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Multiple Settings Nᴇᴄʀᴏsɪs : Sᴛᴀᴛᴇ ᴏғ Fᴇᴀʀ

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Lorsh

Varlot
Roleplay Availability
I am currently recruiting for a roleplay.
Roleplay Type(s)
  1. Nation Building
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  • May 15th, 2003

    It has been 32 days since the outbreak hit Maine. Saco suffered bad, but at least some people survived. The latest death toll they're reporting across the U.S. is seventy five million, but most have dismissed such low numbers as fancifully optimistic. The combined populations of the twin cities of Saco and Biddeford had been about forty thousand, yet fewer than two thousand are still left in the safe zone. As for the stragglers who never ended up making it, who knows who many are still alive out there?

    The uniformed authorities still call the shots around here; mostly the Maine Army National Guard, along with a mishmash of military personnel from other branches. A decent chunk of the Saco Police Department survived thanks to their station's proximity to the zone, so a detachment of cops is also available to pull security.

    The camp's management is in relative disarray. There is a 'refugee council', a small team of doctors, and a 'shadow panel' of NCOs and junior officers who generally act of their own accord, separately from the headquarters at Zone Command. The reality is that there are few commissioned officers left with the fortitude and willingness to lead the survivors.

    From the start, the zone has been hemorrhaging officers. Lieutenant Colonel Kade Sellers of the 133rd Engineer Battalion, the orginal commanding officer, was killed only several days into the outbreak. His second-in-command, Major Johnathon Hodges, had to put his predecessor out of his misery... Sellers was nothing but a tattered uniform attached to a limbless, writhing torso after the horde had finished with him. It was under Major Hodges' leadership that the Safe-Zone was secured, although a heavy price was paid.

    Hundreds of civilians were killed on Hodges' orders, and not just the infected -- many tried to rush the checkpoints even after the islands were at their maximum capacity. Bridges were blown, and those who refused to disperse were gunned down. He oversaw the execution of both looters and infected civilians, who were shot and burned in pits.

    Sporadic outbreaks have steadily whittled down the zone over the past few weeks, as well as the Major's nerves. The things he had to do in those first days still haunt him, and he's since become a shadow of his former self. He locks himself inside his office, often joined by his XO, Captain Rory Jenkins, as they slowly drink themselves to death. Day-to-day camp affairs hold little relevance to them, and are delegated to the other officers and NCOs.

    Morale is crushingly low, despair gripping the islands. People have mostly run out of supplies in the refugee camps, while the soldiers remain covetous of their remaining MREs. Water is boiled, bodies are burned. Television and radio broadcasts are sporadic.



 
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Ellis

The continuous roar of the East Channel dam’s cooling discharge and overflow. The sensation of the warm sun beating down on him this morning. The grass beneath him. Whenever he had free time he came here. Resting beside the misty shore of the Saco River could nearly make Ellis forget that the world has ended.

It helped a lot that foot traffic around there was low, thanks to the fenced perimeter and the importance of the powerhouse. Not much to dispel the illusion but him.

Running his left hand through the greenery, Ellis opened his eyes and got up, peering at the opposite bank. A few houses were past the trail and through the woods uphill, but the infected typically lost interest and wandered off eventually when drawn to the same noise that comforted him during these fleeting moments of peace. Seeing one now, he started to wave before sighing and turning away from the wind to light a smoke. Hadn’t gotten into the habit until the last month, but did really it matter when they were going to run out anyway? Even Major Hodges couldn’t drink himself into oblivion forever.

Decided, he began walking to the command center. Took a while to work up the nerve, yet he got there. Talking to the drunk tank was better than this shit. Putting out the cigarette on his way there and stuffing it in his pocket, he approached the building, cooperating with and checking in on the soldiers and refugees that waylaid him.

Something was getting done today.

