As the dust slowly dispersed, the ruins of the overpasses came into clear view.
What had once been solid stretches of concrete and steel was now nothing more than a collapsed mass—sections folded into each other, support pillars shattered, debris piled high. Anything that had been beneath them was gone, crushed under the sheer weight of it all.
Andrew stood near the edge of the rooftop, binoculars raised as he carefully inspected the destruction below.
He took his time, giving a methodical sweep. From one end of the collapse to the other, tracking the spread of debris, the density of it, the few scattered movements at the edges where anything that hadn't made it in time still wandered.
After a moment, he lowered the binoculars and slipped them into one of the pouches on his vest.
A faint smile crept onto his face.
"Hard to estimate," he said, his tone calm but carrying a hint of satisfaction, "but I'd say we managed to get well above ten thousand of them."
He let his gaze drift back toward the ruins.
"Not a very noticeable dent in their numbers," he continued, the realism of it grounding the moment, "but Phase Two should take care of that."
"Let's hope so," Gaz said, resting his arms lightly on the edge as he looked down at the horde. "Don't mind a scrap, but I'm not fancying my odds against a few thousand of those things. Not with how worked up they are."
Soap gave a short huff, shaking his head slightly. " Aye… I'm a good shot, but even I'd call that a bad day at the office."
Ghost let out a low grunt beside them.
" Understatement."
Their conversation was cut short as Price stepped toward them, his boots scraping lightly against the rooftop surface. He gave Andrew a brief nod.
"Spoke with Griggs," he said, voice steady. "Phase Two's a go."
He glanced out over the city for a moment, then back at the group.
"Let's get that horde moving. We're almost done here."
Andrew returned the nod, then turned away from the edge and walked toward the drone operators.
He stopped beside them, watching as they worked.
"Drones ready for another round?" he asked.
One of the operators looked up briefly, hands still moving as he secured a battery into place.
"Almost," he replied. "Just finished swapping the batteries."
The second operator adjusted his controller, giving a quick check to the signal feed.
"Give us a minute," he added. "We'll have them back in the air in no time."
"Good. I'll leave you two to it. You know what to do," Andrew said, before turning and walking away.
Price watched the operators for a moment, then shifted his attention back toward the city. He flicked the end of his cigar, sending it over the edge.
" With that, we've done our part," he said. "Now we see how effective those mortars really are."
Andrew stopped beside him, following his gaze out toward the distant streets.
"They're using airburst rounds," he replied calmly. "If everything goes as planned, it should be quite effective."
Hearing footsteps behind him, Andrew turned.
Sergeant Hale was approaching from the direction of the stairwell door, his pace steady but purposeful. He came to a stop a few steps away and gave a sharp salute.
"Sir," Hale began, lowering his hand. "Survivors have come out from the last floor."
Price glanced over at that, unsurprised.
"Figured they would," he said, tone calm. "Only a matter of time with all that noise."
Andrew studied Hale for a brief moment, his expression thoughtful.
"Are they armed?" he asked.
Hale shook his head.
"No, sir. No weapons have been found. They look… exhausted."
Price shifted his stance slightly, glancing toward the stairwell door.
"How many?"
"Rough count—around twenty," Hale replied. "They've been holed up there for a while. Rayes and the others are with them now."
Andrew gave a small nod, absorbing the information.
"Any signs of instability?" he asked. "Panic, aggression?"
Hale hesitated for just a fraction of a second, choosing his words.
"Some tension, sir. Understandable, given the situation. But they're cooperating."
Price huffed lightly. "Weeks locked in a box with the dead outside… I'd be more worried if they were calm."
That drew a faint, almost tired smirk from Hale.
Andrew exhaled quietly, then glanced once toward the city before returning his attention to Hale.
"Alright," he said. "Keep it controlled. Last thing we need is them panicking now."
"Yes, sir."
Price tilted his head slightly toward the stairwell. "We'll head down in a minute. Might be easier if they see who's running the show."
Andrew gave a small nod in agreement.
"Have Rayes keep things steady until we get there."
"Understood."
Hale gave another quick nod before stepping back, already turning to head toward the stairwell.
For a brief moment, Andrew and Price remained where they were.
Then Price glanced sideways at him.
