The door of the first railcar opened with a reluctant groan of metal.
Several flashlights snapped on at once, white beams crossing and separating as the Rangers flowed inside in a loose pattern. Combat knives and hatchets stayed low in their hands.
The air hit them immediately.
Rot. Old blood. Something wrong underneath it all.
"Mask seals good?" murmured Sergeant Hale, sweeping his light up the left side of the railcar.
"Better be," Corporal Reyes replied. "Because I am not smelling that raw."
Flies lifted in a buzzing cloud as boots crunched over debris. Some of the seats lay overturned, some bent and twisted like they'd been ripped free in panic. Blood smeared the windows in wide arcs, dried so dark it looked like paint.
Andrew clicked his tongue softly. "They were packed in here."
Fuck.This looks like something straight out of Resident Evil.
"No exits," said Ranger Patel, light tracing claw marks along the door. "No room to move."
Cole nudged a crushed backpack aside with his boot. Something skittered underneath it.
"Hey—watch your step," Wyatt whispered. "Bones down here."
A rib snapped under someone's heel before they could stop it. The sound echoed too loud in the enclosed space.
Every head turned.
They froze.
Nothing moved.
After a long second, Ranger Quinn—one of the newer ones—exhaled shakily. "I hate that it's never the walkers that get me. It's the quiet before anything pops up."
"You'll get used to it," Reyes said. "Or you won't. Either way, keep your light moving."
Andrew's beam swept down the aisle, catching a skull propped against a seat leg, jaw slack, empty eye sockets staring at the floor. He raised a hand—two fingers forward, fist closed.
Advance.
The second railcar was worse.
Blood wasn't just smeared—it was sprayed. Handprints layered over each other on the windows, fingers dragged downward in desperation. Personal belongings were everywhere, purses split open, photos scattered, a kid's jacket tangled around a seat leg.
One of the drone operators stopped short.
"Oh—Jesus…"
"Eyes up," Hale said quietly, not unkind. "You look down too long in places like this, it sticks."
Ranger Novak, a woman with her hair pulled tight under her helmet, crouched near the aisle. She angled her flashlight under a seat.
"Got remains," she said. "Old. Mostly bones."
She didn't elaborate.
Soap's voice drifted from behind his mask. "Someone tell me rush hour's been canceled permanently."
Gaz snorted softly. "Looks like it just kept going."
Price stepped over a dark smear without breaking stride. "Clear your sectors."
As they moved, Andrew caught motion in the window—
A shape, pressed close. Just a silhouette behind smeared blood.
Another beam crossed his, and the shape slid away into darkness.
"We got contact's outside," Novak whispered. "Multiple."
"Let them walk," Andrew said. "They won't notice us, if we don't give them a reason."
The third railcar answered that challenge.
A walker stood slumped against a pole near the far door, head tilted unnaturally, jaw working. Another leaned over a seat, fingers twitching.
A third lay on the floor.
Reyes tilted his head. "One's a crawler."
Andrew nodded once.
They moved.
Cole slipped forward, knife rising smoothly, light steady as he drove steel through the standing walker's eye. It dropped without a sound.
Wyatt took the second, a short upward thrust under the jaw, clean and efficient.
The crawler gave a gutteral growl, dragging itself toward them, nails scraping metal.
Quinn stiffened.
"I got it," Novak said calmly. She stepped in, blade coming down through the skull. The body twitched once, then stilled.
Silence returned.
Flies buzzed louder now, disturbed.
Quinn looked back at Andrew. "Clear."
"Good work," he said.
Ranger Patel glanced at the windows again. More silhouettes now, pacing alongside the train, faces occasionally flashing pale when a beam caught them just right.
"They're tracking us," he muttered.
"Let them," Price said. "We're ghosts if we keep it quiet."
Soap adjusted his grip on his knife. "Still hate this."
Gaz nodded. "Yeah. But it beats shooting and ringing the dinner bell."
Andrew raised his hand again, signaling the next door.
