As they pushed farther south and further from any walker infested areas ,the density changed again.
Fewer houses. More open land. Wider roads. Longer sightlines.
Tree lines crept closer to the shoulders. Billboards leaned at odd angles, some advertising developments that would never be finished.
Rail lines began to appear, cutting across the road at shallow angles.
The road stayed clear.
With every mile that passed, the tension inside the bus slowly unraveled. Shoulders lowered. Grips on seatbacks loosened. Some people finally sat instead of hovering, as if afraid the ground might disappear beneath them.
For the first time in weeks, there were no walkers clawing at doors or pounding on walls. Just the steady hum of the engine and the rattle of loose panels as the bus rolled south.
A woman near the middle of the bus let out a quiet, shaky laugh, pressing her face into her hands. A man beside her rested his head against the window, eyes closed, lips moving in silent prayer. A child slept curled against his mother's side, clutching a firefighter's jacket that was far too big for him.
Uniforms were everywhere, police blues, turnout gear, Marine fatigues, they looked just as tired as everyone else. A firefighter sat with his arm wrapped tightly around a teenage girl, her face buried in his shoulder. Two police officers occupied a row together, one holding the hand of a woman whose wedding ring caught the light as the bus swayed.
Families.
A firefighter knelt in the aisle, murmuring softly to his wife while their young son sat on the seat between them, sleeping.
Fear hadn't left them, it lingered in the way people flinched at sudden sounds, in the way eyes snapped to the windows whenever shadows passed. But it had loosened its grip.
People allowing themselves to relax, feeling safe.
Price glanced into the rearview mirror, taking it all in.
The Gunnery Sergeant Morales made his way down the aisle, steadying himself as the bus hit a rough patch of road. He stopped beside Price's seat, posture straight despite the exhaustion etched into his face.
"Captain," Morales said quietly. "I want to thank you. You, the Lieutenant and your man saved our lives. You saved everyone back there."
Price kept his eyes on the road, hands steady on the wheel. " We couldn't leave you all boxed in like that."
Morales allowed himself a brief nod, then hesitated. "I need to know what comes next. We've been cut off for weeks, we got no intel. Is there still a command structure out there? Anyone actually in control?"
Price glanced at him, then back to the road. "There is."
Morales exhaled slowly. "Go on."
"We have established a new command structure," Price continued. " Isn't perfect, but it's functioning. Lieutenant Mercer is the second in command, actually.
"Seriously?" Morales asked glancing back at the humvee following behind them.
Price nodded. "Aye."
"What about refugee camps?"
Price nodded. "We have secured a walled community and the Grady memorial hospital," Price replied,"as well a base of operation . Some are better than others. People are eating. Sleeping. Working. Not living in fear every minute of the day."
Morales's jaw tightened. " That's really unexpected. What about the infected?"
"Still working on it," Price said. " We call 'em walkers. Cleared a number of rural zones, stockpiled supplies, enough to keep things running for a while."
Morales was quiet for a moment then exhaled. "You don't sound like someone selling hope."
Price's mouth twitched faintly. "Hope gets people killed. I deal in facts."
Morales nodded, satisfied with that answer. "Then get us there," he said. "My Marines will fall in however you need them to."
Price met his gaze briefly. "That's the idea."
Morales paused, then added, "Captain… chances of you just passing through that checkpoint were slim. What was your actual mission?"
Price took a breath, eyes still on the road. "This morning we intercepted a transmission from Lieutenant Welles, he's part of the national guard. His bird went down not very far from here, we managed to get everyone alive."
"A crash?" Morales asked.
"Aye. He told us of the rest of his unit and their location. We were en route to figuring out who made it, who didn't when we picked up your signal."
Morales nodded slowly. "Understood." He straightened slightly. "If any of Lieutenant Welles' people are still breathing, we'll help find them."
Price finally glanced his way. "Good."
"For what it's worth, Captain," Morales said, voice quieter now, "after everything that's happened… it's good to hear something's still standing. Means this isn't over yet."
Price faced forward again. "Let's make sure it isn't."
With a nod Morales stepped back down the aisle, the weight on his shoulders a little lighter than before.
