Soap carefully stepped through the broken window frame into the narrow strip of gravel and debris wedged between the tilted railcar and the tunnel wall, his boots touching down with deliberate care to keep the sound from carrying. Gaz followed close behind, ducking through the jagged opening with practiced precision before dropping beside him in a controlled crouch. Behind them, Ghost shifted into position to cover their rear, his posture steady and alert, one gloved hand holding a combat knife low at his side while the other kept his flashlight angled between the tracks and the inside of the railcar. The pale beam swept slowly across the darkness, searching for movement without lingering long enough to draw attention.
Soap lowered himself beside the steel door and began clearing the debris by hand, moving with deliberate patience. Instead of shoving anything aside, he lifted each piece slowly and set it down just as carefully, minimizing every scrape and clatter. A jagged plank came first, eased away inch by inch, followed by a bent strip of metal that he gently slid across the gravel. Gaz crouched beside him and joined in without a word, bracing one hand against the cold concrete wall while he carefully dragged a fractured panel out from the base of the frame. Dust rose in thin drifting veils with each movement, catching in their flashlight beams before dissolving into the stale tunnel air.
A few feet behind them, Ghost remained almost perfectly still, a silent sentinel in black gear and glass lenses. His head turned slowly from side to side as he watched the tunnel, listening past the faint scrape of shifting debris for any change in the distant shuffling echoing through the underground. The combat knife in his grip never wavered, ready to rise the instant anything in the dark decided to come closer.
···
Andrew signaled the movement with a small motion of his hand, and the formation shifted smoothly as the team began advancing toward Price's position. Two Rangers slipped ahead to take point, their flashlights angled low so the beams washed across the gravel and rails instead of spearing into the dark. Behind them moved the two drone operators, staying close and careful, the cracked lens of one man's gas mask catching faint reflections every time he turned his head.His breathing was audible through the filter, steady but forced, the kind of control someone used when they were actively suppressing panic.
The two clutched the drone cases in their hands as they followed the rangers.
Andrew followed a few paces behind them with the remaining Rangers spread in a protective arc, their spacing tight enough to support each other but loose enough to maneuver. Hatchets rose and fell in efficient, practiced motions, the dull thuds of steel into bone blending with the soft crunch of boots on gravel. Knives flashed in brief arcs whenever something got too close, each strike controlled, deliberate, and silent. Their flashlights swept in disciplined patterns, never lingering, never crossing beams long enough to blind one another, illuminating just enough of the tunnel to reveal threats without advertising their position.
Shapes began to emerge from the darkness behind and along the sides of the tracks. Walkers dragged themselves out from beneath the derailed railcars, fingers clawing over stone and metal as they hauled their ruined bodies into the open. Others drifted slowly from deeper in the tunnel, drawn by the noise. One lurched forward on a shattered knee, jaw working soundlessly, and a Ranger stepped in without breaking stride, burying his hatchet into the crown of its skull before removing it just as quick. Another corpse crawled across the ballast toward the column, ribs scraping audibly against rock until Andrew stepped forward and drove his hatchet into the base of its skull, then pulled the blade free in one smooth motion.
The group kept moving, methodical and controlled, never rushing yet never slowing enough to be surrounded. Behind the approaching walkers, more figures gathered in the dark, drawn by the noise, their silhouettes thickening along the tracks like a slow tide pressing forward. Ahead, the faint glint of reflected light marked where Price's team waited near the service door, and Andrew and his squad angled their path toward it. Andrew kept his voice low but steady as he spoke just loud enough for his people to hear.
"Keep it tight. Don't let them bunch us. We're almost there."
The Rangers answered with small nods and quiet affirmations, their focus never leaving the shadows as another pair of hands reached out from beneath the railcar and a hatchet came down to meet them.
The two Rangers in the lead reached the tilted railcar first, their lights catching the edge of movement just as a walker dropped out from a nearby railcar and was attempting to get back up. Before either of them needed to react, a dark figure stepped in from the side. Price drove a combat knife cleanly into the walker's temple with a short, efficient thrust, then twisted and withdrew the blade in the same motion. The body slackened instantly and slumped back against the gravel without so much as a rattle. He didn't even glance down at it as he wiped the blade once against the corpse's sleeve.
The point men slowed and the drone operators closed the last few steps behind them. The one with the cracked mask lens was breathing harder again, though he tried to keep it quiet, his head turning in quick, nervous checks of the tunnel around them. Price lifted a hand in a small, controlled gesture and angled his flashlight toward the railcar behind him, where Ghost stood partially in shadow near the broken window.
"Service passage," Price said in a low voice that carried easily through the filters. "Door's clear enough. Soap and Gaz are opening it now."
One of the Rangers nodded once in acknowledgment while the other shifted slightly to cover the rear, his hatchet held ready at shoulder height. The beam of his light swept past Price's shoulder and down the track, catching brief flashes of movement farther back where shapes still shuffled out of the darkness.
