(Garden of Eden)

The sun was about to set as the team made it back to their current hiding spot on a rooftop that was only accessible via a fire escape. The steel door leading into the building was barred, and the zombies still hadn’t figured out how to climb a simple, rusty ladder, which for once worked in their favor. For the moment they were safe and had a clear line of sight across the surrounding streets and rooftops. Price stood near the edge, a cigar resting between his fingers, but he didn’t light it. He had only three left, and still his hand kept reaching for one out of habit, because some routines refused to die quietly.

Ghost paced along the rooftop perimeter, scanning the distance, while Gaz and Soap sat on a makeshift couch assembled from pallets and a heap of blankets. Gaz was reading a book he had gone through at least a hundred times by now, turning the pages with familiar calm, while Soap was eating straight from a dented can, spoon in one hand and dinner in the other.

“Christ,” Johnny muttered, wrinkling his nose in disgust. “I swear, if I have tae eat one more can of peaches, I’m gonnae lose ma mind.” He tossed the empty can across the rooftop, where it skidded and rolled before stopping a short distance from the edge.

“We’ve had worse,” Gaz replied without looking up from the page. “Or have you conveniently forgotten about the rats last month?”

Soap’s whole body tensed at the memory. “Och, dinnae remind me, mate. I can still taste it, an’ that’s a crime against nature.”

“Or the cat food,” Ghost added flatly as he stopped near the discarded can and swept his gaze across the neighboring buildings, watchful and still.

“Soap’s not wrong,” Price said after a moment, his voice low but firm. “Our supplies are running low, and optimism doesn’t count as calories. We need to find more food.” He slowly rolled the cigar between his fingers as if the motion itself helped him think.

“Aye, but there’s nothin’ left, Cap. We’ve already torn through this whole area twice.” At this stage, the zombies weren’t even the biggest threat anymore. They were dangerous, sure, but predictable and manageable unless they showed up in large numbers, and most of the time they could be avoided or outrun. Hunger and desperate survivors were far more complicated enemies.

Gaz lowered the book into his lap and looked up. “We could move on and try a new sector.”

“Again?” Soap groaned and slumped back, dragging a hand over his face. “We just got settled, more or less. I’m startin’ tae think we’re nomads wi’ guns.”

“Perhaps we won’t have to,” Ghost said quietly. He had gone still, focused on something in the distance, and pulled his binoculars up. “Three streets down. Apartment block with roof access.”

Price stepped closer. “What are you seeing?”

Ghost didn’t answer right away. He simply handed over the binoculars and pointed toward a faint, steady light in the distance. Price raised them and adjusted the focus until the blurred shapes sharpened into detail. A figure was moving between neat rows of greenery spread across the rooftop. “Is that…” Price began.

“A rooftop garden,” Ghost finished.

Soap was on his feet instantly. “A proper garden? Lemme see that.” Price handed him the binoculars. “Och, you’ve gotta be kiddin’ me. Those are tomatoes. Real ones. Fresh ones. I’d trade ma last bullet for a salad right now.” His stomach gave a loud, traitorous growl.

Gaz joined them at the edge. “The streets have been unusually quiet today, which either means we’re lucky or something bigger is brewing. We could make a run for it tomorrow and see who’s up there. How many do you count?”

“Just one, far as I can tell,” Soap murmured, still watching the distant rooftop through the lenses.

Price nodded once, decision settling in. “We observe through the night and confirm the pattern. If they’re truly alone, we pay them a visit tomorrow.”

He placed the cigar between his lips without lighting it, eyes fixed on the far building. The plan settled over the team like the coming dusk. They would watch, wait, and verify. Tomorrow, they would move.

---

They moved out with the first light of dawn, when the sky was still pale and the city hadn’t fully remembered it was dead yet. The streets lay mostly quiet, with only a few walkers stumbling along the far end of the road, slow and unfocused, nothing that posed a real threat if handled cleanly. Their objective was clear from the start: the apartment building with the rooftop garden. Weapons were raised, steps measured, each movement deliberate as they slipped from cover to cover between abandoned houses, quiet enough that even loose debris barely shifted under their boots.

They found a way inside through a half-barred ground floor window, the metal rods bent just enough to squeeze through one at a time. The interior was dim and stale, the air thick with dust and the lingering smell of decay. It was quiet in a way that felt unnatural, the kind that pressed against the ears and made every breath sound too loud. Price and Ghost took point while Gaz and Soap covered the rear, their formation tight and practiced. After a short sweep they located the stairwell leading upward toward the roof access.

A lone zombie lurched down from the next landing, arms stretched forward, jaw hanging loose at an angle that no living neck could survive. Ghost stepped in before it could make a sound, caught it by the collar, and drove his knife straight through the skull with one efficient motion. He lowered the body to the floor instead of letting it fall, denying it even the dignity of a final noise.

At the top level they stopped outside the rooftop door. Price raised a hand and tested the handle, then exhaled quietly. “Locked. Take a step back.” He put a single controlled shot into the lock. The crack echoed through the stairwell, and the damaged mechanism gave way with a metallic groan as the door drifted open. They pushed through as a unit, rifles up, spacing tight, muscle memory from years of operations carrying them forward without wasted motion.

Four weapons leveled at once as {{user}} came into view among the planters and rows of green. “We mean no harm,” Price said, voice steady but carrying.

Soap leaned slightly to the side, rifle still trained but tone lighter. “Aye, easy now. We’re no here tae nick yer secrets. Just wanted tae ken what you’re growin’ up here, that’s all.”

Behind them, Gaz pulled the rooftop door shut again and secured it, cutting off the stairwell. No reason to leave an open invitation for anything hungry and vertical.

Ghost’s gaze stayed fixed and unreadable behind the mask. “You alone?”