"Your timing's impeccable," he said dryly. "First we drop a highway on a few thousand walkers… now we pick up survivors."
Andrew's expression didn't change much, but there was a slight edge of satisfaction beneath it.
"One problem at a time," he replied.
And with that, they turned toward the stairwell.
••••
The drones hovered steadily above the scattered mass of walkers, their rotors maintaining a constant, controlled hum.
Below them, the horde had lost its previous direction.
What had once been a dense, flowing mass was now broken, large clusters of walkers wandering aimlessly through the streets, drifting between abandoned cars, debris, and the long shadows cast by the surrounding buildings. Some still lingered near the edges of the collapsed overpasses, drawn by nothing more than instinct.
Though, that didn't last long.
Up on the rooftop, the operators gave each other a quick nod.
"Signal stable," one of them said, eyes locked on the screen.
"We are good to go," the other confirmed, fingers already adjusting the controls.
Then, a moment later the music started again.
It cut through the silence with sudden force, echoing between buildings and down empty streets. Loud and impossible to ignore.
The effect was immediate, with every walker in the vicinity turning it's attention towards the soun.
The slow, erratic wandering of the walkers began to change, their movements snapping toward the source of the sound.
Both drones adjusted position, separating from each other and drifting to opposite sides of the streets below. The gap between them widened just enough to cast a broader net, their speakers projecting in overlapping ranges to ensure nothing nearby was left untouched.
What had been scattered began to gather.
Small groups merged into larger ones, their numbers swelling as more walkers emerged from side streets, alleyways, and buildings—pulled in by the same relentless noise.
Within moments, the flow had begun again.
"We got them," one operator called out, tracking the shift on his screen.
"Yeah… they're locking in," the other replied.
The drones didn't stay in place.
Slowly, deliberately, they began to move forward, more precisely northeast where the now destroyed CDC is located.
At first, the walkers followed in uneven clusters—but as the drones continued, the movement stabilized. The horde stretched into a longer formation, a growing tide pushing through the streets, guided by nothing more than sound.
From above, it looked like a current.
A shifting mass, filling roads, spilling through intersections, pressing forward with increasing density as more and more joined along the way.
The operators adjusted constantly, keeping the drones just far enough ahead to maintain interest, but not so far that the connection broke.
"Thr range is holding," one of them muttered, though his tone carried focus now. "We're getting close to the edge."
The other glanced at his screen, checking the signal strength.
"Yeah… another few blocks."
Ahead, positioned further along the planned route, another team was already in place.
They stood on a separate rooftop, equipment laid out and ready, their own drones powered and waiting.
"Visual confirmed," one of them said into his radio, eyes fixed on the distant movement approaching through the streets. "We've got them."
Back at the first position, the lead operator exhaled slowly.
"Alright… handoff in ten."
The drones continued forward, the music still blaring as the horde followed without hesitation.
The signal indicator dipped slightly.
"Now," the operator said.
The transition was seamless.
As the first pair of drones began to slow and rise, their volume dipping just enough to shift focus—
The second pair came alive.
Their music surged through the streets from further ahead, louder and clearer, pulling the attention of the horde forward without breaking its momentum.
The walkers attention being caught almost instantly, with the flow continuing.
The first drones drifted away as their operators eased off the controls.
"Aaand... it's out of our hands," one of them said, watching the feed stabilize on the second team's signal.
The second pair of drones now led the growing mass deeper into the city. Toward the designated kill zone. Moving with controlled precision, guiding the horde through the city like shepherds steering something vast and unthinking.
Whenever a street narrowed too much or became clogged with abandoned vehicles and debris, the drones adjusted course, drifting toward wider roads and open intersections, spaces where the walkers could move freely without breaking apart or slowing down too much.
The operators made those adjustments constantly, small corrections to speed and direction, ensuring the horde kept its momentum.
The music echoed continuously between the buildings, bouncing off glass and concrete, filling the empty streets with a lively atmosphere, in contrast with the mass of dead following behind it...
Gradually, the streets widened. The buildings grew more spaced out.
And then, the city seemed to open.
Ahead of them lay a broad, empty expanse—the scar left behind where the CDC once stood.
The ruins were cleared out, ensuring a wide, open area with very little to obstruct movement, and exactly what they needed.
