Andrew stepped into the command room, letting the heavy door shut behind him. The low hum of equipment and the faint smell of burnt coffee greeted him. Major Griggs stood at the central table, bending over a spread of maps marked with ink lines and colored pins. Beside him was Captain Price, arms folded, and another man—tall, broad-shouldered, posture relaxed but alert, like someone who never truly stood at ease.
Andrew slowed for half a second.
The man seemed familiar. Or at least he felt like it.
The stranger's eyes flicked toward him—sharp, assessing.
Andrew closed the distance to the table.
Griggs straightened first.
"Lieutenant. Good to have you back. Is everything in order?"
Andrew nodded. "The two are outside and secured."
"Good," Griggs replied, rubbing a hand over his jaw.
Price looked between them. "You sure these two are from the same group that tried ambushing us at the estate?"
"That," Griggs said, "is why we have Reacher here."
Andrew noticed Price give a faint, knowing smirk like he'd already learned something interesting about the man.
Griggs caught the exchange—and the silent staring between Andrew and Reacher.
"Right," Griggs said. "Introductions are in order."
He gestured between them.
"Lieutenant Mercer, this is Reacher—former Army Major, part of the defunct 110th Special Investigations Unit."
Then he turned.
"Major, Lieutenant Andrew Mercer. He's been working with me and Captain Price to reestablish a unified command structure."
Reacher gave a small nod, but his expression didn't shift much.
"Drop the 'Major' part," he said. "Just Reacher works."
With Griggs giving him a nod.
Then he looked at Andrew.
"So," Reacher said, "what was that look? You studying me for a reason?"
Andrew didn't flinch. He gave a small shrug, eyeing Reacher up and down once more.
"You just look familiar. That's all."
Reacher hummed—a low, skeptical sound—and nothing else.
"Could be." He shrugged back, mirroring Andrew. "World's smaller now anyway."
With that settled, Andrew extended his hand.
Reacher studied it for half a second—then gripped it firmly. Solid shake. Direct. No ego.
Price smirked.
"Well, now the introduction is out of the way ."
Griggs chuckled under his breath, relief flickering in his eyes as the tension—whatever kind it had been—settled.
Griggs exhaled and tapped a finger against the edge of the map.
"Well, now that everyone's acquainted…" His gaze shifted to Reacher. "I want you to check in on our guests. See what you can get out of them. Anything about their group, numbers, leadership, movement patterns—the works."
Reacher gave a single nod.
"On it."
He turned without another word and crossed the command room. His foot steps made a dull thud against the floor, steady and unhurried. No swagger, no hesitation—just purpose. As he reached the door, he glanced back once, as if committing the room and its occupants to memory, then stepped out and pulled the door shut behind him with a soft metallic click.
A brief quiet settled over the table.
Andrew cleared his throat and straightened slightly.
"Now… about the civilians. How did the escort to the estate go?"
Griggs's expression softened just enough to show relief rather than command rigidity. "Smoothly. No complications worth noting."
Andrew let out the breath he hadn't realized he was holding.
"But," Griggs continued, "I was informed a herd of walkers was heading toward the estate. A sizeable one. From what I gathered, the soldiers and the police force managed to handle it."
Andrew's frowned . "Everyone's okay?"
Griggs nodded. "They handled themselves well. And—" He pointed at Andrew with two fingers, almost accusatory but in a good way. "—thanks to your idea of issuing arm and leg protection. Without it, we would've had bites. Probably fatalities."
Andrew's shoulders eased, some of the tension melting from his posture. "I'm glad no one lost their life. That's all that matters."
Price, leaning casually against the table, tilted his head in agreement.
"He's right," the Captain said. "Could've been ugly. I was in the room when the report came in. From what I heard…" He paused, scanning the map of Fort Benning with a scrutinizing eye. "I think we need to rework the plan for clearing the base."
Griggs raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Meaning?"
"A direct push into Benning," Price said, tapping the map with a knuckle, "would bleed us dry. Too many walkers clustered in too many choke points. Even with armor and trained shooters, we'd be asking to lose people. And we can't afford that—not with the numbers we have."
Griggs folded his arms. "So what do you propose?"
Price gave a short nod, as if he'd been waiting for that question.
"There are multiple high-rise structures around the perimeter of Fort Benning. Office buildings, dorm towers… solid rooftops. We can insert sniper teams on several of them. Suppressed rifles. Plenty of ammo. Enough supplies to keep them up there for days, maybe longer."
Andrew leaned forward, interest piqued. "Slow culling."
"Exactly," Price said. "Not a charge. They pick off walkers from above, quietly. We thin the herd without drawing more in. Meanwhile we reinforce every area we already have under our control. No gaps. No weak flanks."
Griggs stared at the map for a long moment, the wheels in his mind clearly turning.
Andrew watched him, waiting for the verdict.
Finally, Griggs let out a slow breath.
"That… could work," he admitted. "It buys us time. Lowers the risk. And it keeps our people alive."
Both Price and Andrew nodded in agreement.
Andrew shifted slightly, eyes returning to the cluster of papers on the table. "Any updates from Grady Memorial?"
Griggs nodded and reached for a folded sheet he'd set aside earlier. He smoothed it on the table with the flat of his palm.
"Yeah. Quite a bit, actually." He cleared his throat. "Progress has been steady. The teams stationed there along several civilians finished setting up a secured perimeter around the hospital using HESCO barriers. Full enclosure. Reinforced corners. Guard posts at each access point."
Price gave an approving hum. "That'll hold."
