Chapter Seventeen

In the same way I'd decided to take bodily cues from Hanson, the rest of the squad took their cues from Doc. When he mentioned needing a pitstop, we cleared out a bathroom and took turns using it. When he got thirsty, we relaxed around a soda fountain and topped up on liquids. The same went for snacking and a late breakfast of egg and cheese biscuits Doc had brought with him from base.

Scavenging for the Company encampment wasn't the same as scavenging for one or two people. There were three rules I had to follow. The first rule was to scavenge in bulk. If there wasn't enough of something to go around, it was better to leave it behind. Rule two was sealed packages only. Anything already opened, such as sauce bottles on the table at the Rib place, we left alone since it might be contaminated. We had to be very careful not to grab anything that could trigger a wave of infection in the camp. Rule three was to have a plan. Ten bottles of barbecue sauce might sound helpful, but it really wasn't if there wasn't meat to put it on. It was better to save the bag space for more useful items.

Because of these rules, there didn't seem to be a lot downtown we could take with us. Grady and Sleepy filled up with bags of French fries, cheese sticks, and onion rings, but most of the meat we found was already sitting in vats of marinade. And the vegetables were off-limits because they were fresh and not packaged. It made me wish for the days when preservatives ruled commercial kitchens. Doc loaded up on quality alcohol—for medicinal purposes, of course—and White found a pile of packaged bacon in one of the bar freezers.

White also found a gun and a stash of ammo in several of the managerial offices. At each one, she loaded the weapon, left it on the desk, then bagged the rest of the bullets. When I asked her why she didn't take the weapon, she said, "Paying it forward." I assumed she meant we didn't need it, but a survivor might. From what I'd seen so far, guns certainly seemed more plentiful than I might have assumed a few weeks ago.

I found my stash in a gift shop. The rest of the team hadn't wanted to search it, thinking it was a waste of time, but I'd always loved gift shops. They were treasure troves full of stuff you never knew you needed and Grady was willing to watch my back as I tried to prove it.

I took my time introducing them to the wonders of travel kits. This particular gift shop was aimed at tourists on the road, so there were half a dozen different pre-built kits full of consumable crap people might forget or run out of. I grabbed a dozen sewing kits, shower kits, shoe-shine kits with spare laces, and shaving kits. They weren't anything particularly mind-blowing, but they were useful and I doubted the supply drops would include these kinds of mundane necessities. No one would care about the cheesy branding on them.

I pocketed a selection of bubblegum from the front counter for Hanson and that's when I saw it—a box of window markers next to the register. It gave me an idea—one that hadn't been utilized despite it being a mainstay of post-apocalyptic zombie movies.

"Grumpy to White. I have a question for you, if you have a second. Over."

"Go for Grumpy," she replied over the comms.

"Is there a hotline set up for survivors yet?" I asked. "Or, at the very least, some designated place for them to aim to go if they're looking to evacuate?"

There was a long moment of silence, followed by, "Negative to evac site. Giving them a place to go would only encourage them to leave safety for a location we might not be able to secure for an extended period."

"What about the hotline? Shouldn't we write it up on a billboard where people can see it and call us, rather than sitting around, praying we'll find them?"

"Overwatch to Grumpy," Sergeant James interjected. "We have hotline information being continuously distributed across all Emergency Broadcast frequencies. It should have transmitted the information to every cell phone in the state and we have all known EMS numbers being rerouted to Intelligence. We have all the bases covered. Over."

I pocketed the window markers anyway, determined to post the information whenever I could. I hadn't heard the EMS broadcast, so it was possible others might not have either. Only an idiot would turn on the radio right now and attract zombies with the sound. If there had been an Alert message on my cellphone, it must have gone out before I reclaimed mine from the school. And, as for calling 911, it'd had never even crossed my mind. I'd assumed the line would have been down.

Picking the biggest stretch of windows I could find, I scrawled out a message in block letters. "Survivors call 911 for Evac. Lines open." I made sure to date it so people would know it was a recent message and not leftovers from the initial chaos.

The rest of my squad said nothing as I worked, their expressions silently approving of my action despite the assurances from Overwatch. And, without a word, everyone pocketed a marker when I offered them. It went unsaid we'd post the information everywhere we could in hopes someone would get the message if they hadn't already.

Around mid-morning, when our bags were as full as we could stuff them, we took a quick trip back to base to unload. Men rushed up as soon as we landed, relieving us of our goods and handing us each a new, empty bag. The stop took less than a minute, then we were back in the air and flying over the river once again. I wished we could have stayed long enough for me to check on Hanson, but the team wanted to make use of every minute of daylight and we still had hours until noon.

"D-Nav to 363. We have horde activity. Repeat, horde activity identified. Reroute Coordinates being transmitted to your GPS. Over."

"Overwatch to 363. Your mission objective is to identify the cause of the activity and report back. If it's survivors, secure and evac. Over."

"White to D-Nav. Coordinates received. Rerouting now. White to Overwatch. Mission parameters received and understood. Over."

I held on tight as Grady turned sharply in the air, altering our course to take us in a different direction. I had no idea where we were going, but our destination was clear once we reached the correct street. Zombies were gathering from every direction around a semi-truck abandoned in a sea of cars. From the way they were bouncing up against the trailer, only shufflers had gathered so far, but they were numerous enough it was clear there were survivors inside. There must have been a survivor driving it, too, but that person was nowhere in sight now.

I was surprised when Grady didn't immediately set us down to clear the horde. Instead, White calmly reported the situation as a trio of smaller toy-sized drones circled around the vehicle.

"D-Nav to White. No heat. Repeat, no heat. Whatever is inside isn't alive. Over."

I didn't expect that and, from the frown on White's face, neither did she.