MTLNOVEL Chapter 26 - Clearing the Precinct
They rolled the van to a halt roughly two hundred yards from the precinct, the low growl of the engine tapering off into silence. For a moment the street seemed still—until a low growl was heard . Shadows shifted in the broken doorways of the nearby buildings, and one by one the dead began to stumble out. Their groans , uneven and guttural, could be heard as they turned their clouded eyes toward the van.
Andrew leaned forward in his seat, scanning their movement. "Alright," he said, his voice calm but firm, "we have walkers closing in. We deal with them quick and quiet. No need to attract more attention then we already have ."
Then his eyes flicked to the piled axe's, hatchets and machete near the back. The combat knives they carried are doing their job, but a hatchet or an axe would work better . Andrew pointed at the weapons they'd scavenged earlier. "Hand me a hatchet. Those'll do better than the combat knifes alone."
Private Ramirez gave a sharp nod, reaching into the pile and pulling one free before pressing the haft into Andrew's hand. The weight felt reassuring, balanced for force. Around him, the rest of the squad armed themselves in turn—Ozone hefted a camp axe with grim focus, Ramirez took a machete checking the blade, Rook took a hatchet steadying his grip, Dunn and Foley both grabbed a camp axe , reading themselves.
Andrew stepped out first, the crunch of his boots on the asphalt barely audible over the distant groans. He raised one hand and gave a small, sharp gesture to fan out. The squad imidietly attached their rifles to their vests and filed out , moving with quiet discipline, positioning themselves around the van , as the walkers staggered closer.
Andrew steadied his stance, hatchet gripped tight as the first walker lurched toward him, arms clawing clumsily at the air. When it lunged, he sidestepped smoothly, bringing the hatchet around in a brutal arc. The blade bit into the side of the walker's skull with a sickening crack-thunk, bone giving way under the force. The corpse went limp instantly, collapsing to the pavement in a heap. Andrew braced a boot on its shoulder and yanked the hatchet free with a wet squelch, gore trailing from the edge.
Around him, the Rangers moved with practiced precision. Ramirez met his own attacker head-on, raising his machete high before driving it down in a cleaving blow. The steel split the walker's head nearly in two, embedding deep in bone. Ramirez grunted, twisting hard to free the blade before the body toppled sideways onto the curb.
The rest of the squad fared just as well— Ozone's camp axe decapitated a walker with a heavy swing, Rook hacked through the temple of one , Foley silenced another with a clean chop to the crown and Dunn grabbed the last walker by one hand tripping it to the ground followed by bringing down his axe into the top of it's head . The skirmish was short and brutal, over in less than a minute .
When the last corpse crumpled, silence fell again, broken only by the sound of the Rangers' breathing and the drip of blood off steel. Andrew wiped his hatchet against the torn sleeve of the corpse and scanned the street.
Seeing no more movement in the immediate area, Andrew regrouped with the Rangers in front of the van .
"Everyone in one piece?" he asked, scanning their faces.
The squad gave curt nods in return .
"Good," Andrew said. His eyes shifted toward the squat silhouette of the precinct in the near distance. "Now we advance. Slow and careful. Keep your guard up and use the car's as cover ."
They moved out in a staggered line, keeping low and tight. The street was littered with abandoned vehicles, some with doors flung wide open, others riddled with bullet holes or streaked with dried blood. The Rangers slipped between them one by one, their eyes sweeping darkened windows and half-collapsed doorways.
Andrew raised a fist, signaling a halt as they reached the shadow of a delivery truck. From there they could see the precinct more clearly . Its front lot was choked with police cruisers, most with shattered glass and hoods crumpled as if rammed in panic. Figures drifted among them: walkers in tattered clothes, their movements slow and erratic, and here and there the bulkier shapes of shambling walkers ,clad in battered riot armor, helmets askew.
Andrew's eyes caught on something in the center of the street. Two riot shields lay abandoned, spattered with dried blood .
"I'm counting seventeen—five of them are former officers in riot gear," Sergeant Foley said, lowering his binoculars, his voice clipped.
Specialist Rook exhaled slowly, adjusting his grip on his hatchet . "That's gonna be a challenge. Is going to be hard to stab the brain with a helmet in the way."
Andrew's eyes shifted between the cluster of walkers and the two riot shields lying abandoned in the middle of the street. He gave a short nod, his tone decisive. "We use those shields. They'll give us cover and a way to push through ."