Behind them, Andrew and the rest of the Rangers advanced in a slow, disciplined line, their formation tightening as they closed the distance. Another walker lurched in from the side, arms outstretched, and one of the trailing Rangers intercepted it with a swift lateral step and a brutal downward strike that split the skull with a muted crack. The body folded and hit the ground a moment later. Andrew moved at the center of the formation, scanning constantly, hatchet held low but ready, his light sweeping from the ground to the tunnel walls and back again in steady arcs.
Within moments they reached Price's position, the group compressing into a tight defensive cluster near the tilted railcar and the narrow strip of space along the wall. The darkness behind them stirred with slow movement as more silhouettes gathered at the edge of visibility, drawn by the light. Andrew's gaze flicked once toward the shapes and then to Price.
"Tell me that door opens," he said quietly.
Price's eyes shifted toward the service entrance where Ghost stood watch. "It will," he replied. "One way or another."
···
Soap planted his boot against the gravel and pulled carefully on the heavy steel handle, easing the service door outward toward the tunnel. The warped metal resisted, its edge grinding softly where the tilted railcar pressed too close, but the rubble they had cleared gave it just enough play to move. The gap widened inch by inch with a dull scrape of steel on concrete until it opened just far enough for a single person to slip through sideways. Any farther and the door would strike the railcar's metal skin and stop completely.
Gaz crouched beside the opening and angled his flashlight through first, letting the beam sweep slowly across the space beyond. The light revealed a narrow service corridor running parallel to the tunnel—bare concrete walls streaked with mineral stains, cables clipped along the ceiling, and a strip of maintenance flooring coated in dust. He held still for a moment, listening through the filter of his mask for anything out of place. There was no shuffling, no movement. Just the hollow stillness of sealed underground space.
He shifted his grip on his combat knife, then turned sideways and slipped through the gap, one shoulder brushing the doorframe as he eased inside. His boots met the concrete without a sound. Once in, he swept his flashlight left, then right, checking corners, ceiling lines, and the floor ahead with practiced precision. The corridor remained empty, silent, undisturbed. After a few seconds he glanced back through the opening and gave a firm nod.
"Clear," he said quietly.
Soap exhaled through his mask, tension easing just slightly. He leaned closer to the gap and reached for the radio clipped to his vest, keeping his voice low so it wouldn't carry into the tunnel behind them where the dead still stirred.
"Price, this is Soap," he murmured. "Passage is open. Tight fit, but it's good. You're clear to move."
Gaz stepped back a pace inside the service corridor to make room, keeping his flashlight trained down the passage while the first of the others approached. The two lead Rangers reached the opening and turned sideways one at a time, slipping through the narrow gap with controlled movements so their gear wouldn't scrape the metal. Their boots touched down softly on the concrete beside Gaz, weapons ready, lights already angling down the corridor to extend his field of view. The drone operators followed immediately after. The one with the cracked mask lens hesitated only a fraction before committing, ducking his head and easing through the opening while clutching the drone case tight against his chest. The second operator came right behind him, glancing once over his shoulder toward the tunnel before sliding inside.
Soap stayed where he was, braced beside the door with one hand holding the flashlight and the other gripping his combat knife. He didn't look into the passage. His attention stayed fixed on the tunnel, on the shifting dark beyond the tilted railcar. The beam of his flashlight skimmed low across the gravel and rails, catching movement as shapes began to gather in the gloom.
Back inside the railcar, Ghost worked in silence. A walker's hands clawed over the opposite window frame and its ruined face pushed through the jagged opening. His knife flashed once, fast and precise, punching through the temple before the corpse could haul itself inside. He shoved the body back out with his forearm, letting it drop out of sight, then turned and drove the blade upward into another skull that rose into view beside it. Each strike was economical, controlled, and utterly quiet, the kind of efficiency that came from long habit rather than urgency.
Price reached the car with the Rangers and Andrew close behind him, their formation compressing as the darkness behind them thickened with slow, closing figures. Without breaking stride, Price grabbed the frame of the broken window nearest to them and climbed through into the railcar, boots landing lightly on the tilted floor. The Rangers followed, then Andrew, who swung himself in with his hatchet already in hand. Outside, more shapes were emerging now, silhouettes stacking in the gloom as the walkers drifted toward them.
A corpse tumbled through the opposite window and hit the floor hard enough to rattle loose glass. Ghost stepped forward and buried his knife into its skull before it could rise. Another arm reached in after it, fingers grasping blindly, and he slashed downward across the wrist joint, severing tendons so the limb dropped uselessly against the frame. The pressure outside was building, more bodies pressing toward the openings, drawn by the movement and the light from inside.
"Move," Price said quietly, already shifting position.
He and Ghost took one side of the railcar while Andrew and a Ranger locked down the other, forming a tight defensive line across the tilted interior. Walkers began forcing their way through the broken windows now, torsos scraping over glass and metal as they clawed inside. Price drove his knife forward into a skull that lunged at him, ripped it free, and immediately struck again at another shape crowding the frame. Beside him, Ghost worked with the same cold precision, each thrust placed exactly where it needed to be, each body shoved aside to make room for the next.
