MTLNOVEL Chapter 22 - A Good Haul
Hi everyone, sorry for the delayed posting of the chapter. Due to some work issues, i was unable to finish it in time. Also, it has been pointed out that the time since the outbreak and the fall is to quick, so along with the chapter i posted a short auxiliary , with a more lore acurate time period of the outbreak to the operation Cobalt. I hope you enjoy this chapter as well.
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While the first group set out to secure the heavy machinery, Andrew led the second group in the opposite direction—toward a large hardware supply warehouse in East Atlanta, near Decatur, one of the few places where they are sure to find lumber, steel beams, concrete mix, and other building essentials.
Andrew decided to ride in the lead, in the Humvee, using it as both transport and recon, while the second military truck carried the civilians assigned to help with loading.
Before they rolled out, Andrew addressed the concern that had been nagging him since the planning stage: transport capacity. The military truck could carry a decent load, but the volume of materials they needed to construct proper walls would require multiple trips—too many for comfort, given the risks outside. The thought of stretching supply runs thin across several days weighed heavily on him.
Gathered around the vehicles, Andrew made the problem clear. "The truck we've got'll do the job, but not for everything. If we try to bring back all the steel and lumber in this, we'll be out here half the week. That's more exposure, more risk. We need something bigger."
One of the civilians suggested looking for a transport truck , long haulers were sometimes parked at large suppliers or distribution centers. The idea stuck. Andrew nodded, seeing the practicality in it. "Alright. Once we reach the warehouse, eyes open. If we can find one, we'll take it. The more we can haul in one trip, the faster we'll have those walls standing."
With the plan set, Andrew gave the order to move out—the Humvee's engine roaring to life as the convoy pulled onto the cracked asphalt roads.
The convoy drove away from the resort , the Humvee leading and the military truck following at a careful distance. Andrew kept one hand on the radio, the other on the steering wheel, his eyes flicking from the road ahead to the forest were the siluets of walkers could be seen.
Driving towards east Atlanta , Andrew looked at how it changed since the world fell apart. Storefronts once lined with bright murals were now scarred with soot and broken glass. Cars were left haphazardly across intersections, some burned out completely, others still holding dark shapes slumped behind the wheel. A school bus stood at an angle against a lamppost, its yellow frame blackened by fire. Nobody spoke much , the unease was enough to keep them quiet.
Driving on , Andrew spotted movement up ahead—a cluster of walkers pressed against the glass doors of a small pharmacy, their hands smearing the surface as they clawed and shoved.
"Five, maybe six," Andrew muttered. He slowed the Humvee to a stop, then grabbed the radio and told the truck behind them to stop as well. The growls and thuds against the door could be heard clearer now, the dead desperate to get inside.
He thought for a moment, then turned to the rangers that were with him in the humvee. "We're checking it out. Knives only. No gunfire. Unless there's no other option."
The Rangers filed out silently, forming up around him. They moved in quick and coordinated, each man taking a target. Knives flashed, striking the bases of skulls, and within seconds the walkers slumped lifeless to the pavement.
Andrew stepped up to the pharmacy door, noticing a shelf braced against the inside of the door, keeping it blocked. He leaned closer and called out—not loud, but firm.
"If someone's in there, it's safe now. Open the door."
Silence. No reply.
Not waiting any more, Andrew pressed harder on the door, the metal frame groaning under his weight. With a final shove, the door pushed inward, forcing the shelf scraping across the floor until it toppled aside.
Andrew imidietly raised his MP5, scanning the dark aisles. From behind the counter, a man suddenly rose, clutching a plastic bag filled with pill bottles, his eyes wide with fear.
"Wait—don't shoot!" the man blurted, his chest heaving. Adrenaline kept his words sharp, almost frantic. "I just need insulin—for my wife. She's… she's Type 1. Please, I can't go back without it."
The Rangers exchanged quick glances. One of them lowered his weapon slightly. "We've got doctors back at our base. You and your wife could come with us. Be safer than running out here alone."
The man looked at them for a moment, thinking, clutching the bag tighter. "I can't. She's waiting for me. If I don't get this back now…" He swallowed hard, eyes darting between them. "Name's Lang. I'm grateful for the offer. Really. But I can't stay."
