Andrew opened his eyes, jolting upright in the bed he was lying on. He looked around, his heart pounding, sweat dripping down his face, and his hands trembling. The room was unfamiliar, but from the look of it, he deduced it was a hotel room. How the hell did he get here?
His gaze landed on the open bathroom door. Moving on unsteady legs, he walked to the sink and splashed cold water on his face, trying to calm himself and gather his thoughts. The last thing he remembered was being deployed in Afghanistan. During a routine patrol, their convoy was ambushed — the lead vehicle destroyed by an IED. Gunfire erupted as the Taliban's attacked, and they fought back fiercely. Then, everything went black.
And now… this.
Andrew shook his head and raised it to look at his reflection in the mirror. His appearance wasn't any different, aside from the dark bags under his eyes and the clothes he was wearing , dark green tactical pants with a black t-shirt . He scanned the room again, a knot of confusion tightening in his gut.
"How the hell did I even get here?" he muttered to himself. "And where is here?"
He was certain there hadn't been any hotels anywhere near their deployment zone. None of this made any sense.
As he mulled over his situation, a sudden DING caught his attention. He turned toward the sound and spotted a phone resting on the nightstand beside the bed. Walking over, he picked it up and saw a notification on the screen. When he tried to open it, a pattern lock appeared.
Without thinking — acting purely on reflex and still dazed by the surreal situation — he traced the pattern he used on his own phone, despite this being a different model. To his surprise, the phone unlocked.
The notification turned out to be a news article. Hoping it might provide some answers, Andrew tapped on it. The article reported a traffic accident on a highway — and disturbingly, one of the victims had attacked the first responders. There was a video attached.
Curiosity gnawed at him, and he hit play.
As the video played, an eerie sense of familiarity crept over him, like he had seen this somewhere before but couldn't place it. The footage showed paramedics attending to victims when one suddenly turned violent, attacking them. Even after being shot by police, the attacker didn't stay down — not until they were struck in the head.
Then it hit him.
He had seen this before… in an episode of Fear the Walking Dead. His head throbbed, confusion and unease twisting in his stomach. What the hell is going on? Is this some kind of sick prank?
Andrew shook his head, trying to steady his thoughts. This isn't right. None of this makes any sense.
He glanced back down at the phone. Maybe digging through it would give him some answers.
After closing the article, Andrew noticed the time displayed on the phone: 7:00 AM. The date read August 25th, 2010. He stared at it for a few moments, unsure of what to make of it. If his memory served him right, this was around the time when the events of Fear the Walking Dead began.
Deciding not to dwell on it just yet, he refocused his attention on the phone. Swiping through the gallery, he found several photos — some of him and others geared up for deployment, and others with a girl who appeared to be his girlfriend. That struck him as odd. He distinctly remembered not being in any kind of relationship .
Curious and uneasy, Andrew opened the messages next. As he read through them, he began piecing things together. From what he could gather, he was somehow in the body — or life — of a different version of himself. This version had been in a relationship before being deployed. After returning, things seemed good for a while, but then he began noticing strange things: news about a virus, violent attacks, people turning aggressive. He had tried desperately to convince his girlfriend about what he was seeing, but she eventually broke up with him, telling him he needed therapy, claiming his time in the military had damaged him and that she couldn't deal with it anymore.
Andrew felt a flicker of disgust toward her. Unbelievable.
Closing the messages, he turned to the browser. He wanted to figure out where exactly he was. A quick search revealed he was in Atlanta, staying at a hotel called Hampton Inn & Suites , an affordable, mid-tier hotel downtown. There were other open tabs too — forums and chatrooms. Reading through them, he realized they were filled with discussions about an unknown virus, people becoming violent, and bizarre incidents being covered up.
His heart began to pound in his chest. By the time he finished combing through the phone, a terrifying thought began to solidify in his mind.
Was he actually in The Walking Dead universe?
Lowering the phone, something else caught his eye — a large duffel bag on the other side of the bed. He made his way over, unzipped it, and was stunned by what he found inside.