He glanced at Ramirez. " Ramirez, you're with me."
Ramirez's gaze flicked from the shields back to Andrew. His jaw tightened, then he nodded. "Your lead, Sarge."
Foley spoke up, voice steady but wary. "Those helmets are gonna be a bastard to crack."
"That's why we adapt," Andrew replied evenly. "We pin 'em against the vehicles, or shields . Then we work knives or hatchets into the gap—under the helmet, at the base of the skull. Quiet, controlled. No swinging wild."
Dunn smirked, rolling his shoulders. "Sounds up close and personal. Just how I like it."
"Don't get cocky," Ozone cut in, eyes sharp. "One bite from those bastards and you're finished."
Andrew held up a hand to settle them. "Focus. We move as a unit. Ramirez and I take the shields. Foley, Rook—you support on flanks, take down anything that slips by us. Dunn, Ozone—you cover our backs, make sure nothing sneaks in from the buildings."
Foley nodded firmly. "Got it. Keep it tight, keep it quiet."
With the plan set, Andrew gave Ramirez a quick signal. The two broke cover, moving low and fast. The street was littered with broken glass and scraps of paper that skittered in the breeze.
They reached the shields—heavy, scarred with dried blood. Andrew crouched, grabbing one by its handle, Ramirez mirroring him with the other. The weight was solid, reassuring.
"Shields up," Andrew muttered, raising his.
The first walker spotted them, a man in tattered business clothes, shambling forward with a gurgling growl. Andrew advanced, planting his shield into the walker's chest and shoving hard. The impact drove it back against a car. Ramirez stepped in beside him, machete flashing as he buried the blade into the walkers skull .
Another came, then two more. Andrew rammed the first aside with a shoulder-check of the shield, swinging the edge like a blunt weapon. The second staggered into Ramirez's wall of polycarbonate and steel, giving Dunn the opening to slip in with his camp axe .
The real test came when the riot-gear walkers closed in. Their armor made them bulky, slower, but relentless. One raised its arms and slammed against Andrew's shield, the force reverberating through his arm. Teeth snapped uselessly against the Plexiglas visor.
"Pin 'em!" Andrew barked.
He shoved hard, slamming the armored corpse back against a squad car. Foley dropped low, combat knife flashing as he drove it up beneath the chin guard and into the soft flesh of the neck. The walker convulsed, then went limp.
"That's one down," Foley grunted, ripping the blade free.
Rook cut another down from the side, driving his combat knife into the gap between helmet and vest while Ramirez kicked a third's legs out from under it, planting his boot on its chest as Ozone finished it with a brutal stab to the base of the skull using his combat knife.
The team moved with precision, shields bashing, blades thrusting, each walker dropping in quick succession. Their breathing was hard, sweat beading under helmets and caps, but the noise stayed minimal—their discipline keeping the fight controlled.
At last, the final walker fell, Ramirez yanking his machete free with a grunt. The street quieted again, save for the hiss of wind through broken windows.
Andrew lowered his shield, chest heaving lightly. He scanned the area, listening. Nothing stirred.
"Exterior's clear," he said, voice firm. " We keep moving , check the inside. We come back for the gear afterwards."
The squad regrouped in front of the precinct's scarred steps, bloodied blades in hand, shields still smeared with gore.
Heading inside, the heavy glass doors of the precinct creaked open under Andrew's push, the hinges groaning in protest. The lobby reeked of dried blood, the stench clinging to the air like smoke. Paperwork was scattered across the tiled floor, mixed with shattered glass from the reception desk barrier. A pair of walkers lurched from behind the overturned benches, arms outstretched. Andrew's shield met the first with a sharp clang, pinning it against the wall while Ozone's camp axe split its skull with a wet crunch. Rook dispatched the second with a quick swing of his hatchet, the body collapsing in a heap.
From behind the reception counter, two more emerged, one in a blood-stained patrol uniform. Andrew pushed forward, shield raised. The walker slammed against it, clawing uselessly as Andrew angled the shield, opening space for Ramirez to drive his machete into its temple. Foley's camp axe hacking down another that had stumbled out from a doorway. Within moments, the lobby fell silent, only the sound of labored breathing and the dripping of gore echoing off the walls.
"Lobby's clear," Andrew muttered, scanning the corridors with a sharp glance . "We split up. Two groups. Shields up front."
