Andrew studied Major Griggs for a moment.
"Do you want us to find the people from those two vehicles?" he asked.
Griggs didn't hesitate. "We have to," he said firmly. "If we don't, we risk another incident. Unplanned movement, gunfire, herds shifting where we don't expect them. That gets people killed."
He paused, then added, almost as an aside, "The squad that moved in afterward found someone else on site."
Price's eyes flicked up.
"A man," Griggs continued. "Handcuffed to a pipe on a rooftop. He was about to cut his own hand off when they reached him."
Griggs added."Bit unhinged, by their report. Strong personality. But cooperative enough once they got him down."
Price glanced from Griggs back to the map, then spoke. "I've got a feeling that's not the real reason you dragged us back here."
Griggs gave a short, serious nod. "No. It isn't."
He shifted his weight and tapped the edge of the table, drawing their attention back to the broader picture. "This morning, we talked about long-term power. Electricity. Keeping the hospital, water systems, and command infrastructure running."
Andrew nodded. Price did the same.
"I've been thinking on it for a while," Griggs said. He reached for a blue marker and circled a location northwest of Atlanta on the Georgia map. "McDonough Power Plant."
Griggs straightened. "It's intact. Structurally sound. No visible damage, no fire. From what we can tell, it's still functional. The coal reserves are enough that we wouldn't have to worry for a while."
Price raised an eyebrow. "So what's the catch?"
Griggs turned his attention back to the Atlanta map and began pointing to multiple red markers radiating outward from the city. "Transmission lines. Substations. Most of the damage came from the initial bombing runs on the city. The plant can generate power, but it can't send it where we need it."
Andrew folded his arms. "Can be repaired?"
"Yes," Griggs said. "But the areas those lines run through are infested. Even with most of the larger herd pulled toward the CDC ruins, the remaining numbers are still significant."
He tapped another section of the map. "We've been using the upgraded drones to thin them out, using noise and visual bait to lure them away. We've even managed to redirect large groups away from the hospital's vicinity. That's part of why it hasn't been attacked by walkers yet."
Price nodded slowly. "Clever."
"It works," Griggs agreed, "but the gunshots from today undid some of that work."
He pointed again to the northwest side of Atlanta, where several fresh red markings overlapped older ones. "All that gunfire drew the walkers back into the cleared zones before we could block them."
Then his finger moved to a different area—northeast of the city. "As you know, the bulk of them are concentrated here."
Both Andrew and Price gave a firm nod.
Major Griggs continued."I've gotten reports that the walkers are slowly drifting again. I don't know why, but they are heading back into the city. And some are starting to spill outward, possible attracted by survivors. We don't know."
Griggs looked up at both men, expression grim. "If we don't act, the hospital becomes vulnerable again. And without power, everything we've built so far is living on borrowed time, we are burning through the fuel we have, and scavenging won't help us for long."
The room fell quiet, the weight of the situation settling in.
"That's why I called you back," he said evenly. "We need firm solutions. The longer we wait, the higher the risk of losing control."
Andrew frowned and leaned forward, bracing both hands on the edge of the table. His eyes moved slowly across the Atlanta map, following the clusters of red marks like a spreading infection.
Hell.
If this kept going, the winter plan would fall through.
He exhaled through his nose, thoughts turning over fast.
Winter would have done half the work for us, we would have saved ammunition, fuel, manpower. If the herds kept shifting like this, there wouldn't be time to wait them out.
His jaw tightened as he studied the markings spread across the map.
Captain Price broke the silence. He stepped closer to the table and gestured toward the northeast sector of Atlanta.
"We need to stop trying to manage the horde," he said, voice firm, British accent clipped and deliberate. "And start destroying it."
He took the marker and boxed off several adjacent city blocks, movements precise.
"Step one—containment. Every street leading out of this sector gets hard-blocked. Once they're boxed in, they stop spilling into the rest of the city."
His finger traced inward, narrowing the space.
"Step two—controlled urban clearance. Fireteams move block by block. Marksmen focus on headshots. Machine guns deal with density." He paused, then added, "And if necessary, we use what's left of our ordnance from Dobbins. Air strikes are still on the table."
Price straightened, looking between Andrew and Griggs.
"This will cost us ammunition, fuel, and time," he said evenly. "No way around that."
Then, quieter.
"But when we're finished, there's no horde left to worry about."
Andrew studied the areas Price had marked, weighing the scale of it. Griggs did the same, his expression tightening.
"I don't like the amount of resources this will burn through," Griggs admitted. "But I don't see many alternatives either." He exhaled through his nose. "I'll reach out to Dobbins. See exactly what they still have operational."
He looked up at Andrew. "Your take, Lieutenant?"
Andrew remained silent for a moment, eyes still on the map.
"The resource cost is a problem," he said finally. "And not just because of the walkers. We're not alone out there—hostile groups are still active, and we don't know what else is out there. Every round and every gallon of fuel we spend here reduces our margin elsewhere."
Price turned slightly toward him. "You've got something in mind?"
Andrew nodded his head once. "I agree with your plan. I just think we can execute it more efficiently."
