Francis put me down gently, and ran over to the gate, wincing every time he pulled on his broken ribs. I followed him, and saw - to my chagrin - that the gate had been locked with a padlock and heavy chain. Francis bit his lip in thought for a moment, then turned to me and said "C'mere, doll." Without thinking much of it, I obeyed, and he squatted down, wrapping his thick arms around my thighs. I gave a little yelp of surprise, and he stood up, shoving me upwards until I was able to take hold of the top of the gate. Looking down, I said "Are you sure this is wise?" He waved a dismissive hand, and gave me a last shove that sent me up far enough to haul myself over and drop down the other side.
The gate must have been ten feet tall, and the landing was hard enough to make my shins ache, but I hit the ground running, looking around for the radio. I was in a military compound, with a high fence running along to my left, bordering a huge field of tents that stretched as far as I could see. I thought I could see dim shapes shambling about between the tents, but I had more pressing things to worry about.
To my right was a large, rectangular concrete structure, sporting slit windows and large, sliding metal doors. In between the tents and the building - where I was running - was a large, open dirt area, scattered with groups of tables and chairs, and Humvees sitting lifeless and inert amidst them. It was on one of these tables that my objective sat; a two-way ham radio, a static-punctuated voice crackling from the speaker.
Skidding to a halt in front of the radio, I snatched up the handset, mashing the 'talk' button with my thump and half-screaming "Hello! Hello! Is there anyone there!" There was a long pause, and then the voice came back, crackling with static. "Holy shit! Someone survived! What is your name and rank, soldier?" I paused briefly, an image coming to mind of Francis standing in the boathouse in Riverside, yelling into the radio "This is the cops!" Shaking away the amusing image, I thumbed the 'talk' button and said "I'm, uh, not a soldier, sir! My name is Zoey, and I'm with a group of seven other civilian survivors!"
There was another long pause, then the soldier on the other end said "Very well. We'll be dispatching a S&R team from Delta to pick you up. They'll be there in approximately fifteen minutes. God be with you." There was a click, and the radio went silent.
I tore back to the gate as fast as my aching legs would take me, pausing only long enough to glance at a smoking blast crater that I assumed was from Bill's pipe bomb. I grimaced as I caught sight of a few charred giblets laying about, and I saw a humvee nearby, its doors standing open, with 'PURGE' stenciled on its hood and side doors in red. An M60 was mounted atop it as a turret, lying dormant with a dead man in military fatigues hanging over it. Shell casings littered the ground around it.
Pausing only a moment to consider the mystery of what 'PURGE' could mean, I scrambled over a makeshift barricade of wooden crates and skidded to a halt in front of the gate. The rest of the group had gathered there, and Francis was straining at the chain with both hands, feet planted on the gate, the corded muscles on his arms standing out as he pulled with all his might.
Relaxing and taking a few steps backwards, Francis let out a string of virulent curses that would have appalled my mother and growled "Goddamn chain is too strong. You'd need a pair of bolt cutters to get through that." Glancing around, I caught sight of an open door into the nearby concrete bunker-like building, and, figuring there might be a key inside, made for it at a run.
The interior of the bunker was dark as a tomb, and I fumbled for my flashlight. Flicking it on, I held it in one hand and my pistol in the other, waving the pale beam around to illuminate my surroundings. I was standing in a rectangular concrete room of medium size, Spartan in its accommodations and lined on one wall with lockers.
A gurgling growl rumbled from the darkness to my left, and I whipped around, the beam from my wavering flashlight landing on an infected in military fatigues lurching towards me, slowed by a maimed leg that left a trail of blood behind it. Grimacing, I raised my pistol and put two rounds into the zombie's head, the gunshots booming out as loud as doomsday in the enclosed, concrete-walled space.
