It had been days since he'd seen anything move that was actually alive. But after the debacle of last week, this came as a relief more than anything.
He walked now with the sun at his back, along a small, dead and deserted highway heading to an unknown destination. All he needed was a safe place, a structure, to lay low in for a couple of days to work out a long term plan.
Though 'safe' was a rather relative term these days. He just needed somewhere safer than the open highway to gather his bearings and set a concrete, accomplishable goal for what little future possibly remained for him.
So, until such a temporary shelter was found, he was committed to walk along the desolate highway, totally devoid of life, and populated with multiple abandoned and wrecked cars and other assorted debris. The people who had driven these cars could've been like him. They were just following the road. No plan, no destination, no hope. Only, from the looks of things, not many of these people had made it out. Every few cars there was a body or two to go with them. Sometimes they lodged behind the steering wheel or in the backseat of a car, sometimes they were strewn pathetically on the ground nearby. Some of them were charred or maimed in some way, indicating they had been attacked or perhaps had been the attackers. All of them were horribly decomposed and looked mummified.
He would not end up like them. He would not die here.
It was no small fact that at the very least he wanted out of Georgia. He wanted out of that wretched, humid state; never wanted to be there in the first place. But, orders were orders and that was where he'd been stationed. It would be unacceptable to die here. Somewhere else, maybe. But not in Georgia…
So very much had happened, he reflected, as his combat boots made their rhythmic, soothing patter on the sun scorched highway. So very, very much. Most of which he didn't want to think about right now, not when basic survival was a pressing concern. Maybe later.
Maybe.
But not now.
Death, he thought, even after all that had happened to him, was not an option. Not after all he had survived, not after the key tools and supplies he had managed to gather. It would be a shame to go at this point, and he wasn't going to allow it.
Not to mention his mere survival had been an order to him. Not a kind request, or suggestion, but an order. And not even one pertaining to the uniform he wore, and would continue to wear until his death or until it finally rotted off his body. It had been an order from a far more personal source, and he was hell bent on following it. Additionally, the thought of being one of them was so repulsive and undesirable, that he just couldn't let it happen. Mindlessly roaming the world for what could possibly be an eternity wanting only some poor soul to feast on? He couldn't think of many worse fates than that.
The sun continued beating down, and he was grateful, for the thousandth time that the black aviator sunglasses he perpetually wore had survived the entirety of his journey.
His eyes didn't handle brightness very well. The South, on a whole, was not very good to him. He really hated it here.
It occurred to him once again that he may never see home again. It was three thousand miles away and the rate he was going not getting much closer anytime soon. He wondered once again if anyone back home had survived this undead apocalypse. Doubtful. And even if they had, the odds of him ever finding them, any of them, was scarce to none.
It mattered little, really. He knew that society had broken down entirely. There were survivors, plenty of them, but he had seen firsthand the barbarism that many had devolved to. He wondered how many good, decent people were left. And how long they would remain that way, even if there were now.
He would've carelessly drifted further into thought had a rustling noise not jarringly brought his attention back to the present. He quickly cursed himself for losing focus even for that brief moment, as he raised his most prized and important possession, his MP5 submachine gun, to his shoulder, ratcheted the bolt to put a round in the chamber, and began scanning the immediate area for the cause of the noise.
It didn't take him long to find it.
Behind a nearby SUV with flattened tires, one of them was sauntering down the highway, heading in the same direction he was.
It had been a middle aged man, with graying hair before it had turned. And, like most of them, it was incredibly inobservant and had not seemed to notice his presence.
He flicked the safety off the MP5 and quickly scanned the area, knowing full where that where there was one, there was more. Usually plenty more.
They tended to gather together and move like schools of fish. If one changed direction for whatever reason, the others would follow suit.
This snowball effect of undead was usually the reason that they were so proficient at swarming and killing people. If not for their numbers, they had nothing.
Alone, they were vulnerable.
But unfortunately, this one was wasn't alone.