···
The Humvee rumbled steadily behind the bus, a safe, measured distance kept between the two vehicles.
Can't send them at the estate. With the already large number of civilians, police officers and soldiers that has been moved in, there isn't enough space to house them without the risk of creating discontent.
Growth in numbers came with problems.
Crowding one location could create inside problems that could get people killed.
Andrew exhaled slowly.
New safe zones will have to be established, they will have to be close enough to be tied together by patrol and supply routes.
Maybe, something like the safe zones from the Division games.
He considered it for a moment, then shook his head.
Too risky. The city is still thick with walkers, and we didn't have the firepower to handle a horde that size.
Maybe something more like Woodbury.
Andrew glanced at the bus and sighed.
" I will have to talk with Griggs about this."
The Humvee hummed beneath him as the road carried them forward.
The convoy rolled through stretches of half-developed land.
Cleared lots gave way to patches of dense pine and hardwood forest, then back again to unfinished neighborhoods, roads laid out but never finished, storm drains half-buried, streetlights standing over empty asphalt. Wooden frames of houses rose from red clay foundations, roofs never installed, construction trailers long abandoned.
Small strip malls appeared every few miles. Dollar stores. Auto parts shops. Hair salons. Most were shuttered, some burned, others simply locked and left behind. Parking lots were scattered with abandoned cars, but not clogged the way the city had been. People out here had room to run.
Gas stations sat dark at intersections, pumps tagged with spray paint warnings or hand-written signs taped inside the windows. One had been fortified at some point, plywood over the glass, but it had eventually been abandoned like everything else.
They passed long stretches of two-lane road bordered by trees pressing close to the shoulders. The air felt heavier here, humid even through the glass, cicadas buzzing loud enough to hear over the engines.
Passing a church by the roadside—brick, white-steepled, modest. They glanced at the messages still written on it's sign:
PRAY
GOD IS STILL HERE
SUNDAY SERVICE CANCELLED
Cars rested in the gravel lot beside it , some with doors open, others sitting neatly parked like their owners were expected to come back.
As they got closer to Fayetteville, traffic lights began to appear more frequently, hanging dead over intersections. Road signs pointed toward smaller towns and county roads, places Andrew knew had likely emptied out early, people fleeing north or toward Atlanta before realizing there was nowhere left to go.
The road widened slightly as they crossed into the city, the trees pulling back just enough to reveal low commercial buildings and long stretches of cracked pavement.
The convoy slowed as it entered the city proper.
A handful of walkers drifted along the sidewalks and between buildings, moving with no purpose. One stood in the middle of a crosswalk, swaying gently as if waiting for a signal that would never change. Another pressed its face against a storefront window, leaving a faint smear as it slid down the glass.
Inside the bus, the mood shifted.
Parents pulled children closer, turning their small faces away from the windows. Some civilians leaned back in their seats, staring straight ahead, jaws tight. Others couldn't look away, watching in silence as the dead shuffled past only yards from them.
A woman pulled away from the window, eyes closed, her hand trembling.
Price kept the bus steady, easing around stalled cars, garbage and debris. The engines echoed between buildings, but not loudly enough to provoke more than a few groans from the nearby walkers. One walker turned its head as they passed, slowly shuffling after them before tripping and falling face first into the ground.
The further they drove, the more signs of abandonment appeared. A grocery store stood with its doors wide open, carts scattered across the parking lot. A small plaza had been burned out completely, blackened walls standing like hollow shells.
Yet the city wasn't overrun.
The only walkers wandering the streets being those that didn't managed to escape and were left behind.
The convoy pressed on, heading deeper toward the industrial boulevard, leaving the aimless walkers behind as the streets widened and the buildings gave way to warehouses and loading yards.
The convoy rolled past low-rise buildings and small commercial blocks, the streets wider here, lined with warehouses, storage facilities, and aging storefronts that had once served the industrial side of town. Traffic lights hung dark above intersections, swaying slightly in the breeze.
Walkers wandered through the streets in small numbers.
