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

At the resort, the morning meal had barely finished when Andrew, Nikolai, and Major Griggs gathered near the clubhouse , sitting down at a nearby table, to go over a few pressing matters before the day's work of clearing trees could begin. The first topic was their radio contact with Captain Price the night before. Andrew recounted the conversation in detail: the large horde still penned in downtown, straining against the battered fence, threatening to break free; the measures Price and his squad had taken to block roads and alleys with abandoned vehicles; and the plan to use a nearby apartment complex as a watchpoint to monitor the horde's movements.

Andrew had made two suggestions during that call. First, the need to procure riot gear or something comparable—equipment that could give their people protection against bites and scratches during close encounters. Second, the tactic of using melee weapons or sidearms when clearing confined spaces, keeping noise to a minimum. Price had agreed with both points, acknowledging that subtlety might be the only way to survive prolonged engagements in the city.

Back in the present, Andrew raised the subject again. "Before we throw ourselves into tree clearing, we should think about gearing up properly. Riot gear, tactical pads, anything that can keep teeth and nails out. We're going to need it sooner or later."

Major Griggs gave a slow nod. "Agreed. My men spotted a couple of roamers near the perimeter fence during patrol this morning. That means the woods aren't as clear as we thought . If they're wandering this close already, it's only a matter of time before more show up."

Nikolai chuckled grimly, scratching his beard. "Da, so we play lumberjack with walkers hiding in the trees? Hah. I prefer my enemies in front of me, not sneaking from shadows like ghosts."

Andrew exchanged a look with Griggs, both recognizing the truth behind Nikolai's humor. Clearing the trees without proper protection was going to be risky. The idea of securing riot gear—or whatever equivalent they could scavenge—was quickly becoming less of an option and more of a necessity.

Then Andrew leaned forward and said. " I could take a Ranger squad and go after the gear now. Police stations, sheriff's offices—there's bound to be something. Sitting here unprepared isn't an option."

Griggs studied him for a long moment before giving a decisive nod. "Alright. I'll assign you a squad. Retrieve what you can and bring it back as soon as possible."

Andrew nodded in acknowledgment.

Nikolai smirked, folding his arms. "So, Andrew plays scavenger while I play foreman, da? Fine. While you chase armor, I'll see to the rest—cement, rebar , whatever we still need for this wall. By the time you come back, we'll have the pieces in place. Then we make forest cry together."

Andrew gave a faint grin before the three men rose from their seats. Andrew headed off to prepare his gear, Nikolai went to inform the work crews about the new plan , while Major Griggs set out to assemble the squad of Rangers.

Walking back into the hotel, Andrew passed several people lingering near the dining hall, having just finished their morning meal. Some offered him nods of gratitude, others quiet words of thanks. He returned the gestures with a faint smile, though his mind was already elsewhere.

Climbing the stairs to the second floor, he entered his room and began methodically equipping his gear—vest, sidearm, pack. When he turned to leave, he paused, something pulling him toward the balcony doors. Stepping outside, he leaned against the railing and let his eyes sweep across the resort grounds.

From this vantage point, the golf course stretched out like a sea of overgrown green, now a staging ground rather than a place of leisure. Near the are where the machinery and the neatly stacked piles of materials were located, he could see Nikolai surrounded by a cluster of people, his booming voice carrying even from a distance as he gave instructions. The sight tugged at Andrew's thoughts ,' I still can't believe it… he thought. The Walking Dead universe. Price, Ghost, Soap—all of them here. And me, stuck in the middle of it.'

Inevitably, his mind drifted to the other survivors.' Rick should still be in the hospital , lying in that coma. And Shane… most of the Atlanta group, i already crossed paths with them.' For a fleeting moment, the idea struck him , to send a team to bring them in. But the thought soured just as quickly.' No. Too many questions. How would I explain knowing about them in the first place?'

He exhaled, shaking his head. 'They'll find their way to the CDC anyway. No need to meddle.'

After lingering another moment on the balcony, Andrew finally pushed himself away from the railing and left the room. His boots echoed against the hallway floor as he made his way downstairs, heading toward the front of the hotel where the others were already beginning to gather.

Stepping outside, Andrew walked across the gravel path toward Major Griggs and the squad of Rangers waiting near the entrance. The squad stood in a loose formation, gear already strapped on, rifles slung tight across their chests.

Griggs spotted Andrew first. "There you are," the Major said, his tone brisk but even. "Squad's ready to move on your lead."

Andrew gave a sharp nod, then turned his eyes to the five soldiers assembled. "Alright, who do we have here?"

Griggs stepped aside, gesturing one by one. "Sergeant Foley—squad leader. Keeps his men sharp ." Foley, broad-shouldered with a steady gaze, gave Andrew a firm nod.