On the opposite side, Andrew stepped in close and brought his hatchet down in a short, brutal arc that split a walker's crown and dropped it instantly. The Ranger at his shoulder caught another by the collar and rammed his blade up under its jaw, then let go of the corpse . Behind them, the rest of the Rangers followed Soap slipping through the narrow door gap one by one, disappearing into the service passage where Gaz guided them farther inside.
Within seconds only four remained in the railcar—Price, Ghost, Andrew, and the last Ranger. The pressure at the windows was increasing, gray hands clawing over the frames, dead faces pushing through in growing numbers.
"That's it," Price said. "Fall back."
They broke in unison. The Ranger slipped through the door first, then Andrew turned and ducked sideways through the narrow opening, dragging his hatchet close so it wouldn't catch the frame. Ghost backed toward the gap, stabbing once more to drop a walker that had managed to crawl halfway inside the railcar, then pivoted and slid through after him. Price came last. A corpse lunged through the window as he reached the door, its teeth snapping inches from his shoulder, and he shoved it back with a hard forearm strike before stepping through the opening and pulling the door as far closed as he could.
Behind them, from beyond the steel door and twisted train, the muffled sounds of the dead pressing forward echoed faintly through the metal.
The steel door shuddered behind them as something slammed into it from the tunnel side, the impact rolling through the narrow passage with a dull metallic boom that seemed louder than it should have been. A scraping followed, slow, dragging, persistent, nails or bone grinding across the surface as the walkers outside searched blindly for a way through. Then another thud. Then silence again, broken only by the faint rasp of breath filters and the distant echo of movement sealed away on the other side of the metal.
No one spoke at first.
They stood clustered just inside the service corridor, shoulders nearly brushing the stained concrete walls, lights kept low and angled so the beams wouldn't reflect straight back into their eyes. Dust floated lazily in the air where they had disturbed it, drifting through the pale cones of light like slow snowfall. The confined space trapped every sound, the shift of boots, the faint creak of gear straps, the soft tap of a knife hilt against armor, until even the smallest noise seemed too loud.
Andrew raised a closed fist.
The formation locked instinctively.
Price remained near the door, one hand still resting lightly against the cold steel as if feeling for movement through it. Ghost stood just off his shoulder, knife low and ready, head tilted slightly toward the sound beyond the door. Soap and Gaz had already drifted a few paces deeper into the corridor, scanning ahead while keeping their profiles tight, giving the others room to stack inside without crowding the entrance.
Andrew's voice came low but firm. "Quick self-check. Armor, seals, joints."
The order moved through them immediately. Rangers shifted just enough to inspect one another—gloved hands running over shoulder plates, collar seals, elbow joints, thigh guards. One crouched to check a teammate's boot latch, tugging it once to make sure it held. Another tapped along his partner's spine plate and visor rim, eyes searching for cracks, gaps, anything compromised.
The drone operator with the fractured mask lens stood still while a Ranger crouched beside them and checked the operator's legs where the walkers had grabbed him. His hand traced the reinforced plates slowly, testing straps and fasteners. After a moment he gave a quiet grunt of approval and tapped the man's shin guard once.
"You're clean. Didn't punch through."
The operator swallowed, breathing still a little fast, but steadier than before. "Thanks."
Behind them the door rattled again—lighter this time, more a dragging lean than an impact. The sound faded quickly, replaced by distant, aimless shuffling. The silence that followed pressed in tighter than the noise had.
Price finally lifted his hand from the metal and glanced toward Andrew. Even through the mask lenses, the look carried calm calculation.
"Door'll hold," Price murmured. Then he tilted his head slightly, listening past the steel for a few seconds longer before adding, "And the air in here's seems clear of the smell of rott. Should be safe enough to lose the masks for now."
A couple of Rangers shifted almost immediately at that, relief subtle but unmistakable. One reached up and broke the seal on his mask with a soft hiss, pulling it free and dragging in a careful breath through his nose. Another followed, rolling his shoulders as if the weight of the filter alone had been pressing on him.
"Finally," someone muttered under his breath. "Was starting to taste rubber."
Andrew gave a short nod.
Several other removed their masks in turn, careful not to snag straps or knock gear in the tight corridor. The air they drew in was stale and dusty, tinged faintly with old concrete and something metallic, but it lacked the choking rot that had filled the tunnels. It wasn't pleasant, but it was breathable.
Andrew kept his own mask on a second longer, eyes still scanning the passage. Satisfied, he finally lifted it off as well and clipped it to his vest.
"Good," he said.
A Ranger near the rear angled his flashlight down the corridor. The beam stretched along the narrow passage, illuminating stained concrete, clipped conduit lines, and a thin film of dust coating the floor. No movement. No sound. Just stillness.
After breathing in the stale air, he turned to everyone and said, "Alright. Checks done. We move in five."
No one argued. No one rushed.
Around them, the passage waited.