3 Days Later.
__________
- Fort Ironwood - Briefing Room-
- 08:00 AM -
The briefing room had once been a hotel conference room, the kind meant for corporate meeting's.
Long wooden tables and chairs had been stripped out the day before, dragged off to make space.
In their place stood rows of simple folding chairs, set in tight, orderly lines.
At the front of the room, a small folding table held a ruggedized projector with a laptop next to it, its cables snaking across the floor to a power strip taped down with thick gray tape.
The walls still carried faint impressions of where framed art and promotional posters had once hung. Now they were bare.
Soldiers filtered in steadily.
Rangers. Marines. National Guard. Air force.
Different patches. Different gear. Same tired look.
Boots thudded softly against the carpet. Body armor creaked. Helmets were tucked under arms or hung from rucks. Some spoke in low voices. Most didn't.
They took seats wherever they found an open chair, spacing themselves without needing to be told.
At the front of the room stood Major Griggs.
Captain Price was beside him, quietly reviewing a tablet.
A step to their right, Lieutenant Andrew waited, arms loosely folded, eyes moving across the growing crowd.
Two other officers stood nearby, conferring in low tones.
The room continued to fill.
Several minutes later, with the room now packed shoulder to shoulder, the low murmur of conversation faded.
Uniforms filled the space, Marines, National Guard, Army Rangers, engineers, medics—alongside a scattering of police officers and firefighters. Faces were tired. Eyes were sharp.
Major Griggs stepped forward.
"Attention, everyone."
The room went still.
"As you all know by now," Griggs said, his voice carrying easily, "we are preparing for an offensive operation against the massive horde occupying the city."
A ripple of uneasy murmurs moved through the rows.
"Through aerial reconnaissance provided by Colonel Hale," Griggs continued, "using two MQ-1 Predator drones, we've estimated the number of walkers inside Atlanta to be between five hundred thousand and six hundred thousand."
The number landed hard.
A few soldiers shifted in their seats. Someone let out a quiet breath. A firefighter near the back shook his head slowly.
"That number is why conventional clearing operations are not viable," Griggs said. "We cannot fight this block by block. We cannot afford that level of attrition."
He gestured toward Andrew.
"We've developed a plan that gives us the best chance of inflicting catastrophic losses on the horde while conserving ammunition and minimizing risk to personnel. Lieutenant Mercer will walk you through it. Most of the operational framework is his."
Andrew stepped forward.
The projector hummed as the screen lit up, resolving into an overhead map of Atlanta.
"Bring up the northeast quadrant," Andrew said.
The image shifted, zooming in.
Interstate lines appeared. Overpasses. Interchanges. Dense urban blocks.
Andrew pointed with a laser.
"These two overpasses—Interstate 85 and the Buford Highway interchange," he said. "They sit over a natural funnel created by surrounding construction damage and collapsed surface streets."
He clicked to the next slide. A structural diagram appeared.
"Engineer teams will rig multiple support pylons on both overpasses with demolition charges. We're not trying to pancake the entire structures—just collapse enough mass to create a kill zone."
A few heads nodded.
"Once the charges are set," Andrew continued, "we'll deploy the drone's equipped with high-output acoustic lures. Loud. Repetitive. Irritating. Designed to pull as many walkers as possible into the tunnel beneath those spans."
The screen shifted again, showing a simulated crowd massing beneath the overpasses.
"When density reaches threshold, we detonate. Best case scenario, we eliminate tens of thousands in a single strike."
He paused, letting that sink in.
"That won't finish the job."
Another slide appeared.
The CDC complex.
"After the initial collapses, we'll begin drawing the remaining concentrations toward the former CDC perimeter. That area gives us open ground, wide avenues of approach, and pre-surveyed firing zones."
He looked up from the screen.
"At that point, indirect fire begins. We have over thirty mortar tubes staged and supplied. Continuous bombardment in rotating batteries."
Another image appeared—three silhouettes of helicopters.
"Close air support will be provided by three AH-64 Apaches conducting rocket and gun runs along designated corridors."
Andrew lowered the laser pointer.
"This operation will not wipe out every walker in Atlanta."
A quiet, honest admission.
"But it will reduce their numbers to a level where systematic clearing becomes possible."
He scanned the room again, slower this time.
"Now for the part where things stop being clean," Andrew said.
A few tight smiles appeared. Most didn't.
"Not everything is going to go exactly as planned."
He turned back to the projected map and highlighted the overpass zones again.