Blood splattered, and the zombie keeled over backwards, landing in a sprawled heap in an expanding pool of blood. Turning, I caught sight of a desk by the door. It had been shoved into a corner, appearing almost like an afterthought, and had apparently once been stacked with papers. The papers now lay scattered about on the floor, surrounding an overturned chair and splattered with blood. I caught sight of a glint of metal on the wall above the desk, and trained my flashlight on it. It was a keyring.
Charging over, I snatched the ring of keys off the hook that it hung on, trying to juggle it, my gun and my flashlight as I fled the building. Running flat-out for the gate, on the other side of which I could see the rest of my group - and I Francis and Nick going at it again - I skidded to a halt, letting my flashlight fall to the ground and setting to work on the padlock.
It took six tries to find the right key, but finally one of them slid in and turned. The padlock popped open, and I slid the chain free, tossing it aside. Coach stepped forward and shoved the gate open, walking inside with a "Thank you kindly, ma'am." The rest of our ragtag band followed, and Francis gave me a wink and a pat on the arm as he walked past.
Bill stopped briefly beside the mysterious humvee, scratching his beard and muttering "What the hell is this horseshit? I've never heard of 'PURGE'…" "Ooh!" Ellis interjected, running up to stand beside the veteran. "Y'know, mah buddy Keith had a brother named Rick, an' he was in the army! Keith talked 'bout it all the time, an' this one time, right 'fore the infection hit Savannah, Keith said that his…"
"If you've got a point, make it," Bill growled, taking a puff from his cigarette. Ellis, looking a little downcast, gave Bill a nod and said "Well, Rick called Keith on the phone, an' said he was goin' off to join 'PURGE'." All eyes in the group turned to Ellis, and he rubbed the back of his neck nervously before adding "I didn't know what th' hell it meant back then." The southerner's brows knit in a frown, and he added "And, well, I guess I still don't."
Bill blew out his breath in a sigh, sending a cloud of cigarette smoke billowing outward, and growled "Well, let's get a move on. Every zombie within a dozen miles will have heard that gunfire, and we need to find somewhere to hole up and wait for rescue. Coach nodded, and said "Sounds good. Ya'll go find yourselves a safe spot. Me an' Bill will stay here an' keep watch 'til you find one." Bill nodded in gruff consent, and the rest of the group started off at a jog. I trailed along behind them, casting nervous glances at the humvee and its bold, blood-red stencil. Shrugging off my feelings of unease, I picked up my pace and caught up to the rest of the group, just as they slid to a halt in front of an open door in the side of the base.
It was large enough to fit a humvee through easily, which made me think it was a garage. This thought was reinforced as I caught sight of the looming silhouette of a vehicle crouched inside, its headlights glinting dully from the shadows. "Cover me," Nick said, walking forward into the gloom with a flashlight in one hand and his pistol in the other. The dim, wavering beam of the flashlight swept about the darkened interior of the garage, flicking across the partially-rusted metal I-beams spanning the ceiling, the concrete walls stained with water and other, fouler things, and a concrete stoop leading up to a metal door, painted dark grey and sporting 'ARMORY' stenciled on it in red.
Francis, Nick and Ellis simultaneously broke into huge, wolfish grins, and Francis growled "That's what I'm talkin' about." Nick started forward, and tried the door handle. It didn't budge, so he knelt down, fishing about in his pockets for what I assumed was a set of lockpicks. However, Francis shoved past him with a curt "'Scuse me, suit," brought a foot up and gave the door a vicious kick. The lock snapped, and the door flew open, banging against the wall with a crash.
Nick shot the larger man a withering glare, and muttered "Thanks a lot, greaseball. Any zombies that weren't attracted to the gunfire will have heard that god-awful racket for sure." "Aw, shaddup, Colonel Sanders," Francis shot back, walking through the now-open door. "Yer just jealous. Pansy-ass fancy-pants like you couldn't kick down a door if he-…" "Hello? Morons?" Rochelle cut in, stepping between the two quarreling men. "Bill and Coach are waiting for us. Let's get a move on!"