"Move," he said softly. "Same spacing. No rush."
They stepped deeper into the train, blades ready, lights cutting narrow paths through the dark.
The door to the next railcar hung half off its hinges, twisted inward.
Andrew raised his fist.
The column stopped.
Multiple beams cut through the opening at once.
The railcar beyond sat at a sharp angle, one end sunk low, the other lifted just enough that the floor slanted underfoot. Windows along the raised side were cracked or completely blown out, jagged teeth of glass still clinging to their frames. Both side doors gaped open blood smeared on both floor and walls.
"Jesus…" Hale muttered. "It doesn't look like it just jumped the rails."
Andrew nodded. " No, it doesn't."
They stepped inside.
Dust hung in the air, disturbed only by their movement.
Bodies lay scattered through the car.
Those weren't torn apart or eaten like the others. These bodies were intact—mostly decomposed, but untouched by walkers.
What was once a man was slumped forward in his seat, forehead crushed inward, blood long dried in a dark fan across the window. Another lay sprawled in the aisle, neck twisted at an unnatural angle, skull caved in against the metal floor.
Wyatt crouched, careful with his footing. "Impact trauma."
Cole angled his light over the seats. "Yeah. Heads hit first."
Novak pointed toward the far end of the car. "They were standing when it happened."
Andrew followed her light. Bent handrails. A seat torn loose from its mounts, blood smeared across the floor and walls.
"Looks like the train derailed," Andrew said quietly.
Price stepped in, scanning the interior. "Most likely lost control when the outbreak was in full swing. Train's full of people turned into death traps"
Soap frowned behind his gasmask. "So where the hell did they all go?"
Gaz flicked his light toward the open doors. Beyond them, the tunnel swallowed the beam, some shambling forms being illuminated by it.
"Well, we got our answer," Andrew said slowly.
One of the drone operators swallowed. "In the dark tunnels."
A faint sound echoed down the tunnel—slow, uneven and wet.
Reyes tightened the grip on his weapon. "Yep. That answers that."
Andrew dropped into a crouch without a word, the rest of the Rangers following instinctively. One by one, flashlights clicked off, Ghost, Soap, and Gaz following suit, until only two remained lit…dimmed and angled away.
"Keep low," Andrew murmured. "Let's not attract unwanted attention."
Price nodded. "Sounds right. No unnecessary movement."
They exchanged a brief look, the kind that carried a plan without needing to spell it out.
"Let's check both sides," Andrew said quietly. "Slow."
They split, Andrew moving toward the left-side doors, Price toward the right in controlled movement.
Andrew eased through the open doors a fraction and raised his flashlight, not forward, but up. He thumbed it on, angling the beam toward the ceiling. Pale light reflected back, spilling just enough illumination to outline the immediate area without cutting through the dark like a blade.
The tunnel wall loomed close on this side.
Shapes emerged.
Several walkers stood near the wall, slack-jawed and unmoving, pressed into the darkness like they'd simply… stopped. Others shuffled aimlessly, dragging their feet across concrete. On the ground beneath them lay scattered remains—bones and gore, scraps of clothing still recognizable.
One of them stirred.
Its head turned slightly, as if sensing the light rather than seeing it.
Andrew killed the flashlight instantly.
Darkness swallowed the area again.
He held still, breath slow, listening.
After a few seconds, the faint wet shuffling resumed, there were no sudden movement.
Andrew backed away from the door and glanced toward Price's side.
Price had done the same—light angled up, controlled and careful.
But what his beam revealed made him pause.
Beyond the right-side doors lay another set of tracks. Twisted metal cut across them at a harsh angle. A second train, its cars buckled, overturned and broken—lay partially jackknifed against the front of the one they were in.
The collision point was unmistakable.
"This wasn't just a derailment," Price murmured. "Head-on collision from the opposite direction."
He swept the light across the ceiling, following the wreckage. That train had taken the worst of it, railcars overturned, frames collapsed inward, windows blown out entirely, there were human parts barely visible under the dim light between the broken metal.
