After the meeting broke up, Andrew, Price, and the rest of the task force made their way down the hallway toward the armory. The metallic scent of oil and gunpowder hung faintly in the air as the personnel in charge of the armory unlocked the heavy steel door. Inside, racks of rifles, crates of ammunition, and rows of neatly stacked tactical gear filled the reinforced room .
Andrew opened the locker containing his equipment and began gearing up. He fastened his vest, he grabbed his suppressed MP5 and took several loaded magazines. Nearby, Price was securing his own kit, talking quietly with Ghost and Soap about routes and supply coordination. Once their equipment was in order, they exchanged brief nods.
While Price and Major Griggs would remain behind to coordinate the reclamation of nearby National Guard armories and supply depots around Atlanta, Andrew will deal with his own objective. With Griggs's approval, he was to take a small Ranger squad — eight men in total — and the modified drone , repurposed for reconnaissance, developed by the engineering team.
Outside, under the pale morning light, Andrew spread a folded map across the hood of a JLTV. His finger traced a route from Fort Ironwood toward Cranwell High School. The roads were marked with faint red Xs where blockages or wrecks had been reported, but one narrow county road caught his eye — it curved past an old stretch of farmland before looping toward the location of the highschool.
He stared at it for a moment, remembering that Hershel's farm — if his recollection was right, it lay somewhere along that route.
This would allow him and his squad to check the farm and the condition of the people.
It was a long shot, but is worth to check. He folded the map and looked up at his men, already loading gear into the vehicles.
"Mount up," he said, voice steady but sharp. "We move in ten. Keep your eyes open — we don't know what's waiting out there."
Engines roared to life, and as the gates of Fort Ironwood creaked open once again, the JLTV and a humvee rolled out into the open road.
···
The drive took them out of the battered edges of Atlanta and into the quiet sprawl of rural Georgia. The road beneath the two vehicles was still in decent shape — cracked in places, littered with debris, but mostly clear.
They rolled past small supermarkets and gas stations that had already been swept by supply teams —some of their windows still intact but the shelves were stripped bare. And marked with an white X to sign that has been cleared out.
Empty cars sat parked crookedly at the curbs, doors left open, as if everyone had left in a hurry.
Farther along, the highway thinned into two-lane roads bordered by low fields and patches of pine. The air was clear. The convoy kept a steady formation, engines humming.
In the lead vehicle, Andrew sat in the passenger seat, watching the landscape change, the crops in some fields were still green, left to wither mid-season. It was a snapshot of life paused mid-motion.
The convoy followed a stretch of road that curved past broad farmland. To their right, sitting atop a gentle rise, stood a white farmhouse with a red barn beside it — sturdy and well-kept. It looked very familiar.
Hershel's farm.
Andrew leaned forward slightly, narrowing his eyes, it looked like the one from the comic and the game, rather the one from the show. Smoke was rising from the chimney. The fences were still standing, and he could just make out several siluets.
Andrew motioned for the convoy to slow as the vehicles rolled up the dirt path. The road wound between open pastures, grass swaying gently in the morning breeze. Ahead, the white farmhouse came fully into view — fences mended, fields tilled, livestock pens still standing.
"Pull up by the gate," Andrew said. The JLTV eased to a stop, dust swirling around its tires. The Rangers climbed out, weapons low but ready, scanning the property out of habit.
Near the barn, Andrew spotted two figures — one older, gray-haired and steady on his feet despite the long day's work; the other younger, maybe mid-twenties, helping to shove something large and heavy through the barn doors. It took both of them straining to move it inside. The doors shut quickly afterward, and Andrew caught a glimpse of what might've been a boot… and a hand.
He knew exactly what it was. But he said nothing.
His gaze shifted toward the porch. Two young women stood there, one of them was Maggie holding a rifle uncertainly across her chest. They froze as the sound of engines faded, eyes flicking toward the armed men in uniform.
Andrew raised a hand in greeting, keeping his voice calm and clear.
"Hey there! We mean you no harm. We are Army Rangers"
The older man — Hershel — straightened, resting a hand on the pitchfork beside him. He looked them over carefully before replying, his tone wary but civil.
"Army, huh? Haven't seen any of you boys in a while."
Andrew nodded, stepping forward a few paces. "We've been quiet busy. Trying to rgain control of what we can. When we saw the smoke, we figured there might still be folks holding out."
Hershel exchanged a glance with his son before answering. "You found some, I guess. Not many left that still have their heads on straight."
A small, wry smile touched Andrew's face.
There was a pause — not hostile, just heavy with unspoken things. Behind Hershel, the barn door creaked faintly. The younger man, noticed and stepped quickly in front of it. Andrew caught the motion but pretended not to.
"Mind if we talk?" Andrew asked. "Won't take long."
Hershel hesitated, then nodded slowly. "Alright. But your men can stay by the vehicle. Don't want to scare the girls."
"Fair enough," Andrew said. He turned to the squad. "Hold here. Eyes open, but stand easy."
As he walked toward the barnyard, the air smelled faintly of hay, livestock… and something else, faint but sharp — decay masked by disinfectant. He knew that smell.
Walkers in the barn, he thought grimly. So that part's still the same.
Andrew walked alongside Hershel, the fence between them marking the boundary of the farm and the unknown beyond. "We're heading toward Cranwell High School," he said casually, keeping his tone light. "There should be a safe zone established there."
