They remained at the platform's edge, boots planted just shy of the drop, flashlights sweeping slow, deliberate arcs across the rail tracks and the tunnel mouth beyond. The beams slid over gravel, steel, and the slack shapes sprawled along the tracks. The air carried that same stale underground stillness, disturbed only by the faint shuffle of gear and the controlled rhythm of breathing behind their masks.
"Looks like that was all of them," Andrew said at last, voice low but steady. "For now."
Below them, more than two dozen bodies lay scattered the length of the platform, some crumpled where they'd fallen, others slumped against the rails.
Price kept his gaze down the tunnel rather than on the dead. "Could still be more deeper in," he said. "And we've got another station past this one we need to pass through."
Soap shifted his stance beside him, knife still held low along his thigh, eyes tracking the darkness beyond the curve of the tunnel. "Wouldn't mind if they stayed put," he muttered. "We've done enough pest control for one stop."
A faint ripple of restrained amusement passed through the line, gone almost as quickly as it came. No one relaxed. No one stepped back from the edge.
They were still scanning when one of the Rangers near the rear turned slightly, his attention drifting away from the tracks and toward the concourse above of the platform. His gaze skimmed across the stalled escalators—metal ribs dull with dust, handrails frozen in place like blackened ribbons. Something there caught his attention. He narrowed his eyes.
At first it was nothing. Just darkness.
Then he saw it—a faint greenish glimmer, so dim it barely existed, hovering near the top of the escalator landing.
His voice dropped to a tight whisper. "Contact. Upper concourse."
Instantly, several lights shifted upward in controlled unison, converging on the spot he indicated. The darkness peeled back under the combined beams, shadows retreating up the walls and across the ceiling until the shapes resolved fully.
Two men stood there, caught in the white glare.
···
"They're coming this way," Kane whispered, agitation tightening his voice as he leaned a fraction closer to Leonard. From this distance the approaching lights looked harsher, brighter, each step the figures took sharpening their outlines against the gloom below.
''Calm down," Leonard murmured without taking his eyes off them. " And follow my lead."
Kane let out a quiet, tense breath. " You sure this is a good idea? It's been over two months without a word from anyone up top, and now they just appear down here like ghosts?"
"Trust me," Leonard replied, voice steady, grounded. "They won't hurt anybody."
They stood side by side at the top of the dead escalator, the metal steps cold and unmoving beneath their boots. Dust lay thick along the grooves, disturbed only where they have passed recently. Below them, beams of white light swept slowly across the platform as the figures advanced, methodical and controlled, their spacing precise even in the dimness. Light reflecting on the dark riot gear.
Kane swallowed, shoulders tight, eyes tracking every shift of movement. The closer the group came, the clearer the details became, the low-ready weapons, the disciplined posture, the way their lights never crossed or wavered without purpose.
Leonard lifted his chin slightly, posture straightening as if meeting them halfway despite the distance. He didn't raise his hands yet. Didn't call out. He simply waited, watching, measuring.
Below, the lights continued to climb toward them, cutting clean paths through the station's darkness.
Moments later the figures reached the top of the escalator and spread outward with quiet precision, boots whispering over dust as they fanned into a loose arc. Their flashlights swept the concourse in controlled passes, beams gliding across shuttered kiosks, overturned bins, and the husks of abandoned benches, searching every corner without hurry or wasted motion. The two at the front angled their lights downward the instant they faced Kane and Leonard, deliberately lowering the glare so it washed across the floor instead of their eyes—a small gesture that spoke of discipline rather than threat.
···
Well , i hadn't really expected that we would find anyone alive down here. It wasn't impossible but considering the lack of supplies, it is surprising that they survived over two months down here. Andrew thought.
For a moment he simply studied them, eyes moving in the same careful way they had when he'd scanned the tunnels. Up close, he noticed the hollowness in their cheeks, the tightness of skin stretched a little too thin over bone, the dull fatigue behind their eyes. Their clothes were stiff with grime, layered with weeks of dust and sweat, the kind that came from having no running water, no change of fabric, no way to clean anything—not even themselves.
The silence held for a breath longer.
Then one of the men stepped forward.
He was dark-skinned, broad-shouldered despite the weight loss, wearing a firefighter's jacket that had seen better days. The reflective striping along the sleeves had dulled under soot and dirt, but the stance beneath it was steady.