In the duffel bag was an MP5 submachine gun outfitted with a silencer, flashlight, laser, and red dot sight. Alongside it, a Glock pistol, also equipped with a silencer. There were six magazines for the MP5, three for the Glock, and four boxes of 9mm ammunition, each holding 30 rounds. Tucked in as well were spare batteries, a pair of tactical gloves, forearm protection covers, a hunting knife, a tactical chest rig designed to hold the magazines, Glock, and knife, a weapon maintenance kit, and a compact medkit.
Andrew wasn't sure what he had been expecting — but it certainly wasn't this.
After checking through the contents, he sat back down on the bed, only for something else to catch his attention. Lying on the floor near the nightstand was an open pill bottle. He picked it up and read the label: Lorazepam — an anti-anxiety medication.
A grim realization began to form in his mind as he thought about what he'd seen on the phone. Whoever this version of him was… things hadn't been good.
A headache started to pulse behind his eyes. If this really is The Walking Dead universe, he thought, I need to figure out a way to survive.
He had weapons and gear — a good start. But he would need food, water, and more medical supplies, especially considering those would be among the first things to disappear once everything fell apart.
Andrew laid back on the bed, staring at the ceiling, his mind racing as he tried to plan his next move.
Andrew sighed and pulled himself up to sit on the edge of the bed. He decided it was best to go out now and stock up on food and medicine while it was still relatively safe.
He glanced around the nightstands, searching for his wallet — or more accurately, this version of himself's wallet. Eventually, he found it inside the drawer of the nightstand, along with a set of car keys. Inside the wallet were a few hundred dollars in cash, but no cards. He pocketed the money and keys, then hesitated.
It would be stupid to go out completely unarmed.
After a moment's thought, he grabbed the hunting knife. It would be easier to conceal than the Glock and still useful in a tight spot.
Walking to the door, he carefully opened it and checked the hallway. It was clear. He made his way toward the elevator but paused before pressing the button. A thought struck him: If there were walkers in the lobby, the elevator would leave him cornered with nowhere to go.
Better not risk it.
He turned and took the emergency stairs instead, descending cautiously, his senses on high alert. Every creak of the steps and distant sound made his pulse quicken, but he made it to the lobby without incident.
The employee at the front desk looked up and greeted him. "Good morning, sir! Enjoying your stay?"
Andrew forced a polite smile. "Yeah, thank you. Appreciate the hospitality," he replied, then added, "I'm heading out to do some shopping."
The employee nodded with a friendly grin. "Alright — have a good one."
Stepping out of the building, Andrew crossed the lot toward the parked cars, clicking the button on the car key fob. A beep and flash of lights drew his attention to a Ford Focus .
He unlocked the door and slid into the driver's seat. Starting the engine, he pulled out of the lot and into traffic.
As he drove, the city around him felt strangely unfamiliar. Just a few hours ago, he'd been in Afghanistan, on what was supposed to be his final deployment. Now he was back in the U.S., with a zombie apocalypse about to begin. His heart pounded at the thought, but he forced himself to stay calm.
After a short drive, he pulled into the parking lot of a Walmart ,the kind of place where he could find everything he needed, from food to medical supplies and maybe even more gear.
He took a steadying breath, grabbed a cart and headed for the entrance.
Entering the supermarket, Andrew moved through the aisles, passing dozens of people who were blissfully unaware of the danger looming on the horizon — a danger that would soon tear their world apart.
He made his way to the bottled water section, grabbing two one-gallon jugs and adding them to his cart, then loaded in ten one-liter bottles for easier carrying. Moving on to the canned food aisle, he began filling his cart with whatever would last: beans, soup, vegetables, fruit, anything that came sealed in metal.
As he paused to inspect a can of beef stew, a commotion down the aisle caught his attention. At first, it was just raised voices, but as he listened more closely, it sounded like an argument.
A moment later, a man, a woman, and two young kids turned into the aisle. The couple appeared to be in their mid-thirties, while the children looked to be about five and eight years old. Their cart was stacked with a similar amount of water, and judging by the man's tense expression and hurried movements, Andrew could tell he wasn't shopping for a weekend cookout.
From what little he overheard, it was clear the man was trying to convince his wife that they needed to get out of the city — fast.