As the drones crossed into that open ground, their movement changed.
They slowed slightly, lowering their altitude just enough to keep the sound focused and grounded. Instead of continuing forward, they began to arc outward, drifting along the edges of the space in wide, controlled curves.
Below, the horde responded almost immediately.
The walkers poured into the open area, spreading out at first as they followed the sound. But as the drones continued their curved paths, the direction of the noise began to shift—pulling them inward rather than forward.
The edges of the horde started to bend.
Then tighten.
More walkers continued to arrive from behind, pressing into those already inside the open space. With nowhere else to go, the mass began to compress. Movement slowed, then staggered, as bodies collided and pushed against one another.
The drones adjusted again, tightening their arcs.
Keeping the sound centered, as the horde followed.
The outer edges kept folding inward, layer by layer, as more walkers filled the space. Those in front had nowhere to move, but the ones behind kept coming, forcing the entire mass closer together.
Bodies pressed shoulder to shoulder, movement restricted to small, uneven shifts as the weight of numbers forced them into a tighter and tighter formation. The sound remained just ahead of them, holding their attention, preventing them from drifting apart again.
From above, the change was the most noticable.
What had once been a flowing mass through the streets was now barely contained within a single area.
The drones hovered just beyond the center now, holding their position and maintaining the sound constant.
Below them, thousands of walkers stood packed together in the ruins, pressed so tightly that individual movement had all but disappeared.
And exactly where they were meant to be.
••••
The overwatch team had chosen their position well.
Perched atop a tall office building overlooking the open expanse, they had an unobstructed view of the entire area where the horde had been funneled.
From that height, the mass gathered within it were laid out in full, covering almost the entire area.
A spotter lay prone near the edge, binoculars pressed to his eyes, tracking the movement below with slow, deliberate sweeps. Beside him, a second soldier monitored a scoped rifle, covering the streets leading into the open ground. The third man, their team leader, crouched slightly behind them, one hand on his radio.
For a few seconds, none of them spoke.
The horde had been compressed into the center of the open area, packed so tightly that the mass itself seemed to shift as one.
The team leader exhaled slowly, then keyed his radio.
"Vantage-1 to Overlord," he said, voice calm and precise. "Horde is in position. I say again, horde is in position."
A brief pause followed as he glanced toward the spotter.
"Confirming grid coordinates now."
The spotter adjusted his binoculars slightly, double-checking landmarks.
"Grid zero-three-seven by zero-nine-one," he said quietly.
The team leader nodded and transmitted.
"Overlord, confirm grid zero-three-seven by zero-nine-one. Target area is fully saturated. Recommend immediate fire mission."
Static crackled over the line for a moment.
Then—
"Overlord copies all, Vantage-1," Major Griggs' voice came through, steady and controlled. "Grid zero-three-seven by zero-nine-one confirmed. Stand by for fire mission."
Miles away, inside the temporary forward operating base, Major Griggs lowered the handset slightly as he stepped out from the command tent.
In front of him, the mortar line was ready.
Thirty tubes stood in organized rows, angled toward the sky, their crews already in position. Soldiers moved with practiced efficiency—final adjustments being made, firing data checked and rechecked, hands steady despite the scale of what was about to happen.
Nearby, stacks of ammunition crates sat open, rows of mortar rounds prepared and waiting. The dull metallic surfaces of the shells caught the light as they were handled and positioned, each one another piece of the coming barrage.
Beyond the firing line, the rest of the base remained active.
Humvees were parked in defensive positions around the perimeter, mounted .50 caliber machine guns manned and scanning outward. Marines and National Guard soldiers moved along established patrol routes, checking sightlines, maintaining security, ensuring nothing slipped too close to the operation.
Griggs stepped forward slightly, his eyes moving from the mortar teams to the surrounding defenses, taking it all in with a single, measured look.
Everything was in place.
He raised the radio again.
"Overlord to Vantage-1," he transmitted. "Solid copy on your end. Good work."
A brief pause.
Then, his tone shifted—firmer now.
"Stand clear and maintain observation. Fire mission is about to commence."
He lowered the radio and turned slightly toward the nearest fire direction control.
"Get me a full volley," he ordered. "Airburst. I want that entire grid saturated."
The response was immediate.
"Yes, sir!"
