They moved out again as one, leaving the bodies where they lay, their boots whispering across tile dusted with the residue of long-settled chaos. The platform stretched ahead in a dim corridor of pillars, signage, and abandoned debris, their flashlights gliding methodically over every surface as they advanced.
Trash littered the ground in uneven drifts, crumpled newspapers, torn plastic bags, dropped luggage split open and emptied across the floor. The remains of someone's hurried escape were scattered everywhere, each item a fragment of a moment when panic had ruled the station.
To their left, a set of escalators rose toward the upper concourse, frozen in place mid-climb. Their metal steps were dull with grime, handrails slack and lifeless, the entire structure standing like a monument to a system that had stopped working. A child's jacket hung half-caught in the side panel near the base, its sleeve stretched thin where it had snagged and never been freed. None of the teams lingered on it, but more than one beam passed over it twice.
As they advanced, more bodies came into view along the platform's length.
Each one told the same story.
A transit worker slumped beside a pillar, skull crushed from above. A civilian sprawled near a bench, head caved inward against the tile. Another lay half across the yellow safety line, one arm dangling over the track bed, the fatal blow to the crown of the skull unmistakable even beneath dried blood and decay. None moved nor twitched. Whoever had passed through days earlier had made certain of that.
Andrew's gaze tracked slowly along the platform edge, instincts pulling his attention downward.
He angled his flashlight toward the rails.
The beam cut through the darkness below, sliding across gravel, steel, and shadow. For a moment there was nothing but texture and depth, the tracks vanishing into blackness beyond the reach of the light. Then shapes began to take form at the edge of visibility—tall, uneven silhouettes standing between the rails and along the far wall.
Andrew's fist tightened slightly.
More lights dipped beside his, converging without a word.
The darkness gave way.
There were figures.
A lot of them.
More than a dozen walkers stood scattered along the track bed, some swaying faintly in place while others remained eerily still, their postures slack, their heads angled at unnatural tilts. One shifted with a faint scrape of shoe against gravel. Another twitched, shoulders jerking in a delayed, puppet-like motion as if something inside it had just remembered how joints worked.
The light touched one face fully.
Clouded eyes rolled toward the glow.
Behind Andrew, someone's breath caught softly inside their mask.
No one spoke.
···
"Are you sure you didn't just imagine it?" the dark skinned man in the firefighter jacket asked, his voice low but edged with strain. The reflective stripes on the worn coat caught the dim light from the emergency glow stick and threw back dull glints across the dusty wall behind him. His posture was protective without being obvious, shoulders angled slightly toward the young girl as if he could shield her from whatever might come up those stairs.
"I'm sure there was—look, there." The girl leaned forward from behind a row of stacked plastic crates, one small hand lifting to point toward the dark opening that led down to the platform level. For a brief instant, a narrow beam of light flickered across the concrete wall below, thin and pale like a blade sliding through shadow, then vanished again as if it had never existed.
The older man beside them, somewhere in his late thirties, bald with stubble darkening his jaw and exhaustion carved deep beneath his eyes, frowned and shifted his grip on the length of pipe he carried. His gaze stayed fixed on the stairwell mouth, tension creeping into his shoulders as he listened for any sound that might follow the light.
"How?" he asked quietly. "The tunnels are infested with those things."
"We should check it out. Maybe there's a way out," the girl said, hope slipping into her voice before she could stop it. She shifted forward on her knees as if ready to move that very second.
"Iris, wait!" the bald man snapped in a hushed tone, his hand shooting out to catch her sleeve before she could rise. His grip wasn't rough, but it was firm enough to stop her momentum cold.
"Kane!" Iris whined, twisting halfway toward him, frustration creasing her brow. "I'm not a kid anymore."
"Yes you are and you're not going down there," Kane said, his tone low and final, the kind of voice that came from someone used to being obeyed when things got dangerous. His eyes flicked once toward the stairwell entrance, then back to her. "Not unless we know what's waiting."
The firefighter shifted his weight beside them, the heavy fabric of his jacket rasping softly. In the glow stick dim light, the soot-stained patches and faded department insignia on the sleeve looked like relics from another lifetime. He crouched slightly so he wasn't looming over her when he spoke.
"Kane's right, Iris. It's too dangerous for you," he said, his voice calm but steady, the cadence practiced and reassuring, the kind meant to keep panic from spreading. He glanced toward the stairwell again, eyes narrowing thoughtfully. "We'll go check what it is."
Iris's shoulders sagged, the fight draining out of her posture as quickly as it had appeared. She hugged her arms loosely across her chest and muttered, "Alright, Leonard," the disappointment in her voice quiet but unmistakable.
Leonard then turned toward the two women, already about to speak. "Eleanor, Nia—"
He didn't get any further.
"Don't worry, Leonard. Iris is safe," Nia said gently, drawing the girl closer to her side with an easy, reassuring smile that didn't quite hide the tension in her eyes.
"Yeah," Eleanor added, adjusting her grip on the handgun she carried. "You two should be more worried about yourselves. There're still biters roaming out there. Be careful."
