They left the Humvee behind, knowing that the engine noise would draw the walkers attention if they brought it closer. From there, they proceeded on foot, moving carefully through the tall grass until they reached a spot further down the fence line—far enough from the opening in the fence to set their distraction without leading walkers back toward the extraction path.
It was the perfect spot—far enough from the breach point and close enough to the horde's main cluster to catch their attention once the noise started.
The area was quiet, save for the distant moans echoing from inside the base. Over one hundred walkers roamed within the compound, most of them still lingering near the main gate and the wrecked cars that had tried to break through.
Dawson dropped to one knee and started unpacking the equipment from his rucksack: a rugged Bluetooth speaker, the salvaged tablet, and a pair of small battery packs wired together. While he connected the devices, Andrew and Valeria Ramirez kept a lookout, rifles raised, eyes scanning the base's outer edge.
"Movement, left side. Just one—no, two," Ramirez whispered, watching two distant walkers shuffle past an overturned barricade. "They haven't seen us."
Andrew gave a tight nod, then glanced back at Dawson. "How's it coming?"
"Almost there," Dawson replied, fingers flying over the tablet screen. "But, Sargent... are you sure this'll work?"
Andrew didn't look away from the fence line as he answered. "It'll work. Noise draws them like moths to a flame ."
Dawson frowned slightly, still skeptical, but kept working. "What if the sound doesn't carry far enough? Or the battery dies?"
"It won't," Andrew said firmly. "Just stick to the plan."
With a beep, the tablet's screen lit up and a countdown timer appeared.
"Alright, ready," Dawson said, standing. "How long do I set the timer for?"
"Five minutes," Andrew said, already stepping back. "That'll give us enough time to pull back and get into position without the horde noticing us."
Dawson hesitated for a beat, then tapped the screen. The countdown began.
"Let's move," Andrew ordered.
They turned and slipped back the way they came, the wind rustling through the trees as the seconds ticked down behind them.
They were halfway back to the convoy when the music suddenly kicked on, loud and jarring against the eerie quiet. The three of them stopped immediately, dropping into a crouch. From their position along the treeline, they could just make out the horde inside the base reacting—heads snapping toward the sound, their moans rising in unison. Slowly at first, they began moving toward the noise.
Andrew watched carefully, then gave a sharp hand signal to keep moving. They advanced quickly but cautiously. Just before reaching the convoy, Ramirez glanced back—then froze.
"Shit..." she muttered.
Andrew turned to look—and what he saw made his stomach clench. A large group of walkers had broken into a jog, their unstable limbs barely keeping up with their momentum, heading straight for the source of the music. The ones closest to the fence clawed at it with increasing aggression. And then—one began to climb. It pulled itself halfway up before losing its grip and slamming to the ground. But it wasn't alone. Several others were attempting to scale the fence, most failing, but with the same result as the previous one.
Andrew stared for a moment, jaw tight. This isn't how they acted in the comics or the show. Whatever these things were, they weren't the typical walker from the walking dead. But now wasn't the time to dwell on it.
Once they reached the vehicles, Andrew turned to Ramirez. "Call your brother."
She didn't hesitate, pulling out her phone and dialing. After a few rings, James answered.
Andrew spoke " the walkers are distracted , we are coming."
"We're hearing it loud and clear," James said, voice strained but steady. "We'll be ready."
"Good. You have to move fast the moment we get there ," Andrew said, then ended the call and handed the phone back.
Without another word, he turned toward the Humvee and motioned for the others to mount up
They carefully passed through the opening they had cut into the fence, moving with purpose toward the building where the survivors were holed up. The streets within the base were eerily quiet, save for the distant moaning of the distracted horde and the sound of music still echoing from the opposite side of the perimeter.
As they advanced, Andrew's thoughts shifted. With the walkers drawn away… this might be our only chance to resupply. He considered what he knew about military installations. If we can get into one of the base armories—or even the supply depot—we might be able to grab extra ammo, weapons, or even medical gear. We'll need everything we can get.
Reaching the building—a squat, concrete Admin facility surrounded by debris and makeshift barricades—they didn't stop right away. Andrew drove the Humvee in a full circle around it, ensuring the path back to the cut fence remained clear. They needed to be ready to move fast once everyone was aboard the bus and the military truck.
