Chapter 10 – Henches
Unfortunately, VI had no Skynet aspirations. Despite her oh-so creative full name—Virtual Intelligence—she wasn't an intelligence as much as an interface for a very extensive database, network, and security system. She had vast information at her metaphorical fingertips and could talk and perform advanced math and control various parts and functions of the building. But true self-realization had not yet been achieved. If Stevie wanted to make a bid for world domination, she'd have to do it the old-fashion way, with no psychotic robotic partner.
Rats.
The upside of realizing VI's shortcomings was not having to worry about being tricked or outsmarted by her. It. Whatever. Either Jenner had tinkered with the programming and protocols or whoever'd created them in the first place had been a moron, because VI was perfectly willing to answer any question that Stevie—a rogue civilian who had no security clearance and really no business being there in the first place—asked of her. It. Whatever.
And that was how Stevie found out that the "virus" (for lack of a better term, since the underlying pathogen of the disease technically wasn't similar enough to any known virus, bacterium, fungus, parasite, etc. to be classed as one of them) was dormant in everyone and that the facility was set to explode in less than twelve hours.
She wasted only twelve minutes of those twelve hours on properly freaking out before pumping herself and her minions full of candy and energy drinks (which were of course in abundance in the abandoned nerd hive) and doubling-down on the small group's efforts to strip the place bare. Of course, looting of that thoroughness wasn't possible. They had just a few hours to work and only twenty people total to haul the booty out to the vehicles, fourteen adults (fifteen if Stevie counted herself) who could actually carry larger bags, hopefully several at a time. But then again, some of those adults would have to be free and mobile enough to provide cover fire and general escort as the rest did said hauling, so that would be maybe ten pack mules altogether. That was optimistically twenty duffels per trip, give or take a few depending on the weight. And there was no telling how many trips past the first the mules could conceivably accomplish.
She made her system simple. High-priority bags got tagged with red tape. (It was entirely hilarious that a government building had said literal tape in abundance.) Those bags were mostly filled with light-weight, high-nutrient, high-calorie, and/or nonperishable food (a lot of powdered, dried, and freeze-dried stuff and MREs, among other things) and medical supplies (medications and vitamins and suture kits galore as well as VI's top-ten picks for the most-useful portable machines and a little cooler with enough vaccines for everyone to get a tetanus booster and for the kids to get a few other jabs they likely didn't have yet). The armory was locked down, but Stevie found a random closet stuffed rather haphazardly full of guns and knives (Jenner's effort at tidying his dungeon, VI revealed when questioned about the idiot responsible for such shameful weapon management). Stevie lost almost an hour just ensuring that all but a few guns were unloaded and stowed in high-priority bags for transport; the few guns she left accessible remained loaded but had their safeties firmly on, and the minions were threatened not to even go near the small stockpile arranged beside the exit. She was generous in collecting and dispersing compatible ammo.
While she was handling that, the minions ventured into the housing levels and helped themselves to clothes of all sizes and lots of blankets as well as random cooking utensils, flashlights, lighters, books (mostly useful nonfiction but some fun stuff, too), and board and card games. Those bags were low priority and marked with regular duct tape. She would instruct the adults to leave them behind unless or until the high-priority bags were already loaded into the vehicles. Other low-priority additions also included heavy-weight, low-nutrient, low-calorie, and/or highly perishable food; various toiletries and toilet paper (because she'd rather reek of BO and wipe her ass with tree bark than starve or die of an infection); and other odds and ends that caught the fancy of one five-year-old, one seven-year-old, two twelve-year-olds, and one sixteen-year-old.
Some of the jewels of the expedition were three shiny brick-size hard drives containing all the data and research pertaining to the virus that could be compiled overnight. VI had been hesitant to provide said info, but Stevie's argument that more data backups could never be a bad thing, especially when the main cache was about to blow up and other potential repositories were either compromised or just plain gone, eventually swayed the "intelligence." And the teen had been torn about whether to cackle maniacally or fret herself into another seizure at the idea of casually carrying around government secrets in her backpack (a fancy new one that was meant for long-distance backpacking and nearly tripled her capacity yet felt way more comfortable than the one she'd been using).
Less stressful were two state-of-the-art tablets, one containing a library of medical textbooks—enough to get a person through a med-school education as well as the start of virology and trauma specializations, according to VI—and the other containing… Well, the prompt Stevie had given was "information to help us survive the fall of civilization and eventually rebuild." It would be kind of interesting to see what VI came up with. Stevie also threw in small solar chargers and battery packs, because there was no point in wasting the space on electronics if she lost the ability to run them.