Griggs leaned in, interest sharpening. "Go on."
Andrew pointed to an overpass on the map, circling it.
"We use the terrain. Send operatives here—place charges on the load-bearing pillars. Then we lure the horde into the choke point. Once they're concentrated, we bring the structure down on top of them." He then marked a second overpass nearby. "And we repeat it with the remaining walkers here."
He looked up briefly, then back to the map.
"We won't wipe them out completely, but we'll thin their numbers significantly without expending thousands of rounds and risk any life. After that, we follow up with air strikes—but only after pulling the remaining mass into an area without critical infrastructure."
Price studied the map again, slower this time.
"Controlled collapse," he murmured. "Let gravity do the work."
Griggs nodded, considering the implications. "Less ammunition. Less exposure. Still decisive."
Andrew finished quietly, "We'll deal with the hoard, and preserves resources for when we really need them."
For a long moment, neither man spoke.
Then Price gave a single, decisive nod.
"Aye. That'll do it."
Griggs straightened. "I'll have engineering start running the numbers. If this works…" He looked between them. "It may be the first real step toward taking the city back instead of just tiptoeing around it."
After a moment of silence Andrew cleared his throat, drawing their attention back to him.
"Now that we've got a solution for power," he said, gesturing briefly at the map, "and a workable plan to deal with the horde inside the city, there are a few more problems we need to address."
He paused, choosing his words carefully.
"Fuel comes first. Even if we secure a large stockpile, it won't last forever. Gasoline degrades. Diesel too. If we don't find a way to produce or refine fuel ourselves, a significant portion of our vehicles, generators, and heavy equipment will eventually become dead weight."
Price nodded slowly. Griggs's expression remained tight but attentive.
"Same goes for ammunition," Andrew continued. "What we have now won't sustain prolonged operations. If we intend to hold territory long-term, we'll need to look into producing ammo locally—at least small-arms calibers."
He let that settle before adding the final point.
"And food. What we've scavenged so far—and what's left in the city, won't last. Even if we clear Atlanta block by block, it's a finite supply."
Andrew reached for the blue marker and leaned over the table, circling a location in the rural outskirts, just off a secondary road.
"I may already have an option."
Both men leaned in slightly.
"When I was moving with the Rangers toward Cranwell High School," Andrew explained, "we came across a farm. The owners were still there, an older man and his children. They've kept the place running. Crops, livestock, the whole farm."
Griggs looked up from the map. "And you think they're the answer to our food problem?"
"Part of it," Andrew replied. "More importantly, they're proof. If they're still holding out, there's a good chance other farms in the area are too. People who already know how to work the land, raise animals, manage harvests—that kind of knowledge is more valuable than any stockpile."
The room went quiet for a moment.
Then Andrew added, more carefully, "There is a complication, thought."
Price's eyes narrowed slightly. "There always is."
"The farm's owner—Hershel—and his family have been capturing walkers," Andrew said. "They're locking them inside a barn on the property."
Both Price and Griggs reacted instantly.
"They're doing what?" Price asked.
Griggs frowned. "Why would anyone take that risk?"
Andrew exhaled. "They believe the walkers are sick people. That they can be cured."
Price's jaw tightened. "That's not optimism. That's delusion, and it's dangerous."
" Maybe," Andrew said quietly. "But i think that they are actually in denial. They've likely lost someone close, and they can't bring themselves to accept what those things really are."
Griggs studied Andrew for a long moment. "So what's your plan, Lieutenant? Because what you've just described is a disaster waiting to happen."
"I intend to take a Ranger contingent out there," Andrew said evenly. "Secure the farm, clear the walkers, and establish terms with Hershel and his family along any other farm in the area.
Price nodded once. "Firm, but fair."
Griggs crossed his arms, considering it. "If it works, it solves another one of our problems."
Andrew inclined his head. "That's the goal."
Griggs exhaled and glanced back at the map. "Good. One problem closer to being checked off."
Then his expression hardened again.
"Which leaves fuel and ammunition production," he said. "And those won't be nearly as simple."
The room fell quiet once more.
····
A couple of hours later, the door to Andrew's room shut softly behind him.
He reached up and unbuckled his vest, the weight of it coming off with a dull thud as he set it carefully beside the bed. His MP5 followed, leaned against the wall within easy reach out of habit more than necessity. Boots came off last, set neatly at the foot of the bed.
The moment he sat down, exhaustion caught up with him.
Andrew lay back and stared at the ceiling, chest rising and falling slowly as the tension drained from his muscles. For a few seconds, maybe longer, he didn't move at all.
A lot of work to do. He sighed internally. From one thing to another, why can't there be a few quiet days?
Still, I don't really have a reason to complain. This is probably the best situation to be in during a zombie apocalypse.
He then pushed himself back up with a quiet groan.
"Still got to clean up," he muttered to no one.
He crossed to the wardrobe and pulled out a change of clothes—simple and clean. He set them on the bed, then turned toward the bathroom.