As the Humvee came to a halt near the main entrance, the reinforced door to the Admin building creaked open. Two soldiers emerged slowly, rifles raised, sweeping the area with caution. Judging by their uniforms and kit, they were Army Rangers—tough, disciplined, and not taking any chances. After a tense moment, one of them signaled all clear for those inside.
From within, people began to file out—army Rangers , military personnel wearing just fatigues and sidearms. Mixed in were a handful of frightened civilians, eyes wide and clinging to whatever belongings they'd managed to keep.
Andrew stepped out of the Humvee, scanning the group as they moved toward the waiting vehicles. He watched for signs of injury, limping, or anything that would indicate a wound from a walker . If even one of them was bitten, they couldn't risk bringing the infection back to the resort.
Then Andrew heard from the humvee.
"James!" Valeria cried, leaping from the Humvee. She sprinted toward her brother, who had just exited the building , by the gear he was carrying , he was a Ranger too . He looked up, eyes lighting up with disbelief, and opened his arms just in time to catch her.
"Val!" James breathed out, hugging her tightly. "You made it."
"I'm here," she said, her voice cracking. "And so are you."
Andrew allowed a small smile to creep onto his face, watching the reunion from a few steps away. But something at the entrance of the building caught his attention—something that made him do a double take.
A tall figure with a boonie hat and rugged beard stepped through the doorway, followed closely by a man with a mohawk and a Scottish accent muttering something to his partner. A man with a skull-patterned balaclava. Then a dark skinned man with a well trimmed beard , shaved head and sarcastic grin. And behind them, a bulky Russian man with a thick beard and even thicker accent.
Andrew blinked.
"...No way," he muttered under his breath.
Captain Price. Soap. Ghost. Gaz. And… Nikolai.
They stepped into the sunlight with casual alertness, weapons slung but ready, eyes sharp.
Andrew stood frozen for a second, stunned.
This is the Walking Dead universe... how the hell are they here? he thought, his mind racing to piece together what he was seeing. Captain Price, Ghost, Soap, Gaz, and Nikolai—walking right toward him . His gaze briefly shifted to James Ramirez, and it clicked.
"Of course... the same Ramirez from the old MW2 campaign."
Well, shit, Andrew thought. But years of military discipline took over. He buried the shock, straightened his posture, and kept a composed expression as the five men approached.
Captain Price was the first to speak, that rough, seasoned voice impossible to mistake.
"You the one runnin' the show here?"
Andrew gave a solid nod. "Yeah. Sergeant Andrew Mercer ."
Price stepped forward, offering a handshake. "Captain John Price. These lads behind me—Ghost, Soap, Gaz. And the Russian's Nikolai. Don't mind him—bit mad, but handy in a fight."
Ghost gave a silent nod, arms crossed. Gaz gave a quick "Alright, mate," and Soap flashed a crooked grin.
Soap tilted his head, eyeing Andrew's posture. "Don't take this the wrong way, mate—but that stance of yours says you've seen your fair share of action."
Andrew gave a slight smirk, pulling a pair of dog tags from beneath his shirt and tossing them to Soap, who caught them.
"Rangers. 2nd Battalion."
Soap raised his eyebrows. "Bloody hell, that explains it." then tossed them back.
Gaz leaned in, arms folded. "So what's a Ranger doin' playin' part-time soldier?"
Andrew shook his head. "That's a story for when we're not standing in an infested base full of corpses. Same with the part where I ask why a group of SAS operatives are in Georgia."
Price chuckled, deep and dry. "Fair shout."
He then turned his head toward the bus and truck, as more people began to emerge from a nearby buildings. "So, what's the plan?"
Andrew looked back at the convoy. The bus and the truck were almost at full capacity. While more were coming, but there wasn't space.
"There's more people than we expected. We're about out of space," he said. "I was planning to make a quick supply run—ammo mostly. On the way, we can check the motor pool or any nearby parking for vehicles we can use to extract the rest."
Price nodded once. "Right. We're with you."
Andrew turned to Mason and Dawson by the convoy.
"You two stay here with Ramirez. Keep the convoy safe together with the Rangers . We'll be back soon."
They gave short nods. No arguments.
