Chapter 4

"There's a simplicity to war. Attacking is the only secret. Dare—and the world yields. How quickly they forget that all it takes to change the course of history...is the will of a single man."

 - Captain John Price

The group stuck close to the outskirts of the forest, skirting the railway track but never stepping onto it. That much was non-negotiable. Price had made it clear from the get-go. "If you lot are tagging along, we're doing this my way. You don't like it, you're free to bugger off," he'd said without a hint of apology.

Darius asked, "Why not just walk along the tracks? Wouldn't that be quicker?"

Price had stopped, turning his head slightly as if weighing how much of a lesson the man needed. "Quicker, yeah. But being out in the open like that? Bloody stupid. Tracks are like a stage—anyone looking for trouble will spot you a mile away. Hostiles or walkers, doesn't matter. You want to make it to Terminus? Then we stick to cover. Trees give us shadows, and shadows mean survival." He didn't bother sugarcoating it. In his experience, blunt truths were better than soft lies.

The trees around them were mostly pine, their tall silhouettes stabbing at the sky. Price recognized oak and hickory mixed in, all native to Georgia, but the pine dominated the landscape. They stretched endlessly, their needles whispering in the breeze. Good cover, but also easy to get lost in if you weren't paying attention. Fortunately, Price always paid attention.

He'd gotten to know the group well enough during the hours they'd spent together. The tall bloke with the baseball bat was Darius Kane, the eldest of the three—seemed reliable enough, though the way he carried himself spoke more of a protective older brother than a fighter. He'd mentioned a younger sister traveling ahead to Terminus with another group and said that they'll meet there. Darius can only hope that his sister arrives their safely.

The woman, Isabel Ramos—"Izzy," she insisted—was sharp and quick on her feet. There was a fire in her, tempered by the reality she's in. She had a knife, knew how to use it, and more importantly, knew when to use it. Price liked that.

And then there was the kid, Caleb Turner, with his yankee cap turned backward. White kid, maybe fifteen, has sufficient build expected of his age but with a spark in his eyes that hadn't yet been snuffed out by the world. The lad reminded Price of younger soldiers he'd trained—raw, nervous, but eager to prove himself. Price had tested that spark earlier when a lone walker stumbled out of the brush.

"Your turn," he'd said, handing Caleb his combat knife. The boy had hesitated, looking at the blade like it might bite him.

"Go for the head. Under the chin or through the temple—soft spots. Keep your distance, don't let it grab you, and don't think twice. Thinking twice gets you killed."

To Caleb's credit, he'd followed through, stabbing the thing in the skull under Price's watchful eye. Clumsy, but effective. "Not bad," Price had muttered, taking the knife back. "You'll get the hang of it."

The sun dipped lower, the trees casting longer shadows across their path. Price glanced at the sky, noting the fading light. Time to set up camp.

Izzy pointed to a clearing a bit further ahead, tucked against a rocky outcrop. "That spot looks good—should be safe for the night," she said, her voice steady but expectant, waiting for Price's approval.

He gave a short nod. "Not bad. Let's have a look."

The spot turned out to be solid—trees on three sides for cover, with a rocky wall to block their backs. Price ran his hand along the dirt, checking for dampness. Dry. Good enough. Izzy then set-up a parameter, putting a wire just in the entrance and hanging empty can, so that it will make noise if a walker is nearby in case all of them are asleep

"We'll camp here," he said, pulling his firestarter from his vest pocket.

While Caleb gathered wood, Price set about building a small fire. Small was key—just enough to keep warm and cook without drawing attention. The flame flickered to life under his hands, its glow reflecting in their tired faces. He also noticed that the branches and its leaves will prevent smoke from rising up above, so the he will let the fire burn until they ran out of gathered wood.

One by one, they placed their food near the fire—what little they had. Price pulled out a can of baked beans and a half-empty bottle of water, setting them down with a practiced motion. The others followed suit: a packet of crackers and a medium sized doritos from Caleb, an apple, two canned goods that Izzy had scavenged earlier, and some jerky Darius had tucked into his backpack.

They ate in relative silence, the crackle of the fire the only sound between bites. Sharing food was an unspoken gesture of trust—proof they were, for now, in this together. Price chewed his beans slowly, his eyes scanning the perimeter even as he ate.

