With preparations complete, Andrew assembled the squad that would accompany him. It was decided that sending everyone to Fort Benning would make little difference—if the base was overrun with hundreds of walkers, numbers alone wouldn't help. Instead, Andrew would take three soldiers and two civilians: one to drive the bus and the other a military truck. The rest would remain at the resort, maintaining order alongside the police officers and civilian volunteers.
Some asked how they planned to deal with the walkers with only four soldiers. Andrew answered simply, "We're not. The goal isn't to retake the base—it's to extract the survivors. We'll draw the walkers away long enough to get them out."
Before leaving, Andrew instructed Corporal Whitaker to establish a medical care room using whatever equipment they had, now that they had paramedics on-site. He also ordered an inventory of all perishable and non-perishable food, both from the hotel and their own supplies, and to ensure everything was stored properly to prevent spoilage.
Alongside Andrew, the squad consisted of Private Ramirez, Corporal Mason, and Specialist Dawson, as well as the two civilian drivers.
After confirming that everything was in order, ensuring that everyone had a place to stay and was informed of what was happening to prevent unrest.
Before leaving, Andrew handed the bus driver a walkie-talkie taken from the police officers, setting it to the same frequency as the military radios in the Humvee and the truck. That way, they could stay in contact throughout the trip.
Andrew then climbed into the driver's seat of the Humvee and took the lead. Behind him rolled the military truck, followed by the bus.
With everything ready, the convoy rolled out from the resort , the early light casting long shadows across the road.
They followed a two-lane rural road, cracked and littered with leaves and trash, winding through wooded stretches and empty farmland. Their path would take them toward the interstate , which—if clear—would give them a straight shot toward Fort Benning. But nobody expected it to be easy.
As they reached the on-ramp to the interstate, Andrew slowed.
A twisted mess of metal greeted them.
Two civilian vehicles—one an overturned pickup, the other a burned-out sedan—were blocking the right lane entirely. A third vehicle had crashed into the guardrail, its airbags deployed and windshield smeared with dried blood. Crows circled overhead.
Andrew pulled over and stepped out, his rifle at the ready. Mason, Ramirez, and Dawson joined him, weapons raised, scanning the area.
"No bodies in sight," Dawson murmured. "But this happened recently."
"Let's clear the path," Andrew ordered. "We'll guide the others through once it's safe."
They pushed the lighter debris aside and shifted what they could from the lane, clearing just enough room for the vehicles to squeeze through one at a time. When finished, they rolled out again—quieter now, eyes sharper.
About thirty minutes later, they crested a rise and spotted something ahead—a military checkpoint.
Or what used to be one.
Two Humvees had been positioned across the road in a blockade, sandbags scattered, traffic barriers shoved aside. But it was clear the position had been breached—not by walkers, but by civilians. A car had rammed through the barricade .
Ramirez whispered, "Someone forced their way through. Panic must've hit this place hard."
Bodies littered the area—two soldiers, their uniforms stained with blood, and several civilians. Among them, walkers roamed slowly, dragging their feet. Some wore military fatigues, others ripped jeans and flannel. Maybe six in total. One stood oddly still until its head twitched toward the noise of the idling convoy. It let out a low groan.
Andrew signaled.
They moved quickly.
With their knives ready, they approached from the side. Ramirez stabbed one walker cleanly through the back of the neck, holding it steady until it dropped. Dawson crept behind another, gripping its collar and burying his blade into its temple while Andrew and Mason killed other two .
But one noticed them and turned in their direction —then another.
Their groans grew louder, and the staggering turned into a jolting lurch—not quite a sprint, but faster than the ones they encountered until recently .
"Here we go again," Mason muttered.
One walker broke into a jog, heading straight for Andrew. He sidestepped and tripped it with his boot, sending it sprawling into the pavement. Without hesitation, he drove his blade into its skull.
Ramirez wrestled another to the ground and silenced it with a sharp thrust .
A minute later, it was quiet.
They stood among the bodies, breathing heavily.
Andrew looked over the scene. "Grab anything we can use. Weapons, Ammo, fuel, water. Move fast."
The soldiers stripped magazines from the fallen troops' vests, checked weapons for functionality, and took sidearms. Ramirez popped open the back of one Humvee and found two full fuel canisters and a duffel bag with MREs and a first aid kit.
Dawson collected spare batteries, field knives, and a few pairs of gloves from a supply crate that had burst open.
Once loaded up, Andrew gave the signal, and they returned to their vehicles. The convoy continued down the interstate, the road stretching endlessly ahead.
...
The road ahead was littered with husks of long-abandoned vehicles, some scorched, others simply broken and forgotten. The convoy had been rolling steadily south on the interstate .
When Andrew picked up the radio from the Humvee's dash and keyed it.
" Here Sargent Andrew —listen up. We're making a quick detour. There's a small town up ahead—Ashwood. We need something before we reach Fort Benning."
"Copy that," the bus driver responded through the walkie-talkie Andrew had given him earlier.
"What are we stopping for?" the truck driver asked.
"Something that makes noise," Andrew replied. "Speakers, radios, anything we can use to pull a horde away from the base. We'll be in and out, no more than a few blocks in."
He turned in his seat and looked at Ramirez, Mason, and Dawson in the Humvee with him. "All of you, gear up. We're going in."
They took the next off-ramp, exiting the interstate and following a two-lane road into the edge of Ashwood. The town had clearly been hit hard. Storefront windows were broken, paper flyers plastered every pole and wall—Evacuation Order: All Civilians Report to Atlanta. Torn yellow tape flapped at the corners of empty intersections.
