This place was hell.
A living, breathing hell...
Chapter 2: Exodus
"Four more on the right!"
Shots continued to ring out from the makeshift firing line. Shamblers poured out of seemingly every street corner and store front, the entire population of Gallatin seemingly converted overnight. Cops, office workers, construction crews, every walk of life was now shuffling towards the desperate band of wayward soldiers. Ammunition was rapidly depleted as the swarms ahead of the main pack were slowly picked off.
"Who the fuck is in charge!?" Callahan demanded, frantically looking around the encampment's interior.
"The Lueys dead!" A soldier responded, hobbling along with a small crate of medical supplies.
"I. KNOW." Callahan roared, "Where is Sergeant Woods?!"
"He's dead to…" A second soldier responded, his expression disturbingly neutral.
"Fuck…" Callahan took a moment to observe the chaos, before exhaling deeply.
"LISTEN UP, you, you and you! Start loading these trucks with anything they can carry, we only have a few minutes before that swarm of whatever the fuck makes it here!" Callahan ordered, his stern glare and tone whipping the guardsmen into action.
His gaze moved to the barricade; a dozen Guardsmen stood at its defense.
"I want ten shooting, two for ferrying ammo! Move your asses!" He demanded.
The firing line quickly organized itself, keeping the dead at bay as troops within the camp hurriedly loaded the few remaining trucks and jeeps with all the supplies they could hold. Several agonizing minutes passed as Callahan stared the swarm down, his eyes burning with a mixture of hate and fear.
"All right…" He began, "MOUNT UP!"
The guardsmen were instantly spurred into action. Mick and Dawes continued to fire as the men on the barricade began to fall back towards the vehicles. The approaching swarm of undead were now within the square, only a few dozen yards away from the camp.
"Let's go!" Dawes screamed, firing off short bursts in the general direction of the swarm, his heart pounding as their growls and shrieks became a deafening roar. Mick grabbed him by the shoulders, urging him to fall back.
"Keep em' away on the left!" A yell went out as a small group staggered through an opening in the barricade, only to be quickly cut down by coordinated fire.
The supply trucks hummed to life. Only two remained, along with a single humvee. One was packed with supplies, the other quickly being boarded by the remaining guardsmen, Callahan barking out orders all the while.
"EVERYONE GET ON COME THE FUCK ON!" Dawes screamed.
"Is this it?! Is this it!?" Mick asked, looking for any stragglers.
The horde was at the barricades, climbing over the makeshift wall of sandbags. Soldiers fired from the trucks as the last few climbed aboard, and dead shamblers soon began to cover the sandbag wall. Hernandez clumsily fired a pistol towards the approaching horde, with Dawes and Mick soon joining him. The last few guardsmen scrambled onto the trucks.
"GORDON, GORD, WE GOTTA GO, MAN!" A soldier yelled, blowing the skull of a shambler apart with a quick pull of the trigger, firing from the relative safety of the cargo bed.
"Go, go!" Callahan screamed, slapping the side of one of the trucks before jumping into the back.
The Humvee's wheels screeched, tearing out of the camp, the two trucks not far behind. Men in the back held on desperately as they were jerked around by the sudden movement, not all of them capable of doing so. Empty crates were plowed through by the escaping vehicles.
Callahan heard a frantic scream as one of their numbers was thrown over the side, landing on the asphalt with a grunt. His cries of fear briefly overpowered the constant groans of the dead.
He didn't last long.
"KEEP GOING! DON'T STOP." Callahan yelled, pain evident in his voice.
His screams intensified as the truck sped away. Half a dozen shamblers quickly pounced as he tried to crawl away. Spurts of blood quickly stained the ground as he began to howl, the crunching of bone and tearing of skin, a dozen shamblers now feasting on the fallen soldier.
"Roland!" A voice cried out.
Callahan tore his gaze away, trying to ignore the screams of agony that steadily got fainter and fainter. His focus was directed towards the streets ahead, as a handful of undead were run over by the speeding trucks. The downtown roads now somewhat clear as the horde was slowly left behind by the convoy. A handful were run over by the leading humvee, leaving streams of pitch black viscera and brain matter on the road behind them.
