Chapter 21, the debate at the gates, and the terrifying discovery inside the encampment.
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WELCOME TO THE THUNDERDOME
[ STATUS: TRESPASSING ]
ENGINE FAILURE
- > DATE: Thursday, Twilight (The spooky hour)
- > MOOD: Deeply inconvenienced and highly suspicious.
- > STATUS: Trespassing on federal property.
The tour bus gave one final, dramatic shudder and died.
We didn't turn it off. The engine just finally decided it had experienced enough abuse for one lifetime and suffocated in a cloud of its own black smoke. We were parked just outside the outer perimeter fence of the Stadium.
It was supposed to be our salvation. I was promised (by my own delusional hope) a hot shower, a cot, and maybe a nice National Guardsman handing me a bowl of chili.
Instead, we got a ghost town.
The massive stadium lights, the ones Dave saw from the drone, were completely dark. The parking lot was a maze of olive-green military tents, shipping containers, and concrete barricades. But nothing was moving. The only sound was the wind flapping the loose canvas of a command tent.
THE MANAGEMENT DISAGREEMENT
Dave peeked over the top of his diaper fort. "Nope. No. Absolutely not. Put it in reverse, Brenda."
"The transmission is fused, David," Brenda replied, unbuckling her seatbelt and grabbing her keyboard shield. "We are committed."
TROPOLOGICAL WARNING
"It’s the classic trope!" Dave shrieked, his voice cracking. "The Safe Zone is never safe! It’s either overrun by super-zombies, or it’s run by a charismatic psychopath with an eyepatch who makes people fight in a pit! I don't have the upper body strength for pit fighting, Brenda!"
"David," Brenda said, her voice dropping to that terrifying HR-warning register. "We have expended maximum fuel and structural vehicle integrity to reach this coordinate. We are not leaving without a Return on Investment. We are going in to audit their supplies."
Joe racked the bolt on a heavy tire iron he’d pulled from the bus's undercarriage. "I'm with the suit. Buster needs water. Real water, not that river sludge."
Mister Whiskers stretched, hopped off the dashboard, and trotted down the bus stairs. He casually walked through the open military gates.
"Well," I sighed, grabbing my pointy stick. "The cat has claimed it. Let’s go."
THE FORWARD OPERATING BASE
We walked through the checkpoint. The barricades were intact. The razor wire was undisturbed. There were no signs of a massive battle. No bullet casings blanketing the ground. No... bodies.
It just looked like everyone stood up in the middle of lunch and walked away.
We crept through the rows of tents.
"This is spooky," Joe muttered, keeping Buster on a tight, short leash. "Military doesn't just abandon gear like this. Look."
He pointed to a Humvee parked near a medical tent. The keys were still in the ignition. A half-eaten protein bar was resting on the dashboard.
> SCANNING ENVIRONMENT...
> "They evacuated. Rapidly. But what prompted it?"
THE "ROI" LOOTING CHECKLIST
Before we went deeper, Brenda made us align on our strategic objectives. We are no longer scavenging for Gouda and hard candies. We are in the big leagues now.
MREs (Meals Ready-to-Eat)
Specifically the ones with the Jalapeño Cheese Spread. I will fight Dave for it.
Tactical Gear
Kevlar vests, helmets, or anything that teeth cannot pierce. Vogue magazines are losing their structural integrity.
Communications
A working military radio to find out if there's a real safe zone left.
Medical Supplies
Antibiotics, bandages, and maybe some ibuprofen for the massive headache I’ve had since Tuesday.
Actual Weapons
My stick is an embarrassment to humanity.
THE COMMAND TENT
We reached the center of the encampment, right at the base of the massive concrete stadium walls. The largest tent—the Command Center—had its flaps tied open.
A faint, rhythmic hiss of static was coming from inside.
I swallowed hard. I looked at Brenda. She nodded, raising her keyboard. Joe stepped up beside her, tire iron ready. We slipped inside.
The tent was filled with folding tables, maps of the city covered in red Sharpie X's, and a bank of radio equipment. One of the radios was on, cycling through dead channels. Ksssssh... Ksssssh...
"Jackpot," Brenda whispered, moving toward the radios.
"Wait," Joe said. The hair on his arms was standing up. Buster was emitting a low, continuous growl from deep in his chest.
Then we heard it.
It wasn't the wet, squishy Zom. Zom. Zom. we were used to. It was muffled. Metallic. Heavy.
CLUNK. Zom. CLUNK. Zom.
THE JUGGERNAUT
From the dark back corner of the tent, behind an overturned tactical map board, a figure stepped out.
It was a Zom Zom. But this wasn't Gary from accounting in a polo shirt. This was a soldier.
And he was wearing full, head-to-toe riot gear. Kevlar body armor, thick neck and arm guards, and a reinforced helmet with a thick polycarbonate face shield pulled down.
His dead eyes stared at us through the scratched plastic. His mouth moved behind the visor, smearing dark blood against the inside of the glass.
My rusty scissors-on-a-stick wouldn't even scratch this guy. Brenda's keyboard would shatter.
The Juggernaut Zom took a heavy, clanking step toward us.
And from outside the tent... came the sound of a dozen more heavy, clanking footsteps.
> WOULD YOU LIKE ME TO...
[A] Write Chapter 22, detailing the frantic battle against the "Juggernaut" Riot Gear Zom Zoms?
[B] Create a Combat Diagram for the Command Tent?
[C] Draft the Distress Signal logged on the military radio?