He glanced at Darius, who was staring into the flames with a distant expression. No doubt the man was thinking about his sister. Izzy leaned back against a tree, her knife resting across her lap. Caleb sat cross-legged, fiddling with a stick and stealing glances at Price when he thought he wasn't looking.

The firelight danced across their faces, each of them worn but alive. Price leaned back slightly, his gloved fingers tapping idly on his knee. This lot's green, he thought. Not useless, but green. Still, they've got heart, and heart counts for something. Might just keep them alive long enough to reach Terminus. If Terminus is what they say it is.

The fire had burned down to a soft glow, casting faint shadows across the clearing. Price sat with his back to the rocky outcrop, his rifle across his lap, eyes scanning the treeline for movement. It was quiet, save for the occasional pop of the embers and the faint rustle of leaves. He liked the quiet—gave him time to think, to piece things together, even if the picture was always a bloody mess.

He was snapped out of his musing by the kid, Caleb, who turned to him, curiosity written all over his face.

"Hey, uh... were you special forces or something?" Caleb asked, his tone hesitant but eager.

Price glanced at him, then at Darius and Izzy, who were now looking his way as well. He exhaled slowly, wondering what to say. The truth? No, that wasn't an option. "Not of this world" wasn't a conversation he fancied having with them—not now, not ever. Best to stick to something close enough to the truth.

"Yeah," Price said, his voice calm but deliberate. "SAS. British Special Forces. Was sent over here for a joint operation with your lot. That's how I ended up stateside when everything went to hell."

Caleb's face lit up like he'd just put something together. "That's why you've got that accent!" he said, a slight grin tugging at his lips. "Thought it sounded fancy, innit." Caleb said jokingly

Price chuckled softly, a rare flicker of amusement crossing his face. "Not fancy, lad. Just British."

Izzy leaned forward, her eyes sharp but not unkind. "So what happened that you'd end up in Georgia. Were you there when a military was set up in Atlanta?

Price's jaw tightened slightly. He didn't like talking about himself. Too many layers to peel back, and none of them were pretty. He decided to keep it simple. "It's complicated," he said, his tone making it clear he wasn't about to elaborate. "Everything just... turned to shit. That's how."

Darius, ever the practical one, shifted the conversation. "How'd it start? The virus, I mean," he asked, his voice steady but laced with the weight of the question.

Price looked at him, his eyes narrowing slightly. He wasn't about to wade into the deeper truths that he himself doesn't know either—not here, not now. Instead, he gave them what they likely already knew, keeping it surface level. "Started in Europe. Lab in France, if the reports were right. Something experimental got out—virus, pathogen, whatever you want to call it. Spread faster than anyone could contain. Rest is history."

Darius nodded, processing the answer. Caleb looked thoughtful, though his expression carried the naivety of youth, as if he believed answers could make sense of it all. They couldn't, and Price knew it.

He shifted his focus back to the fire, the faint orange glow reflecting in his steely eyes. "Right," he said, his tone turning firm. "Get some sleep. We move at first light."

The group settled in, each finding their own corner of the clearing. Caleb lay close to the fire, his cap tilted low over his face. Izzy leaned against a tree, her knife still within arm's reach. Darius rested his bat beside him as he lay on his side.

Price stayed where he was, his rifle resting across his knees, eyes never straying far from the dark beyond the firelight. Hours passed, the forest alive with faint nocturnal sounds—crickets chirping, leaves whispering in the wind. He remained vigilant, scanning the shadows for any sign of movement.

When the time came, he reached over and nudged Darius with the butt of his rifle. "Your turn," he said, his voice low but steady.

Darius sat up groggily, rubbing his eyes and stretching. Price watched him carefully, noting the way he shook off sleep and started to prepare himself. The man wasn't military, but he had a certain readiness about him—enough to trust for a few hours, at least.

Once Darius was on his feet, bat in hand and alert, Price found a spot against the rocky outcrop and leaned back. His rifle stayed strapped to his chest, one hand resting on it even as his eyes closed. Sleep didn't come easily these days, but when it did, it came lightly. Anything stirred in the night, and he'd be up in an instant. That was just how it was.

"One step closer to Terminus," he thought, his mind already wandering toward the unknowns ahead. "And whatever's waiting there."

