The walking dead - a dead world requiem ( TWD X CoD Crossover)

Walking toward the outer perimeter where the bus has been parked, Price spotted Gaz speaking with one of the SWAT officers, the man still wearing his battered tactical equipment . As Price, Soap, and Ghost drew closer, Gaz broke away from the conversation and came to meet them.

Price stopped in front of him, his voice low but commanding. "What've you got, Gaz?"

"I spoke with the SWAT team leader," Gaz reported, straight to the point. "They were trying to evacuate civilians out of the city when the bombing hit. Ended up taking shelter in an underground parking garage until things calmed down."

Price gave a small grunt, pulling his cigar from behind his ear but not lighting it. "And walkers? They run into many? After all the racket last night, I half expected another bloody wave on our doorstep."

Gaz shook his head. "According to them, not many. Most of the dead they saw were trapped under rubble or crawling with broken legs. Easy to avoid if you kept your head on straight."

Ghost tilted his head slightly, his mask hiding most of his expression but his tone dry as ever. "Still hearsay. We need eyes on it ourselves if we're going to know what we're dealing with."

Soap gave a short chuckle, though his words carried an edge. "Aye, 'cause if there's one thing I don't trust, it's luck and secondhand stories. Let's make sure the street's not crawling before we all get comfortable."

Price lit the cigar, the smoke curling as he narrowed his eyes toward the skyline. "City was packed before the bombing. If there's rotters left shufflin' about, I want eyes on it. We'll go in, quiet sweep. See if it's clearin' out… or if we're sittin' next to a bloody powder keg."

Soap smirked, running a hand through his messy hair. "A stroll through the ruins with half the dead city for company? Sounds like a fine day out, eh?"

Ghost turned his head just enough for the skull mask to catch the morning light. His tone was flat, dry as ever. "You've got a funny definition of fine, Johnny."

"Better than sittin' on my arse waitin' for 'em to come to us," Soap shot back, grinning.

Price gave a short chuckle, then jerked his chin toward the lot. "Alright, enough chatter. Get the JLTV ready—quiet loadout, nothing fancy. We go light and fast. I'll have a word with the Ranger CO , let him know we're leavin' the fort for a bit."

Gaz gave a sharp nod. "On it, Cap."

As Gaz , Ghost and Soap headed toward the JLTV, their boots crunching on loose gravel, Soap leaned closer to Ghost. "Place your bets now—how many walkers before we're even out of the bloody suburbs?"

Ghost didn't miss a step. "More than you can count, which is sayin' something."

Price let the corner of his mouth tug into a thin smile as he turned away, already heading back toward the building where the Ranger CO was . He knew banter like that kept the lads sharp—it meant their nerves weren't shot. Still, beneath the humor hung the weight of what they were about to walk into. A dead city that might not be as dead as it looked.

....

After briefing the Ranger CO on their intentions, Price stepped out of the building, the morning air still heavy with smoke and the faint stench of charred concrete coming from the city. The deep growl of the JLTV's engine cut through the stillness, a steady, reassuring hum of military hardware ready for the road. His squad ready —Soap at the wheel, hands tapping impatiently against the steering wheel; Ghost in the back, motionless, eyes scanning the perimeter through the black hollows of his mask; and Gaz manning the turret up top, his posture sharp, fingers resting loosely on the grips but ready.

Price adjusted his cap, cigar clenched between his teeth. "All set, then?" he asked, voice carrying that calm authority that didn't need repeating. Soap gave a quick grin and a nod, ever the eager one, while Ghost gave a silent tilt of his head. From the turret, Gaz answered with a clipped, "Green to go, Cap."

"Good," Price said, hauling himself into the passenger seat.Continuing, his tone stayed steady, resolute. "Right then. Let's move. Keep your eyes sharp , i don't want us to be cought off guard."