"Corporal Dunn—driver and Foley's second. Handles wheels like he was born in the cab of a Humvee." Dunn smirked faintly, giving Andrew a casual salute.

"Private First Class Ramirez—rifleman. Solid under pressure. If something needs done, he's your man." Ramirez shifted his rifle strap and gave a simple, respectful nod.

"Specialist Ozone—field medic. Keep him close if things go bad." Ozone adjusted the strap of his aid bag, his expression calm, almost clinical.

"And finally, Specialist Rook—communications. He'll keep you in contact with the resort, even if you are knee-deep in the city." Rook tapped the long-range radio on his vest, his face calm but alert.

Andrew gave each man a long look, nodding once in approval. "Good to meet you, gentlemen. I'm Sergeant Andrew Mercer. You might or not know, but I was a Ranger myself—different patch now, National Guard—but the job doesn't change. Our objective is simple: gather protective gear for when we engage the walkers in close quarters. We'll need space to haul it back, so no Humvees this time."

He shifted his gun and looked to Griggs. "We'll take a van from the lot. More seats, more room for whatever we load. That way, we're not stacked like cordwood on the ride back."

"Smart," Griggs said, folding his arms. "Just make sure you don't come back with fewer men than you left with."

Andrew allowed himself a faint grin. "I'll bring your boys back, Major. Gear too. That's a promise."

With that, he motioned to the squad. "Alright, let's move. Parking lot's this way."

The group fell into step behind him, boots crunching softly on gravel and asphalt as they crossed the resort grounds.

Before they could reach the lot, Andrew heard a voice behind him. Turning, he found Yumiko approaching, her expression calm but serious.

"You're going into the city," she said plainly.

Andrew raised a brow. "That's the plan. Need something?"

Yumiko hesitated a moment, then spoke evenly. "If you come across a bow… and arrows, of course… bring it back. I'm good with one. Better than a gun, sometimes—quiet, and I don't miss."

Andrew considered her for a moment, then nodded. "Alright. If I see one, it's yours. We could use someone who can make every shot count without drawing a horde."

Her lips curved just slightly—more gratitude than smile. "Thank you."

Andrew gave her a small nod before turning back to the squad. "Let's roll."

At the parking lot, Andrew led them toward a dark gray van, its paint dulled by dust but otherwise intact.

"Corporal Dunn," Andrew called. "You're driving. Check fuel, tires, make sure this thing won't die halfway into town."

Dunn smirked as he jogged over. "Yes, Sergeant." He popped the hood, gave it a quick inspection, then slid behind the wheel. The engine coughed once before settling into a low, steady rumble.

Andrew pulled the side door open and gestured. "Load up. We're burning daylight."

One by one, the Rangers climbed inside, rifles across their knees, eyes sharp. Andrew shut the door behind them, then circled to the front passenger seat, sliding in beside Dunn.

With a low growl of the engine, the van rolled forward, leaving the resort behind. The road ahead stretched out.

...

The van rattled down the cracked two-lane road, tires humming over faded asphalt. Dunn kept one hand on the wheel, eyes scanning for wreckage or movement ahead. Andrew sat in the passenger seat, MP5 balanced across his lap, while Foley's squad filled the benches in the back. The enclosed space carried the low growl of the engine and the faint metallic clink of gear shifting with every bump.

After a few minutes of silence, Ramirez leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "So, Sergeant Mercer," he began cautiously, "Major said you wore a Ranger tab once. That true?"

Andrew thought for a moment, glancing back over his shoulder. "Yeah. 75th . Part of the Helmand Province operation , Afghanistan. That was my sandbox."

That got their attention. Ozone let out a low whistle. "Helmand, huh? Heard stories. Rough country."

Andrew's expression hardened for a moment, his eyes narrowing thinking if what he knew of the events from the game . "Rough doesn't cover it. Heat like hell, villages crawling with Taliban, IEDs on half the roads. We went in heavy, clearing compounds. Got the job done, but… not without a price."

Foley, sitting straight-backed in the rear corner, gave a single respectful nod.

Andrew touched the side of the vest. "Yeah. Took a hit during a firefight. Shrapnel. Docs patched me up, but not enough . Honorably discharged." He gave a dry chuckle.

The men nodded in quiet respect. Rook shifted, speaking for the first time, his voice steady. "That's good enough for me, Sergeant. Once a Ranger, always a Ranger."

Andrew gave a small grin at that, then tapped the dashboard with two fingers. "Damn right."

The silence that followed was heavier but warmer, the squad clearly taking his measure. Dunn broke it with a practical question. "So, riot gear. Where the hell do we find it in this mess? National Guard armory's an obvious choice, but it's either bombed out or stripped clean."

