The convoy peeled off the highway beneath a weathered green sign riddled with old impact marks, tires thumping as they transitioned onto a narrower rural road that wound away from the sprawl of Atlanta. Trees pressed closer here, their branches arching over the asphalt, fields stretching out beyond broken fences and abandoned farm equipment.
Andrew keyed his radio, his voice steady and clear.
"All elements, this is Ranger Actual. We'll be making a short stop ahead. Captain Price and I have been requested back at HQ. Once we split, the convoy will continue on to the estate safe zone under secondary command."
Acknowledgments came back in quick succession, professional, disciplined. The engines eased down as the vehicles approached a four-way intersection marked by a rusted stop sign and a shuttered roadside store.
The convoy rolled to a controlled halt.
Price stood from the driver's seat of the bus and stepped down onto the pavement, boots crunching on gravel. Soap, Gaz, and Ghost gathered near the front, weapons slung but eyes constantly moving.
Price wasted no time. "Right," he said, voice low but firm. "You lot'll take point once we're gone. Keep the convoy tight. Get everyone to the estate in one piece."
Soap gave a short nod. "We've got it, Cap'n."
Gaz added, "Same formation as before. We'll keep them moving."
Ghost said nothing, but his stillness spoke enough.
Price looked over them once more, satisfied, then turned away.
Nearby, Andrew guided Morgan and Duane toward the bus. The boy stayed close to his father, backpack clutched tight, eyes flicking between soldiers and vehicles.
"You'll ride with them," Andrew said calmly, nodding toward the bus. "They'll take you to the secured location. Fenced, guarded. You'll be safe there."
Morgan hesitated only a second, then nodded. "Thank you," he said quietly.
Andrew opened the bus door for them. As they climbed aboard, Gunnery Sergeant Morales shifted forward.
"I'll take the wheel, Captain," Morales said, settling into the driver's seat.
Price inclined his head. "See them there, Sergeant."
"Count on it."
Price stepped back down and walked toward Andrew, adjusting the sling of his rifle. He stopped beside the Ranger officer, glancing once more at the convoy assembling itself.
"Let's move," Price said simply.
Andrew answered with a single nod and turned away, heading for his Humvee. He climbed into the driver's seat as Price took the passenger side, the door shutting with a solid, final thud.
Engines roared back to life.
The convoy split cleanly at the intersection—the bus, truck, and escort vehicles turning down the rural road toward the estate, while Andrew's Humvee pulled away in the opposite direction.
The Humvee rolled steadily along the rural road, its engine droning beneath the open sky. The trees thinned as the land dipped into low fields and scrub, long shadows stretching across the asphalt as the sun sank toward the horizon. The light had shifted to that dull amber of late evening, turning the world quieter, heavier.
Andrew kept his eyes on the road, hands firm on the wheel.
"Recall like that doesn't usually come without a reason," he said after a moment. "Makes me wonder what Griggs wants so urgently."
Price leaned back slightly in the passenger seat, one elbow resting near the window frame as he scanned the passing tree line. "Aye," he said. "That's what's got me thinking. You don't pull two field leads off a moving convoy unless something's gone sideways."
Andrew nodded faintly. "I wasn't given anything. Operator just said Major Griggs wanted us back immediately. No details."
Price turned his head toward him. "Nothing at all? No hints?"
Andrew shook his head. "Nothing. Straight recall."
Price let out a low hum, more thoughtful than concerned. The road curved gently ahead, disappearing into the glow of the setting sun.
"Well," he said after a beat, "in that case we'll find out soon enough. Whatever it is, it'll be waiting for us at HQ."
Andrew said nothing, easing the Humvee around the bend as the light continued to fade.
The road narrowed as they drove on, the forest closing in on both sides. The sky had darkened to a bruised purple, the last light of day bleeding away behind the forest. Then, through gaps in the branches, faint points of light appeared, unmistakably artificial.
"There it is," Andrew said quietly.
Ahead, the silhouette of the hotel rose above the treeline, only a handful of windows lit, but enough to mark it clearly against the dimming sky. As they drew closer, the forest abruptly gave way to a wide clearing. The trees had been cut back hard, leaving open ground that sloped gently toward a defensive perimeter.