The night was long (and probably full of terrors). The results—many neat stacks of bags arranged deliberately throughout the lobby—were impressive but barely a drop in the bucket of the CDC's resources. It pissed Stevie off that most of the stuff still below ground—a lot of it likely irreplaceable—was going to be destroyed, but she'd done what she could with the time and minion-power she had.
"Great work, minions," she told the kids, all of them still somewhat worryingly hyper from the excessive amounts of sugar and caffeine she'd pressured them to consume. "You're hereby promoted to henchmen." With a look at Sophia and Hazel, the teen amended, "And henchwomen. Henchpeople. Henches of the finest quality." She erratically waved a hand over each little head, patting them one by one in a weird mockery of a knighting ceremony. (She was maybe also a little loopy on sugar and caffeine and sleep deprivation and general postictal recovery and pants-wetting fear.) When the kiddos were done giggling delightedly, she continued, "Now then. We're on a tight schedule. For best results, we need to be out of here in about two hours, three at the latest. That's plenty of time for waking the useless adults and explaining to said useless adults what they need to do if they want to avoid being blown up."
The kids nodded, surprisingly chill about the threat of death by explosion. But maybe Stevie's stubborn calm (and the fact that she hadn't let any of the brats witness her own brief freak-out) kept them calm in turn. She didn't outwardly doubt for even a second that they would all be fine, so the brats didn't either.
"Before we go down there," Stevie rambled, "Does everyone have their bag on them? Packed like I told you?" She received four nods and breathed a little easier just from knowing that each brat (and herself as well) now carried two MREs, five high-calorie ration bars, a small jar of peanut butter, a bottle of gummy multivitamins, a collapsible two-liter water bottle, a pack of iodine tablets, two LifeStraws, a simple first aid kit, a thin wilderness-survival guide, a fire-starting kit, four pairs of hiking socks, a tube of sunscreen, a folding saw, a large knife, a small knife, snare wire, a mylar blanket, a rain poncho, a sturdy six-foot-by-eight-foot tarp, and a 100-foot spool of paracord. Basically, some "let's all try not to die" essentials, which weren't that heavy and took up surprisingly little space when they were stowed correctly, especially in everyone's upgraded backpacks. There was certainly plenty of room left in the packs for extra clothes and gear and snacks and toiletries and other personal stuff, such as Sophia's friendship bracelet supplies and Carl's comic books and Gavin's coloring books and Hazel's teddy bear. (They'd made Andre a little bag as well, though with fewer supplies for less weight overall; the idea was that if Andre got separated, he'd either be with someone else or have no chance anyway.)
"I got pink rope!" Hazel piped up, the adorable dark-haired kindergartener's tiny voice a treat after she'd been mostly nonverbal from trauma for the first few days of their acquaintance. "I didn't even know there was pink rope that wasn't jump rope! It's so pretty!"
Stevie beamed, holding out a hand for a quick high-five and then herding her henches back toward the stairwell (which each of them must've gone up and down at least fifty times that night). On the way down for hopefully the last time, she quizzed the other brats about their own choices for paracord color.
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Ta-da! This is kind of a short and uneventful chapter, but it's important all the same. And by important, I mean that if anyone is ever like, "Hey, wait a minute. Where did Stevie get that?" I'll point back to this vague list of useful shit. Anyway, our plucky heroine is gearing up, but you'll have to wait and see how much of the loot actually makes it out of the building. I'm doing pretty good on updates every two weeks, so hopefully, I'll remember to post the last CDC chapter on or around the sixteenth. Yes, every kid has a different paracord color. I had a plan for that but ultimately scrapped it, so it was a detail that never got worked in. However, in case you were curious, the colors are as follows: orange for Stevie, yellow for Sophia, green for Carl, pink for Hazel, blue for Gavin, red for Andre, and black for all the spare bags going to the various adults.
My theory is that Jenner had to mess with VI's programming and protocols to allow random civilians inside restricted areas. He pulled that off but isn't a computer expert and may have fucked up some stuff in the process. I wonder if it'll come back to bite him…
Yes, the group is currently sitting at twenty individuals (not counting Jenner). As you may remember, I saved Amy and one other person from the quarry (guesses?); recovered Merle; rescued Gavin, Hazel, and Andre; and recruited Michonne. Yes, having to keep track of that many characters is cumbersome (I probably should've let Michonne stay lost for max drama and an eventual teary reunion, but… Michonne! So cool!). However, there will eventually be cuts to the team. Mwahaha.
Review please :)