Back in Atlanta, the chain link fence holding back the dead finally gave way. Walkers spilled through gap, shambling into the streets. Their progress was stopped by a wall of cars, delivery trucks, and vans that clogged the road ahead. Still, persistence and hunger drove them on. While others started walking aimlessly some squeezed and clawed beneath axles.
One corpse dragged itself out from under a delivery truck, its clothes shredded, skin flayed from scraping metal. It swayed, trying to rise—before its skull snapped back with the crack of a suppressed shot. The body crumpled into the dust, joining the other before him.
The shot came from a window in a nearby apartment complex. Inside, Soap MacTavish lay prone, cheek pressed to the stock of a suppressed sniper rifle. Gaz crouched nearby, spotting scope in hand.
"Nice shot. That makes seven," Gaz muttered, keeping his eye on the street.
"Aye, seven clean headshots," Soap grinned, not looking up from the scope. "Dinnae tell me you've been keepin' score."
"Somebody has to. Otherwise you'd claim every kill from here to bloody Savannah."
Soap chuckled, chambering another round with practiced ease. "And I'd still be right. Face it, Gaz—nobody handles a rifle like me. Silencer or no silencer, I'm a bloody artist."
"Artist?" Gaz snorted. "If you're an artist, mate, then that last crawler was a doodle at best. Wasted a whole second lining up the shot."
"Quality over speed," Soap shot back, squeezing the trigger again. Another walker's skull burst near the blockade. "That's eight. Beat that."
Gaz shook his head, smirking as he adjusted his spotting scope. "Keep braggin', Johnny. Just remember—we're here to keep that road clear, not stroke your ego. These things slip through even with half the city parked across the street. That's why we're on overwatch."
Soap gave a playful grunt. "Aye, aye. Coverin' the road, protectin' the CDC… and showin' you how a real marksman works."
Gaz sighed, though the corner of his mouth tugged upward. "We'll see who's buyin' the next drink—if we ever find a bloody pub that's still standing."
With that, the room became quiet, save for the occasional suppressed crack of Soap's rifle. Then, a burst of static hissed from the radio on the table behind them. Both men glanced back as a familiar gravelly voice cut through.
"Gaz, Soap—shift's nearly up. Relief team's on the way. Get yourselves ready. Soon as they're in place, you are to return to CDC. We're heading back to the resort."
Gaz set his spotting scope down, reached for the radio, and answered. "Copy that, Captain. We'll keep the welcome mat warm till they get here. Hope they don't take too long—we're runnin' out of targets, and Soap's runnin' out of excuses."
Soap shot him a look, grinning. "Excuses? Yer just bitter, lad, because I've doubled your count."
Price's low chuckle came faintly through the radio before the line went dead again.
With nothing else to do but wait, they settled back into their vigil. Gaz adjusted his scope while Soap scanned the street below, rifle steady against the windowsill. For fifteen minutes they kept at it, trading the occasional jab while dealing with any stragglers that squeezed through the blockade.
Finally, the radio crackled again—this time a clipped voice from the relief squad. "Overwatch team, this is Bravo Two. We're outside the complex, making entry now."
"Roger that, Bravo Two," Gaz replied, keeping it short.
Moments later, boots clattered on the stairwell. Three soldiers in full gear emerged into the room, rifles slung but ready. Soap rolled out of the prone position, leaving his rifle propped on the sill.
"You lads are up," Gaz said, giving them a quick nod. "Watch the right flank of the barricade. More dead slipping through than before. They're pressing harder now."
"Aye," Soap added, stretching his back with a grunt. "Keep your ears sharp. Something stirrin' 'em up more than usual."
The soldiers exchanged quick looks, then moved to take positions at the windows.
Satisfied, Soap and Gaz slung their gear and headed for the stairwell. Their boots echoed in the empty halls as they descended.
Outside, two Humvees idled at the curb—one belonging to the relief team, the other their own. They were ready to go at the first sign the blockade wouldn't hold. The heavy vehicles looked out of place among the wreckage and abandoned cars, but they were lifelines in a city gone silent but for the dead.
Soap tugged his vest into place and gave Gaz a half-smile. "Right then, let's not keep them waiting. Back to the resort. Let's see if the others kept the place standing without us."
Gaz shook his head with a faint laugh, climbing into the Humvee. "If they didn't, Johnny, I'll put that on your scorecard too."
The Humvee rumbled away from the apartment complex, its engine echoing down the half-empty streets of Atlanta. Soap had the window rolled halfway down, the wind blowing in as they drove. Gaz sat in the passenger seat, eyes scanning the road ahead, rifle resting across his knees.
"Quiet drive," Gaz muttered, tone skeptical. "Too quiet."
"Aye, dinnae jinx it," Soap replied, easing the wheel around a burnt-out sedan. "Last thing I need is another crawler under the wheels. Still got brains on the treads from the last one."
The rest of the drive passed without incident. Soon, the CDC's came into view—tall fencing reinforced with barbed wire and sandbags, soldiers at makeshift checkpoints, and floodlights with generators next to them. They rolled through after a brief wave from the guards and parked the Humvee inside the perimeter.
Captain Price and Ghost stood near a JLTV parked under the shadow of the main building. Price had his sleeves rolled up, a cigar tucked into his hand, while Ghost leaned against the hood with his arms crossed.
"About bloody time," Price said, tossing his cigar to the ground and grinding it out. "Thought you'd stopped for tea."
"Tea? Naw," Soap shot back, hopping out of the driver's seat. "But Gaz here needed a wee break from sittin' on his arse all day."
Gaz gave a dry laugh. "Keep tellin' yourself that, Johnny."