"I'm telling you, something isn't right," the man insisted in a harsh whisper. "We grab what we can and leave. Tonight."
The woman shook her head, exasperated. "Stop it, you're scaring the kids! You sound crazy. There's nothing happening — you've been glued to those weird forums for days, and now you've worked yourself up."
Before the man could respond, his gaze fell on Andrew — and more specifically, on his heavily loaded cart.
"Hey," the man called out, approaching with a cautious but curious look. "Looks like you're stocking up too. You feel it, don't you? You know something's coming."
The woman groaned and grabbed her children's hands. "Oh, for God's sake, leave the man alone, Dan."
Andrew hesitated for a moment. He could have brushed it off, played dumb — but something about the man's wary eyes told him this guy might actually listen.
"Yeah," Andrew admitted quietly. "I'm leaving the city. Soon."
Dan gave a grim, knowing nod. "Smart move."
The wife shot Dan a glare, then muttered under her breath, "Both of you are nuts."
The couple started arguing again as Andrew finished grabbing a few more cans. As he began pushing his cart past them, something made him pause. He didn't owe them anything, but if even one more person survived because of a simple warning… it might be worth it.
He turned back toward them.
"Hey," Andrew called, getting their attention. " An advice … stay away from anyone who's sick or badly hurt. If somebody attacks you — aim for the head. Don't hesitate."
Dan stared at him, a flicker of fear crossing his face. His wife's expression twisted in irritation.
"What is wrong with you people?" she snapped.
Andrew didn't stick around to hear the rest. He turned, pushing his cart toward the next aisle, leaving the sounds of their argument behind him.
As Andrew made his way through the supermarket, the personal care aisle caught his attention. He grabbed a handful of bars of soap, a toothbrush, a couple of tubes of toothpaste, and other necessities — deodorant, wet wipes, hand sanitizer — anything that would help maintain hygiene and stave off illnesses in the uncertain days ahead.
Moving on, he headed toward the Pharmacy section at the back of the Walmart, where over-the-counter medical supplies were stocked. He filled a small basket with essentials: painkillers, antiseptic wipes, bandages, gauze rolls, medical tape, a thermometer, and a couple of first aid kits. As an afterthought, he added a bottle of vitamins.
By the time he reached the checkout, his cart was heavy with supplies. The total rang up to $287.53 — not that it would matter for long.
He paid in cash, ignoring the friendly small talk from the cashier, and pushed the cart out into the warm afternoon air. The parking lot was still some what busy, people walking into the supermarket completely unaware that their world was about to end.
Andrew loaded everything into the trunk of his car , carefully organizing the supplies so he could grab them quickly if needed. He was just shutting the trunk when a sharp, panicked scream echoed from around the side of the building.
His instincts kicked in.
Gripping the hunting knife, he sprinted toward the sound. Turning the corner, he found a horrifying scene: a homeless man, cowering and shivering against a wall, was being attacked by another man — this one smeared in blood, his skin pale and waxy, his movements jerky and unnatural. The attacker was too fixated on his victim to notice Andrew's approach.
Without hesitation, Andrew closed the distance and drove the hunting knife into the side of the attacker's head. The blade sunk deep, more than half its length disappearing into bone and brain matter. The bloodied man collapsed instantly, dead for good this time.
Andrew yanked the knife free with a grimace and wiped it clean on the corpse's filthy clothing. He glanced at the homeless man, who was trembling in shock and terror. A bite mark was visible on the man's forearm — raw and ugly, already oozing blood.
Before Andrew could say a word, the man bolted, running down the alley and disappearing into the distance, his terrified cries fading behind him.
Andrew sighed heavily, looking down at the lifeless body at his feet.
It's starting…
He knew it was only going to get worse from here.
Turning back toward the parking lot, Andrew hurried to his car, climbed into the driver's seat, and started the engine. He didn't waste any time pulling out of the lot, his mind already on the next step — get back to the hotel, grab his gear, and get out of Atlanta before the city turned into a slaughterhouse.
It took him half an hour to reach the hotel's parking lot. The traffic had thickened — and it wasn't because of rush hour. The air felt heavy, charged with a tension most people couldn't quite place yet, but Andrew knew.