They drifted between loading docks and cracked sidewalks, aimless and slow, some still wearing work clothes, high-visibility vests, oil-stained jeans, steel-toed boots. One stood motionless in the middle of the road, head tilted as the convoy passed, jaw working soundlessly.
The convoy didn't slow.
At the front, Soap guided the Humvee onto Industrial Boulevard, the road stretching long and straight ahead. Warehouses flanked both sides, corrugated metal walls, loading bays yawning open like broken teeth. Faded company names peeled from brick facades. An old commercial lot came into view ahead, half-hidden behind rusted fencing and overgrown brush.
"Eyes up," Gaz said from the back, scanning left.
Ghost leaned forward slightly. "Hold."
Soap eased off the accelerator.
To the right, beyond a chain-link fence, sat several military vehicles visible between tree's.
Two Humvees and a cargo truck were parked in a rough line, partially concealed by the edge of a dense pine forest pressing close to the lot. The vehicles were dusty but intact, positioned deliberately rather than abandoned. No visible damage. No signs of looting.
Soap hummed. "Looks like we found them."
Ghost was already bringing up the radio. "Price, Mercer—contact. Two Humvees and a truck, fenced lot. Might be our guys."
A beat of static.
Then Price's voice came back. "Copy. Any movement?"
"None visible," Ghost replied. "Vehicles look intact."
Gaz added, "Forest gives them cover. Can't see much."
Andrew's voice cut in next. " Must be them, we'll approach with caution."
Soap slowed the Humvee further, keeping the convoy moving but controlled. "Copy…"
The convoy slowed as the lead Humvee rolled off the main stretch of road and onto the cracked pavement bordering the industrial lot.
Soap eased off the accelerator and brought the vehicle to a controlled stop directly in front of the closed chain-link gate. Rust crawled along the metal links, and a faded NO TRESPASSING sign hung crooked from one corner. Beyond the fence, the lot opened up into a rough semicircle of parked military vehicles, two Humvees and a single transport truck positioned nose-out, ready to move if needed. Dense forest pressed close behind them, dark and watchful.
The moment the engines idled, movement snapped into place inside the fenced lot.
Conversation died instantly.
A soldier on patrol froze mid-step, rifle raised into a ready position as he stared through the mesh. Another abandoned what he was doing, jogging toward the center of the lot. Near the truck, a small gas stove hissed as someone turned it off, the half-cooked food forgotten.
Weapons were grabbed and readied instantly.
Another took a few slow steps away from the truck, positioning himself where he could see both Humvees and the bus without breaking cover or drawing attention. A third climbed onto the rear step of one of the Humvees for a better view over the fence.
Rifles were readied, muzzles angled toward the ground or resting against shoulders. Fingers stayed clear of triggers.
Faces were tense. Dirty. Bearded. Eyes tracked the convoy's movement. Uniforms worn thin from days without proper rest.
For a few long seconds, both sides simply watched each other through the fence.
Andrew stepped out of the Humvee as Soap, Gaz, and Ghost did the same from the lead vehicle. None of them rushed. Weapons stayed slung or lowered, hands visible as they began walking toward the closed chain-link gate.
A moment later, the bus doors hissed open behind them, and Captain Price stepped down onto the pavement, eyes already scanning the perimeter out of habit rather than concern.
Inside the lot, movement stilled.
One of the soldiers near the gate straightened, his posture easing just slightly as he took in the sight of uniforms and gear. Around him, the rest of the unit followed suit, rifles lowered from ready positions, shoulders relaxing a fraction. No one stood down completely, but the edge of immediate confrontation faded.
The soldier nearest the gate stepped forward. "Alright," he called out, voice steady but cautious. "Let's keep it easy. Identify yourselves."
Andrew moved ahead of the others, stopping a few feet from the fence. "Lieutenant Andrew Mercer," he said clearly. "Army Rangers."
That got a reaction.
The soldier instinctively straightened, then caught himself and nodded once. "Sir. Corporal Brady. National Guard."
Andrew continued, "Lieutenant Welles sent us."
For a moment, no one spoke.
Then several soldiers visibly exhaled with relief . Rifles dipped lower. One of them rested the butt of his weapon against the ground.
