Hi everyone, just a bit of a heads up. While i'm using characters, locations or events from TWD show and comic, in the story there will be events that will happen differently or won't happen at all.
I'm trying to avoid keeping scenarios that look too forced.
Enjoy the chapter.
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The walker staggered out of the treeline, its jaw hanging loose, a wet, guttural groan bubbling out of its throat. It lurched forward, one arm dragging, eyes locked on the soldiers by the downed helicopter.
A single shot cracked.
The back of the walker's skull blew apart in a mist of bone and rot, its body dropping like a puppet with its strings severed.
Another two shapes broke through the brush.
Crack. Crack.
Precise shots. Clean kills. Their bodies pitched forward into the dirt, silent at last.
For a few seconds, the forest held its breath.
Then nothing—no growls, no shuffling, no snapping branches. Just the distant hum of the Chinook circling above and the rustle of leaves shifting in the wind.
Andrew exhaled, lowering his MP5 as Price stepped up beside him.
The Captain lifted his radio to his mouth, eyes scanning the treeline once more.
"Nikolai, this is Price. Area's clear for now. We need you to locate an open landing zone for medevac—fast."
The radio crackled, then Nikolai's voice came through, accented and steady.
"Da, Captain. I find spot. Stand by."
"Copy."
Price clipped the radio back to his vest.
Around them, Ghost, Gaz, Soap, and the Rangers tightened the perimeter, checking bodies, scanning angles, making absolutely sure the small clearing was truly secure.
With the tension finally easing from his shoulders, Price turned toward the crashed helicopter.
Andrew moved with him.
The wreck lay tilted on its side, rotor blades bent and half-buried in the dirt, fuselage dented and streaked with mud and shattered bark. Lieutenant Welles sat propped against it, chest rising in shallow breaths. Private Sean knelt beside him, trying to keep pressure on his forearm where blood soaked through the torn sleeve. Franklin lay unconscious, head resting on a ripped seat cushion Sean had shoved under him.
The three looked beaten, shaken, barely holding on.
Price and Andrew approached, boots crunching on twigs and leaf's, the forest quieting around them.
Andrew crouched beside the wounded men as Price knelt opposite him. The air still smelled of gunpowder and burning rotor grease. Lieutenant Welles looked up at them through half-lidded eyes, jaw clenched against the pain.
Andrew spoke first. "Lieutenant Andrew Mercer. Fort Ironwood."
Price tipping his bonnie. "Captain Price."
Welles swallowed, wincing. "Lieutenant Welles." He nodded weakly toward the others. "Private Sean… and Private Franklin."
Sean lifted a hand in acknowledgment, still breathing hard. Franklin didn't move, only groaned faintly when Sean steadied his head.
Welles's gaze flicked past Andrew, landing on Price… then on Ghost, Soap, and Gaz holding the perimeter. The accent in their brief radio chatter must've registered, because Welles frowned through the pain.
"You're… British?"
Price smirked softly, just enough to show he was still human beneath the grit. "Good ear. SAS."
Welles blinked at that, stunned for half a heartbeat. "Didn't think I'd be seeing SAS this side of the apocalypse."
"Yeah, well," Price said, "you'd be surprised where we turn up."
Before Welles could reply, Andrew shifted closer, spotting the bleeding gash tracking down the lieutenant's leg—deep, raw, and still leaking crimson.
"Hold still," Andrew said, already pulling the medkit from his vest. "This'll keep you together until the medics take over."
He tore open gauze, working fast and efficient, hands steady even as Welles hissed in pain. Sean kept watch, swapping magazines in his pistol while glancing nervously at the trees.
Once Welles's bleeding was controlled, Andrew checked on Private Franklin. Pulse weak but present. Breathing shallow but regular.
"He'll make it to the bird," Andrew said.
Before he could say more, Price's radio crackled sharply.
"Price, this is Nikolai. You hear me?"
Price pressed a hand to the earpiece. "I'm here. What've you got?"
Static hissed for a second before Nikolai's voice sharpened.
"Found extraction point. Big intersection. Good clearance. Should fit medevac easy. About one hundred fifty meters northeast of your position."
"Understood," Price replied. "Anything else?"
"Da… walkers. Not many, but moving into forest. Most likely drawn by the gunfire. Be careful."
Price gave a curt nod even though Nikolai couldn't see it. "Copy that. We'll move."