Up ahead a few hundred feet next to a tractor trailer and its cargo trailer, two more were shambling down the highway. He scanned for a few more seconds to make sure there were no more any closer to him, and then he decided on his course of action.
Flicking on the safety and shouldering the MP5 using the sling attacked to the weapon, he pulled off his backpack and pulled the hammer out of it.
The hammer was just a regular construction hammer, though it was made entirely from metal with a rubberized grip. Not made from wood, which would be well prone to breaking for what he needed to use it for.
Next he reflexively checked the large bandage on his neck to see if the wound underneath was bleeding through again. Though nearly a week old, the injury was prone to reopening, and if it had and was bleeding, the scent would act as a beacon, drawing them to him.
He rubbed the bandage carefully, noting the barely tolerable level of pain it produced. If he hadn't been cleaning and changing the bandages with the regularity he had using the medical supplies he had found in an abandoned ambulance three days ago, he would've probably been incredibly sick from one infection or another by now. The medical supplies he had had from before would've long run out if he hadn't found that ambulance. He had been incredibly lucky.
He checked his fingers for blood, but saw none. Good.
He then pulled off his hat and set it on his backpack. Then, leaving his pack on the ground, but keeping his MP5 securely on his back, he moved like a wraith forward the twenty five feet, and using a two handed grip, he swung the hammer as hard as he could, aiming at the back if it's head.
Scoring a direct hit, the hammer, sunk three inches into the thing's skull, which disintegrated, sending blood and brain matter several feet in multiple directions. The thing hit the ground hard never knowing what had hit it, and didn't move further.
Pulling hard, he wrenched the hammer from its skull, and scanned down the road to see if the other two had noticed him dispatching their compatriot .
They hadn't; they were still mindlessly moving down the road.
Checking the fallen thing one last time to confirm it was dead, he moved back to his gear, and put his backpack back on. He folded his hat neatly and set it in his right thigh pocket, next to one of his pistols, the small Kel-Tec P32, and set his sights to eliminating the other two as quietly as he could.
He moved noiselessly from abandoned car to car, MP5 at his shoulder in the style he had been trained the carry such a weapon, hammer tucked in his belt, ready to be used.
The two of them we parallel with the semi truck, now, and he wanted to take them out before he they got much further. From the point of cover behind the large truck he could determine if there were any more of them, and then decide on what the next course of action would be.
He was within a few paces of the first one now, one that had been a fairly attractive young woman before it had turned, and he stopped, slinging the MP5 once again and pulling forth the hammer.
She took a solid hit to the side of the head, and her body slumped into the side of the truck's trailer, making a noticeable 'thump' sound.
He pulled the hammer from her skull and waited for the reaction from the second one; surely he had made enough noise to alert it.
But he hadn't, it seemed. The thing still moved away from him, not even knowing he was there.
Glancing down, he checked the body in front of him to make sure it was done.
It didn't move further, and he allowed himself some slight satisfaction at how good he had become at taking these things out with one, silent hit.
He then squinted his eyes and looked down the straight stretch of highway, nearly a quarter of a mile away, he estimated, and saw something that he hadn't been able to from further away.
Something that made his stomach tighten.
Movement. A lot of it.
For whatever reason, the abandoned cars and debris were scarce from this point forward over the distance he could see. But from what he could tell, there was a huge traffic jam of vehicles up the road and right in front of it, about to shamble into it, was a huge group of them. Dozens, at least. But at this distance, it was difficult to tell for sure. It could very well have been a group of survivors that this trio of them had been stalking.
Glancing back at the one that remained, and checking that it hadn't realized he was there, he glanced up. He had to get on top of the trailer and use his binoculars to figure out what that group was.
Waiting patiently for the one that remained to shamble further down the highway, he quietly made his way to the cab of the truck, dropped his backpack and pulled out his set of binoculars, which he considered his second most important possessions, even in front of the several handguns he was lucky enough to have obtained. He used the neck strap the sling the binoculars over his shoulder with the MP5, and glanced to the cab of the truck.
