the ambulance that might be useful—medical supplies, food, weapons, whatever you can carry without slowing us down."
Without hesitation, the trio got to work. They hauled out two med kits, a defibrillator, a case of bottled water, and a compact oxygen tank. Everything was loaded quickly, no time wasted.
As they wrapped up, Andrew pointed out where to stash the gear and told them which vehicle to get into. But just as they were closing the last door, the moaning started again.
Walkers were emerging from the treeline, drawn by the gunfire.
"Let's move—now!" Andrew barked, already climbing back into the humvee .
The Humvee rumbled steadily down the cracked road, the dense forest on either side blurring past. Inside, the silence was thick, broken only by the low hum of the engine .
Andrew sat behind the wheel, eyes fixed on the road, but his mind kept drifting back to what had just happened.
Those walkers... they didn't shamble like the others. They didn't drag their feet or stumble over their own legs . No, they moved faster . Not full-out running , but damn near jogging .
He remembered seeing smart walkers in the season one of the show , but those seemed different , they didn't behaved the same .
In the passenger seat, Kyle shifted uncomfortably, gripping his rifle.
"You saw how they came at us, right?" he asked, voice quieter than usual. " They were moving... fast."
Andrew gave a short nod, keeping his eyes on the road.
Kyle didn't speak again. He didn't need to. The tension in his voice said enough.
Andrew's grip tightened on the wheel. If this kind of behavior became more common, they will have to adapt their tactics , reinforce the fence of the resort and improve defences .
They'd have to adapt.
The rest of the drive passed without incident. Strangely enough, the scattered walkers they passed along the way didn't exhibit the same aggressive movement—just the usual aimless wandering.
But that didn't ease Andrew's mind.
.....
Reaching the main gate, they were let in by Tanner and Mason, who were on guard duty. Andrew led the convoy to a nearby parking lot. As he stepped out of the Humvee, he noticed that people from the hotel were busy cleaning both the building and its surrounding areas inside the resort, with Whitaker and the other soldiers assisting.
The group that had come with Andrew from Mert County began climbing out of the vehicles, their eyes drawn to the luxury hotel. Many of them smiled, visibly relieved and excited at the thought of finally taking a shower and cleaning themselves up.
Seeing the convoy arrive , and the number of people it brought , many of the people working stopped what they were doing.
Andrew walked toward the hotel entrance, raising a hand to gesture for the officer coordinating the hotel staff to approach. When the man reached him, Andrew spoke quietly but firmly.
"Find out which rooms are still empty , focus on the fourth floor and up. Most of the third-floor rooms are already taken."
The officer gave a sharp nod. "Understood. I'll check now."
Nearby, the soldiers who had their families in the convoy approached Andrew.
"Sargent," one of them said, "mind if we take our families up to the rooms we've already occupied?"
Andrew looked them over, then gave a quick nod. "Go ahead. Just don't take too long. There's something important I need to go over with all of you."
.....
Andrew gathered all the soldiers , including the injured soldier ,inside the golf club building.
"Alright, we're all here," he began, standing at the front of the room. "Now we need to talk about what comes next. From what I can tell, we've got close to eighty people in the resort. That means we'll need to set up a system to maintain order and manage supplies properly."
He paused, letting the weight of that settle before continuing.
"But before we get into all that, there's something else we need to address."
The mood in the room shifted. The soldiers stiffened, exchanging uneasy glances.
"On our way back," Andrew continued, "we encountered walkers… different from the ones we've dealt with until now."
One soldier raised a hand. "How so?"
Before Andrew could respond, Kyle cut in. "They were faster. Jogging at us."
Caleb, standing near the back, nodded. "Yeah. I saw it too."
A wave of concern rippled through the group. Some murmured, others exchanged looks. Andrew spoke up , tone firm.
"Thank you, Kyle, for sharing," he said, shooting him a look that clearly meant don't interrupt again. Kyle got the message and sat down quietly.
Andrew went on. "To ensure the perimeter doesn't get breached, we'll need to reinforce the fence. For better visibility across the resort, we'll build watchtowers. And if necessary, we'll dig trenches to strengthen our defenses."
The soldiers looked around at each other, tension thick in the air. Then Private Ramirez spoke up.
"Sargent… what about Fort Benning?"
Andrew shook his head. "We have no way of knowing if it's still secure. Heading there blind would be a huge risk."
"My brother's stationed at Fort Benning," Ramirez said, eyes sharp with urgency. "I talked to him right before everything fell apart."
"That was days ago, we don't know their current status " Andrew replied. "Can you contact him?"
Ramirez nodded. "Yes . I left my phone charging in the room I was using. With everything that happened i didn't charge it and it ran out of battery. I'll go get it."
"Alright," Andrew said with a nod. "Bring it here as quick as you can."
Ramirez nodded and left to bring her phone.
...
Ramirez returned to the golf club building with her phone in hand, breathing a little harder. She sat down on one of the chairs and checked her phone.
A sliver of hope sparked as the screen lit up. There was signal.
She quickly typed out a message.
You still there? It's me. I'm safe.
Seconds felt like minutes. Then—
Holy shit, you're alive. I thought something happened. Where are you?
She took a shaky breath, then dialed his number. The ringtone buzzed once… twice… then a click.
"Valeria?" came a voice—low, alert, and familiar.
"It's me," she whispered, barely above a breath. "You okay?"
A pause, then a small, relieved laugh. "Damn. You don't know how good it is to hear your voice. I've been worried sick. Where the hell are you?"
"I'm at a resort, on the outskirts of Atlanta," she said. "It's fenced, secure. I came with other soldiers."
There was a murmur of voices in the background—hurried, sharp, stressed.
"Where are you?" she asked.
"I'm still at Fort Benning," he said, voice dropping lower. "But it's not safe anymore."
Ramirez tensed. "What happened?"
"Two days ago, a riot broke out outside the base. Hundreds of civilians pushed the gates. We couldn't hold them back. They broke through... A lot of people died. And then... the infected showed up."
Her heart sank.
"We lost control of most of the base," he continued. "Now, we're holed up in one of the admin buildings. We've been surrounded . The infected only stopped trying to break in not long ago."
Ramirez looked at everyone in the room .
"We can come for you," she said firmly, glancing up at Andrew. "We've got vehicles, people, weapons. We'll find a way."
Her brother hesitated. "I don't know... There are hundreds out there. You'd never get through."
Andrew stepped close . Ramirez put him on speaker.
"We'll find a way," Andrew said calmly. "But we need to know how many people you've got."
"Hard to say," her brother replied. "A few dozen, maybe.I don't have an exact number."
" Alright ," Andrew said. "We'll prepare transport. Keep your phone on and charged—we'll reach out when we're close ."
There was a pause. "Alright," her brother said. "We'll hold. Just… don't take too long."
"We won't," Andrew promised.
They spoke a few minutes longer—just enough to exchange details and reaffirm few things—then ended the call.
Ramirez stood, her expression firm.
Andrew turned to the room. "Everyone, prepare vehicles and equipment necessary for the rescue mission ."