Lorsh Lorsh
 
Anthony
~~~~><~~~~
Under the Shadow of Death

"Take position."

The recruits rush to do so, some of them having to check if they are flush with the others, edging themselves into a perfect line.

"Take aim."

A clatter of movement rattled out as the recruits lift up their rifles and aimed at the very slow moving line of approaching zombies, though a few recruits dropped their guns in their rush to keep pace, forcing them to pick them back up. Moments passed in deafening silence as these few stragglers caught up.

"Fire!"

A volley of booms followed, some of the recruits knocked by the recoil, while only a zombie or two dropped from the front of the enemy line some 50 yards ahead of the recruits. Most zombies that were hit, though, merely staggered, small bursts of blood and viscera popping from their mangled torsos.

"Remember. The infected cannot be killed by hitting them anywhere other than the head." Anthony announced, walking behind the line of recruits. "Precision is the key to successfully defeating this enemy. Take aim, study the enemy's movement, and fire again."

Another volley split the air, though only another three zombies fell, and even then two were merely knocked off their feet. Most of the bullets zipped passed the enemy's heads, though a few hit them in the chest or shoulder, with one bullet even hitting the neck, popping off the zombies head like a champagne cork. If Anthony was generous, he may consider that one a kill. The staggered shuffling of the zombie line does not make the task of shooting their heads easy, and a few recruits even curse in frustration as their bullets only just miss.

"Again! Stand firm and do not relent!"

Practice. That is what is needed. Lots and lots of practice. Perhaps more than they have time for. One by one, the volleys fly, dropping the zombies little by little as they trickle forwards. Eventually, though, the zombies gain ground in spite of their shambling, making the recruits more and more nervous as the dead draw ever closer.

"Shit. Oh, shit." One recruits cries to himself, his courage failing him as he starts to panick, slipping himself out of formation and drawing the attention of the horde as he runs. They like to give chase, it seems.

"Hold the line!" Anthony barks. "Maintain formation and take not one step back!"

Some try to follow his commands, but a unit is only as strong as their weakest link, and their weakest link just turned tail and ran. These recruits are not battle hardened and disciplined troops, they are merely civilians with rifles in their hands. Expecting people who have not so much as been in a fist fight in their lives to face the walking undead could be considered too much, not that there is a choice. The formation breaks as some of the recruits lose heart and run, who are chased down by the zombies, while others try to keep fighting as they try to retreat. At this point, the exercise is over, and Anthony steps up.

Pop. Pop. Pop. Pop.

As soon as Anthony raises his rifle, zombies drop one by one in quick succession, the light at the end of his rifle never seeming to fall completely dark as his aim snaps from one to the next quicker than the eyes of those watching him could follow. Blood and blackened brain matter splatter across the ground and walls of the abandoned street, recruits who fled crumpling up anywhere they feel is safe in fits of tears as their pursuers hit the ground around them, while those still yet composed fall back and stay well out of the corporals way. After several minutes, the zombies were entirely dispatched, their decaying forms laying motionless upon the ground and oozing black bile. Anthony took stock, scanned the area to ensure only the living moved, and then he looked around til he found what he was looking for.

Huddled beside a car, blubbering to himself, was the recruit who first panicked. Anthony stood over him, the corporal's his face a mask of silent disdain.

"You broke formation, and incited an enemy charge, endangering the lives of your fellow soldiers." The corporal barks, his voice edged with anger. "What do you have to say for yourself?"

"I-I-I-" He stammers through his weeping, "-s-s-sorry... s-s-sir..."

Anthony's eyes dropped, seeing a wet patch grow over this recruits pants, and the corporal turned away in disgust.

"When you are on the battlefield, surrounded by enemies and under fire, there is no running and no abandoning your fellow soldiers." Anthony speaks to the assembled recruits, many of them now regained their senses and composure. "You stand with your brothers and sisters, or you die. This was only a training exercise, but make no mistake. Had this been the real thing, if we were really out there amongst the hordes, we would all be dead right now. This breakdown cannot happen again. If any of you cannot face the realities of war, then stay at camp. But should you return, I expect you all to face the enemy before you, and never turn back."

Anthony could see many wavering, this forey into the valley of death proving too much for them. Some, though, some he could see steeling themselves for the struggles ahead, gathering their inner strength and cementing their convictions. These men and women, these are the ones Anthony has really been looking for, those who can face this world and will not be cowed by it. Such people have what it takes to join him, become part of his new unit, a fighting force strong enough to push back the horde and even retake this world. Still, it is early days yet, and even those he sees as holding potential may yet fail. But given the deteriorating situation in the Safe Zone, Anthony will have to act.
 
The Saco Safe Zone was never quiet. The air carried the constant hum of suffering—low murmurs, distant arguments, and the occasional sharp cry of pain. Yet, inside the makeshift medical tent, Ionut Albescu worked with steady hands, his voice a warm balm against the cold reality of their world.

"Hold still, micuțule," he murmured, kneeling beside a boy no older than eight, his arm cradled awkwardly against his chest. The child, Matthew, had taken a bad fall while playing near the barricades. Now, his dark eyes shimmered with tears, his lips pressed into a tight, miserable line.

Ionut smiled, brushing back the boy’s unruly hair. "You are a very brave young man. If I were in your place, I would be crying like a baby. Loud, too. Aaah, mama, help me!" He waved his free hand dramatically, his thick Romanian accent exaggerating the performance.

Matthew sniffled, his lips twitching into something close to a smile. His mother, Edina, a gaunt woman wrapped in layers of patched clothing, gave Ionut a look of pure gratitude.

"You think you can be braver than me?" Ionut challenged, picking up a wooden splint.

The boy gave a small nod.

"Good," Ionut said. "Because I need you to stay very still while I set this, Matei. I promise—it will hurt only for a moment, then it will be much better."

The boy inhaled sharply, tiny fingers gripping his mother’s sleeve. Ionut worked quickly, adjusting the fracture with a firm but now practiced touch. Matthew whimpered, his body stiffening, but when Ionut wrapped the splint in place, his shoulders sagged with relief. "There," Ionut said, securing the final knot with a tug. "Like new. No sports for a while, though." He winked. "You have to give the other boys a chance to catch up to you, yes?"

The boy giggled, his fear momentarily forgotten. Edina squeezed Ionut’s hand. "Thank you, doctor. Truly."

"Of course." Ionut patted her hand, then ruffled Matthew’s hair once more before pushing himself up.

The ache in his back was sharper now, a dull reminder of the hours he’d been bent over patients. He had been on his feet since before dawn, moving from one wound to the next—setting bones, stitching gashes, treating fevers with what little supplies they had left. And now, he had another appointment.

With a weary sigh the only indication of his fatigue, his face bright and cheery, he grabbed his satchel and slung it over his shoulder. "I must go, but if it hurts too much, come see me. No charge—only a smile as payment."

Matthew gave him the biggest grin he could manage.

With a final nod, Ionut stepped out of the tent, blinking against the light of the sun. The medical centre was already buzzing with more refugees in need of help. He wanted to stay but his true duty called. He exhaled, squaring his shoulders. Major Hodges was waiting at the military barracks, and if he didn’t remove the man’s braces soon, he’d never hear the end of it.
 
