While Soap and Ghost scouted the way ahead, the rest of the group held their position in the tunnel, spread in a tight defensive formation. Flashlights were kept low and angled, their beams pooling dimly across the rails and concrete instead of cutting wide through the dark. No one relaxed. Not after everything they had seen, and certainly not now that six unarmored civilians stood within their perimeter. The Rangers kept their spacing disciplined, blades ready, eyes moving constantly between the tunnel behind them and the shadowed stretch ahead. The presence of the survivors changed the weight of the silence. It wasn't just tension anymore...it was responsibility.
Price watched the line for a moment before speaking, his voice low enough that it barely carried past Andrew. "I understand why we brought them along," he said, tone measured, not accusing. "But we're in the middle of an operation. Civilians in tow complicate things. We've got an objective to reach if this is going to count for anything."
Andrew let out a quiet breath, eyes still scanning the darkness as he answered. "I know. I ran through the alternatives before I said yes." His grip shifted slightly on the handle of his hatchet. "Didn't like any of them. Leaving people behind down here…" He shook his head faintly. "I don't think they would've lasted much longer."
No doubt , i'm sure if we had left them at that station we would have found them as walkers, when we would have returned for them. This feels like a scenario from a movie or something. Thought Andrew as he glanced at the civilians.
Price studied him for a moment longer, then gave a small nod. The matter wasn't settled....but it was accepted.
A few paces back in the formation, Nia murmured something softly. Andrew glanced over just as she gently guided Iris forward. The girl hesitated at first, then squared her shoulders in quiet determination.
"Lieutenant?" Nia said politely. "Iris wanted to ask you something."
Andrew shifted his stance so he wasn't towering over her, lowering himself just enough to meet her at eye level without making it obvious he was doing it. He then removed his gasmask, when he spoke, his voice was calm and patient."Go ahead, Iris."
Iris kept her gaze on the ground for a moment, sneaker nudging lightly at a speck of grit on the concrete. Then she gathered a small breath and looked up at him through her lashes. "In the safe zones… do they have animals?"
The question caught him off guard.
"Animals?" he repeated, softer now.
She nodded. "Like… dogs. Or cats." She hesitated, then added quietly, "Bees."
"Bees?" Price echoed under his breath, not mocking....just surprised.
Iris gave a small shrug, suddenly aware of how it might sound. "I like bees. They're important. If there are bees, that means plants are growing. And if plants are growing…" Her voice faded as she searched for the right words and couldn't quite find them.
Andrew didn't rush her. He seemed to understand the sentence she couldn't finish.
"…then things aren't completely gone," he said gently.
Her eyes flicked back to his.
He nodded once. "Yeah. We've seen animals. Strays mostly." A faint hint of warmth touched his expression. "We've also got farms outside the city perimeter. Livestock. Chickens. Maybe a few horses."
Iris's posture straightened a little. "Really?"
"Really." He paused, then added, "And yeah. I've seen bees."
Her eyes lifted fully now, curiosity overtaking hesitation. "You have?"
"Couple of days ago," he said. "A hive at one of the farms. Tucked up under a roof overhang where nothing could bother it. Still active. Workers going in and out like nothing in the world had changed."
For the first time since they'd met her, a small, unguarded smile appeared on her face. It wasn't big or dramatic....just something soft and real, like a light turning on behind her eyes.
Nia rested a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Iris really likes bees," she said, fondness threading her voice.
Andrew gave a single, approving nod, like that was the most reasonable thing he'd heard all day. "Good thing to like," he said.
Iris held his gaze a second longer, the faint smile still there.
Nia gave Iris's shoulder a gentle squeeze. "Iris go sit with Eleanor for a minute," she said softly. "Help her check the packs."
Iris nodded and did as she was told, walking back toward the middle of the group where Eleanor waited. The older woman gave her a small, reassuring look and shifted slightly so she could stand close without feeling in the way.
Nia stayed where she was for a moment.
She glanced after the girl, then back at Andrew and Price. There was a brief hesitation, like she was deciding whether it was worth saying anything more.
"She lost her parents when everything started," Nia said quietly. "In the chaos."
Andrew followed her glance toward Iris. The girl wasn't looking at them, she stood near Eleanor, hands loosely together.