Andrew eased off the throttle.
A deep trench ringed the compound, cut wide and deep, its edges sharp where earth-moving equipment had done its work. Beyond it stood the wall—shipping containers stacked two high, welded and braced together into a solid barrier. The upper tier had been modified, rectangular firing slits cut into the steel. Movement flickered behind them.
"Good fields of fire," Price muttered. "They've been busy."
Soldiers patrolled the top level, silhouettes passing behind the cutouts, rifles slung or held at the ready. Floodlights mounted at intervals cast long cones of light across the clearing, leaving little untouched by illumination.
The Humvee rolled forward toward the main gates, its engine echoing faintly off the steel wall. The gates themselves had been reinforced with heavy metal plating, thick sheets bolted over what had once been the the resort's gates. Andrew brought the vehicle to a stop a few meters out.
For a moment, nothing happened.
Then a figure appeared above the gate, climbing onto a raised ramp that allowed a clear view outside. The soldier leaned forward, studying the Humvee for a second, before raising an arm, signaling for the gates to be opened. A second later locks disengaged and the reinforced gate began to part, metal scraping softly as it swung inward.
Andrew drove forward.
They crossed the threshold and entered Fort Ironwood, the Humvee passing three soldiers standing watch. The three snapped crisp salutes as the vehicle rolled by, their faces tired but disciplined, weapons held close.
Andrew nodded back, hands steady on the wheel.
Behind them, the gates closed once more.
The Humvee rolled deeper into the compound, tires crunching over gravel and packed dirt before reaching the cleared parking lot in front of the hotel. The building loomed overhead, light spilled from the entrance and a few upper windows, throwing long shadows across the lot.
Andrew eased the vehicle into a marked space and killed the engine. The sudden quiet made the distant sounds of the compound, boots on gravel, muted voices, the hum of generators, stand out.
Price was already moving as Andrew opened his door.
Both men stepped out, boots hitting the pavement almost in unison. Andrew slung his weapon more comfortably as they turned toward the path leading away from the parking lot.
Several walkways had been marked and reinforced leading in different parts of the compound, bordered by portable floodlights. Soldiers moved along them in both directions, some carrying gear, others standing watch. The atmosphere felt heavier than before—more controlled, more urgent.
At the far end of the path, just outside the command building, Major Griggs stood waiting.
He didn't waste time with ceremony. His posture was rigid, jaw set, hands clasped behind his back as Andrew and Price approached. The lines in his face looked deeper than when Andrew had last seen him.
Price slowed to a stop a few steps away, eyes narrowing slightly.
"Major," he said. "You called us back in a hurry. What happened?"
Griggs met his gaze, then glanced briefly at Andrew before looking past them toward the perimeter, as if checking the world beyond the walls.
"Not out here," Griggs said. His voice was low and firm. "We'll talk inside."
He turned and pushed open the door to the command building, holding it long enough for them to follow.
"Come on," he added. " It's very important."
······
The convoy slowed as the high walls of the Wiltshire Estates came into view, a brick wall and reinforced fencing rising out of the tree line like something permanent in a world that no longer was. Watchtowers broke the skyline, silhouettes of armed guards visible against the fading light.
"Morales," Soap said into the radio from the lead Humvee, eyes forward. "We're closing on the safe zone."
"Copy," Morales replied from the bus, calm but alert.
The vehicles rolled along the outer wall, tires humming on clean pavement. Inside the bus, heads turned toward the windows. Civilians pressed closer without realizing it—men, women, children—while police officers, firefighters, and Marines scanned the perimeter with trained eyes. Even they couldn't hide the shift in posture as the walls stretched on, solid and guarded.
At the main gate, the convoy came to a controlled halt.
Gaz stepped out of the Humvee and approached the gate guards, rifle slung, hands visible. The soldiers on duty watched him closely but didn't raise their weapons, floodlights positioned on top of the walls close to the gates lighting the area.
"We've got survivors," Gaz said plainly. "Civilians, police officers, firefighters. National Guard and Marines as well. Picked them up along the route. Wiltshire's the only zone we've got that can take them."