No words were exchanged. Every man seemed to be shocked into silence as the streets of Gallatin gave way to the more rural outskirts outside its downtown. The sight of hundreds of walking dead gave way to only dozens, then a handful, before finally dwindling to only one or two as the storefronts and row houses of Gallatin disappeared.
Mick took off his helmet, finally having time to wipe the sweat from his forehead while Dawes wordlessly stared ahead, his eyes focusing on thin air. Nobody else was in a mood to talk yet, some had even fallen asleep, several hours of intense stress and combat finally taking their toll.
Callahan stepped to the front of the cargo bed, taking a look back at the troops.
"We keep going for another dozen or so clicks, then we get ourselves organized so we can get the fuck out of here, hooah?"
An exhausted chorus of hooahs answered him as he exhaled, his mind racing.
"What the fuck do we do now…" He whispered to himself.
20 minutes later…
The road had been quiet, the countryside, at least on the surface, appeared to be as quiet and normal as ever, save for the collection of camouflaged trucks parked alongside the road.
Several men watched the perimeter from the back of the trucks, while the rest of the group gathered in the middle as roll call was taken and supplies were counted.
Sergeant Callahan stood on the edge of the perimeter, gazing out across the countryside. A tall and lanky soldier approached, his eyes filled with concern, dirt and grime covering his pale face.
"Staff Sergeant Callahan." He said with a curt nod.
"Sergeant Vickers…" Callahan returned.
Vickers was the only other NCO to make it out of Gallatin. He spoke with a concise, more northern accent compared to the southern drawl poseesses by most of the men.
"I did a quick tally; we've got seventeen men here, two wounded." He reported, "Compared to what we had at camp, that's three missing, and uh…one KIA…"
Callahan nodded, remembering the grisly fate of the man who fell onto the street.
"How are we doing on supplies?" Callahan inquired.
"Don't have everything counted up yet, but I'd guess about a week's worth of food at most, can't say for ammo and meds but…we should have enough to give every man a full magazine, and a spare for his belt."
Callahan nodded, his expression unreadable.
"We'll try and get in touch with other units, if that doesn't work…we'll find somewhere to hole up until this shit show is resolved." He ordered, earning a nod from Vickers.
Dawes' eyes scanned his surroundings, searching for any movement along the roads or treeline, his hands nervously clenching his rifle.
"Hey…" Mick greeted, stepping into the back of the truck.
"What…" Dawes responded.
"Get some rest, man. I'll swap with you." Mick replied, setting his rifle down to rest against the side of the cargo bed.
"You sure?" Dawes asked, his exhaustion slipping through his tough-guy exterior.
"Yeah, man, get out of here. Go get some water, at least..."
Dawes hesitated for a moment before nodding and standing up with a groan.
Mick gently stopped him, "Hey…I know you're worried, but your sister is probably fine, this shit hasn't reached Indiana yet, yeah?" Mick said softly.
"How do you know? This shit could've spread all over the Midwest for all we know. If our chicken shit brass would actually tell us something, we'd know." Dawes retorted with quiet fury.
Mick opened his mouth, but simply sighed, "Go on, man, I'll cover it from here."
"I…alright, thanks Mick…" Dawes nodded, a distant look still on his face as he climbed down the back. Mick sighed once again, letting the tension out of his shoulders as he leaned against the cargo bed's railing, his gaze sweeping across the countryside. He considered himself lucky in some ways.
He didn't have anyone out there who was worth worrying about.
Dawes made his way through the ad-hoc roadside camp, his eyes scanning the small crowd of soldiers in search of…
"Hernández!" He exclaimed, hurrying over to the wounded man.
"Ehhh?" Hernández responded, his head wound now wrapped in bandages.
"How you doin' brother? Feeling alright?"
"I've got a fucking 5-inch gash on my forehead, you pendejo. What the fuck do you think?" Hernandez replied, scrunching his face in pain.
Dawes grinned, "Yeah, you're feeling better. Hang tight, man." He said with a slight smile, patting Hernandez's shoulder as he stood.
"Sergeant Callahan say anything about moving outta here?" Hernandez asked as he sat up with a wince.
"Nothin' yet, I think we're just getting our bearings for now…" Dawes replied.
"Fucking…I need to call my madre, she ain't built for this type of shit man, hell, most of the boys here ain't…"
"That makes two of us, brother…" Dawes mused.
The silence between the two lasted for a moment.