Hershel nodded, his eyes distant for a moment. "It's a FEMA camp," he confirmed. " But we are safer in our own home , better to keep the family together."
Andrew hesitated, then offered, "You and your family could come with us. We've got a secure spot , it's fortified, people are organized…"
Hershel's jaw tightened. "No. We're staying. This is our home."
A heavy silence fell between them. Andrew's gaze drifted to the barn. He inhaled slowly, then spoke carefully. "I know what you've got in there," he said. His voice was steady, but not accusatory. "Saw you pushing it inside… the smell gave it away, too."
Hershel's eyes narrowed, anger flickering across his face. "That's none of your business!" he snapped, his hands clenching.
"It is my business," Andrew replied evenly. "Those things are dangerous. People could get hurt if they're not careful."
Hershel's voice rose, disbelief and fury lacing each word. "Those things?" he repeated, incredulous. "You don't tell me what to do in my own home!" He took a step closer, his body tense, his eyes burning with anger. "You and your men — leave. Now."
From the porch, Maggie and the young man had been watching. Hearing their father's shout, they came quickly toward the fence, concern etched on their faces. Andrew looked back at the barn, then at the family, weighing the tension in the air. He knew the comic well enough to remember how Hershel had reacted when the walkers in the barn were finally dealt with. Best not to push.
"Alright," Andrew said quietly, raising his hands in a gesture of surrender. "We'll leave. But…" He paused, his voice low and firm, "be careful. These things are dangerous. Don't underestimate them."
Hershel looked at Andrew , anger in his eyes and his expression hardened. "They are people, not things. Now go."
Andrew and his Rangers returned to their vehicles. As they loaded up, he cast one last glance at the farmhouse. At an upper window, two small figures peeked out — the twin daughters of Hershel. Andrew recognized them from the comic, the youngest of the family, their wide eyes reflecting curiosity and caution.
The JLTV and Humvee rumbled to life, dust rising behind them as they departed the farm. Andrew kept his eyes forward, thinking at the walkers in the barn, and hoped that with the way the walkers are , Hershel's foolishness won't get them killed . He might have to be more forceful next time , they will get themselves killed.
···
The drive toward Cranwell High School was quiet. The two vehicles rolled down the cracked county road. Fields gave way to clusters of abandoned houses and overgrown yards, the world slowly reclaiming what was left behind.
When the high school's roof came into view in the distance Andrew radioed for the vehicles to halt.
"Hold here," he ordered. "Half a click out. Let's make sure it's not crawling with walkers before we go knocking."
The Rangers dismounted quickly, spreading out into a loose perimeter around the vehicles. Boots crunched on gravel as they took positions behind the Humvee and JLTV, rifles scanning the tree line and the road ahead.
Andrew knelt beside the JLTV, flipping open a hard case. Inside sat the modified recon drone — small, angular, painted in a dull matte green. Its carbon frame looked worn, but the engineering team back at Fort Ironwood had done a solid job retrofitting it with a stronger battery, an extended-range antenna, and a high-resolution camera.
He placed it on the ground, unfolding its rotor arms with practiced ease. He pressed the switch beneath the chassis, powering on the drone. The drone's lights blinked once, then glowed steady. A faint electronic hum filled the air.
Andrew grabbed the controller from the case — a compact unit with twin joysticks and a foldout monitor — and synced the drone. The display flickered to life, showing a live feed from the onboard camera.
He thumbed the left stick gently upward. The rotors spun faster, lifting the drone into the air with a rising whine. Dust swirled around his boots as it climbed.
"Up we go," he murmured, eyes on the screen.
At fifty feet, he adjusted the right stick, nudging it forward. The drone angled smoothly, accelerating toward the high school in the distance. Its altitude climbed to three hundred feet — high enough to stay out of earshot, but low enough for clear visuals.
The camera feed stabilized, showing the high school campus sprawled out below. Rows of tents covered the football field, with chain link fence surrounding the open area — a makeshift camp, mostly civilians , with few people walking between tents, and soldiers standing guard with rifles.
He guided the drone a little farther, panning the camera toward the parking lot. There, he saw clusters of civilians, a little over three dozen. Police officers and National Guard soldiers stood before them , trying to calm the people down. It seemed like a confruntation was about to happen.With the parking lot having only a perimeter of Humvees and FEMA trucks around it , making it a dangerous spot.
"Not good" he muttered under his breath.
He considered bringing the drone in lower for a closer look, but thought better of it. The drone would be visible, it sounds audible, and he didn't need anyone spooked by an unknown drone flying overhead. Besides, the unit didn't carry audio, so he'd seen all he needed.
He eased the right stick back, guiding the drone into a wide arc before returning it to their position. As it descended, the soft whir grew louder until it hovered just above the ground. Andrew thumbed the throttle down, and the rotors slowed, the drone settling neatly into the dirt.
He powered it off, folded the rotor arms, and slid it carefully back into its case along the controller.
Standing, he turned to the nearest Ranger. "Looks like the zone's still operational. Civilians, Guard, even some local cops. But something is happening in the parking lot ."
A few of the men exchanged looks.
Andrew slung the case into the JLTV and grabbed his weapon. "Alright, we're moving in. Keep it tight, stay sharp — let's make contact and see what is going on there."
Engines rumbled back to life, the vehicles began rolling again, turning toward the main road , dust trailing behind them.