Lt. Flynn sat along the eastern most tip of Factory Island by the Wood Camp. It was a bright, sunny spring day. The river flowed eagerly as the winter frost was melting this season and nature returned. Yet, Flynn felt more exhausted than a bear waking up from hibernation. While the Major drank himself silly in his office, Lt. Flynn had been the one to organize a lot of the construction and frankly destruction of structures. Collapsing the bridges while refugees were trying to cross them just a few weeks earlier? Hodges may have given the order, but it was Flynn who ignited the det cord after his platoon had set up explosives. The makeshift shelters midst the limited space and buildings? It was what him and his men could scrounge together to the best of their abilities and limited means.

Yet, there was more that had to be done. The islands were cramped. Supplies low... morale... well... most people still seemed shocked and getting used to the new status quo. However, Flynn knew that if things didn't improve or at least some progress was being made, this "Safe" Zone would rapidly become one of the most dangerous places a person could be. Each day was precious. Every able body... indispensable. Flynn knew that he would have to ask the impossible out of everyone. Yet, they had no other option. They needed leadership... and a good leadership could convince others to run through hell and and to keep running. Was there good enough leadership among the thousands of desperate souls on these god forsaken islands? There was only one way to find out.

Flynn took a deep breath, trying to enjoy just a few last seconds of silence and tranquility. He gingerly rose from his spot and began to make his way to the sullen ruckus of Factory Island.

---

"Collins! West!" Flynn called out at the two corporals lounging about the outside of the barracks. They stood at attention and saluted, though not with the zest or speed that they used to. Flynn knew that his own men were plagued with similar thoughts and were overworked as much as him. Collins had even been one of the men to set up the explosives to collapse the bridges. He had blood on his hands as much as Flynn. "I need you two to find all the platoon leaders and any other officer who isn't... occupied. Ask them to meet me at the side conference room in HQ. I don't know about you boys, but I'm getting tired sitting on this island. It's time we figured out how to eat something other than MREs and fish stew every day. Oh, and invite the police Sergeants and Lieutenants along with some of the more notable civilians on the zone like the doctors. Get the rest of your squads to help out."

"Sir, yes sir!" The two men replied and walked away with a bit of jump in their step as they had a new found purpose on this island.

---

At the side conference room, Flynn stared at a pamphlet, which was a local map used to help hikers navigate through the nature preserves in the area. Trying his best to try and fill out the local area with POIs based on what he had seen and his memory, Flynn circled a few neighboring areas and labeled them with a pencil:

"Auto Shop and NorthEast Electrical Distributors" in the area in between CP Charlie and CP Bravo.

"Biddeford Mill Museum" directly south of Factory Island.

"Biddeford Town Hall" to the east of Factory Island on the southern side of the river. "Boat Dealer" next to the Town Hall to the East.

"Water Treatment Plant" to the North East of Factory Island.

"Saco Manufacturing & Woodworking" to the North of Springs Island

Then a few blocks further north, Flynn had marked "Portland Pediatrics Hospital, Shaw's Grocery and Pharmacy Supermarket" in a large shopping complex and even further Northwest a few miles away... "General Dynamics Weapons Systems" by I195. That was where he worked, and frankly... there was a good chance that the .50 cals that they had were made there. If they could secure the facility... it was in theory possible to restart production, but more realistically, it would provide them with extra parts and tools to repair and refurbish their current weapons.

To the far east, along the Atlantic coastline, Flynn marked "University of New England - Medical School and Research". It was the only medical school in all of Maine and most medical workers in the area went to school there.

With the map now populated, Flynn was confident that it would be easier for people to... take more initiative and get things done on this damned island.
 
Noones hadn't had too busy of a day. He woke up, did PT with his platoon, went to Henry's for some breakfast and coffee, and then went for a walk to see what was up. He'd done his best to put himself out there in the community, and hear from everyone - with the way things were going, he wanted to figure out where people's minds were at.

Walking through a field separating the civilians' workplace from the troops' living quarters, Roger saw a familiar figure on the edge of the foliage.
"Lieutenant!" Noones shouts, cradling his rifle as he jaunts after Lieutenant Mills. A pilot in the Navy, who he'd gotten to talking to. Decent enough of a guy, compared to some of the people in his own platoon. Roger was always looking to make friends who had a good head on their shoulders - Mills seemed like one of them. You never knew when you'd need a smaller group of people you could trust had their head on straight, especially with how things have been going.

"Need any help, sir? What's the news?" Roger asked as he caught up to the Lieutenant, offering him a brief salute as custom. Afterwards, he'd pull out a pack of Lucky Strikes, flipping the top open and offering one to his superior officer.

Ellis saluted back, stopping in the green just before Main Street. “Gonna try to talk to Hodges. Jenkins too, if he’s around.” He said, holding up a gloved hand to politely refuse the Lucky Strike cigarette. “Keep it. Those will be worth their weight in gold soon enough. They’re already worth two Newport Lights.”

He crossed his arms, clutching the nomex of his flight jumpsuit over his lower biceps. “I’ve been speaking with a few guys about tightening security around here. And I don’t mean better fences either. Flynn can deal with that when he gets around to it. If you’re not busy today Roger… I can certainly use some help setting things in motion. It’s desk work more than anything. Organizing things, and creating work opportunities for the refugees.”

"Yeah," Roger affirms, striking a match and lighting his cigarette, taking a short drag. "I feel like we need more cohesion, not just among the peoples, but our soldiers, too. Before long, people are gonna start to worry about themselves...I'll help anyway I can. But if not better fences, how will we increase security? More patrols? Arming the populace?" Roger stated, looking down, with a worrisome expression. He dreaded the conclusion of how things were going in the Safe Zone. He felt like things were at a breaking point. What he wanted to say to Lieutenant Mills was; 'dude, command is fucking losing it, we're in deep shit.' But he had to keep up appearances; even though he thought of Mills as a trustworthy, stand-up guy, he was still an officer. A quality that invoked prejudice in most of the enlisted men nowadays. Often, their officers had led them into shitshows.

"That Rennox is a sketchball. There's soldiers, and there's civvies, as far as I'm concerned. Getting them mixed up is a dangerous combination. Last thing we need is some hoity-toity...guerillas," Noones says quietly. The opinion was controversial. Many agreed with the idea of arming the civilians; safety in numbers.

“No, no,” he waved his hand dismissively, placing the other on his hip. Ellis smiled. “I’m thinking of taking a census of everyone. Uniforms and civilians. Printing photo IDs, getting a digital database and paper files… It’ll be a lot of work, true, and some of the refugees might say bullshit for us to one day disprove, yeah, but they’ll have to stick to their stories, and most importantly, they’ll be easier to separate from the crowd. Nobody will be able to sneak onto the islands afterwards, or take more than their fair share of rations. Might buy us a few more days and give us less headaches about the food situation.”