Ghost pushed off the hood, pulling his gloves tight. "If you two lovebirds are done, saddle up. I'm driving."
Soap raised a brow. "You, behind the wheel? That's a first."
Ghost tilted his head. "Just don't want to listen to you grind the gears again."
They piled into the JLTV, Ghost climbing into the driver's seat while Price settled into the front passenger seat. Soap and Gaz took the rear. With a low growl, the vehicle rolled out of the CDC perimeter and onto the open road back toward the resort.
For a while, the only sound was the steady rumble of the engine. Then Price spoke, his voice low and thoughtful.
"Power's out at CDC," Price muttered, cigar between his fingers as he stared out the windshield. "Whole bloody place running off emergency backup now. Won't have to worry for a while, but when the fuel's gone…" He tapped his temple. "The building goes up in flames. Big enough bang to level the entire building ."
Ghost kept his eyes on the road, hands steady on the wheel. "Generators are keeping it alive, but they're chewing through fuel. And between you and me, lads, that fuel would be better used elsewhere."
Soap leaned forward. "So they'll just keep it running until the tanks run dry?"
"Aye," Price said grimly. "Not worth resupplying it . Best they can do is keep the lights on long enough to finish pulling out. After that…" He let the silence hang, the meaning clear.
Gaz exhaled sharply through his nose. "So evacuation's only a matter of time."
"Exactly," Price said. "We've done what we could there. Anything more, and it becomes a liability . We'll bring it up at the meeting, decide how we'll deal with it."
For a moment the only sound was the steady rumble of the JLTV's engine. Then Soap gave a lopsided grin. "Well, at least we'll be back at the resort."
Ghost gave a low chuckle under the mask. "Don't get too comfortable, Johnny. Griggs'll have you digging ditches before sundown."
...
The JLTV rumbled down the cracked asphalt, its heavy frame groaning each time the tires rolled over debris. Closing in to an intersection, several gunshots were heard.
"Slow it down, Ghost," Price said, narrowing his eyes toward the cross street ahead.
Ghost eased the vehicle to a crawl. Walkers—half a dozen , were staggering across the intersection, drawn by the gunfire down the block.
Soap leaned forward, peering through the windshield. "Bloody hell. Look there."
Across from the walkers, more of the dead were heading towards a van parked crooked in front of a small pharmacy. The vehicle's back doors were left ajar.
Then movement—five figures burst from the pharmacy's shattered entrance, bags slung over their shoulders. Muzzle flashes cut through the gloom as they fired short, desperate bursts to clear a path. The gunfire of their weapons echoed faintly, swallowed quickly by the city around them.
"Contact," Gaz muttered, watching the scene unfold.
The five figures shoved their way past the walkers, slamming them into the side of the van. Getting in , the doors clanged shut, the engine roared to life, and the vehicle jolted forward. As it sped off, more walkers were drawn into the street, clustering after the noise with few starting to jog after it , but the van was already vanishing back toward the city.
Price let out a slow breath through his nose. "Well, I'll be damned. Survivors. Still scratching out a living in this mess."
Soap shook his head, half impressed, half pitying. "Takes brass to run a raid this deep in an infested area. Either they're desperate, or they're daft."
"Maybe both," Ghost said flatly, keeping the wheel steady as they rolled past the stragglers now losing interest in the empty street.
Gaz leaned back, eyes following the van until it disappeared. "If they're desperate enough to put themselves in danger for medicine, they must have someone to look after."
Price's gaze hardened, though his voice carried a note of respect. "Aye. And they're organized. Move fast, cover each other, don't waste time. That's not luck—that's discipline. Means they could be dangerous ."
For a moment, silence filled the JLTV, broken only by the engine's low growl.
Soap gave a low whistle. " Now we have another thing to bring up at the meeting ."
Price lit a cigarette, exhaling smoke toward the cracked windshield. " Seems like it ."
...
The JLTV rumbled down the last stretch of road, golden afternoon light slanting through the trees and casting long shadows over the cracked asphalt. The rest of the drive back had been quiet , without other occurrences.
As they approached the resort, the gates swung open, the soldiers on watch signaling them through. Ghost eased the vehicle into the lot and parked, the engine's growl dying to silence.
The four stepped out, stretching stiff muscles from the ride. Immediately, the resort's new rhythm reached their ears: the steady roar of a tree cutter chewing through trunks, punctuated by the harsher whine of a few chainsaws. Timber creaked and groaned before crashing to the ground, dust and leaves billowing into the afternoon air.
"Making quick work of it," Gaz murmured, watching a section of woodland collapse in one sweep of the machine's arm.
Close by, Rangers in full riot gear stood in a protective cordon around the work crews—helmets, shields and melee weapons in hand, while others not in riot gear were patrolling rifles at the ready . Every cut tree made the resort a little safer, but the noise carried far, and everyone knew it.
Price pulled his cap lower, scanning the organized chaos before striding toward two Guardsmen patrolling near the vehicles.
"Soldier," Price called, his voice clipped but even. "Where can I find Major Griggs and Sergeant Mercer?"
The nearest Guardsman, a stocky Private with his rifle slung across his chest, immediately answered . " Captain! Major Griggs and Sergeant Mercer are at the former club building, now serving as armory and command post."
Price gave a short nod, satisfied. "Good man. Carry on."
The Private nodded, and the two guardsman moved to continue their patrol .
The four SAS operators fell back in step, boots crunching against the gravel. Another tree thundered down somewhere behind them, sending a flock of birds scattering into the sky. Ahead, the outline of the resort's club building waited—the new heart of their defenses.