"Name's Leonard," he said, voice even. "And I'm guessing you're military. Though with that riot gear on you, it's a hard guess."
Andrew reached up, unclipping his helmet and pulling off his gas mask in one smooth motion. The cooler station air brushed his face as he tucked the mask at his side. He stepped forward half a pace and extended his right hand, offering a calm, open smile.
"Lieutenant Andrew Mercer, Army Rangers" he said. "And you're right."
Leonard took that in, eyes flicking briefly over the men behind Andrew—the formation, the spacing, the posture that hadn't relaxed even a fraction. When he looked back, something like quiet understanding had settled into his expression.
"Something tells me," Leonard said, "you aren't here for a rescue mission."
"That would be true," Andrew said evenly. "We're here on a mission. Didn't expect to find survivors down here." His tone softened just a fraction. "But that doesn't mean we're leaving you behind."
He shifted his gaze between the two men. "Are there more of you, or just the two?"
"There are four more in our group," the second man answered, stepping forward slightly. "We've taken shelter in a kiosk. They're waiting for us." He hesitated a beat, then added, "I'm Kane, by the way."
He held out his hand.
Andrew took it without hesitation, grip firm and brief, giving a small nod of acknowledgment before releasing it.
"We'll have to move soon," Andrew said. "Let's talk with the rest of your group. It's going to be dangerous but we can take you all with us."
···
"What do you see, Diego? What is it?" Eleanor asked, noticing a beam of light sliding past the kiosk's covered windows and spilling in thin streaks across the floor.
"There's a lot of them," Diego replied, peering through the entrance of the kiosk. " Possible SWAT. They're in riot gear."
"SWAT? They're here to rescue us," Iris said, hope rising instantly in her voice.
"Iris, please calm down. We'll have to wait and see," Nia told her gently, offering a warm, reassuring smile.
Diego turned from the entrance to face them. "They're coming this way," he said. "With Kane and Leonard."
···
"So, how'd you manage to survive all this time down here?" Soap asked, voice calm but edged with curiosity.
Leonard turned his head toward him, the beam from a nearby flashlight tracing briefly across the firefighter jacket before sliding away again. "When everything started, it was chaos," he said. " You couldn't tell who was infected and who wasn't. People running, screaming… some of them turning right in front of you. We found the kiosk and hid there. Covered the windows. Blocked the entrance. It was stocked well enough to last us a while."
He paused, glancing around as if seeing it the way it had been that day.
" After some time, we started venturing out. Carefully. We figured out the biters don't see too well, not unless you're right in front of them. Noise works better. Toss something, make a sound—they drift toward it."
"When we finally checked the station exits," he went on, voice tightening slightly, " the streets were filled with them. There was no way through."
" So we gathered whatever supplies we could find… and waited."
Gaz gave a small nod, tone quieter. "I can imagine that wasn't easy."
" It wasn't," Kane said, stepping in, arms folded tight across his chest. "But we learned. We either lured them off the platforms… or drop them with a hit to the head, that's the only thing that puts them down for good."
Moments later they arrived at the kiosk.
It was larger than most of the small retail stands scattered through the station—more like a compact shop than a simple booth, built with a solid frame and waist-high walls that rose into broad glass panels on three sides. Most of those windows had been covered from the inside with layers of cardboard, taped newspapers, and strips of dark plastic, leaving only a few thin viewing gaps where someone could watch the concourse without exposing themselves. The single entrance, a narrow door set into one corner, had been reinforced with a makeshift barricade of stacked plastic crates and a metal shelving.
Inside, the floor space was just wide enough for several people to lie down shoulder to shoulder without being pressed together, the tile partly hidden beneath flattened boxes, folded jackets, and a thin nest of salvaged fabric used as bedding. Along the back wall, built-in shelves still held the picked-over remains of what had once been a well-stocked snack stand having only a few dented cans, torn wrappers, and scattered bottles left.
Leonard led him inside. The interior felt dim after the open concourse, the muted light from the flashlights outside filtering through the narrow viewing slits and striping the floor in pale lines. Four figures waited within, their attention fixed on the newcomers.
Andrew stopped a few steps past the entrance, giving them space instead of crowding in. Now that he could see them clearly, the signs of long survival underground stood out even more—the worn clothes, the careful way they held themselves, the alertness in their eyes.
Leonard gestured toward them one by one. "This is Eleanor… Nia… Diego…" His hand lowered slightly as he indicated the youngest. "…and this is Iris."