“Now, arming civilians can be done as one of the work duties, but I’d rather arm those that we’re already working with first, like the police. The firefighters and any orphans could maybe be taken in under our wing too. Besides that, maybe we could make spears and recruit a militia to use them. Not too dangerous weapons against us troops, but certainly good enough to kill infected through fences or when in a proper formation.”

Roger listens closely as Ellis explains his ideas, puffing on his cigarette and waving at some passersby, a man and a woman in civilian clothing. Both carried pistols strapped to their sides, but were familiar faces, nothing to worry about.

"Those are fuckin' good ideas," Noones replied. "These types of things are exactly what we need to restore a sense of normalcy and make the Zone less easy to infiltrate. And, my platoon has already started doing drills using the bayonet to dispatch infected while in formation. Translates well to the use of a spear. I've got my lieutenant's ear - I'll see if we can get something going," Noones finishes. Atleast putting spears in the civilians' hands and showing them how to use them would make them useful. Probably not great for offense, the soldiers would still need to deploy for that, but they could keep the local numbers of freaks low.

"Let's go see Hodges. Couple of my guys are already over there, I think. I'll back you up on these proposals."

“Seems like something is already happening.” Ellis remarked with a turn of his head as Cpl. West jogged over to him and gave them the news for the impromptu meeting. “Let’s see what’s brewing first, shall we? Hopefully this can force command to act.”

"Ought to be good," Noones says, before stepping into a double-time on the way to HQ. He might have had his doubts about command, but when told to report, he did so with haste.

It wasn't Major Hodges, or any of the other top brass, but meeting with Lieutenant Flynn and his coterie was about just as good. The fact that they met seperately from high command was telling. Nowadays, they ran the show, truth be told. The two might even be better off bringing Mills' ideas up to Flynn and the others on the 'Shadow Panel' as opposed to the Major -- he wasn't very...effectual, recently.
 
Joseph Delacrook was in a meeting of the unofficial ‘refugee council’, anxiously waiting his turn to speak. Delacroix looked down at the ripped and overworn jeans covering his legs, “If I had known how permanent this trip was going to be, I would have brought more clothes,” he thought to himself.

The speakers before him droned on and on, carefully picking their words and coaching their very limited criticisms of the milItaly’s administration of the safe zone. “Cowards,“ Delacroix mused in his head, “when I get my chance, I’ll say what we’re all really thinking.”

Finally it was Delacroix‘s turn, and as he got up he looked around the room. A few people, the lapdogs of the army, stared daggers at him, but the rest perked up as they say him take the floor, seemingly awakened from a stupor.

Satisfied, Delacroix began his speech, “My fellow refugees, there has been a complete abdication of responsibility from our leaders. Major Hodges either has no plan for our long-term survival here on these islands or his leadership capabilities have become so fucking rotten and decrepit that he‘s incapable of telling us what it is. Either way, he’s become unfit to lead a Boy Scout troop, much less this community. What we need to do is use our god given right to assemble for a petition of grievances and demand that not only Hodges step down but that a council of us refugees and the responsible members of the military take his place. Cause if there’s one thing this situation had proved is that we don’t need some single, unaccountable, unelected asshole making all the decision. Now who’s with me!”
 
One of the soldiers, Private Thorpe, lowered his M14 and shakily exhaled. The forever war against the undead had aged him years in just a month. His eyes were sunken, and his appearance was disheveled. Still, he didn't turn caitiff like Private Kelstrap did. Part of him couldn't really blame the kid, though. He never even got a chance to ship out to basic training before the epidemic hit. Thorpe had just gotten out of Fort Jackson and was at least sporting his mosquito wings on his shoulders. Still, something told him that Kelstrap would have cracked whether or not he'd passed BCT.

An old man in a N95 respirator bent over and started to pick up some spent casings, littering the dirt on the safe side of the fence. He was able to pick up most of them, though maybe a few had escaped his gaze... If only Private Shaw had found the the brass magnet! Lance Corporal Nedring, the only marine in the base besides Rennox, had been the one to put him up to it. She gave a few pats on the back to Thorpe and the other army recruits, while glancing warily at the civilians that Rennox had armed.

"One, this is training team. Range is no longer hot," she says into her radio, before tilting her head and suddenly unslinging her M16A4. "Hey, Rennox. Is that guy fucking bit?"

She had leveled her finger at a scraggly forty-something guy in a high visibility vest and hunter camo ballcap. "No, ma'am -- I ain't!" There were clearly bloodstains on his shoulder, and half a bloody handprint on his vest.

zombie.png

The guards in front of Zone Command stand aside and allow Doctor Albescu through the door. Once inside, sandbags can be seen piled up on the floor just a few meters ahead of the entrance. A baggy-eyed specialist (nametag reading 'SALTZMAN') was smoking a cigarette, sitting on a stool behind an emplaced machine gun. A belt of 7.62x39mm NATO draped over another soldier, who snored with his head pressed against the sandbag.. He waved the dentist on through without a word, glancing back down to his Juggs magazine.

Sergeant Bates staggered past, his arms around a pair of dolled-up women. The man had lost his wife, and all three of his daughters. He was 'starting over', he had said... he was now renowned for his generosity when it came to 'sharing' his rations with the girls in camp. Another civilian woman can be seen carrying out a bag full of beer cans and trash from Hodges' office, sparing the doctor yellow smile as she passed.

A man with oak epaulettes pulled himself up from his chair and embraced the dentist, reeking of liquor. He smiled with studded yellow teeth, grasping at Dr. Albescu for balance. "Get these... fuckin' things off..." He'd been due for an appointment to get them removed before his deployment, which of course never came to pass... well, this was a domestic deployment. A big fuckup. "I'd kill myself if you weren't around to get these off," the major admitted.

marshal.png

One of the refugees excuses himself and leaves the building.

Everyone's shocked at the frankness of Delocroix's speech. Many are dissatisfied, as he is... but is challenging the status quo really worth it? Many of the people present at the meeting don't have the mettle to go up against the National Guard, truth be told.

"Those are bold statements to be making about the army, especially during martial law, Mr. Delacroix," mentions Shaun Marsden, a spectacled homeowner. Many of the councilors accepted that their little committee only existed as a formality, limited mostly to Springs. The folks in Biddeford were dicatated to by the military out of Saco, that's just how the islands were arranged. "We can submit a list, yes, but to demand he step down? He'd have this council disbanded. He could punish us -- take our remaining rations and fuel, our bullets, our guns."

Tom Harriett, a stubbly fisherman, shakes his head. "Come, now. Major Hodges ain't gonna be keeping us safe for long. How long before the rest of his boys desert? They're all goin' AWOL, or they're just not giving a shit, I don't know!"

A few people nod along, but none of the commitee's big kahunas, Nancy Garter, Paul Lovell, and Penelope Howard, seem to approve. Like Shaun, they were homeowners on Springs, each hosting multiple refugees on their property.
 
Hadley Jones

90s Laboratory.jpg
Hadley set down his glasses on the laboratory table in front of him. He put his hands to his head, hunched over the table and took deep breaths. His memories came flooding back to him.

New York, again. Fuckin brain is trying to kill itself at this point.