Andrew climbed into the Humvee's driver seat. Price, Ghost, Soap, and Gaz climbed in after him . Nikolai stayed behind with the convoy, casually lighting a cigarette as if it were just another normal day .
...
They pulled away from the administrative building, leaving it behind them.
The road ahead went south-west through the base's internal roads, lined with empty and eerily quiet barracks. Most of the chaos had concentrated near the front gate—this side of the base was largely untouched . They passed two walkers limping across a grassy field, too distant to be drawn by the music still blaring in the distance.
They rolled up to the motor pool—rows of Humvees sat in various states of readiness, alongside several hulking JLTVs, two of which still had mounted .50 cal Brownings glinting in the sun. Three large military transport trucks were parked near the far wall, their canvas backs flapping faintly in the breeze. The gate to the lot was still closed —but the chain was hanging loose, like someone had already passed through in a hurry.
Price scanned the vehicles. "Soap, Ghost, Gaz—get to work. Check what runs, find the bloody keys . Quietly."
"Aye, Cap," Soap said, hopping out first. Ghost and Gaz followed, rifles at the ready, moving with practiced caution between the vehicles.
Just as their boots hit the asphalt, shuffling footsteps echoed from the road behind them—five walkers, staggering into view, then breaking into a jog. Their eyes were empty but locked on the movement.
Andrew looked at the three. " Aim for the head ," he said calmly.
The three Brits didn't need to be told twice. Crack. Crack. Crack. Three clean shots punched through the first three walkers. Ghost and Gaz handled the last two, not wasting a round. Five corpses collapsed to the ground .
Price gave an approving nod. "Nice and tidy."
"Let's hope they were the only ones in earshot," Andrew muttered . " Now , we have to only get the ammo . We'll make a quick run while they sort the rides."
As they turned to leave, a sharp creak made everyone freeze.
A door opened , from one of the motor pool's smaller admin buildings. All weapons snapped up in unison, barrels fixed on the shadow in the doorway.
Three figures emerged—one soldier in full gear with an M4 rifle raised in panic, and two others in military fatigues with holstered sidearms, hands up.
"Hold fire!" the geared soldier called out, his voice hoarse. "We're alive!"
Seeing them, Andrew lowered his weapon. Price gave him a glance and nodded.
Andrew got out of the humvee and stepped forward slowly. "You alone?"
The soldier gave a cautious nod. "Yeah. We've been hiding here since the breach."
Price lowered his rifle too. "If you're able, lend a hand. We've got wounded to get out, and not much time."
The three soldiers were visibly relieved, though the fatigue on their faces told of long nights and close calls.
Andrew turned to Price. "Let's go and get the ammo . Time's running out."
Price's expression hardened, and he gave a sharp nod. "Let's move."
One of the soldiers perked up when he heard Andrew mention heading to the ammo depot. He stepped forward quickly, raising a hand.
"If you're looking for ammo," he said, "those two trucks are loaded with it. Ammo and equipment . They were being prepped for resupplying the refugee camps in Atlanta ..."
Ghost raised an eyebrow behind his mask. "And why, exactly, are those two trucks still here?"
The soldier shrugged, gesturing at the chaos around them. "The breach happened. Orders stopped coming . We took refuge here ."
Soap clicked his tongue. "And no one thought to mention this earlier?"
Gaz tilted his head toward the third truck. "What about that one?"
"Empty," the soldier replied. "We were going to load it next."
Andrew stepped forward. "You have the keys?"
The soldier nodded. "Yeah. They're inside the office. Top drawer, front desk."
Without a word, Ghost brushed past them and entered the small building. Moments later, he came out holding several sets of keys, each tagged with a small dull aluminum disc, stamped with vehicle numbers on them .
"Got what we need," Ghost said, tossing a pair to Soap and another to Gaz.
"Cheers," said Soap, catching the keys Ghost tossed his way. "Hope they've got fuel."
Captain Price nodded once, glancing at the three soldiers. "Right. You lot—grab those trucks, start 'em up."
The soldier with the M4 rifle responded sharply, "On it."
"You two take the loaded ones," Price continued. "You—" he pointed at the third— "keep that one close. It's for the last of the remaining personnel."