The girl looked about fourteen, maybe a little younger, her frame thin but not frail, dark hair pulled back in a rough tie that had long since come loose in places, wearing red glasses. She watched Andrew with open curiosity rather than fear, though she stayed close to Nia's side, fingers lightly gripping the woman's sleeve. There was tiredness in her face, but also something steadier underneath it—an early kind of resilience that didn't belong to children who'd grown up in a safer world.
Leonard finished the introductions and stepped aside, leaving Andrew in full view of the four inside. The cramped shop fell quiet, the kind of silence that came from people measuring every word before speaking it.
Andrew kept his voice steady and direct. "I'll get straight to it. My team's in the middle of an operation, and we can't stay long. You've done well surviving down here, but it's not safe anymore. We're moving out, and if you want out of this station and tunnels, you'll need to come with us. Immediately."
The words landed differently on each of them.
Eleanor was the first to respond, her brow knitting as she studied him. "You're certain about that?" she asked. ''Because we've stayed alive this long by not rushing into decisions."
" While i can understand, i can see that you don't have much of an option." Andrew replied. "We can ensure your safety."
Nia's gaze moved over Andrew in a slow, practical sweep, then past him toward the armed figures outside before returning to his face. There was no fear in her expression. "If you're offering a way out," she said, "then we're ready. We didn't stay alive this long to die in a kiosk."
Andrew gave a small nod. "Good. We move fast and we stay tight."
Diego finally spoke from the back wall. He hadn't shifted much, but his attention had sharpened, posture subtly aligning as if an old switch had flipped back on. "You said you're on an operation," he said. "What kind?"
Andrew looked at him. "We intend to retake the city."
That took him by surprise.
Diego's brow tightened, not in disbelief, but focus. "Retake it… how?"
"I'll explain on the way," Andrew replied. "Short version—there's a plan. And you don't want to still be down here when it starts."
Diego held his gaze another second, then gave a single approving nod, decision made. "Good enough for me."
Beside Nia, Iris stayed close, fingers still hooked in the woman's sleeve. She didn't speak, but she looked at Andrew again—longer this time, searching his face as if trying to decide whether hope was something she was allowed to believe in yet.
Leonard glanced around at the others. "Well," he said quietly, "sounds like our ride finally showed up."
Eleanor let out a breath that carried weeks of tension with it. "Then we shouldn't keep it waiting."
Nia squeezed Iris's shoulder gently. "Grab your things, Iris."
Diego stepped away from the wall, already scanning the kiosk for what mattered and what didn't. "What do we take?" he asked.
"Essentials only," Andrew said. "Whatever you can carry without slowing us down."
The survivors exchanged quick looks before starting packing whatever they could.
···
After leaving the station, they regrouped with Leonard and the rest of the survivors. The walk to the next station stretched close to a mile, the tunnels swallowing sound and light alike. The survivors stayed near the drone operators in the center of the formation, flanked by rangers on both sides and covering the rear. At the front, Andrew moved alongside Price and his team, keeping their movements deliberate and measured. Only two or three flashlights were lit, beams angled carefully to illuminate without drawing unnecessary attention.
As the next station came into view, Andrew halted the advance. His voice dropped to a near-whisper. "We hold here," he murmured. Price nodded beside him, eyes scanning the tunnel ahead.
After a brief pause, Andrew broke the silence. "We'll need eyes up ahead before we commit the whole group."
Soap didn't hesitate. "We've got this. I'll take the left side, Ghost covers right. Keep your eyes on the tracks behind us."
Ghost's gaze swept the dark tunnel, calm and unreadable beneath the mask. "Quiet," he said simply. "We move slow, no sudden flashes. If anything's out there, we don't want it noticing us until it's too late."
Price's voice was low but firm. "Remember, we're not here to clear the station. Just eyes. Report back before we move anyone else."
Andrew gave a brief nod of agreement. "Stay sharp."
Soap glanced back at the group and smirked beneath his mask. " Don't worry, we'll be back before you start missing us."
Ghost didn't respond, only giving a slight tilt of his head. Andrew and Price exchanged a quick look, trusting, cautious, but confident.
Without another word, Soap and Ghost slipped forward, their boots whispering against the tunnel floor, flashlights cutting narrow arcs through the darkness.
Every step was measured, deliberate, the quiet patrol threading between shadows as the rest of the team held position, tense and silent, waiting for the signal to advance.