The air hung heavy with dread and heat. The groans of walkers echoed from all around, growing louder—an urgent warning in a city that had gone silent months ago. On the rooftop, surrounded by grim faces, Grant stepped forward, cool but deliberate.
"We're gonna be boxed in up here if we don't move," Grant said, eyes sweeping across the group. "I've got a plan. But it only works if everyone pulls their weight. No room for solo acts or hotheads. I need your cooperation."
But as Grant talked, he saw the hesitation ripple through Glenn's group—nervous glances, awkward shuffles. A few eyes flicked toward the far side of the rooftop, where someone was missing. Glenn exhaled through his nose, muttering, "Shit…"
And then—
CRACK.
A rifle shot rang out.
BOOM-BOOM.
Two more in quick succession.
Everyone flinched and turned.
Down on one knee at the ledge, Merle Dixon laughed like a man who didn't care if the world burned.
"HA! Take that, you sunuvabitch!"
"Goddammit!" Glenn cursed. "He's bringing more of them here!"
T-Dog was already moving.
He stomped across the rooftop, rage barely contained, and yelled, "What the hell is your problem, man?!"
Merle didn't even glance back. He chambered another round into the Winchester and chuckled, "This is my problem, ya dumb bastard. And I'm fixin' it."
Then Merle let out another shot—CRACK—before T-Dog grabbed him by the back of his vest and yanked him away from the ledge. Merle crashed onto his back with a grunt.
The others flinched, uncertain if they should intervene—but it was already too late.
Merle scrambled to his feet, eyes wild.
"You just put your hands on me?" he said, voice low and dangerous. "You grabbed me?"
And then the venom came, as he spit the slur:
"You oughta learn some manners, boy. Be polite to a man with a gun."
T-Dog snapped. "You're attracting more geeks with your dumbass cowboy act!"
"Shut up!" Merle barked, jabbing a finger into T-Dog's chest. "You don't tell me what the hell to do!"
Morales stepped forward, fists clenched.
"Hey, Dixon! You crazy bastard! What the hell's wrong with you?! You're wastin' ammo and ringing dinner bells!"
Merle's response was cruel and quick "Why don't you shut up, Ricky Ricardo? Ain't nobody asked your opinion." Merle looks at Morales and points at him with his finger "Just shut the fuck up, you little beaner prick."
Before anyone could stop it, Merle turned and sneered at T-Dog again. Then, full of hate and bile, he let the word fly—
"You filthy n—"
T-Dog lunged.
The two men crashed to the rooftop floor, fists flying. Grunting, snarling. Merle slammed a punch into T-Dog's jaw, then another. Blood smeared. They rolled. Merle came out on top, pulled a pistol, and jammed it into T-Dog's face.
Rick, now moving fast, tried to intervene. "Hey! Stop—"
Merle swung a fist and clocked Rick in the face, knocking him back.
T-Dog, on his back, chest heaving, stared at the barrel. His hands slowly raised in surrender.
"That's what I thought," Merle snarled. He spit on T-Dog's chest. "You stay down, you hear me?"
Then another voice cut through the madness that is calm, composed, but cold as steel.
"I'll handle this guy," Grant said quietly to Rick and the rest. His tone left no room for discussion.
"That's enough."
Merle looked up, scoffed. "And who the hell are you supposed to be?" He sneered "Daddy warbucks with a fancy rifle?"
"The man telling you to lower your weapon," Grant said.
Merle stood, kept the pistol up. "You want me to put it down? You got a pretty rifle. That'd suit me just fine."
Grant didn't blink. "I'm not going to ask twice."
Merle smirked. "Then what? Huh? You gonna—"
THWIP.
A suppressed gunshot cracked the air.
Jack, off to the side, cool and quiet, had raised his AR-15. The round hit Merle's pistol, knocking it clean from his hand.
Merle howled, clutching his hand. "WHAT THE FUCK! You SHOT ME?!"
He looked at Jack. Jack didn't say a word—just ejected the spent round with mechanical calm and raised his rifle again.
Another shot.
This one grazed Merle's left ear, drawing a thin line of blood and a shout of pain.
"AHHH—FUCK! My EAR!"
As Merle staggered, Grant walked right up, grabbed him by the collar, and punched him square in the gut. Merle wheezed and bent forward—
—just in time for Grant to sweep his legs out from under him.
Merle hit the concrete hard, groaning.
Grant dropped to one knee, leaned in close while pointing his AR-15 at Merle's head. His voice was low but deadly clear.