He didn't soften his tone or make it overly gentle. "She's handled it well," he said simply.
Nia's expression eased a little, grateful but restrained. "She has."
Andrew gave a small nod. "We'll keep everyone safe."
That seemed to be enough for her. She inclined her head once, then turned and walked back toward the others, rejoining Iris near the center of the formation while the tunnel around them settled back into its quiet, watchful stillness.
Several minutes passed.
The tunnel remained quiet.
Price's gaze drifted toward the darkness ahead. "They're taking their time," he murmured.
Andrew stepped up beside him, eyes narrowing slightly. "Soap knows the clock."
Another beat.
Then, from the black curve of the tunnel, two shapes detached from the shadows.
Soap emerged first, Ghost a step behind him.
They moved quickly but not urgently — which was a good sign.
Soap pulled his mask just enough to speak clearly. "Station's hot," he said quietly. "Large group. Thirty, maybe more. Spread across the platform and spilling near the stairwells."
Ghost nodded once. "Too many to clear quietly without drawing more."
Andrew's jaw tightened slightly. "Options?"
Soap jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "There's a train stopped about halfway into the station. Doors are open. If we move careful, use the railcars for cover, we can bypass most of them.
Price considered that. "Risk?"
"They'll drift toward light if we're careless," Ghost said evenly. "But if we keep it tight and quiet, it's doable."
Andrew looked back toward the formation, at the Rangers, the drone operators, and the six civilians in the middle.
Then he nodded once.
"Alright," he said. "We move smart."
The next stretch wouldn't be simple.But it was possible.
The four stepped back toward the formation so everyone could hear what they have to say without making much noise, keeping their voices above a low, controlled tone. The Rangers closest to the front shifted their footing automatically, tightening the perimeter while the survivors looked on, reading the change in posture before the words even came.
" We've got one more station ahead," Andrew said, "then the tunnels start angling toward the surface. That's where we're headed. It's also close to our objective."
A faint ripple of attention passed through the group at that, hope and tension mixing in equal measure.
"That station's not clear," he continued. "Soap and Ghost counted at least thirty walkers spread across the platform and near the stairwells. Too many to push through without drawing more."
He let that settle for a beat so no one misunderstood the stakes.
"We're not taking the platform," he went on. "There's a stopped train sitting partway inside the station. We'll move through it instead. The railcars will give us cover and limit how many walkers can reach us at once."
Kane glanced toward the darkness ahead, then back. "And if they notice us?"
"They won't," Price said calmly, stepping up beside Andrew. "Not if everyone keeps discipline. Lights low. No talking. You stay inside the formation and do exactly what you're told."
Andrew nodded once in agreement. "It's dangerous," he added, matter-of-fact rather than dramatic. "So stay close and stay sharp. If anything moves toward you, we handle it. Your job is to keep moving."
The survivors exchanged quick looks, absorbing the plan, then gave small nods one after another.
Andrew scanned the line, confirming readiness the same way he would before any push forward. Satisfied, he shifted his grip on the hatchet and lowered his voice.
"We step off together. Slow pace. Follow the man in front of you."
No one said anything, the formation tightening.
Then, with a subtle forward motion of Andrew's hand, they began moving toward the station.
As they drew closer to the station, shapes began to resolve along the tracks ahead....dark forms scattered across the gravel and between the rails. Bodies. The closer they came, the clearer it became that every one of them bore the same unmistakable sign of precise, deliberate knife strikes to the head.
Soap glanced back over his shoulder, voice barely above a breath. "Cleared these while scouting," he murmured, as if speaking any louder might wake them again.
Andrew gave a faint nod and motioned the group onward.
The rear of the stopped train loomed out of the darkness near the platform edge, its metal exterior dull and streaked with grime. Beyond it, through the gaps between the railcar, they could see them....a loose mass of shambling silhouettes drifting across the platform, slow and restless, their shapes half-swallowed by shadow. The team's flashlights stayed angled low, beams grazing the ground instead of cutting through the air, careful not to draw attention as they approached the first railcar.
One by one they climbed aboard. Boots touched metal with soft, controlled thuds. When Nia's turn came, two Rangers stepped in without a word, bracing her arms and guiding her up with steady, practiced care. She gave a quiet thanks as she found her footing inside.