"That's the idea," Griggs continued. "There was also a sweep of some nearby office buildings. They found a group of survivors holed up in one of them—eight total. Hungry, exhausted, but unbitten. They were brought back to Grady after a thorough check."
Andrew nodded, relieved. "Good. That's really good news."
Griggs's expression tightened just a fraction. "There is one concern. Some areas near the hospital are seeing an uptick in walker numbers—nothing serious yet, just drift. Stragglers grouping up. It's manageable, not a threat as long as patrols stay sharp."
Price exhaled through his nose. "Still better than the alternative. Sounds like things are holding steady."
Andrew agreed. "Yeah. Sounds like they're doing well."
For a moment, the room felt lighter—like the three men were actually gaining ground instead of constantly scrambling to keep it.
But the feeling didn't last.
Andrew's brow furrowed, mind shifting to the looming issue none of them had fully addressed.
"There's still the matter of the city," he said quietly. "Atlanta's full of them. Could be hundreds of thousands. Maybe more. Millions even."
The words settled into the air like cold steel.
Price's jaw flexed.
Griggs slowly folded the report again, the motion suddenly heavy.
Andrew continued, voice low. "If they start moving… if they pour out of the city toward us—toward Grady, the estate—there's no defensive line that'll hold."
No one spoke.
The mental image alone—streets vomiting waves of the dead, an unstoppable tide rolling outward—sent a chill creeping down each man's spine.
Even Price, who had seen more than his fair share of what seemed to be unwinnable battles, didn't see themselves able to succeed in that scenario.
Griggs finally broke the silence.
"We'll need a plan," he murmured.
No bravado.No denial.
Just the steady acknowledgment of a threat too big to ignore.
Andrew nodded slowly, pulse heavy in his chest.
"Yeah," he said. "We're going to need one hell of a plan."
Price leaned over the table, tapping a finger against the map. "Any direct push into the city is suicide. That many walkers stacked in tight streets? We'd get swarmed before we hit the second block."
Griggs grunted in agreement. "And even if we could push in, we don't have the ammo to keep that fight going." He motioned broadly to the map of Atlanta. "We're talking millions. Even if half are immobilized or trapped in buildings, the numbers are too damn big."
Price rubbed the bridge of his nose. "What about air support? Dobbins is still operational. In theory."
Andrew nodded slowly. "We could try to coordinate aerial strikes. Hit dense clusters. Maybe collapse some buildings to bottleneck movement."
It sounded good in theory—until Griggs shook his head.
"The initial bombings didn't do much," he reminded them. "Massive shock, sure—but walkers aren't routed like insurgents. They don't break, they don't retreat, they don't scatter. Half of the detonations might've just buried them until they dug their way out later." He paused. "And we don't even know how many munitions Dobbins has left. If any."
Price added, "We can't count on hardware we haven't confirmed. And even if we could—we can't bomb the whole damn city. Not without leveling everything within twenty miles."
Silence settled again, heavier this time.
Griggs exhaled. "Redirection?"
Price snorted at the same moment Andrew shook his head firmly.
"Delay tactic at best," Price said. "And a disaster waiting to happen. If we are even able to push them away, we risk increasing their number by adding from the surrounding areas. Plus we might doom someone else by doing it."
Price tapped the map again. "And we can barely manage the numbers drifting around the hospital and the estate. Redirecting a million? Forget it."
Another silence—longer this time.
The type that came when minds hit a wall and started bouncing off the edges.
Andrew stared at the map.
At the sprawl of the metro area.
At the arteries of highways choked with abandoned cars.
At the dark center where downtown once thrived.
Millions of walkers.
Millions of bodies.
Millions of—
Dead.
Dead flesh.
Dead nerves.
Dead systems.
Dead.
Remembering something from the comic, a thought sparked, slamming into him.
His eyes widened.
Price noticed instantly. "You've got something."
Griggs straightened. "Lieutenant?"
Andrew swallowed once, then said a single word:
"Winter."
Both men blinked, confusion flickering for half a second.
Then it clicked.
Price's brow lifted.
Griggs leaned back, muttering, "Holy hell…"
Andrew nodded. "They're dead. Corpses. Cold slows decomposition—and freezes them solid when it gets cold enough."
Griggs rubbed his jaw. "And once winter hits…"
"They'll freeze," Andrew finished. "Completely immobilized. Maybe for weeks. Maybe more."
Price let out a low whistle. "That gives us time. A window. To thin them out safely. To fortify. To plan."
"Exactly," Andrew said. "We can't fight millions head-on. But if they freeze? We're not dealing with a tidal wave. We're dealing with a field of statues."
Griggs exhaled—long, controlled, relieved in a way he didn't show often.
"Well," he said quietly, "looks like we might actually have an advantage."
But before any of them could continue planning, one of the communication operators seated at the long console along the wall suddenly straightened—hand pressed to his headset, eyes widening.
"Sir," he called out, turning in his chair.
The three men shifted instantly, their attention snapping toward him.
Andrew stepped closer. "What is it?"
The operator adjusted the dial with quick, precise movements. "We… we picked something up."
Price and Griggs both moved toward the console. Andrew followed, jaw tight.
"What exactly?" Andrew asked.
The operator swallowed, tapping the small notepad beside him. "We were cycling through the alternate long-range bands—standard sweeps. Looking for any surviving units. And then—" He pointed at the waveform flickering across the monitor. "Something answered."
A beat passed with the weight of possibility.
Price leaned in. "Did they identify themselves?"
The operator nodded. "Yes, sir. He introduced himself as Lieutenant Welles."