"Listen to me, you inbred little parasite. You pull that shit again, and I will shoot you in the goddamn mouth and leave your corpse as walker bait. We're not the kind of men you fuck with. Do you understand me?"
Merle nodded rapidly, pain and fear flashing across his face. "Yeah, man. I got it. I got it."
Grant stood and looked around, raising his voice for all to hear.
x
The rooftop was still.
The echoes of Merle's screams had faded, replaced by the low, ominous groaning of the horde below—hundreds of walkers pressing in from all directions. A constant sound now, like a sick, rotting wind howling through the alleyways.
Grant adjusted the sling on his rifle, then stepped to the center of the group. He took a knee, pulled out a thin graphite pencil, and started sketching a rough layout of the building using a folded piece of cardboard packaging as a makeshift map.
Everyone leaned in—Glenn, Andrea, Morales, T-Dog, Jacqui, Rick, Jack, even Merle from the ground, nursing his bruised pride and ear.
"Alright, here's how we play it," Grant said, his voice calm and surgical. "We're not getting out the front. The stairwells are probably already blocked. Fire escape on the west side collapsed, Glenn confirmed that. Which means we've got one shot—and it's risky."
He pointed to the edge of the map.
"Two floors down on the east side, there's a blown-out window that leads to a maintenance walkway. That walkway connects to a neighboring office building—probably half-collapsed but better than staying here. We clear the path floor by floor and get to the walkway."
Andrea squinted at the sketch. "You mean the scaffold?"
"Not a scaffold," Grant replied. "It's a skybridge. Commercial type. Steel frame, probably intact."
Morales crossed his arms. "That whole side of the building's crawling, man. You're talking about a death trap."
"Not if we make them think we're somewhere else," Grant said. "Glenn?"
Glenn nodded, catching on. "We set a distraction."
"Exactly," Grant said. "Here's how."
Phase One – Distraction
"Glenn, Morales, and Jacqui will head to the rooftop's HVAC units where they'll rig noise-makers using metal scraps, ca and Glenn's emergency firecrackers. They'll set them on a delay fuse—thirty seconds—to draw the walkers to the west side of the building.
Andrea and T-Dog will cover them while they rig the distraction."
Phase Two – Descent
Jack, Grant, and Rick lead the descent team.
Grant clears point.
Rick watches the middle.
Jack brings up the rear with eyes on any tail threats.
They descend silently down two floors using an internal janitor's shaft Glenn had previously used when scavenging. It's tight and dark but not collapsed.
Phase Three – Crossing the Skybridge
Once on the office level, they'll breach into the corridor and reach the skybridge.
Rick and Andrea secure the far side of the skybridge.
Jack stays on overwatch with rifle trained back the way they came.
Glenn gets the rest of the others—Jacqui, Morales, T-Dog—across first.
If the bridge is unstable, Grant leads the last pair across and signals Ghost via radio to start bringing the Humvee in from the woods and post up at the alley near the office complex.
Phase Four – Extraction
They exit through the east stairwell of the office building, clearing with blades only but they can use their ARs' when neesed. At street level, Ghost will light a road flare and toss it to the opposite side of the street as a final walker diversion.
They sprint to the Humvee, extract, and drive south to the outskirts.
———
T-Dog was the first to speak after Grant finished.
"So let me get this straight. We're gonna climb through a janitor's shaft in a half-dead building, sneak through a damn skybridge, and hope the other building ain't full of rotters?"
"Yeah," Grant said, blunt. "That's the plan."
T-Dog shook his head but smirked. "Shit. That's crazy enough it might work."
Andrea turned to Glenn. "You really used that shaft before?"
Glenn nodded, rubbing the back of his neck. "Once. For Twinkies. Don't ask."
Jack chambered a round in his rifle, silent but already moving toward the stairwell entrance. Rick followed, more serious than ever.
Then Morales pointed to Merle.
"What about him?"
Everyone turned.
Merle looked up from the ground, blood streaking his temple and hand. His face was still full of defiance but now with a touch of caution.
Grant stared him down.
"You cooperate," he said, "you walk out of here. You mouth off again, I will leave you in a closet for the walkers."
Merle scoffed, spat. "Fine. But I ain't carryin' nobody."
"You won't have to," Grant said flatly. "Just stay the hell out of the way."
Then he looked at everyone.
"We move in five. Check your mags. Stay tight. No one breaks formation. We do this right, we live."
And just like that, everyone scattered into motion, gearing up, checking radios, securing blades and rifles. The rooftop became a war room.
And below them, the dead kept coming.