Andrew moved closer, keeping his voice low. "Explains what happened here."
"Explains the dead," Price said. Then, after a beat, "Doesn't explain the missing ones. There are to few of them."
They both scanned the tunnel.
Too few walkers.
"For two packed trains, and judging by the state of the other cars, there should have been dozens more." Andrew added.
Soap shifted behind them, uneasy. "Where'd the rest go?"
Andrew didn't answer right away.
He stared down the tunnel, where darkness swallowed both wrecks and rails alike.
Then he straightened slightly and looked toward Price.
"Don't know, but we can't waste time here," he said quietly. "We keep moving."
Price nodded once. "Agreed."
Andrew turned back to the team. "We'll deal with anything in our way—quick and quiet. Watch your surroundings. We don't know where the rest of them went."
Several Rangers gave silent nods. One tightened his grip on his weapon.
"I've got a bad feeling about this," one of them muttered through his mask.
Another Ranger grunted quietly. "Hey. Don't jinx it."
Their boots thudded softly against the metal floor as they moved. The sound echoed faintly through the railcar.
After one last sweep of the surroundings, Andrew motioned forward.
One by one, they dropped down from the railcar onto the gravel below, boots crunching quietly as they hit the ground.
Andrew, Price, and four Rangers were already on the ground, forming a loose perimeter around the railcar. Flashlights swept low and controlled, cutting across gravel, rails, and the tunnel walls.
Seven walkers nearby began to turn toward them, slow heads lifting, bodies angling in response to the sound and movement.
"Contact front," one Ranger murmured.
Ghost dropped down from the railcar without a sound.
The first drone operator followed, one foot touching gravel, weight shifting—
Then something grabbed his leg.
Hard.
He barely had time to react before he was yanked down, his balance breaking as he slammed onto his face. The drone case slipped from his grip and skidded across the gravel, stopping just inches from his outstretched hand.
Then more hands reached out from beneath the railcar.
Pale, filthy fingers clamped around his other leg.
"NO—!" he screamed as he was slowly dragged toward the darkness under the train.
His flashlight rolled away. His gas mask cracked as his head struck the ground, one lens spiderwebbing instantly.
Ghost reacted without hesitation.
He grabbed the operator by one of his arms, and hauled back with everything he had. "Hold on!" he barked.
Lights snapped on all around them.
What they revealed made stomachs drop.
Dozens of walkers were packed beneath the railcar—bodies wedged together in the narrow space, arms reaching, mouths snapping. Some had their teeth sunk into the operator's legs, biting uselessly against riot padding. Others clawed and pulled, dragging him inch by inch toward the shadows.
Several began to crawl out.
"Jesus fucking Christ…" someone shouting louder than anyone would have wanted.
"Get him out!" Andrew said gritting his teeth.
Soap hit the gravel beside Ghost, grabbing the operator's shoulder. Two Rangers followed, planting boots and pulling hard. The operator sobbed, panic breaking through as he clawed at the ground, trying to help.
"They've got me—they've got me—!" he cried.
Andrew and Price stepped in, flashlights pinned under the railcar as they worked fast and brutal. Knives and hatchets rose and fell, striking hands, wrists, skulls—anything they could reach. Walkers jerked and went still, but more pressed forward behind them.
"Cut them loose!" Price snapped.
Gaz and the remaining Rangers and operator dropped down, intercepting the seven walkers closing in from the front. Blades flashed in tight arcs, skulls cracking, bodies dropping before they could get close.
"Front's clear!" Gaz called.
"More are crawling out!" Andrew shouted.
The Rangers pivoted immediately, moving to contain the ones crawling out from under the railcar. Steel met bone in sharp, controlled strikes.
With one final pull, Ghost and Soap tore the operator free.
He came loose suddenly, sending them all sprawling backward as dead hands lost their grip. The operator scrambled away on shaking legs, gasping through the cracked mask as he was dragged behind the perimeter.