He quickly but thoroughly checked for any of them that might've been inside the cab, glanced back to make sure that the one he knew about still hadn't noticed him, and once he was satisfied he set about climbing the truck.
After a few tense moments, he made it to the top and took a knee, finding a spot and a position that offered the most stability.
He then quickly pulled his aviators off and folded them, attaching them to the collar of his ABU uniform jacket. He then raised the binoculars from his shoulder and pressed them to his brow.
Focusing the eyepieces on the movement down the highway, his stomach sank as what little hope he had that this was a group of survivors evaporated.
It was indeed a group of them. And his initial estimate of dozens was accurate.
Lowering the binoculars for a moment, he tried to think of what to do now. Unless the entire group of them decided to veer into the woods for no reason, he would need to formulate a new plan and find a new route. This wasn't such a tragedy, as he had no set long term plan or route at this time, but it still threw a rather large wrench in his current, short term plan. There was nothing behind him for days, save the one gas station, and he couldn't return there. There wasn't anything else unless he had missed something.
He wondered that maybe if he went through the woods around them, if that would work. But he quickly dismissed this plan as in the woods he would lose his lengthy line of sight, and travel through that terrain could be difficult. Perfect for them to surround and ambush him.
Raising the binoculars and peering through them again, he watched as the herd of them began to make their way through the section of packed cars. He watched their slow, shambling movements with dread. It was amazing to think that all of them had been people not so long ago.
He wondered what was motivating them to go in this direction of all directions. The fact that it was the same one he himself was going in further fascinated him. What did they want down this desolate highway?
He peered further along the traffic jam of long abandoned vehicles to see if there was anything else of note to see.
What he was about to see would change everything.
His body froze and he felt a chill down his spin. His skin began to crawl, and his hands started shaking ever so slightly as his binoculars hovered on an old RV in the middle of the sea of vehicles.
There was a man on top of that RV. And even at this distance, he could tell that the man was alive. This man was a living breathing human being.
Scanning the immediate area quickly, he determined there were more people alive there. It was hard to tell from there, but some looked like woman and children.
And they looked completely oblivious to the swarm that was descending on them.
He didn't know if they had noticed the swarm. He didn't know if the swarm at noticed them. All he knew, was he had to do something. He couldn't let those people die. He didn't even know if they were still decent people, or the barbarians that he knew now existed. But he couldn't stand by and do nothing.
Placing the binoculars aside, he pulled the MP5 to his shoulder and scanned to find the one he let live. He could signal the survivors, he could lure the swarm, and he could eliminate this one, all with a single bullet.
He centered the thing's head in his sights and even at over a hundred feet, from his vantage point it was an easy shot. He pulled the trigger and a single gunshot rang out, seeming even more loud after the days of silence that had proceeded it. The thing hit the ground hard, most of its head blown away by the nine millimeter round.
Pulling the binoculars up once again he checked for any change in the swarm's direction of movement, or in the behavior of the survivors.
The man on the RV was now in a prone position and there were no other survivors to be seen.
But the swarm's direction had not changed.
Either they hadn't heard his gunshot, which seemed unlikely, or they had seen the survivors and were now in pursuit.
Whatever the case, he wouldn't stand by and let it all unfold without a say.
Quickly descending from the truck, he stowed the binoculars in his backpack and put the bag on, tightening the straps to make sure it stayed on firmly.
He checked the hammer and all of the other items on his belt to make sure they were secure. He then checked all the pockets and his uniform to make sure they were buttoned. He then pulled his aviators from his collar and put them into the top pocket of his jacket, buttoning it afterwards.
He then took off at as fast a run he could safely pace himself for, MP5 clutched to his chest and ready for use. He could always turn around and retreat if things got really bad, but he was determined to help these people. Even if he turned the swarm's full attention on him, he could outrun them in the retreat. In he had to turn around anyway, he might as well help this group of survivors before he did.
In just a few minutes he'd be in the thick of it.
He was about halfway there when the gunfire began.