The radio clicked off.
Andrew and Price exchanged a brief look, full of silent understanding.
They had wounded to move, walkers closing in, and only one shot at getting everyone out alive.
Captain Price pushed himself to his feet in one smooth motion, brushing dirt and rotor dust off his sleeves. "Alright," he said, voice firm and low. "We're moving out."
He turned toward his team—Ghost, Soap, and Gaz—each already checking their weapons, eyes scanning the shifting tree line.
"We're pushing through the forest," Price continued. "Walkers are closing in. Expect close-quarters. Keep it tight."
The three men nodded without hesitation, the kind of nod that meant that they were already ready before the order was even given.
Andrew rose beside him, MP5 slung over his chest. He pivoted toward the four Rangers standing nearby, all tense and waiting for orders.
"You four—help Lieutenant Welles and his men," Andrew said. "He has an injured leg and can't walk properly. One is out cold, so you'll need to carry him, and...."
He was cut off " I.. I'm good , i can walk by myself . No need to worry." Said Private Sean.
Andrew looked at him for a moment then said " .. alright, let's go then."
"Yes, sir," one Ranger said, stepping forward. The others moved immediately, spreading out around the wounded duo with practiced, protective precision.
One Ranger eased Welles up from the fuselage, securing his arm over his shoulder. The lieutenant winced but stayed upright. Two Rangers knelt beside Private Franklin, slid their arms under him, and lifted with a grunt. Franklin's head lolled, blood drying behind his ear.
Sean rose shakily, clutching his pistol, breathing sharp through split lips. A Ranger moved beside him, guiding but not coddling.
In the same breath, Price's team made their switch—Rifle's slung, pistols drawn, blades loosened in their sheaths.
Andrew mirrored them, grabbing his pistol and slipping his own knife free with a quiet, metallic whisper.
The wind stirred through the pines.
Somewhere distant, a walker let out a sharp, broken groan.
But before leaving they made sure to take anything salvageable from the crashed helicopter.
After they were done Price motioned forward with two fingers. "Move. Stay quiet. Stay close."
And the group stepped into the forest, wounded in the center, pushing toward the extraction point.
The forest swallowed them the moment they stepped beneath the tree's.
The group moved in a staggered formation—injured centered, Price's team and Andrew forming a tight moving shell around them. Each man kept a combat knife in one hand, pistol in the other. In the dense woods, it wasn't stealth they feared losing, it was reaction time.
Dry branches cracked under their boots. Every few steps, someone paused, listening.
A faint groan drifted through the trees. Then another. A chorus building somewhere ahead.
Price shot Andrew a glance over his shoulder—Keep moving.
The pace stayed slow, careful. Welles limped forward supported by the Ranger helping him, head dipping, breath sharp. Franklin's unconscious weight shifted on the Rangers carrying him. Sean stumbled once, but the Ranger beside him steadied him without breaking stride.
The first walker emerged like a shadow peeling off a tree—staggering, jaw loose, dragging a leg.
Andrew raised his pistol and fired once. The walker dropped, skull snapping back into the moss.
They pressed on.
A second walker appeared only thirty feet away. Gaz fired—clean shot, clean drop.
But the forest was tightening around them. Groans blended with the rustling of underbrush. Branches shifted—something moving, nearby.
Two walkers burst through the brush, arms extended, jaws clamping.
Ghost stepped forward, silent and brutal.
A single upswing of his blade split the first walker's skull clean through.
Soap moved at the same time, plunging his knife under the jaw of the second, twisting hard before letting the body hit the ground.
"Keep it tight," Price muttered.
And so they did.
More groans ahead—closer this time.
A walker lunged from behind a fallen tree, catching them almost by surprise. Gaz turned, aimed, fired and missed.
The walker stumbled forward, but its foot caught a tree root. It pitched onto its face, arms flailing.
Gaz let out a quiet curse, stepped in, and put a round through the back of its skull as it tried to rise.
"Lucky root," Soap murmured.
"Move," Price said sharply.
They pushed deeper, each killing clean and controlled, never letting a walker close enough to break the circle around the injured. Every headshot was quick, deliberate. Knives cleared threats too close for comfort.
Even slowed by the wounded, they carved a path through the forest—one step at a time toward the extraction point.