Under the harsh light, he took off his uniform piece by piece. He stepped into the shower and let the water run hot, head bowed as it washed over him, carrying away dust, dried blood he hadn't noticed, and the lingering smell of smoke and oil.
He stayed there longer than necessary, letting the sound of the water drown out the world.
When he finally stepped out, he toweled off, brushed his teeth mechanically, and shut off the light. Back in the room, he pulled on the clean clothes waiting on the bed.
Instead of going straight to sleep, he paused and turned toward the desk. He opened the drawer and pulled out the notebook. Carrying it back, he sat down on the edge of the bed and let his shoulders sag.
He opened it and flipped past earlier entries. He didn't stop to reread them. He turned to a blank page and wrote about Morgan and his son, where they were found, the circumstances, and that they were safe.
He rested the pen against the page, tapping it lightly.
Hershel.
Andrew leaned back slightly, staring at the wall across from him as his thoughts shifted to the farm.
With a contingent of Rangers along, Hershel and his family are unlikely to act rashly. From what i remember, in the show when the walkers in the barn were killed by Shane, Hershel hadn't responded with violence. But in the comic he lost two of his children, and almost shot Rick.
I will have to tread carefully.
Starting with the offer.
Electricity. Fuel. Security. supplies—whatever they needed. In exchange, a portion of the harvest and products from the farms livestock. A partnership. Something sustainable.
Only after that would he address the barn.
Convincing Hershel would be the hardest part. Not because he was unreasonable, but because belief was tied to hope—and hope was hard to let go of. I will have to give him time, but not too much. Walkers locked in a barn were a risk that couldn't be allowed to linger indefinitely.
After a few more minutes, Andrew closed the notebook. He stood, meaning to return it to the desk drawer—then stopped. After a brief hesitation, he slid it beneath the mattress instead, pushing it farther in with his hand.
Only then did he lie down, exhaustion finally pulling him under and slid beneath the sheets.
This time, when he lay back, he didn't get up again.
····
Morning came quickly.
Breakfast has been pleasant—eggs, some bacon, bread, and strong coffee that did its job. The reception area was already awake by the time Andrew stepped outside, the early light cutting through the trees and reflecting off concrete and metal.
Price and Griggs were waiting near the entrance.
They went over things one last time.
Griggs spoke first. "We'll keep eyes on the horde's movement. Recon teams, drones, fixed observation points. We'll also need real numbers—actual density. There's no chance there's a million left in the city after the bombing."
Price nodded. "We'll prepare everything necessary for the operation,"
Andrew listened, committing it all to memory. "Good," he said simply. "The sooner we are ready the better."
The conversation ended there, without any drawn-out planning. Just understanding.
Andrew turned away from them and looked toward the parking area in front of the hotel. Two Humvees sat idling, engines low and steady, with a JLTV positioned in front of them them. Rangers were already checking mounts and gear, running final inspections with practiced efficiency.
It was time to move.
The gates of Fort Ironwood opened just wide enough to let the convoy through.
The JLTV rolled first, heavy tires crunching over gravel as it crossed the threshold, its turret slowly rotating in a steady, deliberate scan of the treeline. Behind it, the two Humvees followed, engines humming low, disciplined, no unnecessary noise. Soldiers stood watch along the walls, some raising a hand in acknowledgment, others simply observing in silence as the vehicles passed.
Andrew sat in the JLTV, eyes forward, one hand resting near the radio. The morning air was cool, carrying the faint smell of fuel and damp earth. As they cleared the perimeter, the walls of shipping containers fell away behind them, replaced by trees and open road.
The gate shut again with a heavy metallic thud.
They moved out along a narrow rural road, asphalt cracked and buckled in places, grass pushing through old seams. The JLTV maintained a steady pace, not fast, not slow, just enough to cover ground while staying alert. The further they drove, the quieter the world became. Just wind, engine, and the occasional bird startled from the brush.
Abandoned vehicles appeared now and then along the roadside—pickup trucks pulled halfway into ditches, a sedan with its door hanging open, a farm tractor sitting idle in a field where rows of crops had gone wild. Fences leaned, some collapsed entirely, gates swinging loose in the breeze.
Andrew glanced at the map clipped beside him, then back to the road. Hershel's farm wasn't far.
Over the radio, a calm voice broke the silence. "Convoy status green," came the call from the gunner. "No movement along the route."
"Copy," Andrew replied.
They passed a weathered sign half-swallowed by vines, its lettering barely readable. The land opened up beyond it—rolling fields, tree lines marking property boundaries, dirt roads branching off into the countryside.
This part of Georgia still looked almost normal.
The JLTV slowed slightly as the road narrowed, hedges closing in on both sides. Everyone stayed sharp. Heads turned. Weapons stayed ready but lowered.
Ahead, beyond the fields and trees, was a farmhouse still occupied.
Andrew leaned back slightly in his seat, eyes never leaving the road.
"Alright," he said into the radio, voice steady. "Stay tight. We're almost there."
The convoy pressed on, engines carrying them deeper into the rural roads.
——————————
I know many wanted for Rick and the quarry group to appear, and soon will be the time.
Just not now.
I hope everyone enjoyed the chapter.