The interior looked much like the cars they had already passed through when stepping into the subway.....windows smeared dark, streaks of dried blood dragged across the walls, scraps of clothing and indistinguishable remains ground into the floor where panicked passengers had once struggled.
They moved through the first railcar without incident, the formation flowing around seats and debris, blades kept close, lights disciplined. No sounds followed them but the soft whisper of fabric and the occasional faint creak of settling metal.
The second railcar was different.
Its platform-side doors stood open, leaving a dark gap that faced directly out toward the station. Through it came the distant shuffling of walkers and the hollow ambience of the underground. Instantly the team lowered their profiles, bodies dipping into cautious crouches as they advanced. Every step was placed with care, avoiding patches of gore and scattered debris that might betray them with a sound. Their lights stayed trained downward, thin pools of glow sliding across the floor.
Then Nia's boot came down on something slick, her foot slipping out from under her before she could catch herself.
She went down hard.
A startled cry escaped her...short, sharp, involuntary.
Iris's voice followed in a frightened whisper that carried farther than she meant it to. "Nia!"
The sound wasn't loud.
But in the cavernous stillness of the station, it didn't need to be.
Out on the platform, shapes shifted and heads began to turn.
Andrew twisted at the waist and looked back down the length of the railcar toward the rear of the column. Through the staggered shapes of his team he saw Nia being pulled carefully to her feet, Diego bracing one arm under her shoulder while Leonard and Kane steadied her on either side. She was upright, which mattered most, but the delay had already cost them seconds they didn't have.
His gaze snapped past them toward the platform.
The walkers that had been drifting aimlessly moments before were now angling toward the train, their movements slow but purposeful, heads tilted toward the source of the sound. More silhouettes shifted behind them, drawn by instinct. The distance between them and the railcar was shrinking.
Fuck.
Gaz's voice came low but urgent from just ahead. "We need to keep moving. They are heading towards where the sound came from. If we push now, we stay ahead of 'em."
Andrew gave a sharp nod. " Let's go...pick it up," he ordered under his breath, slicing two fingers forward in a tight signal to the Rangers and the civilians alike. The formation compressed slightly, tension tightening the line as everyone started forward again.
Behind him Leonard spoke quickly, concern edging his voice. "She might've twisted her ankle."
'I'm fine," Nia insisted, breath a little uneven but steadying. " Just slipped. I can walk."
Diego gave her a searching look, instinct measuring truth from pride, then nodded once. "Let's keep moving."
They did...but they weren't fast enough.
By the time the last of them cleared into the next railcar, the first walkers had stepped into the railcar they just left. Gray hands slapped clumsily against the exterior of the train. As they hurried through the railcar, one walker lurched through the open doorway they'd just passed, milky eyes fixing on movement inside. Another stumbled into its back, then another, until a small knot of them crowded the entrance, drawn by light, motion, and the fading echoes of human voices.
Inside the car, boots quickened over the metal floor.
A walker lurched into view through one of the shattered windows, its torso snagging on the jagged teeth of glass still clinging to the frame. The broken shards carved into its abdomen as it pushed forward without feeling, fabric tearing, dull flesh parting soundlessly. Its arms reached blindly inside the railcar, fingers clawing at empty air.
Andrew stepped in before it could get any farther. His hatchet rose and came down in a tight, controlled arc, the blade punching through the crown of the skull with a wet, muffled crack. The walker's weight sagged against the window frame for a half second before he shoved it back out, letting it drop out of sight beyond the train.
More walkers were already closing in.
Beyond the glass, walkers shuffled toward them from both directions along the platform, some dragging feet, others crawling, all drawn by the disturbance.
At Andrew's right, Price moved with the same measured efficiency, one hand gripping the collar of a walker that had leaned too far through the doorway. His knife slid into its temple with surgical precision, then withdrew just as smoothly.
Ghost dispatched another beside him, blade flashing once in the dim light before disappearing again, his movements so economical they were almost invisible.