Before they could say more, he hurried past, heading for a dented sedan parked nearby. Andrew watched him go, silent for a long moment, then finally gestured for his men to return to the vehicles.
"Let's move," he said. With that they got back in the humvee and moved on .
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As they pushed farther toward Decatur, Andrew caught sight of something that made his stomach knot. Beyond a stretch of abandoned homes, the horizon carried the ugly marks of the bombing —an entire block reduced to a charred scar. Concrete foundations and twisted rebar jutted from the ground like bones.Whatever had been alive there, walker or not, was long gone.
"Christ…" one of the civilians muttered in the back of the truck as they passed.
Not far past that ruin, the roads grew narrower, hemmed in by silent houses with front doors hanging open. Curtains fluttered in the breeze of their passage, and more than once the convoy slowed to steer around a heap of abandoned belongings left in the street: a mattress, an overturned grocery cart, a child's tricycle.
Andrew leaned slightly forward in his seat, scanning the way ahead. "Stay sharp. We're not far now," he said over the radio, his tone low but steady.
...
The closer they got to Decatur, the heavier the atmosphere became. The number of walkers started to increase, the streets were littered with abandoned cars, broken glass, and the occasional shuffling silhouette drifting between the wrecks. The first lone walkers they had passed miles back had turned into scattered pairs, and now clusters lingered at street corners, shuffling aimlessly.
Andrew slowed the Humvee, eyes scanning ahead. "We're getting close, but the numbers are picking up. This is not good," he muttered, then grabbed the radio.
He keyed the radio, addressing the second vehicle. " We'll stop here. Keeping it off the main road—don't want to drawing walkers our way . " After a moment he continued" And stay sharp. Watch your fire unless you have no choice. Copy?"
"Copy," came the reply, crisp and immediate.
They eased both vehicles into a narrow alley behind a row of shuttered storefronts. A half-collapsed awning and a burned-out sedan provided decent cover; from the street, the military truck would be all but invisible unless someone—or something—wandered right up to it.The Rangers in the truck's cab stepped out to form a quiet perimeter, weapons ready.
Andrew stepped out followed by the four Rangers that were in the Humvee with him.
He pointed at two Rangers "We'll move ahead and take a look. Keep low, stay quiet." They nodded in unison, the motion sharp, disciplined.
With that, Andrew and the two Rangers slipped out, checking weapons before moving down the street on foot. With the distant sound of crows creating a heavy atmosphere.
...
Andrew led the way on foot, his MP5 slung across his chest, combat knife strapped to his vest. Two Rangers shadowed him, keeping a staggered formation as they scouted ahead of the convoy. The sound of boots crunching gravel seemed too loud in the dead air, and every corner they rounded carried the weight of expectation.
The main road stretched out before them—four cracked lanes of asphalt choked with abandoned cars. And walkers. Dozens of them. Too many. Figures shuffled between rusting bumpers and burned-out vans, their bodies jerking in unnatural rhythm as they walked aimlessly . Some slammed against the glass of a bus, others just drifted in circles, but there were enough that pushing the convoy through here would be suicide.
Andrew crouched low beside a wrecked sedan, gesturing for the Rangers to take cover. "That's no good," he whispered, scanning the length of the road. "We'd be pinned in."
One of the Rangers pointed south. "There's a service road behind these buildings. Could loop us around."
They pulled back, hugging the line of crumbling storefronts. Sure enough, just a block over, a narrow road stretched toward the edge of the industrial district. No cars, no walkers—just silence and weeds sprouting through cracked pavement.
Andrew scanned it through his binoculars. Nothing moved. "This'll do. Safer than going straight through. Let's clear it."
They advanced down the road, knives drawn in case of stragglers. A pair of walkers stumbled out from between two dumpsters—easy kills, dispatched with quick strikes to the skull. Beyond that, the way was mercifully empty.
At the end of the service road, a small gas station came into view, sitting not far from the looming orange sign of Home Depot. The gas station was mostly deserted, save for a single walker wandering near the pumps, its neck bent at an unnatural angle.