The JLTV lurched forward with a low growl, Soap muttering something under his breath about "Sunday drives through hell" as he tightened his grip on the wheel. Ghost gave a dry grunt in response, and Gaz, overhead, kept his eyes locked on the horizon, the heavy weapon swiveling slowly with the motion of the vehicle.

Driving out from the CDC and into the city, the JLTV rolled steady over cracked pavement, its engine echoing through the empty streets. Just as the SWAT officer had said, they didn't encounter many walkers—most of them little more than wreckage of what they once were. Some dragged themselves across the asphalt with broken legs, others pawed uselessly from behind shattered windshields, locked inside their cars when the world went to hell. A few lay pinned beneath fallen concrete and rebar, snapping their jaws at the sound of the passing vehicle.

Gaz's voice crackled over the radio from the turret. "Movement—nine o'clock, second floor window." His weapon angled toward the darkened building.

Price leaned forward in his seat, squinting past the windshield. "Civilians?" His tone was sharp but measured, weighing the possibility.

"Possible," Gaz replied, adjusting his aim. "No visual anymore. Whatever it was, it pulled back."

Soap let out a low chuckle from behind the wheel, though his hands tightened. "Here's hopin' the dead haven't gotten clever enough to spring ambushes. Last thing we need is the dead takin' tactics from insurgents."

Price shot him a look, one brow raised under the brim of his boonie hat. "Aye, and if they do, MacTavish, you're the one I'm sendin' in first." His voice carried the dry bite of humor, but his eyes stayed on the windows, watchful. "Keep your eyes sharp, lads. Don't trust shadows in this place."

The JLTV pushed deeper, but soon the road ahead choked into chaos. At a major intersection, burned-out cars and abandoned trucks were packed bumper-to-bumper, a frozen exodus turned graveyard. Doors hung open, belongings spilled across the street, and here and there, a pale arm or twisted leg jutted from beneath the wreckage. Maneuvering the vehicle through would be near impossible.

Price cursed under his breath, signaling for Soap to stop. The engine died down to a low idle. He turned in his seat, looking back at Ghost and then up at Gaz. "Hold position. Keep this lot clear and the engine warm. If it goes south, I want you ready to punch through, no hesitation."

Ghost gave a silent nod, adjusting the sling of his rifle as his masked gaze swept the street. Gaz tapped the side of the turret with his gloved hand. "Copy, Cap. We'll keep the welcome mat tidy."

Price swung his door open, stepping down onto the asphalt. He gave Soap a look and jerked his head toward the open street. "On me. We're hoofin' it. Downtown's just ahead—I want to see it with my own eyes."

"Brilliant," Soap muttered as he adjusted his rifle. "If we don't get chewed up out here, I'll buy you a pint—assuming we find a pub that isn't crawling with the dead."

Price gave him a sideways look, the corner of his mouth twitching beneath the brim of his boonie hat. "Make it a bottle, Johnny. I don't trust a tap these days."

The two men slipped between cars, their boots crunching against scattered glass and gravel, leaving Ghost and Gaz behind to guard the JLTV .

Moving cautiously between the wrecks, Price kept his rifle raised, boots crunching softly on gravel and broken asphalt. The silence of the city was deceptive—too quiet, save for the faint groans that drifted on the wind. He then remembered that the dead were drawn by sound like moths to a flame. Raising a clenched fist, he signaled Soap to halt.

"Suppressors on," Price muttered low, not taking his eyes off the street ahead.

Soap gave a quick nod and slipped a stubby silencer from a pouch on his vest. With a metallic click, he locked it onto the muzzle of his rifle. Price followed suit, the familiar motion precise and practiced, their weapons now ready for quiet work.

They pressed on, weaving carefully between crumpled car's and burnt-out trucks, every step deliberate. But when they rounded the last line of cars, they froze. The road ahead ended in a chain-link fence topped with barbed wire—barely standing under the weight of what pressed against it.