The drone case lay where it had fallen just in front of them.
Gutteral growls kept coming from under the railcar.
And the hands were still reaching.
Steel and bone met in quick, efficient bursts as the teams held the line.
Andrew buried his hatchet into the crown of a crawler's skull, the blow sharp and final. He wrenched it free and stepped back as the body collapsed, twitching against the gravel.
Behind them, the drone operator staggered, chest heaving. His hands shook as he fumbled with the cracked gas mask, finally tearing it free and sucking in air in ragged gulps. The second operator was already there, gripping his shoulder, steadying him.
"Easy," he said. "You're good. You're out."
The operator nodded weakly, eyes glassy, still staring toward the railcar.
Andrew glanced around, counting movement, angles, shadows, then met Price's gaze at the same moment.
"We need a way forward," Andrew said, breath steady despite the exertion. "Now."
Price nodded once, already scanning down the tunnel. "We'll push ahead. See if there's a clear route."
Another walker crawled over the fresh corpse at Andrew's feet, fingers clawing uselessly. Andrew stepped in and ended it with a short, brutal strike.
"Make it fast," Andrew said as he pulled the blade free.
Price turned to his team. "You heard him. With me."
They moved immediately, slipping past the perimeter and into the darkness ahead, flashlights kept low as the rest of the Rangers tightened the line behind them.
Price led them forward at a steady pace, boots crunching softly over gravel and debris as they moved toward the wreckage from the opposite direction. The derailed train loomed ahead, its railcars overturned and split open, metal frames twisted like broken ribs.
"This one took the hit," Ghost muttered.
Price nodded. "Let's clear it."
They climbed into the nearest railcar through a torn-open side panel. Inside, the smell was worse, even with the gasmask on, stale rot trapped in a metal box. Two walkers were pinned among the wreckage, legs crushed beneath fallen seats. They thrashed weakly, jaws snapping.
Soap stepped in first, knife flashing. One clean strike. Then another. The bodies went still.
"Clear," he said quietly.
Gaz didn't wait. He climbed up through a jagged opening and hauled himself onto the tilted top side of the railcar, boots finding purchase on bent metal. From up there, the tunnel opened up.
He swept his flashlight slowly.
Ahead, more railcars lay jackknifed across the tracks, blocking parts of the tunnel completely. Beyond the obstructions, where the tracks remained open, walkers wandered aimlessly, dozens of them, moving in and out of the light like ghosts.
Gaz crouched low. "Multiple blockages," he murmured. "Tunnel's partially sealed by wreckage. Walkers scattered past it. Not packed, but enough to be a problem."
"Any clear path?" Price asked.
"Maybe," Gaz replied. "But it won't be straight."
Below, Soap moved deeper into the railcar, scanning through broken windows. One of them was partially blocked by a seat that had torn loose from its mounts and wedged itself sideways.
Soap frowned. "Hold on."
He shoved the seat aside with a grunt. It scraped loudly against the floor before tipping over.
"Careful," Ghost warned.
Soap ignored him and leaned closer to the window, raising his flashlight.
The beam cut through dust and grime—
—and lit up something that made him freeze.
"…Price," Soap said slowly. "You're gonna want to see this."
Price turned toward Soap. "What'd you find?"
Soap didn't answer right away. He just smiled faintly beneath the grime on his mask.
"Our way forward."
He stepped aside, angling his flashlight through the broken window.
Price moved in beside him.
The beam settled on a heavy metal door set into the tunnel wall, partially obscured by debris but intact. Stenciled lettering was still visible beneath the dirt and rust.
SERVICE PASSAGE – AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL USE ONLY
Price exhaled slowly, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.
"That'll do," he said.
He keyed the radio on his vest. "Lieutenant, this is Price. We've got an emergency tunnel access. Clear enough to move through."
A brief pause.
"I recommend moving now."
He released the radio and waited for the reply that came just a moment later.
"Copy that, we're on our way."
Price then turned to his men and said. "Alright, let's open the door."