Brady shook his head slightly. " He's alive! We lost contact with Lieutenant Welles and the others early this morning. Didn't know if they made it out." He hesitated, then asked, "Beside him there were two other with him, what about them?"
Andrew nodded "Sean and Franklin. All three survived. Wounded, but stable. They're being treated at a hospital in Atlanta."
That drew murmurs from the group behind the gate.
"Atlanta?" one soldier said. "We heard the city fell."
Andrew didn't argue it but added. "Not everything was lost."
Brady studied Andrew's face for a second, then glanced at the convoy, the Humvees, the bus full of people.
"Alright," Brady said finally.
He walked up to the gate and reached for the chain. The lock clinked as he undid it, the metal rattling softly as the gate swung inward.
"You're clear to come in," he said, stepping aside.
With that the tension that had hung in the air was gone.
Andrew and Price stepped through the open gate first, moving past Corporal Brady and into the lot while the convoy remained on the road outside. Neither man rushed. Their posture stayed relaxed, deliberate.
Brady fell into step with them as they walked a few paces from the gate, the rest of his unit watching quietly from around the vehicles and the makeshift cooking area.
"How many of you?" Andrew asked, keeping his voice level.
"Eight total," Brady replied. "We have lost some when escaping the refuge camp we were protecting." He hesitated, then added, "Couple of us are running on fumes, though. Cuts, exhaustion. Nothing we can't still fight through."
Price glanced around the lot—two Humvees, a transport truck , and a small gas stove still warm from recent use with several small crates around it . "You've held together well, you did what you could," he said.
Brady gave a tired half-smile. "We've been keeping our heads down. Not much else to do."
Andrew nodded. "We're heading back to Atlanta. You are all coming with us. You can go and check on Welles when we get there."
At that a few of the soldiers exchanged looks. One of them let out a breath he'd clearly been holding.
Brady looked toward the road, where the bus idled between the Humvees. "We'd appreciate that, sir.
Price cleared his throat, shifting the conversation. "One concern," he said. "That bus out there, it won't make it all the way without enough fuel."
Brady followed his gaze. "We've got some," he said. "Not a full tank's worth, but enough to get it close to Atlanta. We've been siphoning what we could from the nearby vehicles."
Price nodded once. "That'll help."
Andrew looked over the vehicles, then back to Price. "We'll need a different route. The way we came in isn't an option."
"Agreed," Price said. "I'll grab the map."
He turned and headed back toward the lead Humvee.
Andrew faced Brady again. "Get ready, you and your men will take you vehicles and join the convoy. We'll move together."
Brady didn't hesitate. "Yes, sir."
He turned and walked back toward his unit, already issuing quiet instructions to his men.
A moment later Andrew turned back toward the lead Humvee.
Behind them, the convoy remained where it was. The bus doors opened, and a handful of Marines and civilians stepped out onto the pavement, stretching stiff legs and drawing in fresh air. The soldiers stayed close to the vehicle, rifles never far from reach, eyes moving even as they spoke quietly among themselves. Parents kept their children near, hands resting on shoulders, voices low.
No one wandered far.
At the Humvee, Price had already spread the map across the hood, weighting one corner with his hand to keep it from lifting in the breeze. Soap, Gaz, and Ghost closed in around them, forming a loose perimeter while still watching the tree line and the road behind.
Andrew leaned over the map. "The route we came in on's compromised," he said. " We would have to go through the hoard of walkers. That's not an option."
Price nodded, tracing a finger along a thinner line that curved east. "This one, it's some what longer, but there is a high possibility that the number of walkers is low, it seems we'll have to cut through King County."
"Less urban," Soap added. "Fewer places for walkers to pile up."
Gaz scanned the distance while Ghost studied the map in silence. After a moment, Ghost nodded once. "Better sightlines."
Andrew looked over the map.
King county, that's where Rick is. It has been close to two months, Rick should wake up soon if it hasn't already woken up.
Exhaling Andrew straightened and nodded. "King County,it is."
Price folded the map with practiced efficiency. "It is settled then. Let's get everyone ready and move out. "