Hundreds of walkers pressed and clawed at the barrier, bodies surging like a tide. Some had forced their arms and faces through the mesh, teeth snapping at the air. Others were tangled in the barbed wire, strips of flesh hanging loose, yet still thrashing. At the front, they piled over each other in a desperate, writhing mass—trampling the fallen beneath their feet as they tried to break through. The fence shuddered violently, metal creaking, as if one good push might bring it all down.

Soap crouched down behind a car , a worried expression on his face, tight with nerves. "Christ almighty… look at that. They're not just leanin' on it, Price. They're bloody climbing each other." He shook his head, keeping his rifle steady. "That fence won't hold long."

Price's jaw tightened, eyes narrowing on the swarming horde. "Aye," he muttered grimly. "And when it goes, the whole street's a death trap."

Price crouched lower, his eyes never leaving the seething mass of walkers battering the fence. Slowly, he reached for the radio clipped to his vest, pressing it close to his mouth so his voice wouldn't carry.

"Ghost, Gaz—this is Price. We've got eyes on somethin' ugly. Fence down the road's about to give, and there's hundreds of the bastards pressin' against it. If it goes, the whole lot'll spill straight through downtown. Over."

There was a pause, a faint crackle of static. Ghost's calm, low voice came back first. "Copy, Captain. That many?"

Price's jaw tightened. "More than we can chew. Think bloody stadium crowd."

Soap muttered under his breath, shaking his head. "And a wee bit uglier than the average footie fan."

Gaz cut in. "Understood. What's the play, Price? You want us to push closer or hold?"

"Hold," Price ordered. "Keep the JLTV warm. We're pullin' back. Quietly."

He clipped the radio back, then gestured with two fingers. He and Soap ducked low, weaving back the way they'd come. Every step was deliberate—keeping their silhouettes hidden by wrecked cars, never letting their boots scrape too loud. A few groans rose from the horde, but none peeled away from the writhing crush at the fence. Bit by bit, they worked their way back until the JLTV came into view, idling with its engine barely above a whisper.

Ghost leaned against the armored side, rifle across his chest, while Gaz kept his eyes sharp down the street. As Price and Soap approached, Ghost tilted his head. "Well, judging by your faces, I'm guessing it's not sunshine and rainbows out there."

Price climbed onto the step, exhaling heavily. "Bloody understatement. Fence won't hold. Once it collapses, they'll pour into the city—straight toward us if we're not careful. No way we can fight that many."

Soap gave a short, humorless laugh. "Aye, no amount of bullets'll keep that lot down. We'd be outta ammo before we even made a dent."

For a moment, the four men stood in silence, the weight of it sinking in. Then Ghost broke it, his voice measured but firm. "We can't just sit here and hope it sorts itself out. If they come this way, CDC's done. Only option I see—we choke their path before it chokes us. Trucks, buses, anything big. Block the roads leading in."

Gaz nodded, though his brow furrowed. "It won't stop all of 'em. Walkers'll slip through alleys, side streets… maybe even push cars aside over time. But it'll slow them. Better than hundreds flooding the compound."

Price rubbed his beard, weighing it. "Right. We're not stopping the tide, just diverting it. Buy time for the people inside." He looked at each of them in turn, his voice steady. "We scatter through the surrounding blocks. Find every bloody lorry, bus, and SUV still runnin'. Anything big enough to clog the roads. Lock it, park it sideways, whatever it takes. Clear?"

"Clear," Ghost confirmed with a curt nod.

Soap grinned faintly, though it didn't reach his eyes. "So we're playin' traffic wardens in the apocalypse. Lovely."

"Less talk, more blockades," Price growled, though the corner of his mouth twitched.

And so they set off—splitting into pairs, searching the streets. Some vehicles were useless, wrecked. Others, with a quick hotwire from Gaz or a lucky set of keys still dangling in the ignition, roared to life. They drove them into chokepoints—buses jackknifed across avenues, delivery trucks rammed sideways between buildings, cars stacked tight in alleys. Each barrier turned the city into a funnel, narrowing the possible routes that led toward the CDC.

