The garage was lit with the light of the emergency generators. Old maintenance lamps were set up in a ring around a small fleet of trucks. Most of them were inoperable but a couple were brought back to life thanks to the sacred ritual of trial and error. Some of the less mechanically inclined survivors spent their time loading up their loot into the vehicles, trying to cram in as much of the mall?s pilfered goods as possible.
While Irish and Rob went about loading the caravan, Gremlin sat atop one of the trucks, a small arc welding booth had formed around him. He gleefully threw up crude ramparts along the edge of the truck. He figured that a cabin spot wouldn?t be available for all and decided to go about making more seats. Killion and Galt stood on the floor of the makeshift factory and were trying to decide who should get the shields. Killion seemed to want to make the shielders independent while Galt favored a long gun approach. As the idle argument trudged on, Rain tried to work with the engines of one of the trucks while a crippled Johnny observed, occasionally giving out advice on which hose connected to what.
After much labor, the group had two refitted delivery trucks contentedly purring in the artificial light. Galt stepped into the cabin of the first one and began to fiddle with the shortwave resting on the floor. Maeror slid in next to him as he uttered a few test words into the transmitter. Rain?s flat voice came back over the earpiece, garbled, but understandable. The rest began to clamber onto the tops of the trucks, Gremlin stood proudly in the little pulpit he constructed. His mood seemed more akin to ambitious explorer than refugee.
The caravan lumbered out of the garage and up the ramp onto the street. A sturdy metal plate helped Galt shove a few of the stalled out cars out of his way. The few dozen zombies congregating outside the mall took notice and began to pursue them. Laura took a few shots at them with her bow as they strayed in front of her vehicle. Al tried to recline in his perch, someone would have to remind Gremlin to find some damn cushions. While Rob had at first cringed at the sight of the zeds, he seemed to be more accustomed to them now, though he held his laptop tighter than ever.
Once out of the parking lot, it was smooth sailing out of the city. In the drivers? cabins, Johnny was heard over the radio. ?Let?s see, looks clear to the sides, I see a few zeds up to our right on a roof but we?re still safe?.God dammit Saskwach, don?t bother shootin? ?em, they can?t get us?So what if you?re bored? Don?t go off wasting our ammo!?
A swelling sun crept ever closer to the horizon as the group drove on. Galt didn?t want to got faster than 15 miles for fear of losing one of his passengers. The trucks crept nimbly up an on ramp and turned towards the wilderness outside the city. Several more hours of navigating around stopped traffic had brought them to the perimeter of the Guard base, the sun now lying half submerged behind the treetops.
The grisly sight at the entrance of the compound was a bit overwhelming. Hundreds of corpses lie broken on the ground. The large fence at the front gates did little to keep out the thousand strong horde. Bloody trails had confirmed that the horde had moved on after breaking into the building. Several men in uniforms were found manning the door. Three seemed to die from self-inflicted gunshot wounds, the others simply lay broken on the ground, bitten and crushed.
Survivors poured out of the vehicles, shields at the ready. A small armored shell carefully crept through the bloodstained halls of the base. Bullet holes and torn hinges testified to the brutal fighting. Only a dozen more uniformed corpses were found, all lying in a small briefing room, the monitor on a table playing the prerecorded messages sent out weeks ago. The group had trouble forcing open the sealed doors and were shocked to find that an abundance of food was stored in the room. A single pistol was held in the hands of one of the men, his chevrons identifying him as the leader of this small group. All the others seemed to be fresh out of boot camp, no older than nineteen. Galt unplugged the noisy TV and quietly closed the doors. No one needed to go back in there.
Weary members of the group made their way to the company barracks, shifting through the personal effects of the long gone garrison. The armory seemed to be empty, all of the ammo expended in the final conflict. Fortunately for the survivors, a working radio tower was found, repeating the same signals over and over.
Dining like exiled kings in the cafeteria, the group contemplated their new home and its disturbing past. Nothing seemed to add up. The helicopters had all taken off, so why where there still men left to the horde? Some of the recovered journals revealed that the few men they found had deigned to remain, their lives ruined beyond repair. Some of the books recalled the absolute horror of hearing the pounding and moans outside the sealed door, day in, day out. Whatever happened, the more optimistic persons tried to convince themselves that the dead men were in a better place.