Soap walked toward one of the JLTVs, running his hand along the side of the vehicle with a low whistle.
"Well, now—these are fresh. Didn't think they'd rolled these out proper yet."
Gaz climbed into the passenger side of the next JLTV, nodding in agreement.
"Straight out the bloody factory, looks like. Someone up top was getting the good toys early."
"Still better than a bloody humvee," Soap muttered, sliding into the driver's seat and adjusting the mirror.
"Or walkin'," Gaz added, smirking as he checked the mounted .50 cal.
Ghost was already in position behind the wheel of another. He didn't say a word, just adjusted his mask slightly and tapped the steering wheel with a gloved finger.
Price turned to Andrew, voice steady and focused. "Let's get these wheels moving, Sergeant. Time's not on our side."
Andrew gave a firm nod and slid into the humvee's driver's seat, Price beside him.
As the convoy roared to life, one engine after another joined the hum, breaking the uneasy quiet of the motor pool. The .50 cals mounted on the JLTVs clunked as the turrets rotated briefly .
"Bloody hell," Soap muttered over comms, watching the side mirror. "Looks like a damn parade."
"Parade with teeth behind us," Gaz quipped.
Price keyed in on his radio, voice crisp. "Eyes sharp, lads. We're not home yet."
And with that, they rolled out—trucks, JLTVs, and humvee in line—heading back toward the administrative building.
...
The humvee rumbled back to the administrative building, kicking up dust as it rolled to a stop. Andrew jumped out first, with Prices behind him . Behind them, the rest of the newly acquired vehicles pulled in—three military trucks , two loaded with ammo and three JLTVs.
Soldiers and personnel waiting outside snapped into motion. As soon as the back of the empty truck swung open, military personnel began climbing in—some helping each other up, others grabbed a seat inside the cabin. There wasn't much time left .
The other two trucks were already weighed down with crates of ammunition and gear, secured with quick knots and straps. Price gestured sharply at the JLTVs.
"Get your arses in! Gunners up top, eyes sharp!"
Several soldiers scrambled into the JLTVs, one to each turret, immediately racking the .50 cals, the metallic chunk echoing across the yard. The rest piled into the vehicles or found seats wherever they could.
Captain Price stepped over to Andrew, lighting a fresh cigar with a flick of a battered lighter, even in the middle of the growing tension.
"Right, mate—where we takin' this lot?" he asked, exhaling smoke, calm despite the creeping threat.
Andrew looked back toward the cut in the fence, then returned his focus to Price.
"There's a resort north of here, off the interstate. Remote, secured. Civilians and a few of ours are already set up there. It's the safest place we've got."
Price gave a small, impressed nod. "A resort, eh? Good on you."
But then it happened—the distant music, the one thing keeping the dead herded away, finally stopped. At first, there was only silence.
Then, as if on cue, heads began turning. One walker. Then three. Then dozens.
Silent, slack-jawed faces pivoted in eerie unison toward the convoy, just barely within visual range across the base's wide open grounds. The distraction had bought time, but it was over.
"Shite," Gaz muttered as he spotted the shift. "Think the party's over."
Price didn't flinch. He crushed the cigar beneath his boot heel.
"Mount up!" he barked. "We roll now—tight convoy, keep that line movin'! JLTVs take the tail and keep 'em honest!"
Andrew was already moving, waving his hand high in the air.
"Let's go! Go, go!"
Engines roared to life. The convoy surged forward, the humvee in the lead breaking away toward the breach in the fence.
Behind them, the JLTVs held formation, gunners swiveling their turrets. The first group of walkers that wandered too close was torn apart by .50 cal fire. It didn't matter that the shots didn't hit the brain—limbs came off, torsos split open, and bodies dropped in mangled heaps.
"Bloody hell," Soap muttered with a grin as he braced against the recoil. "These things bite hard."
"Don't give 'em time to," Ghost said coolly from another turret. "Keep the lead clear."
The convoy pressed on, steady but unrelenting. Every soldier knew they had a narrow window—if the herd got to them before they made it through the fence, they will be done for .
Price's turned to Andrew his voice calm and steady despite the chaos.
" Sergeant, you better be right about that bloody resort."
Andrew, had his eyes locked on the breach ahead.
"I am."