The Rangers gave short nods, already falling into formation. Ramirez took point with Foley and Dunn covering behind him, their boots crunching over papers as they advanced into the maze of offices. Andrew, Ozone, and Rook veered down the opposite corridor, past interrogation rooms.
Ramirez's group cleared offices one by one, desks overturned and monitors smashed. A walker in a torn suit crawled out from under a desk, its jaw hanging loosely by sinew—Dunn crushed its skull beneath his boot without breaking stride. At the end of the hall, the steel gate to the armory stood half-open, the lock broken. Inside, two walkers shuffled out of the shadows , officers by their ruined uniforms. Ramirez raised his shield, blocking their advance as Foley and Dunn dealt with them .
Meanwhile, Andrew's group moved deeper, through the interrogation wing where overturned tables and chairs told the story of panicked last stands. Blood smeared across the wall pointed toward the holding cells. As they entered, a walker in riot gear stumbled toward them . Andrew braced his shield, catching the creature's weight before Rook darted in low, driving a knife up under its helmet . The walker fell limp against Andrew's shield before being shoved aside.
The sound of growling and fists pounding echoed from further in. A knot of walkers pressed tight against one barred cell, their bodies clawing and pushing against the steel. Andrew raised his hand for silence, then motioned the team forward. Together they cut the group down, one by one, until only the echo of their gasps filled the corridor.
When the last corpse slumped to the ground, Andrew approached the cell. Behind the bars, wide eyes stared back at him were five survivors. Three officers stood protectively at the front: a young female officer her uniform disheveled , a younger male officer pale but steady, and an older african-american officer whose calm eyes carried both authority and fatigue. Behind them, two civilians clung to the back wall, faces gaunt but alive.
The young woman stepped forward, her voice hoarse. "We thought no one was coming for us."
Andrew, Ozone, and Rook exchanged quick glances between them. Andrew adjusted the grip on his shield before speaking, his tone even but edged with surprise.
"Truth be told, we didn't expect to find anyone alive in here. Our objective was—and still is—to clear this precinct and scavenge anything useful." He gave a faint exhale, eyes shifting to the group behind the bars. "But luck's on your side. We found you before you starved in this cell."
Rook let out a dry chuckle, though there was little humor in it. "Speaking of the cell, though—where's the key? "
The older officer stepped forward, his movements stiff with fatigue. After fumbling in his pocket, he produced a jangling ring of keys, the metal glinting faintly in the dim light. "Right here. I kept them… just in case."
The younger male officer leaned wearily against the bars, his voice raspy. "We've been in here for days. No food, no water. Thought the lock was the only thing keeping those things out."
The young woman gave a weak nod. "Your friend wasn't wrong—we were close to starving. Another day or two, and…" She trailed off, her expression saying the rest.
Andrew's expression softened for a brief moment before hardening back into focus. He tapped the radio mounted to his vest, static crackling to life. "Foley, come in."
A beat later, Foley's voice answered through the speaker, steady but clipped. "Foley here.Go ahead, ."
"We found survivors," Andrew reported. "Three officers and two civvies, locked up in holding. Alive, but barely."
There was a pause before Foley replied, his tone carrying a touch of disbelief. "That's somethin'. We checked the armory—looks like about eight riot kits and some weapons are gone, probably taken when the precinct was attacked. But the rest? Intact. Vests, batons, helmets. More than enough to get us started."
Andrew nodded, though his eyes stayed fixed on the barred cell. "Good. That'll help us move forward. But listen—we're not done. We still need to sweep the rest of the building."
Rook glanced at the survivors, then back at Andrew. "So what's the play, Sarge? We cut 'em loose now, or after we clear the nest?"
Andrew studied the five through the bars. "Alright," he said evenly, his voice carrying a steady weight. "I'm not gonna sugarcoat it—the precinct isn't fully cleared yet. There are still walkers deeper in the building. You've got a choice: stay in here where it's safe for now, or come out and move with us. But if you step out, you keep your guard up. No second chances out there."
The younger male officer exchanged a quick glance with the others before stepping forward. "We've been locked in here for days, sir. No food, no water. We're not staying another minute longer if there's a way out."
The older officer gave a slow nod, his voice rough but certain. "We'll take our chances with you. Better than rotting in a cell."
One of the civilians a woman speaking for the first time since they were found added, "Just get us out of here. We'll pull our weight."
Andrew gave a curt nod. "Fair enough. Out it is."