Leah gestured to Mike, who stepped forward and tried the doorknob.
It was locked.
A massive, heavy-duty padlock hung on the door as well.
"The door's been reinforced," Mike whispered. "And it's locked from the outside."
Carver stepped up and pulled a hammer from his backpack. "Move aside. I've got this."
"Wait!" Calista stopped him. "Knock first. The people inside are probably terrified. Forcing it open could cause unnecessary conflict."
She stepped forward and rapped hard on the iron door with her knuckles.
"Thud! Thud! Thud!"
The rhythmic knocking echoed through the empty basement entrance.
Almost immediately, a faint, suppressed commotion came from inside—like someone gasping with their mouth suddenly covered, followed by the sound of bodies shifting against the floor. Then, just as quickly, everything fell silent again, as if everyone inside had stopped breathing.
"Listen, whoever's inside!" Calista raised her voice, keeping it as steady as possible.
"We're from outside! The walkers upstairs and the Red Scarf Gang have been cleared out! We're here to rescue you! Can you hear us?"
Silence.
The long imprisonment, combined with whatever horrors they had just heard from upstairs, had left the people inside deeply distrustful and afraid of anything beyond that door.
Carver grew a little impatient, but Calista signaled for him to hold off.
After a long pause, just as Carver was about to lift the hammer again, a weak, trembling male voice finally spoke from inside, full of hesitation:
"Re… really? You're not… not with them?"
"We've already captured Lorenzo," Calista said, doing her best to sound convincing. "If we were the Red Scarf Gang, why would we need to trick you? We could just use the key."
That seemed to work.
Low, hurried whispers broke out behind the door.
Then suddenly, several hands slammed against the inside of the door, pounding frantically as the voices turned desperate:
"Help! Please! Get us out of here!"
"They locked us in! We don't have the key!"
"Is it really safe out there? What about those monsters?"
"Who are you?"
"Were you sent by the government?"
"Step back!" Calista called out. "Everyone move to the very back of the cell! Stay away from the door! We're about to break the lock!"
The pounding stopped almost immediately, replaced by hurried footsteps and panicked voices telling each other to back up.
"Watch this!" Carver stepped forward and swung his sledgehammer hard at the massive padlock.
The padlock was struck—
…and didn't budge.
Carver frowned, clearly unwilling to accept it, and smashed it several more times in frustration. Still nothing. Instead, the door handle above it ended up getting wrecked.
He awkwardly shoved the hammer back into his backpack and tried to play it off. "Okay… maybe this thing's tougher than it looks. Not bad at all."
Calista bit her lip and quickly looked away, fighting back a laugh.
Leah rubbed her forehead, sounding exasperated. "I told you before—this is exactly when you use a gun."
Calista nodded to Mike.
Mike stepped forward, raising his M4 and pressing the muzzle almost directly against the lock cylinder of the padlock beneath the handle.
"Ready!"
The others immediately spread out, covering the stairwell and surrounding areas, alert for any walkers that might be drawn by the noise.
"Bang!!"
The gunshot cracked through the narrow basement entrance, deafening in the confined space.
The bullet shattered the lock cylinder cleanly, and the padlock snapped open.
Mike quickly tore off the ruined lock and broken handle, then pulled the heavy iron door open.
Behind it were more than twenty faces—filled with terror, yet lit with the fragile hope of survival.
But when they saw the five figures outside, drenched in blood and grime, almost indistinguishable from walkers, the people nearest the door froze—then instinctively moved to slam it shut.
"Don't close it!" Calista immediately jammed her foot into the gap. "Look around! If we were the Red Scarf Gang or walkers, would we be talking to you like this?"
A pale, gaunt middle-aged man cast a trembling glance down the corridor.
It was empty—completely deserted—yet thick with the overwhelming stench of blood. He sucked in a sharp breath, nearly passing out.
But what he saw confirmed everything Calista had said.
The upper floor had clearly gone through a massacre.
The Red Scarf Gang… might really be finished.
The door was finally pushed fully open.
The captives huddled deep inside the cell. Most were civilians, men and women alike, in terrible condition—ragged clothes, emaciated bodies—pressed tightly together like frightened quails.
In the corner sat several buckets filled with filth, giving off an indescribable stench. Some of the captives bore visible injuries.
Among them, two figures stood out.
Though just as worn down, they instinctively held a defensive posture, shielding some of the weaker civilians behind them.
Beyond fear, there was still a trace of resolve in their eyes.
These had to be the two National Guard soldiers.
"You… you're really here to save us?" the man asked, his voice still trembling as tears mixed with grime ran down his face.
"Yes. You're free now," Calista said as she stepped into the basement, softening her tone despite the foul air.
"Those who can walk, help those who can't. Follow us. It's safe outside for now, but we can't stay here long."
A wave of stifled, disbelieving sobs broke out among the crowd.
Many of them had been captured early in the apocalypse, originally staying in government-established safe zones under military protection.
They supported each other as they staggered out of the cell, greedily breathing in the foul but liberating air beyond the door.
The two National Guard soldiers exchanged a glance. One stepped forward, straightening his back as much as he could, and gave Calista a salute.
"Corporal Frank Wilson, Tennessee National Guard. Thank you! God bless you! We… we'll go with you!"
The other quickly added, "Private Daniels. We can help keep order!"
"Good," Calista nodded. "Assist everyone. Stay close, keep quiet, and don't fall behind. We're leaving now."
Corporal Wilson and Private Daniels moved toward the front of the group.
They exchanged several looks, as if struggling to bring something up.
Finally, Wilson gathered his courage, quickened his pace, and stepped up beside Calista. His voice trembled slightly with weakness and unease.
"Ma'am… Miss… uh… Commander… thank you—thank you so much for saving us. But we… we still have over twenty of our men…"