~~~
Hadley stood with New York National Guardsmen and CDC scientists at a Forward Operating Base set up in Times Square. It was April 10th, 2003. It was a chilly and slick early morning. The world was getting its spine ripped out without much fanfare. Hadley watched as a couple men hashed out a game-plan with random Sorry and chess pieces, and a box of cigarettes. They were men with the 69th Infantry Regiment. The best of the best, at least as Hadley understood.

“We have a significant concentration of hostiles at the Port Authority Bus Terminal,” Captain Donnelly said. “They’re pinned in for now with the glass and the doors, but they’re likely to come through at any point. We’re going to move quickly down Seventh Avenue, cut across West 42nd. CDC,” Captain Donnelly turned towards Hadley and his coworkers with a blue Sorry piece between his fingers, “CDC, Squad Orange, will be tailing us. We’ll identify a hostile matching the criteria and contain them, or if necessary neutralize them. Squad Orange will then take DNA samples from the subject and we’ll extract along the same MSR.”

“How much time will we have?” Hadley asked. Captain Donnelly looked up.

“With the rate they’re moving we might have a forty second window where we can make sure you’re safe.” The men and women at the huddle stood in silence. The whipping wind made their clothes flutter like sails in a storm. Hadley broke the silence.

“Okay, we’ll make it work,” Hadley said. “Frank, Lisa, we’re gonna take the DNA samples simultaneously. I’ll be on an arm, Frank you’ll take an arm, Lisa go for the liver or the neck if that’s all you got.” Hadley turned to Captain Donnelly. “We’re working with Cee-Burn rules here. No touching unless gloved, no breathing unless it's through a gas mask. We’ll touch the subject if we have to. We’ll be in Racal suits. If you need to talk to us, shout at us, our air filters are pretty loud.”