"Alright, stay tight man, I'm going to see what Callahan wants us to do…" Dawes said, getting a nod from Hernandez.
The camp's mood was somber. Most men quietly went about their assigned duties, checking ammo and supplies, cleaning weapons, or taking a moment to tear into an MRE. A couple took the time to cry in the privacy afforded by the interiors of the vehicles, the tension from earlier in the day having reached a breaking point. The few wounded were resting on makeshift beds of cloth and packaging. Most worried for their families, some more than others. Sergeant Vickers was silently taking stock of a FEMA medical crate when he noticed one of the guardsmen making his way towards the perimeter of the camp.
"Where you going soldier?" He asked, stepping in front of the guardsman.
"Just gotta piss, Sergeant…" He responded.
Vickers knew a lie when he heard one.
"Well, you aren't going alone, not out here. Grab a buddy."
"Just…please let me go, sir…" The soldier said with a shaky tone, his hands beginning to tremble.
"I'll go with you." Vickers replied.
The soldier stood still for a moment, before attempting to rush past the sergeant.
"No! Fuck!" Vickers groaned, wrapping his arms around the attempted runaway.
The guardsman groaned and yelled, "Fuck! Just! Let me go, goddammit!"
Two more soldiers quickly helped restrain him, throwing him to the ground with grunts.
"You can't! you fucking…can't keep us here!" The soldier howled, tears beginning to roll down his face, "My goddamn kids are out there you fuck!"
"Hey hey hey, chill, fucking…calm down ok, calm down…" Vickers said with a groan, a small crowed of soldiers now gathered around the struggle.
"No! No No NO! I didn't want any of this shit man! This wasn't supposed to go this way…FUUUUCK!"
"Hey, I get it, okay? I get it, man. I get it. I got a little boy at home waiting for his dad." Vickers whispered, "We're all on edge here, okay? The worst thing we can do now is wander off and get separated, easy pickings." Vickers whispered, keeping the soldier pinned beneath him.
The man cried out a few more times, before lowering his voice down to a few choked sobs.
"C'mon, let's go brother we'll get you something to eat, you gonna be calm for me?"
"Yeah, I…yeah…" He replied.
"Alright, let's go…" Vickers said with a grunt as he lifted him back onto his feet.
Callahan had watched the exchange, along with most of the camp. Vickers had approached him as soon as the soldier was taken away.
"Sergeant…we can't stay here. These guys have people to worry about, they're going to get more and more restless the longer we do nothing." He said with concern.
Callahan sighed, looking out over the countryside, the sunset's rays painting it a shade of orange and red.
"I know, we gotta give 'em something to do, a purpose to take their mind off all this…shit." Callahan sighed, rubbing his face.
Vickers nodded, "You think Hendersonville fared any better? At least, in comparison?"
Hendersonville was the designated emergency rallying point for the entire battalion, back when the first orders came down. An entire FEMA base camp was set to be established within it.
Just like Gallatin…
Callahan shook his head, "After what we saw in Gallatin, I don't know if we should take risks in more towns, especially without orders…we've already lost too many boys…"
Vickers exhaled, looking out across the countryside as well, "Where else would we go? Our rations won't last more than a week at most, not to mention water."
Vickers rubbed his forehead, "We haven't been able to raise anyone on our frequency since we entered Gallatin. If we don't get some sort of directive, then… we need to take matters into our own hands."
"I know…I know…" Callahan replied, rubbing his chin, "We're gonna move out at first light, take some time to rest and take stock of what we have."
Vickers nodded, "What's the objective?"
"Find somewhere other than here…" Callahan replied, taking one final look at the sunset, "Even if central command fell apart, we have enough firepower to keep ourselves safe for now, at least until we find somewhere to ride this mess out."
He turned back to Vickers.
"We'll try to link up with other surviving units first, or anyone alive for that matter."
The two sergeants gave each other a mutual nod, before turning back towards the camp. Weapons and ammunition needed to be accounted for, food secured, and transport routes mapped out.
The land that surrounded the campsite was seemingly calm and quiet, a picturesque example of prime Tennessee countryside. But looks are always deceiving. It wasn't "Tennessee" anymore, all the men knew that, even if they held onto some measure of hope after Gallatin.
It was a land of Walking Dead.