The first light of dawn crept through the trees, painting the forest floor in streaks of muted gold. Price stirred, his instincts rousing him before the sunlight could. He opened his eyes slowly, his body tense as he surveyed the camp. It was Izzy's turn to keep watch, and she was perched against a tree, knife at her hand, scanning the surroundings. Decent form—quiet, focused—but her grip on the knife said she wasn't entirely at ease. Smart. Never let your guard down.

Caleb, meanwhile, was still dead to the world, sprawled out by the smoldering remains of the fire, a line of drool trailing from his mouth. Typical. Kid hadn't taken a watch shift, not that Price was surprised. He stood and stretched, his joints cracking softly in protest.

Walking over to the sleeping forms of Darius and Caleb, he nudged them awake with the toe of his boot. "Up and at it," he said, his voice low but firm. "Pack your stuff. We're moving."

Darius groaned but complied, already reaching for his bat. Caleb grumbled something incoherent, wiping the drool from his chin as he sat up.

The group moved out soon after, the forest bathed in the soft glow of the morning sun. It was a quiet walk, the kind that let Price's mind wander. Three hours on foot through the outskirts of the forest, sticking close to the trees but keeping an eye on the railway tracks. The group kept pace, though Caleb was dragging his feet by the second hour. He didn't complain—at least not out loud—but the slump of his shoulders said enough.

By the time they saw the structure of Terminus rising through the trees, Darius's face broke into a grin. Relief washed over him, his eyes lighting up like a man finally glimpsing the finish line.

"We're here," he muttered, more to himself than anyone else. Izzy looked relieved as well, though her expression was tempered by caution. She wasn't celebrating just yet. Caleb, on the other hand, looked like he was ready to collapse right there, slumping against a tree.

Price's focus, however, was elsewhere. He caught movement in the distance—a woman in her mid-to-late forties carrying a large bag over her shoulder with a sweater around her neck, accompanied by a hulking black man with a thick beard. The man had a baby strapped to his chest, swaddled in layers of cloth. The pair moved with together, but their heads were on a swivel. Price's gut told him they weren't just out for a stroll.

Then it came—the sharp crack of a gunshot splitting the quiet morning air.

Price's instincts kicked in immediately. His eyes locked onto the pair as they broke into a sprint, heading toward the direction of the gunfire.

"Stay put," he barked at Darius and Caleb, his tone leaving no room for argument. "You two, hide and don't make a bloody sound." He turned to Izzy. "You're with me. We're trailing them. Quiet as you can manage."

Izzy nodded, gripping her knife tighter as she followed his lead. They moved quickly but carefully, sticking to the cover of the trees. Price's boots made barely a whisper against the forest floor, his years of training coming through in every step. He glanced back at Izzy, making sure she was keeping pace.

The woman and the large man stopped near a small cabin, their attention drawn to a scene unfolding just outside it. A man was on his knees, a set of fireworks lying just out of reach in the dirt. The woman had her gun trained on him. Price's eyes darted between the three of them, taking in every detail.

The big man, still cradling the baby, held his own weapon at the ready, covering the perimeter while the woman handled the prisoner. This wasn't random—they had history, or something close to it.

Price was about to signal Izzy to hang back when it happened. She stepped on a branch, the loud snap shattering the tense silence.

The big man spun around, his gun snapping to attention, the baby still strapped to his chest. "Who's there?" he barked, his voice booming.

The woman turned as well, her gun still aimed at the kneeling man, but her attention momentarily split. That was all it took. The man on his knees seized the opportunity, lunging forward kicking the woman at the abdomen, and he scrambled at the gun that dropped to the ground.

It all happened in a flash. Price didn't hesitate. His HK433C assault rifle was up before the man's hands even touched the gun. One shot—clean, precise. The man crumpled to the ground, blood pooling beneath him.

Price stepped out of the treeline, his rifle still trained on the group. His expression was calm, unreadable, but his eyes held the sharp edge of a special force operative that went through hell and back countless times, sizing up potential threats.

The woman froze, as she tried to stand up after being kicked and falling to the ground. The big man didn't lower his weapon either, his gaze flicking between Price and the cabin.

Price said nothing, letting the silence stretch. The ball was in their court now.