“Understood Mister Jones,” Captain Donnelly said. “We’re running late, 10 minutes gentlemen.” Captain Donnelly grabbed the refuse on the table and stuffed them in a box.
The huddle dispersed and Hadley went with Frank and Lisa to their tent. As Hadley got towards the safety gear he took deep breaths to calm himself.

~~~

Hadley was back at Saco, still at the laboratory desk. His arms shook as he stood himself up. Teeth, blood, gaping wounds, torn apart flesh. It was like yesterday was today and tomorrow, of horrors locked in the mind’s vault, wriggling for escape yet unable to. It was Hadley’s own infection. He had seen terrible things before. He was part of a team sent to the DRC on an aid and study mission for the Marburg outbreak only a couple years ago. All the things he has studied and live laboratory tests. They couldn’t prepare him for what he had seen.

Necrotic Filovirus. Under a microscope it looks like Marburg, or Ebola. But something in its structure made it affect the brain in a strange way. Most filovirus cases leave a person bedridden and unable to move, but in Hadley’s mind he wondered how it could make someone hyperactive and aggressive. Cannibalistic. It was almost like rabies, but not with all of the same effects. It must have had a mutation at some point in its life cycle where it was changed.

It was hard to converse with a scientific community that was being eaten alive on a daily basis, but Hadley wondered if he could still contribute something. Maybe some grain of knowledge that could give people a chance of understanding what was happening, and maybe how to fight it.

Don’t bullshit yourself, Hadley thought, what good is it anyway to think about things that aren’t gonna matter anyways. Knowledge. A fighting chance. Understanding. You’ve seen a brilliant mind with a bright future, Hadley! A four-year-old boy with his skull caved in and his grey matter going down a storm drain. What the hell are you hoping for?

Hadley put on his glasses and let out a large sigh. If he was going to be of any worth to the jackboots he had to do something. He was still technically CDC for what it was worth. Maybe if he could give them an insight into this Necrotizing Filovirus they’d leave him to his clinical work. Hadley wanted an easier name to call the virus. He settled on calling it Panama Virus. That was the first place he’d heard any scientists isolating the actual outbreak virus. It’s likely there were other cases across the world earlier than that, but Hadley couldn’t be too sure.
 
Ionut took a slow breath as he stepped inside Zone Command. He gave a polite nod to 'Saltzman' but Ionut didn’t linger. As he walked, the renowned Sergeant Bates swayed past, a woman tucked under each arm. A woman followed behind, a lady he thought he recognised, hauling a trash bag full of beer cans as she passed. He offered a warm smile in return of her own. And then came the smell.

It hit Ionut before Major Hodges did. Alcohol and old food layered over each other in a miasma of self inflicted neglect. The major pulled himself upright, arms thrown around Ionut like an old drinking buddy, his breath hot with whiskey fumes. "Get these... fuckin' things off," he slurred, his grip tightening as if the dentist might vanish before the job was done.

Ionut arched a brow, but a small smile crept across his face. "Judging by your current state, Major, I think we won’t be needing any painkillers."

Ionut steadied him with a firm but careful grip, guiding him toward a chair near the desk. "Sit," he instructed, already fishing into his satchel for the necessary tools. "Before you fall over and make my job even harder."

Ionut’s fingers paused for a fraction of a second as he unrolled his tool kit. "I'd kill myself if you weren't around to get these off"

Ionut didn't reply right away putting Hodges words down to an offhand remark, a drunken statement brought on by his inebriation. Instead, he reached for his pliers. "Lucky for you, Major," he said lightly, positioning himself beside the man’s chair, "I’m very good at extractions."

He tapped the metal against Hodges’ front teeth with a quiet clink. "Now open up. Let’s get this started."

He let Hodges slump into the chair and his head tip back. Ionut gave him a lopsided grin, inspecting the braces. The metal was tarnished, the brackets grimy. Not the worst he’d seen, but still bad enough to make his fingers twitch for a proper sterilization kit. "Excuse me if I begin to ramble, Major, but I very much enjoy my work," Ionut replied, a twinkle in his eye as he gripped his pliers and prodding at the brackets. "You’re a better patient than most. No screaming, no crying… It’s refreshing. But then again I have not started pulling"

"Count back from fifty" Ionut tilted his head, pretending to consider. "No. Let's make it one hundred"

Without further warning, he tightened his grip and pried the first bracket loose. The tension in the wire resisted for a second before snapping free. "Good!" Ionut praised. "I had a man last week who tried to bite me when I pulled his tooth. You, at least, have some restraint."

"It was in the Springs. Nenorocit had an abscess the size of a walnut." Ionut shook his head, prying another bracket loose. "Tried to heal it by drinking his own urine."

"I told him there are much better home remedies. Like whiskey. Or just—going to a dentist, if you’re lucky enough to find one." He gave Hodges a playful nudge. "Like you, Major. You’ve got a top-tier dental professional at your service."

Ionut worked another bracket free, pressing a gauze pad against the bleeding gum. "I maybe here a while" he joked though his tone quickly became serious "So tell me sir, how are you holding up?"

Time passed slowly but steadily and eventually Ionut popped the last bracket free and pulled the entire brace out, dropping it onto a bloodied gauze pad. "There," Ionut said, packing up his tools. "Congratulations, Major. You’re no longer a teenager."

The good dentist did one last look over the Majors mouth. "Well, you have made a mess of your mouth by chewing the metal of your braces" Ionut said, standing with a stretch, his back audibly cracking. "I'll make sure to check up on you in a week"

Ionut shot him a grin as he slung his satchel over his shoulder. "Just keep doing what your doing but try and swill the alcohol before you swallow."
 
