| CHAPTER SIX, John Paul Jones |

After rolling past the broken gate that used to serve as usher to those entering Camp Greenhorn, despair quickly settled over Scott and his pack; even the always-optimistic alpha wasn't able to stay positive this time. They carried on following Derek up the mountainous incline and soon pulled up in front of the largest building. There was no one around. No lights were on in any of the buildings. The surrounding vehicles were empty, none of which were Stiles' jeep or the Argents' SUV.

"Chris, come in," Scott spoke into the radio.

Silence.

"Stiles. We're here," he spoke again.

Silence.

"Shit," Scott said. Frustrated, he got out of the car without thinking and looked around. Immediately Isaac got out.

"Scott," he said in a rushed whisper, "get back in. We don't know what's out here."

"Nothing's out here," Scott said confidently, yet furious that all of this had been for nothing. "Listen, Isaac." After a moment he continued. "You hear that. There's nothing. Only the sound of the cars and a ventilation unit."

Derek got out of the car and walked up to them. "Actually, there's another car coming." Scott's eyebrow lifted and then he heard it, too. After another couple minutes, a turret-mounted hummer came rolling into the square from the left. Derek leaned into Scott and said, "Remember, control your senses."

"I was—"

"There's three snipers around us."

Scott calmed himself as the car parked and picked up on their heartbeats finally. He looked at all three of them, swearing in his brain that Derek was right.

"Are you Scott McCall?" the African-American marine said that exited the passenger-side of the hummer.

"I am," Scott replied.

"We have orders to airlift you to the USS John Paul Jones until a civilian haven can be set up. You'll be reunited with the rest of your party there. If we could have everyone exit the vehicles and gather around them, the choppers are en route as we speak. ETA five minutes." Not even having to signal at anyone, the cars began to empty of their passengers and the few bags within them.

"Um…" Scott began, not knowing how to address the soldier before him.

"Sergeant Duncan," the marine replied knowingly.

"How many people made it here…with Mr. Argent?"

"Nine, I believe."

Scott exhaled calmly, noting that all heads were accounted for. "Thanks."

"How did you kids manage to survive?" he asked.

"Uh, Derek here is pretty good when it comes to survival. And my boyfriend—err, Isaac's a really good driver."

"It's alright, son: my sister's lesbian."

Scott grinned. "Are you accompanying us?"

The marine shook his head. "Orders are to transport survivors out to sea. We've got choppers searching the towns and cities and larger ones transporting them out to the Pacific Fleet. There's an operation underway to transform Alcatraz into civilian housing until something more permanent can be established."

"Have you heard anything from back east? From Quantico?"

"That's awfully specific, kid. You know someone stationed there?"

"My dad's in the FBI; he was running a training operation out there."

The marine shook his head. "Sorry, son. They don't tell us much. I'd ask your ticket onto the ship to find out."

"Mr. Argent?"

The marine nodded. "That man's got connections." Suddenly his radio clicked and his removed it from his belt and brought it up to his mouth. "Go ahead."

"Raptor Four, this is Pelican One, over. Prep the civs on the roof; you've got company heading your way; I think they're following us."

"Copy that," Sergeant Duncan replied, motioning to his two men remaining in/on the hummer.

"Need to hold out for an extra minute: Dactyl Six is carrying a gold package."

"Copy that," the Sergeant said again. He lowered the radio and addressed his two men and the 14 civilians before him. "Alright, everyone on the roof. Alvarez, light up the flares. Kinney, activate Operation Siren." He brought the radio up to his mouth again, switching the frequencies. "Noble Team, this is Duncan, over," he said, motioning for Alvarez to lead the way up the rickety metal staircase attached to the side of the large rectangular four-story building.

"Go ahead commander," came the voice of another marine.

"Stay frosty. Siren is in effect in one. We've got company zekes headed our way; remember, headshots or knees. Keep 'em off of us for as long as you can; three choppers in bound, two in one, one in two."

"Copy that, commander," the sniper replied.

"You might wanna' cover your ears," Duncan said, planting a claymore charge after the last person stepped onto the roof. Suddenly, before anyone could, all of the surrounding cars' alarms began to go wild. And right on cue, two choppers descended upon the roof, attempting to hover as close to the rooftop without actually settling down.

"Everybody on board!" the marine surnamed Alvarez yelled, winding his wrist to usher them on board. But even through the quadruple propeller noises and the car alarms down below, the adrenaline rushing through Scott's body focused his senses to such a precision that he could hear them down below. Suddenly there was muzzled sniper fire. Three different rifles. And the zombie growls dispersed in different directions. Some began to trail through the surrounding buildings where two of the snipers were positioned. Others sounded below them, searching for the final sniper. And others that hadn't been ensnared by the alarms were rushing up the metal staircase.

"They're coming!" Scott yelled, trying to warn his marine guardians. The three men couldn't make out what he'd said but the exploding claymore at the staircase signaled the zombies' arrival. Duncan and Alvarez's assault rifles opened rifle, using their shotgun or grenade under-attachments only when necessary. Kinney, however, began to unleash a barrage of high-explosive rounds from his light-machine gun.

Unfortunately, there were too many of them, the zombies arriving doubly than before: one up the upside of the stairs and the other climbing on the outer. Yes, Dactyl Six was making its own descent and soon the spec ops aboard could aid the transport helicopters, but there wasn't enough time. The zombies were within lunging distance and the reload-pattern would soon provide a window for them to get through.

Reid, who was sitting on the outside of the chopper and near the firefight, closed his eyes and inhaled. When he opened his naturally blue eyes they were jet black and right before he exhaled he stretched his palm out. As he exhaled, a singularity of magic elicited from the middle of his hand and it travelled right by Kinney's ear. When it reached just beyond the three marines, it shimmered once like a star in the night sky before erupting, firing an arced torrent of magic at all of the zombies on top of the roof. That created window needed for them to reload safely and allow the third chopper to arrive with air support and drop off their 'gold package.'

Two people, escorted by Duncan on the left flank, boarded the two transport helicopters separately. Pelicans One and Five took off, the packs left only to watch as the zombies soon overran the rooftop, but not before the three marines made it safely onto Dactyl Six. The strange man breathed sporadically, almost as if he could bust into a panic attack at any minute. "Look at me," Scott began, sitting next to the man. "Breathe in." He paused. "Breathe out." He walked the man through the exercise a few more times and soon the man was breathing more normally. "I used to have asthma," Scott said, grinning at him. "I'm Scott, by the way," Scott said, holding out his hand.

"Gavin Newsom," he said, taking Scott's hand and shaking.

"You're—"

"The Governor of California," he confirmed. "Thank you."

"No, thank you. I'm from Beacon Hills and what you've done for the state...just wow."