Further down the car, Soap and Gaz had shifted closer to the center of the formation, keeping themselves between the civilians and the encroaching dead. Soap hooked an arm around a lunging walker's neck and wrenched it sideways into the doorframe while Gaz drove his knife into its skull, the two working together without needing a word. Around them the Rangers fought in tight quarters, striking low and fast, but the pressure was building. Gray hands clawed through broken windows and door gaps, some catching sleeves, others grasping at armor plates, trying to drag the living closer.
One Ranger grunted as fingers latched onto his forearm. He twisted hard, slammed his elbow down, and another blade flashed in to finish what grabbed him—but two more shapes were already pushing in behind it.
Andrew glanced sideways at Price.
Price was already looking at him.
The exchange lasted less than a second, but it carried a whole conversation.
Andrew exhaled once through his nose. "I know, I know. Can't change what's done," he muttered. "We keep going. We can't keep going like this. Too many."
Price watched the platform a moment longer, judging the flow of bodies converging toward the train. Then he gave a single, decisive nod.
He turned his head slightly, voice low but carrying the weight of command.
"Everyone....weapons free."
The shift in posture down the line was immediate.
Up until now they'd fought like shadows, steel and silence. Firearms in these tunnels usually meant disaster, noise that would call every walker in earshot. That was why their primary weapons stayed slung until this moment, compact suppressed submachine guns loaded with subsonic rounds, prepared for exactly this kind of situation.
Hands moved to grips.
Safeties clicked off in near-perfect unison.
The dead kept coming.
Compact suppressed SMGs came up into tight shoulders, muzzles angled toward the press of bodies outside the railcar.
Andrew fired first.
The sound wasn't a crack or a bang.....it was a blunt, contained thup, like a heavy book dropped onto wet carpet. The suppressor swallowed the violence of the shot, turning it into a dense mechanical cough that barely carried beyond the car. A brief tongue of gas puffed from the muzzle, gray and sharp-smelling, and a brass casing flicked from the ejection port with a metallic tick as it struck the floor and spun away.
The round punched through a walker's forehead at the window, dropping it instantly.
Price fired next, then Ghost, their shots staggered rather than simultaneous, each man choosing targets with deliberate calm. Thup—thup—thup. Each impact snapped a head back or folded a body where it stood. No wasted rounds. No panic. Just controlled elimination.
Down the car, Rangers followed suit, firing in disciplined rhythm. The confined space filled quickly with the acrid tang of burned powder and hot metal, a thin haze beginning to gather under the railcar's ceiling. It wasn't thick enough to blind, but it clung to the throat and nose, dry and chemical.
Behind them, one of the civilians coughed.
Then another.
Nia pressed her sleeve over her mouth, trying to muffle the sound as her lungs protested the air. Iris buried her face against Eleanor's shoulder, blinking against the sting while Diego shifted slightly to block them from drifting muzzle gas, but the line kept moving.
Ahead, the pressure eased.
Bodies slumped away from the train as the controlled bursts carved them down just long enough to open space.
"Forward," Andrew ordered quietly.
They advanced.
Step by step, firing only when necessary, pausing only long enough to clear the next obstruction. The sound of suppressed fire stayed tight and contained, the soft mechanical pulses echoing faintly off steel walls and tunnel tile, never rising to the catastrophic roar unsuppressed shots would have unleashed.
Andrew, Price, and Ghost reached the front railcar first.
Andrew snapped his flashlight toward the forward window and thumbed it on.
The beam cut through the dark outside.....and revealed more walkers.
They were already drifting toward the train's nose, drawn by the noise.
"Contact front," Ghost said evenly.
Andrew didn't hesitate. He slammed his shoulder into the door lever and forced it open. The hinges shrieked softly in protest as it gave way just enough.
Three walkers turned toward the light.
Price fired twice. Ghost once.
Thup. Thup. Thup.
Three skulls snapped back in sequence. Three bodies folded.
Andrew shoved the door wider. "Out."
They spilled from the railcar into the open space beside the track, boots crunching against grit and debris as shapes began closing from both directions, platform side and tunnel side alike. Suppressed fire resumed immediately, single shots buying them breathing room while the rest of the group pushed up behind.
Price pivoted and swept his flashlight ahead.
The beam stretched down the tunnel, and revealed the track curving away into darkness, the rails bending out of sight as the passage arced left.