As they were getting closer the trees were thinning, light breaking through in strips of pale gold. The distant whup-whup-whup of helicopter blades slashed through the forest noise.
"Almost there," Andrew called out, glancing back at Welles and the Ranger helping him.
Price lifted a hand, signaling everyone to stay alert.
The radio on his vest crackled.
"Nikolai to Price—do you copy?"
Price answered immediately. "Go ahead."
"The medical helicopter is already at the intersection," Nikolai said, rotors roaring behind him. "You must hurry, my friend. Your gunfire attracted more walkers—fast ones."
Price clenched his jaw. "Understood."
They pushed forward.
The last line of trees broke, spilling them onto the cracked asphalt of the intersection Nikolai had mentioned. Dust swirled in the downdraft of the medevac helicopter circling overhead.
Three walkers jogged toward them from the far side of the road—arms pumping, heads bobbing unnaturally with each stride.
Andrew raised his pistol.
Price and Gaz mirrored him.
Crack.
Crack.
Crack.
Three heads snapped back. Three bodies collapsed mid-run.
The pilot, seeing the group emerge from the tree line, dipped the helicopter's nose and began descending, wheels searching for clear ground.
"Switch to primaries!" Price ordered.
In one fluid moment, he, Andrew, Ghost, Soap, and Gaz holstered their pistols and drew their rifles. They spread out around the road, forming a defensive arc around the landing zone.
Ghost took the left flank, rifle already aimed down the road where several houses were on one side and the forest on the other.
Soap positioned himself at the road on the right, scanning the nearby house's and the brush with sharp, practiced sweeps.
Andrew stepped forward, finger on the trigger, covering the direction they had come from along Gaz.
Price planted himself at the road leading into a nearby town, voice steady despite the tension building.
"Hold the perimeter. Nothing gets through."
Behind them, the Rangers helped Lieutenant Welles and his men towards the landing zone.
The medical helicopter swept in low, rotor wash kicking up dust and leaves as it settled onto the cracked asphalt of the intersection. The moment its skids touched down, two medics jumped out, hauling open the rear compartment and pulling a stretcher free.
Lieutenant Welles and Private Sean stared, stunned—like they were witnessing something that should no longer exist.
"I… I never thought I'd see this again," Sean breathed, eyes wide.
"Neither did I," Welles muttered, wincing as he clutched his side.
Before there was time to say more, the forest itself seemed to exhale. Walkers began spilling between the trees—shuffling, snarling, some stumbling over roots. Others dragged themselves out from between the nearby houses, arms clawing at the air. And a mass of them was pouring down the road from the direction of the town.
The perimeter tightened instantly.
"Move!" a medic barked as the rangers brought Private Franklin in. They slid him onto the stretcher, and the medics immediately strapped him down, checking his breathing and calling out vitals over the noise.
Gunfire erupted—sharp, controlled. Price's team opened up, each shot deliberate, each hit clean. Soap cut down two walkers closing in from a driveway. Gaz fired past Andrew's shoulder, dropping one with a rotten jaw hanging loose. Ghost pivoted to the left flank, executing another with a suppressed shot through the eye.
The rangers joined the firing line as soon as Franklin along Welles and Sean were in the medics' hands, rifles snapping as they kept the dead from overwhelming the LZ.
"Go, go!" the lead medic shouted. Within moments, the stretcher was loaded. The door slammed shut, and the medical helicopter lifted off hard and fast, rotors whipping the intersection as it surged upward and away.
The medevac gone, still the dead keept on coming, more of them pushing out of the forest and from the houses. The town road behind Price was now crawling with them.
Price keyed his radio. "Nikolai! We need extraction now!"
"Da, Captain!" Nikolai answered. "Inbound!"
Seconds later, the roar of the Chinook thundered over the treetops. The massive helicopter descended into the center of the intersection, its presence shaking the ground. The rear ramp dropped even before the wheels touched down.
Walkers were approaching from all sides.
"Fall back! Move!" Price ordered.
Andrew fired a last burst into the forest-side walkers, then turned and sprinted with the others. Ghost and Soap backed in first, shooting as they retreated. Rangers followed. Andrew and Price were the last to board, jumping onto the ramp as the Chinook was still three feet off the ground.
The moment their boots hit metal, Nikolai pulled up, the ramp slowly sealing behind them as the Chinook rose from the intersection—leaving the swarm of walkers grasping at empty air below.