The Major grimaced, his fuzzy gray brow furrowing as the first stud was removed from his teeth. There was little reaction, otherwise, and he seemed to be more distressed when he had to reflect on how he was 'holding up'. "Everythingsh goingsh tsh shit," he gabbed, closing his eyes tightly after another bracket was taken off.

The CO went on after he had a moment to himself where his mouth wasn't agape. "People look to me, but you know... you see how it is... Rory, he told me getting these fuckin' chains off might get me back in the swing of things..." He doesn't sound so sure of himself. "The things I've done, though, it's all just... I don't have much in me, any more. My officers know what they're doing. I got us here. I'll hold down the fort." He gestured around the trashed room, as if this was now his new domain. The Major had to scowl at his last joke, at least at first, but he ultimately did force a chuckle, before taking up a bottle and rinsing out his mouth with a sip of whiskey. He offered the bottle, still about two-thirds full, over to the doctor as payment, along with a wad of cash totalling $3075.

"Keep an eye on the folks in the labratory for me,"
the Major mentions as the dentist left him in his squalorous headquarters. He's joined by the First Sergeant and a couple of soldiers, half-in-uniform, half-in-civvies. They leave their weapons in a rack and go inside the Major's office with a few cases of beer.
 
Seeing Major Hodges standing behind the fencing came as a surprise to Anthony. The old man has not been getting out much these days, preferring instead to the comfort of his own office and the company of hard liquor, habits neither of which the corporal looked upon too kindly. Besides holding this position and gunning down infected, little has been achieved under the Major's leadership, and the results of this stagnation speak for themselves. The Zone is quickly reaching a point when sitting here is no longer an option.

"Major Hodges, sir." Anthony greeted him, saluting a superior officer as is only proper for a soldier. Some things must remain sacred, even in these times. Seeing the Major before him, Anthony cannot help but note that his ghoulish appearance leaves little to distinguish him from the zombies, except perhaps that the Major is just a little bit tidier and a lot less crazed. Anthony's inner commentary danced over the tip of his tongue, a few choice barbs rising up his throat, but the corporal forced himself to swallow it all down. One wrong word to an officer can be very costly for an NCO, and some officers are so very precious with their feelings. Some headaches ought to be left for another day.

Once granted to stand at ease by the Major, Anthony turns to the Lance Corporal, someone he looks to with some fondness. A fellow marine is a rare thing, someone who would be invaluable to him, if he could only convince her to join him.

"He should not be bit. But, as a precaution, I will be taking him to the Lab for quarantine and monitoring." Anthony returned to the Lance Corporal, seeing that she seems to be training some of the National Guard recruits. Anthony considered doing this as well, but, as a Corporal, he has no real authority here, and any guardsmen he trains could be easily taken from him. The best thing about the civvies is that they can say 'no' to Hodges, and there is little he can do about it. If Anthony is to build a fireteam like he wants, his troops must be HIS troops, not theirs. If only Nedring could see it that way.

"With your permission, Major, I'd like to get this civilian to the Lab." Anthony requests. "And get these guns back in the armory as well."

Lorsh Lorsh
 
Ellis

The talks were coming to a close, and a lot of good ground was being covered, but now was the time to make sure what was discussed, especially the more sensitive details, actually got implemented.

“Speaking of these problems, I’d like a brief sidebar with Cpt. Spencer, Lt. Flynn, and Lt. McAllister before I head out. In private.” He asked, already thinking of adjacent rooms where they’d have some privacy. “I think we can begin to implement some changes around here to solve, or at least begin to address, a few the issues raised today.”

"Lead the way, Mills." Flynn replied as he followed the pilot to discuss whatever it was that he wanted to bring up.

Ellis brings them into an office, bidding Roger to guard the door. “Keep folks away?” He asked before shutting it.

“Like I’ve mentioned, we need to gather civilians for a census and so we can issue them photo IDs. I recommend we begin as soon as possible, starting with soldiers, and after we get some civilians documented before mealtime we move equipment out to the ration distribution centers so folks can get their IDs made while waiting in line. In time, we make home visits to figure out where people live. These photo IDs will be accompanied by paperwork and a digitial database of course.”

He scratched the corner of his eye. “Now, we can maybe have a short grace period, but the idea is, everyone needs to be ID’ed before receiving rations, and obviously no one is given more than their share. That should cut down on corruption and sexual harassment if we implement checks and oversight for the process. Being able to identify people should also give us an easier time keeping this place secure, and allow us to begin getting refugees to work for us, as I’ve said before. Moving on…” He trailed off to the next topic of discussion.

“The 4th of July is a dangerous time.” Ellis said, pulling out a sheet of paper for those assembled to read. “I typed this up to fix that, and I hope it’s self-explanatory. Spread the word.”

Fireworks Amnesty Disposal

Infected are drawn to light, sound, and smell. This 4th of July, respect curfew and celebrate indoors responsibly. A safe zone is only as safe as it’s people are cautious.

Look out for your family, friends, and neighbors, explain why it’s important to celebrate responsibly, and report any dangerous activities to the nearest police officer.

Surrender all fireworks to authorities before the holiday. Fireworks discovered on Independence Day will be confiscated. Setting off a firework is a punishable offence dependent on severity of disturbance.

Remember! No summer ‘FAD’ is worth a LIFE!


“And finally…”