"There are already large concentrations of walkers clustered near both structures. That alone isn't a deal breaker. The problem is proximity and density. Once we activate the acoustic drones, we can't afford to have competing noise sources drawing the horde off course."
He tapped the screen near the city blocks surrounding the interchanges.
"If walkers are attracted by engines, or movement near the control sites, we lose directional control. The funnel collapses. The whole operation unravels."
A new overlay appeared, two tall buildings, marked in red.
"After reviewing signal propagation, line-of-sight coverage, and structural stability, we identified these two high-rise buildings as the optimal control nodes. From these rooftops, drone operators will maintain uninterrupted signal range to the overpasses and secondary coverage toward the former CDC zone."
Andrew let that settle before continuing.
"Getting personnel into those buildings is the problem."
He changed slides.
Subway tunnels appeared beneath the city grid.
"Surface movement is not viable. Too many walkers. Too much exposure. Our only realistic access route is the subway system. The tunnels still provide covered, low-signature movement beneath the densest areas."
A few murmurs rippled through the room.
Andrew didn't soften it.
"I'll be leading a Ranger squad on that insertion. Captain Price and his team will accompany us. Our mission is to escort the drone operators through the tunnels and secure both buildings before the main phase begins."
He looked directly at the seated soldiers.
"This is a high-risk element. Tight spaces. Limited visibility. No room for panic."
Another slide appeared, showing timelines.
"Once we confirm the overpasses have been cleared of walkers, engineer teams will begin rigging the overpass support pylons. But the teams move only after we signal green."
Andrew straightened.
"If any part of this chain breaks, we abort. No heroics. No improvising on explosives."
A brief pause.
Andrew shifted his attention away from the projection and toward the section of the room occupied by police officers and firefighters.
"While military units are focused on the horde, order still has to be maintained at the safe zone and the refugee camp," he said. "We can't afford distractions or internal incidents while a major operation is underway."
Several officers straightened in their seats.
"Police units will handle perimeter security, crowd control, and internal response. Any disturbances get contained fast and quiet. No one leaves the zone unless cleared. No one enters without screening."
A few firm nods followed. Someone called out, "Understood."
Andrew then turned to the firefighters.
"We're going to be collapsing structures and using heavy ordnance," he said. "That means secondary fires are a real possibility."
He gestured toward the map, highlighting several risk areas.
"I need fire engines staged near the outer edge of the operation area, along with rapid-response crews. You're not pushing into hot zones unless ordered, but you will be ready to move the second something ignites."
One of the firefighters spoke up. "We'll have crews on rotation and tankers topped off."
Andrew nodded.
"Good. If this goes right, you won't be needed. If it goes wrong, you'll be critical."
The room remained quiet.
Everyone understood exactly what that meant.
After that they began going over details, and units locations.
··············
- Atlanta - Subway entrance 🚇 -
-10:23 AM -
Andrew took a step forward, then glanced back over his shoulder.
Behind him stood the Ranger squad, Captain Price and his team, and the two drone operators positioned near the center of the formation. Each operator carried a hard, reinforced case slung at their side, foam-lined, sealed tight, housing the compact upgraded drones and control hardware inside.
Every person in the element was geared for close-quarters movement.
Riot gear.
Melee weapons and breaching tools.
Primary rifles slung tight to the chest.
Gas masks locked in place, lenses dark and unreadable.
There was no exposed skin. No loose straps.
They looked less like soldiers and more like a single armored organism waiting to move.
Andrew raised his voice just enough to carry.
"Everyone ready?"
A chorus of acknowledgments came back.
"Ready."
"Green."
"Set."
Price gave a short nod. One of his men snapped a fist against his chest plate.
The drone operators tightened their grips on the cases.
Andrew turned back toward the access tunnel leading down into the subway.
"Then let's move," he said.
The line began to advance.
The entrance to the MARTA station yawned open like a wound in the street.
Broken glass crunched under boots as Andrew led the stack down the wide concrete steps from the sidewalk. One of the metal security gates hung crooked, its bars bent outward like someone had forced their way through in a hurry. The station sign above was dark, dead letters spelling out a name no one bothered to read.
Inside, the smell hit first.
Rot.
Old blood.
Wet decay sealed into stagnant air.
Even through the filters of their gas masks, it pressed at the back of the throat.
"Yeah," Ranger Cole muttered behind his mask, voice muffled. "Real glad we brought the fashion accessories."
Ranger Wyatt snorted quietly. "Stop whining. You were complaining about carrying the mask five minutes ago."
"And now I'd like to formally apologize to every officer who ever issued one."
Andrew raised a fist.
The squad halted instantly.