Commands began to ripple down the line.
Crews moved. Tubes were adjusted and the rounds lifted.
The final moments before everything was ready to rain down death on the living dead.
Griggs looked out over the mortar line once more, then back toward the distant direction of the target.
"Let's finish this," he said quietly.
The order moved down the line in seconds.
''Fire mission—grid zero-three-seven by zero-nine-one. Airburst. Battery fire."
The response was immediate.
" Shot!"
The first mortar team dropped the round into the tube.
A dull thunk, followed by a sharp crack as the round was launched skyward.
Followed by the rest of the mortar teams.
Within seconds, all thirty mortars joined in.
The air filled with overlapping deep, rhythmic thumps that rolled across the park as each tube fired in sequence.
Rounds climbed rapidly into the sky, disappearing almost as soon as they left the tubes.
The crews worked fast, but not recklessly.
Each team fell into a practiced rhythm.
One man handling the rounds, pulling them from open crates and passing them forward. Another aligning and confirming the tube's elevation and direction. The gunner dropping each shell cleanly down the barrel, stepping back just as it fired.
"Shot!" "Shot!" "Shot!"
Voices overlapped with the firing, confirmations echoing down the line.
A steady, controlled pace being mentained.
With around 4 to 6 rounds per minute per tube, fast enough to saturate the target, but slow enough to keep the tubes from overheating too quickly.
Because heat was already building.
Even in these first moments, the metal tubes began to warm, each shot adding to the strain. Push too hard, too long, and accuracy dropped—worse, the risk of a cook-off increased.
So they kept it controlled.
Miles away from the temporary base of operation.
The sky above the open ground remained still for a fraction of a second longer.
Then, the first rounds arrived, detonating above the hoard.
Sharp flashes erupted mid-air, followed by violent bursts of fragmentation that spread outward in every direction. The explosions came in rapid succession, each one cracking through the air with brutal force.
Then more followed.
Within seconds, the entire area above the horde was filled with detonations.
It looked like a storm.
A continuous chain of explosions rippling across the sky, each airburst scattering hundreds of high-velocity fragments downward into the mass below.
The effect was immediate and devastating.
The tightly packed horde offered no space to move, no room to disperse. The fragmentation rained down into the bodies, tearing through flesh, bone, and anything in its path.
Walkers at the center took the full force of it.
Heads shattered, limbs torn away.
Bodies collapsed under the impact, only to be crushed further by the weight of those still standing behind them.
Those at the edges fared little better.
The blasts overlapped, covering the entire open area in lethal arcs of shrapnel. There was no safe direction, no gap in the barrage.
Sections of the horde buckled and collapsed inward, gaps forming only to be filled instantly by the sheer density of numbers.
Back at the firing line, the tempo increased.
"Fire for effect!"
The command carried down the row, with crews responded instantly and pace quickening —closer to 7 to 8 rounds per minute now, pushing the tubes harder, accepting the rising heat for the sake of overwhelming volume.
"Keep it coming!"
"Adjust—two mils left!"
"Send it!"
The tubes were hot now.
Heat shimmered faintly around them, metal stressed under repeated firing. Some crews rotated slightly, adjusting timing to prevent any single tube from overheating too quickly.
But they didn't stop.
Not yet.
At the target, the barrage intensified.
The air itself seemed to tear apart as continuous detonations layered over one another, the sound no longer distinct explosions but a sustained, rolling thunder.
Fragments cut through the horde in waves.
Entire sections dropped.
The density that had once made the horde unstoppable now worked against it, maximizing the effect of every burst. Each detonation struck multiple targets, the fragmentation spreading through tightly packed bodies with brutal efficiency.
The ground began to change.
The outer edges still pressed inward out of instinct, but the center was breaking apart under the sustained fire. Piles of bodies formed where walkers had been standing moments before, the mass slowly losing cohesion under the relentless barrage.
The horde diminished layer by layer.
Still, there were so many. Too many.
Back at the mortars, a section leader called out.
"Barrel temp rising!"
Griggs didn't look away from the distant horizon.
"Maintain fire," he said. "Cycle if needed—don't lose the barrage."
At the order, teams began adjusting, staggering their shots slightly, allowing brief seconds between rounds for the tubes to breathe.