By the time the last engine died down and the echo faded, sweat clung to their brows. The roads around CDC were no longer open veins—they were clogged, slowed, twisted. A fragile defense .

Price stood in the middle of the street, surveying their work with a grim nod. "That'll do… for now. Let's get back before the dead catch on."

.....

The JLTV rolled back into the CDC compound, its armored frame rattling as Soap killed the engine. The steady hum died away, replaced by the faint wind sweeping across the lot. Price climbed out first, boots hitting the pavement with a heavy thud. He pulled off his cap, wiping the sweat and city grime from his brow, and scanned the courtyard before spotting the Rangers' commanding officer near the main entrance, speaking with a handful of his men.

Seeing Captain Price striding toward him with purpose. The officer dismissed his men with a nod and stepped forward, jaw tight as he read the look on Price's face.

"Captain. You found something."

"Aye, we bloody did." Price's tone was grim, his hand tightening on the strap of his vest. "We pushed into downtown. Fence line's holdin' back a horde—hundreds, maybe more. Won't last much longer. Once it goes, all that weight's spillin' through the city. Straight for us if we're unlucky."

The Ranger CO's expression hardened, though he stayed calm. "And your solution?"

"We've bought some time," Price explained. "Took buses, lorries, anything that'd still run, and blocked the main roads leading here. Funneled 'em away from the CDC. But it won't hold forever ." He glanced at Ghost and Gaz, who had moved up beside him. "That buys us a choice—either we pack up and run now, or we hold fast and prepare to move the second those blockades start failing."

The CO folded his arms, gaze steady. "I don't disagree, Captain. You're right—if that horde breaks loose, this place becomes a death trap. Better to plan now than scramble later. We'll keep the civilians calm, ready to move if you give the word."

Before Price could respond, the sound of hurried footsteps echoed across the tiled floor behind them. Dr. Candace, still in her lab coat, came out to join the conversation, a clipboard clutched tightly in her hand. She looked pale, tired, as though she hadn't slept , but her eyes burned with conviction.

"Leaving isn't an option. Not yet," she said firmly, cutting straight in. "The CDC isn't just a shelter—it's the only facility left capable of studying the pathogen. If we walk away, we lose the only chance we have to understand what this… whatever it is, actually does. Maybe even how to stop it."

Price turned to her, giving a small grunt. "Doc, I respect your work. But when that fence goes, science won't mean a damn thing if everyone here is dead."

Candace stepped closer, her voice rising with urgency. "And I respect what you've done to keep us safe, Captain. But think about it. If we abandon this place, the data, the labs, everything we've gathered—it's gone. This isn't just about us surviving a few more days. It's about whether anyone survives a few more years."

The Ranger CO looked between them . "So what's your proposal, Doctor?"

"We stay. We keep working," Candace said firmly. "But we prepare for evacuation at a moment's notice, if needed."

Price stroked his beard, considering her words. Ghost broke the silence, his voice low and matter-of-fact. "Then we need eyes. High ground, good vantage over the roads we blocked. Stick a fire team in one of the taller buildings nearby. Binoculars, radios. Early warning buys time."

Gaz nodded. "There's an apartment complex across the way. Tall enough, clear sightlines to three of the main approaches. We could hold it without much trouble."

The Ranger CO exhaled slowly, then nodded once. "Alright. We'll post a rotating squad there. You're right—we can't be blind when those barricades start giving way." He turned back to Price. "Captain, I'll need your team to help coordinate fallback routes, in case we do have to evacuate. Your experience will keep this from turning into a panic."

Price gave a curt nod. "Aye. We'll make sure there's a plan ready. Just don't let anyone think we're safe forever. Hope's a dangerous thing if it makes people blind."

Candace met his gaze, softer now. "Hope is the only thing we have left, Captain."

For a long moment, they stood in silence. Then Price turned away. "Right, lads. Let's get to it. If this place is stayin' up, then we'll make bloody sure it doesn't fall on our watch."