As they passed through the first block, they saw it: a makeshift evacuation camp, long since abandoned. Metal crowd-control barriers still lined the perimeter of the small lot near a courthouse. Cots and chairs were overturned, and scattered belongings lay in the dirt. Coolers, backpacks, children's toys—everything left in a hurry.
"Looks like they pulled people out fast," Mason muttered. "Didn't clean up much."
Andrew nodded. "They were told Atlanta was the safe zone. Turns out that was the worst place to go."
They didn't venture far—just enough to reach the edge of downtown. The Humvee pulled to a stop outside a strip mall, the old signs faded and sun-bleached. One storefront caught Andrew's eye: "Jones Electronics."
"This is it," he said. "We'll check inside. Dawson, Ramirez—you're with me. Mason, stay and cover the convoy."
The trio advanced cautiously, rifles raised. The door to the store was partially open, wedged on a toppled shelf just inside. Andrew pushed through first, stepping over shattered glass. The inside was a mess—display tables overturned, product boxes ransacked—but it hadn't been looted clean.
"I'll check the back," Ramirez said.
Dawson knelt near a half-open cabinet. "I've got a few portable speakers here. Bluetooth. Big enough to make noise if we stack them."
"Good," Andrew said, grabbing a backpack and stuffing in two of the larger units. "Find anything with a timer or remote trigger."
"In here," Ramirez called from the back. She held up a small pack of smart plugs and a portable battery pack. "We can rig something with this—set it up to go off from a distance, maybe ten, fifteen feet out."
Suddenly, a soft shuffling came from the side aisle.
Andrew raised his fist. Silence fell.
A walker emerged slowly from the shadows, its clothes tattered, one foot dragging behind it. Then another. They must have been trapped inside when the outbreak hit .
"Keep it quiet," Andrew said.
Dawson moved first, slipping behind one and grabbing it from behind. A quick stab to the base of the skull and it dropped. Ramirez circled around the second and shoved it hard into a display rack, pinning it before sinking her knife into its temple.
"Clear, those were the only ones ," Andrew said, checking the rest of the store.
They gathered the last of the supplies—some spare batteries, a half-charged tablet, and one working emergency radio with a built-in alarm tone. It wasn't much, but it was enough.
Back outside, Mason kept watch from the roof of the Humvee. He gave them a thumbs-up as they returned.
"Let's move," Andrew said. "Back to the highway. We don't stay here longer than we have to."
The convoy turned back toward the interstate, the quiet town of Ashwood disappearing behind them .
The rest of the way was uneventful, the convoy gliding down stretches of cracked pavement littered with abandoned vehicles and debris. Rusted sedans and shattered SUVs lined the shoulder of the road, their doors hanging open like broken wings. Walkers roamed lazily between the wreckage , some aimless, others drawn by the sound of distant birds or the wind stirring a soda can across the asphalt—but none close enough to pose a threat.
Eventually, the convoy veered off the interstate, following a narrower road that traced the chain-link perimeter of Fort Benning. Andrew signaled for the convoy to halt. The vehicles came to a stop behind the cover of overgrown brush at the fence.
Andrew stepped out, scanning the perimeter then climbed onto the hood of the Humvee and raised his binoculars, focusing through the heat haze on the far side of the base. Valeria Ramirez stood next to him, shielding her eyes against the late afternoon glare.
"There," Andrew said.
He adjusted the focus. The main gate was a mess—a pickup truck had rammed through it, the frame twisted around crushed barricades. Bullet holes riddled the vehicle and the gateposts. Overturned barriers and sandbags lay scattered across the road beyond, with a long line of abandoned vehicles stretched like a funeral procession. Corpses dotted the roadside, some in military gear, others in civilian clothes.
Most chilling of all was the sheer number of walkers. Well over a hundred shuffled inside the base's grounds, many of them likely the civilians who had once rushed the gates, hoping for sanctuary. Now, they wandered without purpose—though some lingered near certain buildings .
Andrew exhaled sharply. "Too many."
Andrew then looked at the chain link fence with barbed wire coiled along the top. "This spot should do," he muttered, and motioned for Mason to bring the bolt cutters. Together, they silently worked at the metal, cutting an opening wide enough for the Humvee and the two vehicles behind it to move through.
After more than thirty minutes they were finished, he turned to Private Ramirez. "Call your brother."
She pulled out her phone, grateful that it had managed to charge earlier at the resort, and dialed. It rang twice before a voice answered.
"Valeria?" the voice said—quiet, strained.
"It's me," she said quickly. "We're here. Outside the east side of the base, just past the main gate. We cut the fence. Listen—Andrew has a plan."
Andrew took the phone, speaking clearly.
" Here Sargent Andrew . We're going to draw the walkers away using portable speakers and a tablet rigged with an auto-play loop. Once the horde starts moving, we'll breach through the fence and extract your people. But we need to know what building you're in."
There was a short pause before Danny replied, "I'll signal you. I will use a flare. Wait for it."
Andrew nodded. "Copy that."
They ended the call. Everyone stood in silence, eyes fixed on the skyline beyond the fence.
A few minutes later, a faint orange glow lit up the top of one of the far buildings—a flare stick, waved slowly from the rooftop before vanishing again.
"There they are," Andrew said. He turned to Ramirez and Dawson. "Let's move. Time to set the bait."