"Police stations," Ramirez offered. "Every decent-sized precinct should have shields, batons, maybe helmets. If they haven't been looted yet."

"Or prisons," Ozone added grimly. "They'd have full riot kits for dealing with inmates. Problem is, prisons usually have a lot more than riot gear wandering around now."

The van jolted over a pothole, shaking the thought into reality.

Foley finally spoke, his voice calm but commanding. "We'll start small. Closest precinct first. Quicker to get in, grab what we need, and get out before we stir up a hornet's nest." He leaned forward slightly, locking at Andrew. "You said walkers are drawn to sound. That makes sidearms and melee priority once we're inside."

Andrew nodded in agreement. "Exactly my thinking. Riot gear gives us a way to push through without getting chewed. Shields up front, pistols or blades behind. But we'll need enough sets for more than just us. Which means a small haul won't cut it."

"Then we hit multiple spots," Rook said simply. "Precinct first. If it's dry, we move on. Prison if we're desperate."

Dunn smirked without taking his eyes off the road. "Hell, as long as I'm not the one wearing a giant plastic shield while something gnaws at it, I'm good."

That earned a quiet laugh from Ramirez, even a chuckle from Ozone.

Andrew allowed himself a thin smile. "Relax, Corporal. Nobody's volunteering you to be first through the door." He turned slightly in his seat, his voice steady but confident. "We keep our heads down, keep quiet, we'll get what we came for and make it back. That's what matters."

...

The van carried on down the two-lane road, the squad quieter now. The city skyline loomed in the distance, but here on the outskirts things were more spread out—clusters of low buildings, service stations, and the occasional strip mall, all abandoned and scarred by chaos.

Corporal Dunn slowed the van as they approached a military checkpoint. Concrete barriers and some razor wire still marked the road, but the fencing had been torn down in places, and the hulks of two burned Humvees blocked part of the way. Dark stains smeared the asphalt.

Andrew studied the wreckage, lips tight. "Keep us moving. There's nothing we can salvage."

Dunn nodded, easing the van around the wreckage and weaving carefully between burned civilian cars.

As they passed another side street, Specialist Ozone pointed out a sign half-hanging above a row of shuttered shops. " There. Sporting goods."

Andrew leaned forward, catching sight of the storefront. Its wide glass windows were fractured but mostly intact, the door hanging open on a single hinge. "Perfect. Stop here."

The van rolled to a halt at the curb. The Rangers fanned out on Andrew's order, rifles up, eyes cutting across the empty street. Not a single walker in sight—just silence, heavy and pressing. Andrew moved first, pushing the door open with the muzzle of his weapon.

Inside, the store told its story in silence. Shelves were stripped bare of camping stoves, sleeping bags, and rations. The food section was nothing but toppled racks, wrappers, and a trail of torn-open cans. Whoever had been here first had taken anything edible long ago.

"Figures," Private Ramirez muttered, toeing at an empty box. "People'll fight over beans before they think to grab anything else."

Andrew's eyes scanned the far wall. The hunting and archery section remained largely untouched, rows of bows still on display, their strings taut, and racks of arrows lined up beneath them. He quickly stepped over, pulling two compound bows and a recurve from their mounts, then motioned for Specialist Rook and Corporal Dunn to start collecting arrows.

"Load every shaft you can carry," Andrew ordered.

They did so quickly, filling duffels with quivers and loose bundles. Andrew tested the draw on the recurve before slinging it across his shoulder.

Near the next aisle, Sergeant Foley whistled low. "Jackpot."

Andrew walked over to find him standing beside a rack of edged tools: machetes with sheaths, hatchets, a few camp axes, and even a wicked-looking kukri blade still sealed in its packaging. He nodded approvingly. "Good find. Grab the lot—sharp steel's just as valuable as bullets these days."

Within minutes, the squad had stripped the usable gear and regrouped at the entrance. Specialist Ozone gave a last glance toward the empty shelves. "Looks like whoever cleared this place out didn't care for anything without a trigger."

"Good," Andrew said flatly, motioning them back toward the van. "Their mistake is our gain."

They loaded the weapons quickly and piled back in, resuming their route toward the precinct. The further they drove toward the precinct, the more signs of collapse they passed—ditched vehicles, bloodied pavement, and more wandering silhouettes in the distance. The road dipped and then rose again, giving them a view of their destination.

The police precinct sat at the end of the street, a squat brick building ringed by the remnants of a half-collapsed security fence. Abandoned cruisers littered the approach, doors ajar, lights shattered. Walkers drifted aimlessly between the cars, joined by the hulking shapes of former officers still clad in riot gear . Their visors were cracked, padding smeared with gore.

In the middle of the street Andrew noticed two riot shields lay discarded spattered with dried blood.