Knowing time was running out and he needed to leave as soon as possible, he hurried through the lobby, giving a polite nod to the receptionist as he passed. Reaching his room, he grabbed the duffle bag and slung it over his shoulder. Before leaving, he checked his phone. Three hours had passed since the last time he'd looked.
Opening the news feed, he scanned for updates on the situation. Several new reports had surfaced: people going missing, others suffering fatal injuries yet somehow still walking, and — most notably — a video that caught his attention immediately.
In the video, a police officer was seen shooting a homeless man while an ambulance idled in the background. From the back of the ambulance, a young woman, visibly injured and stained with blood, staggered out. The officer fired several shots into her torso, but she kept advancing until a final bullet to the head dropped her. Chaos erupted as onlookers screamed and shouted, horrified by what they were witnessing.
Andrew remembered this scene — it was straight out of Fear the Walking Dead's first episode.
The video had been posted just an hour ago.
A chill ran down his spine. It's happening.
Without wasting another second, he left the room, the weight of the duffle bag pressing against his back. Moving quickly through the lobby, he called out to the receptionist that he wouldn't be needing the room anymore. Before she could respond, he was out the door and heading straight for his car.
Before leaving the lot, he took a moment to grab a few bottles of water and several cans of food, stuffing them into the duffle bag. If something happened, he wanted to make sure he had at least some supplies within reach.
Satisfied, Andrew climbed into the driver's seat, started the car, and pulled out of the parking lot .
Moving through the thickening traffic, Andrew navigated his way along Peachtree Street, one of Atlanta's main arteries. He reached an intersection near Five Points, only to see a massive traffic jam stretching in every direction. He cursed under his breath and tried to reverse, hoping to find a side street to bypass the gridlock — but more cars had piled in behind him, boxing him in.
Frustrated, Andrew grabbed his phone and quickly checked for any updates. It didn't take long to discover the cause: a multi-car collision a few blocks ahead, with emergency responders struggling to clear the road. Horns blared all around him, people shouting in anger and confusion.
But a cold knot formed in Andrew's stomach. Something felt wrong.
And then he saw them.
Several figures — pale, bloodied, with torn clothes and grotesque wounds — shambled between the stalled vehicles. Zombies. No mistaking it now.
Andrew knew sitting in the car was suicide. He glanced at the duffle bag in the passenger seat and quickly grabbed the Glock. Scanning the surrounding buildings, he spotted a nearby five-story office building, only a short sprint away. Two of the infected stumbled near its entrance.
Shouldering the duffle bag, Andrew slipped out of the car, moving fast but careful to avoid drawing too much attention. His plan was to secure a temporary refuge and, if possible, circle back later for the rest of his supplies.
By now, the street had descended into chaos. People were finally noticing the walking corpses among them, and screams filled the air.
A sharp, desperate cry made Andrew turn. He spotted a small shuttle bus parked crookedly near the curb, its side emblazoned with a decal reading "Atlanta Tech Expo 2010." A group of terrified teenagers clung to the seats inside while four zombies clawed at the open door.
Andrew moved without hesitation. Raising the Glock, he fired three clean headshots at the infected outside the bus. One more had managed to force its way partially inside. Andrew climbed the steps and drove his hunting knife into the back of its skull, yanking it free as the corpse slumped backward out of the vehicle.
Inside the bus, a mix of students of various nationalities stared at him in shock. A Korean man, likely one of the chaperones, spoke up , asking what was happening.
"I don't have time to explain," Andrew said quickly. "The roads are blocked. More of those things are coming. You can either shut this door, stay quiet, and pray, or come with me to find a safer place."
The man hesitated, then nodded as Andrew turned to fire two more rounds at approaching zombies. The other adults aboard exchanged nervous glances before deciding to follow him.
"Stay low, stay together," Andrew ordered.
The group moved quickly across the street, ducking between cars . Andrew led them toward the office building's entrance, dispatching the last two zombies near the door with precise shots. Once inside, he quickly barricaded the front entrance with an overturned table.
For now, they were safe — but Atlanta was unraveling faster than Andrew could have imagined.