Andrew raised his hand, then moved in. The Ranger on his right tripped the thing with a sweep of his boot; Andrew finished it with a quick stab at the base of the skull. The body twitched once, then stilled.
Inside the station, the shelves had been stripped bare, only a few crumpled chip bags and broken glass left behind. But when one Ranger tried the pump outside, he blinked in surprise. " Sargent —it's working. There's still fuel."
Andrew's gaze shifted to the far side of the lot. Parked at an angle near the underground tank hatch was a tanker truck, its white cab streaked with soot but intact. It looked like it had been caught mid-job when everything collapsed.
"Check it," Andrew ordered. The Rangers approached carefully, finding the cab empty—no walkers, no body. The keys dangled from the ignition.
Andrew climbed onto the roof of the station for a better vantage point. From up there, the view spread wide across the lot and beyond. Directly across, he spotted the Home Depot warehouse, its sprawling facade battered but standing. Near the loading bay at the rear, half-hidden behind a row of delivery docks, sat the nose of a transport truck.
"Bingo," Andrew muttered. He scanned the surrounding area—only a handful of walkers meandered near the parking lot, nothing they couldn't handle.
Dropping back down, he regrouped with the Rangers. "Fuel truck's got keys. Station's live. And there's a hauler parked at the depot. We've got a clean way through, no swarm. Let's move back and bring the others."
They retraced their path, signaling to the convoy. Once everyone was briefed, the vehicles rolled down the cleared service road.
...
As soon as the Humvee turned into the Home Depot lot, a cluster of walkers at the far end stirred. The closest ones began stumbling toward them; those farther back started to pick up speed, breaking into that awful half-jog .
"Move fast," Andrew ordered, stepping out with the Rangers. They didn't waste ammunition—tripping walkers, plunging knives into skulls, smashing heads against hoods. One lunged too close, and one Ranger slammed it against a cart before driving his blade through its temple.
Minutes later, the lot was silent again, littered with corpses.
Andrew pointed three Rangers to stay back with the civilians. "Guard them. Everyone else, with me."
They approached the transport truck. The cab was locked. One Ranger suggested breaking in, but Andrew shook his head. "Not here. If it's alarmed, we'll have a horde on us in minutes. We check inside first."
The side door wasn't locked. Andrew pushed it open, flashlight and MP5 raised, the others close behind. The smell hit first—stale, metallic, and rotten. Their boots echoed through the storage area, light cutting across rows of pallets and shelves of lumber.
Then came the groaning.
They followed it carefully, knives drawn. In the back, near a collapsed rack of rebar, they found him: a walker impaled through the chest and hip by fallen metal bars, its ruined body pinned in place. It clawed uselessly, snarling, trapped but not harmless.
The group paused, exchanging uneasy glances. Looking at the clothes, one muttered, "Must've been the driver…"
Andrew stepped forward, knife in hand. One clean thrust to the skull ended it. As the body slumped, he searched the pockets—and pulled out a set of truck keys.
"Got 'em."
They swept the rest of the depot, encountering only two more walkers drifting in the aisles. Both were dispatched quietly. Satisfied the building was secure, Andrew signaled to the others outside.
The civilians moved in quickly, unlocking the transport truck and beginning the heavy work of loading lumber, steel beams, and bags of concrete. Hours passed in tense, watchful silence as Rangers rotated shifts on guard duty.
By the time the sun began dipping low, the truck was stacked high. Not everything they needed, but enough for now. Another run would be necessary.
One civilian, a burly man with trucking experience, volunteered to drive. Andrew nodded, accepting.
Before leaving, Andrew led a small team back to the gas station. They checked the tanker again—keys still in the ignition. A Ranger climbed in, giving a thumbs-up as the engine rumbled to life.
Now they had fuel, materials, and transport.
Andrew mounted up in the Humvee, taking the lead. Behind him, the military truck carried civilians, then the loaded transport truck, and last the fuel tanker bringing up the rear.
As the convoy rolled out of Decatur, Andrew kept his eyes fixed on the ruined horizon, knowing today was a success.