Diego shifted his stance near the kiosk entrance, crowbar resting against his shoulder as he angled himself to watch the concourse. "I'll cover your backs," he said, voice low but steady, already scanning the shadows beyond their shelter.
Kane let out a slow breath through his nose, squaring his shoulders as he glanced once more toward the stairwell leading down to the platform. "Alright," he muttered. "Let's go."
The moment stretched for half a second longer, the group's eyes meeting in silent agreement, before Kane and Leonard turned toward the darkness beyond the kiosk, leaving the others behind to guard what little safety they had managed to carve out.
···
The walkers were pacing aimlessly along the tracks below, their movements slow, uncoordinated, unaware of the living eyes watching from above with just few wandering close to the light.
Price studied them in silence for a few seconds, measuring spacing, distance, and the height of the platform lip. "We can't move past, we risk getting swarmed" he said at last, voice low but certain. "We'll have to deal with them if we want to move forward."
Patel angled his light along the platform edge, noting the drop and the narrow maintenance ledge running just beneath it. "At least the platform's offering an advantage," he murmured, cautious optimism slipping into his tone.
Quinn glanced at him. "Seriously? Again? Don't jinx this too."
Andrew watched the walkers' considering the options. "We can lure them close and clear them out using melee," he said quietly. "If they try climbing, they'll be dealth with quickly. We do it right, we're through in minutes."
The plan settled over the group. Around them the station remained cavernous and hollow, scattered trash lying undisturbed across tile and concrete. The air felt stale and metallic, thick with the lingering scent of decay that clung to places where death had once lingered too long.
Price gave a faint nod, decision made. His knife shifted in his grip, posture easing into readiness rather than tension. "Quiet and clean," he said. "We take them close and finish it."
Behind them, the formation adjusted almost soundlessly. Rangers shifted their footing for balance near the edge. Flashlight beams dipped lower, careful not to splash light across the station walls. No one spoke.
Below, more walkers began noticing the lights.
The first walker drifted forward on unsteady feet, drawn by the light of their flashlights. Its head tilted, jaw slack, milky eyes searching without seeing. A second followed, then a third, their slow steps clumsy against the gravel and debris scattered along the rail tracks.
Andrew turned to Price and the others and said."Form up, they are coming."
Everyone took position along the edge of the platform, the flashlights angled down Every man near the platform edge crouched slightly, weight forward, blades ready but hidden close to their legs.
The walkers came like moths to the flame.
One of them reached the platform wall and began to paw at it, fingers scraping uselessly against concrete. The sound was thin and dry, more like paper brushing stone than flesh. It bumped its forehead once, then again, trying to climb without getting close of succeeding.
Andrew's hand shifted, signaling to begin.
Soap moved first. He dropped to one knee at the edge, seized the walker's by the head with his free hand, his knife drove down through the crown with a dull, wet crunch. The body slackened instantly. He let it slide back to the tracks with barely a sound.
Gaz mirrored the motion beside him. His blade slipped in just above an eye socket, angled toward the brainstem. A short twist. Stillness.
Two seconds.
Two kills.
The others followed in sequence, not rushing. Each man took a target only when it reached the platform, when it lifted its head high enough to expose the skull. Steel rose and fell in disciplined rhythm. No wasted movement. No noise beyond soft impacts and the faint shuffle of dead weight collapsing.
More shapes drifted closer, drawn by the subtle disturbances.
From the shadow of a support pillar halfway down the track, another walker emerged.
It stirred, head turning slowly toward the platform. One dragging step. Then another. Its foot caught on loose ballast and it lurched, arms lifting instinctively for balance.
Price saw it first.
He didn't say anything, simply reacting.
When the walker reached the ledge beneath him, he crouched, gripped a fistful of matted hair, and pulled upward with controlled force. The skull rose into the light. His knife slid in cleanly through the temple, precise and practiced. The body sagged imidietly.
Then he lett it drop to the ground.
Around them, the quiet work continued.
One by one, the walkers below thinned.
A walker wandered in from farther down the rail line, too distant to notice anything wrong. Patel waited, patient as stone, until it shuffled close enough. His strike was quick and efficient, blade punching through the top of the skull with a muted crack. The corpse folded where it stood.
Silence returned in increments.
There were no groans, scrapes or any movement.
Andrew stayed crouched a moment longer, scanning the tracks, counting shapes, confirming that there are no more threat's. His flashlight swept once down the rail tracks, beam gliding over slumped bodies and darkened gravel.
Nothing else stirred.
···
"Those are soldiers," Leonard said under his breath, the certainty in his voice cutting through the tension.
Kane frowned, eyes still fixed on the distant figures below. "How can you tell?"
"The way they move and react." Leonard replied quietly.
Kane swallowed, unease tightening his shoulders. "So what do we do?"
The question had barely left his mouth when a beam of light snapped upward from the platform.
It swept across the concourse—and landed on them.
For a split second none of them moved, caught in the sudden glare like animals in headlights.
Kane's eyes widened. "Shit," he hissed. "They saw us."