Flashlights cut through darkness in tight beams, slicing across shattered ticket kiosks, overturned benches, and smeared streaks of dried blood across tiled floors. Drag marks crossed the concourse toward the stairwell leading down to the platforms.
Something had crawled but hadn't made it far.
Near the wall lay a decomposed human body, ribs visible through a split jacket, skull half-collapsed. A few feet away, the shriveled remains of what had once been a dog lay curled beside what presumably to be its owner.
One of the drone operators gagged quietly inside his mask.
"Still think masks are optional?" Wyatt murmured.
"Nope," Cole replied. "I officially love my mask."
Price stepped in beside Andrew, scanning left.
"Place looks like it tried to eat itself."
Andrew nodded once.
"Melee only. Quiet."
Price's team echoed the order with subtle hand signals.
They moved.
Down the stairwell.
Each man carried a blade or hatchet in one hand, flashlight in the other. Rifles stayed slung, muzzles down, fingers clear of triggers.
The deeper they went, the colder it felt.
The platform came into view.
A MARTA train sat half-submerged in darkness, doors frozen open, interior lights long dead. Dried handprints streaked the sides of the cars. More blood pooled along the platform edge, blackened and flaking.
A low, wet groan drifted out of the dark.
The beam of Andrew's flashlight swept across the platform.
More movement answered it.
At least a dozen shapes lingered near the stopped train.
Some stood between the open doors. Others slumped against benches. One dragged itself along the platform edge, lower body long gone, fingernails scraping faintly against concrete.
A child-sized figure stood near a pillar.
Seeming to be two teenagers.
All wrong.
The formation froze.
No one spoke.
Only breathing through filters.
Price leaned in slightly beside Andrew.
"Count about twelve," he murmured.
Andrew nodded once.
"Melee line. Left and right teams. Price, take the center car with me."
Price gave a sharp nod and flicked two fingers.
Ghost, Soap, and Gaz slid into motion.
Andrew raised two fingers, then split them outward.
Rangers peeled off smoothly, forming two curved arcs that began closing toward the platform.
Flashlights stayed low, beams angled toward feet and torsos instead of faces.
Moving slow and controlled.
The first walker turned toward Cole.
Wyatt was already moving.
He stepped in and drove his blade upward under the jaw.
The skull popped softly.
The body collapsed.
A walker lunged from between the seats inside the train car.
Soap caught it mid-step, hatchet burying into its temple. He wrenched free and immediately pivoted, slashing downward into a second walker's skull.
Ghost moved like a shadow.
One stab then another.
No wasted motion.
Gaz finished a crawler with a downward thrust, pinning the head to the platform for half a second before pulling free.
On Andrew's side, a walker staggered toward him.
Andrew sidestepped and rammed his knife into the base of its skull.
A second walker came in fast.
Price intercepted, smashing his blade into the side of its head and shoving the corpse aside with his shoulder.
"Clear left," Cole whispered.
"Two more," Wyatt replied.
One of the Rangers took a hit on the arm—rotted fingers scraping across his sleeve.
No bite.
He responded by splitting the walker's skull with a hatchet.
A child-sized walker stumbled between two bodies.
For half a second, no one moved.
Then Andrew stepped forward and ended it with one precise strike.
The platform went quiet again.
Bodies lay scattered across concrete and inside the open train car.
Soap glanced around.
"Anyone else feel like we just performed some extremely fucked-up community service?"
Gaz replied, "Better than letting them roaming around."
Cole muttered, "Still gonna need a shower."
Price looked at Andrew.
"Platform's clear."
Andrew nodded.
"Check the cars. Then we move."
Rangers began systematic sweeps of the train, flashlights cutting through overturned seats and dried blood.
The first carriage was empty just trash and dried blood.
In the second car, there was one corpse slumped in a seat, long dead, no movement.
While in the third car, there was nothing but bones and trash.
Once cleared, Andrew pulled a folded transit map from his thigh pouch and spread it on the floor under a flashlight beam.
Red marker lines traced a route.
"We're here," he said, tapping the station. "We follow the tunnel north-east. Two stops underground before the line surfaces. That puts us close to the hoard's edge without walking street level."
Price studied it.
"Nice and unpleasant."
Andrew looked up.
"Better than loud and suicidal."
Cole muttered, "I vote unpleasant."
Wyatt nodded. "Seconded."
Andrew folded the map.
"Stack up. Tunnel movement. Same spacing as before. Eyes up, blades ready."
The squad formed up.
Flashlights clicked back on.
And they stepped into the darkness between stations.