The guard nodded. "We were informed you were inbound. Tents are being set up now." He paused, then added, "Standard procedure applies. Everyone gets checked before entry. No exceptions."
"Understood," Gaz replied.
He turned back toward the convoy, relaying the instructions in order—first to Soap and Ghost, then to Morales at the bus, and finally to Corporal Brady and the National Guard.
Marines and National Guard soldiers moved into position, forming a loose but effective perimeter around the vehicles. Weapons stayed low, eyes outward. At the gate, medical personnel stepped forward, gloves on, masks pulled up, their movements efficient and practiced.
The bus doors opened.
One by one, civilians stepped down, followed by police officers and firefighters, forming a line that stretched along the convoy's length. No one complained. No one argued. The presence of order alone was enough.
Morgan stood with Duane beside him, both carrying their packs. As they shuffled forward, Morgan's eyes kept drifting past the gate, through the opening.
Inside, he saw rows of houses, intact and visible lived in. People stopped on crosswalk or in front of doorways looking towards the convoy. Lights glowed softly between structures. A child ran past clutching a bottle of water, laughing before being called back by an adult. It looked… ordinary.
Normal.
For a moment, it felt like the world hadn't ended at all.
Duane tugged lightly at his sleeve, eyes wide as he looked in the same direction.
Morgan swallowed, placing a hand on his son's shoulder as the line moved forward again.
······
The command room was alive with quiet urgency.
Radios crackled steadily along the left wall where operators sat hunched over their consoles, headsets on, voices low and efficient as they tracked patrols, relayed reports, and logged movements. Maps, handwritten notes, and status boards covered the walls, evidence of a command structure holding together through discipline more than comfort.
Major Griggs led them straight to the center of the room.
A large table dominated the space, its surface cluttered with folded documents, grease pencils, and two main maps laid flat—one of Georgia, creased and marked with routes and zones, and another of Atlanta, far more crowded with symbols. Griggs stopped behind the table, placing both hands on its edge, facing Andrew and Price across from him.
Andrew's eyes were drawn immediately to the Atlanta map.
Several red marker circles and arrows were clustered along the northern side of the city.
Price leaned slightly forward, studying them. "Alright," he said evenly. "So what's this about?"
Andrew followed the markings with his finger, frowning. "Did something happen in the city?" he asked. "Anything to do with the walkers?"
For just a fraction of a second, a small, tight smile flickered across Major Griggs' face—more reaction than amusement. It vanished as quickly as it appeared.
"It did," Griggs said. "To avoid being caught off guard by large herds wandering toward the hospital sector or pushing out of the city, I ordered several overwatch positions established along the northern approaches. Elevated sightlines. Long-range optics. Early warning."
Both Andrew and Price nodded. It was sound decision.
"I take it something triggered those positions," Price said.
"In a way," Griggs replied. He tapped one of the red marks on the map. "A few hours ago, the overwatch squad covering this sector reported unusual movement. A herd that had been relatively static suddenly stirred. Then they heard gunshots."
Andrew's jaw tightened slightly.
"When the squad pushed closer to observe," Griggs continued, "they found the walkers feeding on what appeared to be a dead horse. Fresh. Not a carcass that'd been there long."
Price said nothing, eyes fixed on the map.
"Several minutes later," Griggs went on, "they reported more gunfire. Then"—he paused, glancing between the two men—"a single individual ran out from an abandoned tank. Wearing a sheriff's deputy uniform."
Andrew didn't move, but he thought about who it was.
Rick.
Price remained silent, expression unreadable beneath his mustache.
" Later on the squad reported several more gunshots. They moved to investigate using the cleared alleyways. When they reached a building close to were the walkers began to converge.
They saw two vehicles leaving the area," Griggs said. "An RV, older model, white, and a dark-colored sedan. The two departed fast, heading west-northwest. By the time our people closed the distance, they were gone."
The room seemed quieter for a moment, radios fading into the background.
Griggs straightened slightly. " Whoever they were we got a lead on them."
Andrew slowly lifted his gaze from the map.