“Cpl. Rennox has taken rifles and ammunition from the armory to raise a volunteer militia from the refugees. He goes outside the perimeter to train them, and even fights the infected on his own in no man’s land despite the risk he’ll die or be attacked by locals. To some his initiative might be a commendable thing, but it’s also a dangerous security risk and a waste of resources with no cohesive mission. A month ago the refugees were being executed for chrissakes and now he wants to give some of them fully loaded automatic weapons and see if they’ll obey SOP outside the wire when they bump into people they know.”

He sighed. “If civilians want to step up and hold anything more sophisicated than, say, a bow or spear in their hands, they should use their own firearms and their own bullets,” he tapped the desk with his index finger, “so that, hopefully, we’ll never have to go through the trouble of disarming them ourselves. If we truly have enough to spare, it should be handed out to people we’re well-acquainted with first. Like the LEOs. They already have firearms training and have proven their loyalty, unlike a unvetted private militia at the personal discretion of a section 8 masquerading as some Rambo action movie star.”

“He needs to be disciplined and incorporated into the chain of command somehow. Maybe removed from the situation altogether until his head is screwed on straight.”

“As for that militia, I currently have no confidence in it. He’s going to get people killed. Whether it’s disbanded or not I’m beginning to question if Cpl. Rennox is mentally fit for duty, much less leadership.”

“For now… We should bar him and his associates from the armory and find missing weapons. Make it clear they aren’t allowed to travel between the islands and that his militia isn’t allowed to assemble. If he acts crazy, we disarm and detain him and his parents. Maj. Hodges can decide on discipline and help organize the military under a clearer structure when he’s sober.”

“If we’re in total agreement concerning the bigger picture, I’ll be off. I’ll leave further details to you three and recon the airport and countryside with the Huey after a quick preflight check. Just make sure that if I need to call for help, a squad will get their asses on a boat and find us if, God forbid, we can’t make it back home.”

"I am not opposed to the ID concept. We are going to need to have some idea of who lives in the safe zone and this is a start. Perhaps, we could conduct a census with it and see what skills people have? I know my boys would appreciate help from other engineers or other craftsmen like carpenters and architects. We could use this as a project to start getting folk working again rather than just sitting around."

"Captain Spencer, could you work with the supply officer to get the ball rolling on this ID project and to secure the armory? Lt. McAllister, could you and the other law enforcement officers start working on a community outreach program? We need to all work together and get people on board with the projects rather than sitting around and restore a sense of order. Perhaps assign foot patrols as teams of two to speak with the locals and interact with the community." Lt. Flynn replied.

"Unless there is anything else that has to be discussed. I will take my boys and whoever in 2nd platoon that I can grab and work on securing that southern compound. Once that is secured, I will work with the doctors and other specialists to convert one of the warehouses into a Processing and Quarantine center for people returning to the safe zone. Hopefully we will find some additional supplies like mechanical and electrical parts as well. But at the very least, we will have some more room and secure a land route between the two islands."

Captain Spencer nodded to Lieutenant Flynn. "I'll talk to Lieutenant Gino about this, see if we can get something set up."

McAllister also nodded. "Yeah. We'll see what we can do, try to keep everyone's nerves in check." He started a conversation with CPT. Spencer as they walked off. "With the IDs, we could add them onto the local police database, shouldn't need the net to update it. We'd have to physically go to one of the terminals, though..."

"Yeah, Spencer remarked. "... could we set up a LAN?" They headed out the door.

Ellis left the room too and dismissed Roger if he stuck around, granting him the freedom to tag along with any of the officers if he wished.

-​

“Get everyone together. We’re getting this bird into the air in ten minutes.” Ellis ordered as he jogged to the Huey and removed the tie down for the rotor blades. He then wasted no time performing the pre-flight inspection by rote. He’d been aching to get airborne again.

“Finally checking out the farms?” Came the reply from Ens. Langely. He’d been lounging on a lawn chair along with Cpo. Daughtry, a table with abandoned cards laid out between them.

“Lt. Flynn held an unofficial meeting and Maj. Hodges is… Indisposed.” He explained, trying to remain tactful. “The ideas I had went over well with the group, so we’re to do some reconnaissance. I’m thinking a crew of four or five meets our needs, so get Amn. Nanton or Smsgt. Mann for our fourth slot, and Cpt. Holloway for our fifth seat.”

Watching the pair suit up and dart off, he opened the door of the helicopter to sit in the pilot seat and strap in. Once everyone had gotten back, he started with hitting a couple of switches as well as cranking the turbine engine, bringing it, the generators, the hydraulics, and rotor RPM all into the green.

Turning the radio on, he tuned it to the weak signal coming from Brunswick and handed it to Ens. Langley so he could focus on takeoff. “Maybe when we’re in the sky there won’t be as much interference.” He explained. “If there’s any survivors, listen to what they have to say and get Cpt. Holloway or I to talk to them.” He said, craning his neck to see if the old coot bothered to show up.

IMG_4306.jpeg

Capt. Kaden Holloway (New York Air National Guard)
ENS. Terry Langely (US Navy, Huey copilot)
CPO. Aaron Daughtry (US Navy, Huey crew chief)
SMSGT. Arthur Mann (Maine Air National Guard)
Amn. Gregory Nanton (Maine Air National Guard)
Lorsh Lorsh
 
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Lt. Flynn was writing a last few comments on the map when his first guests arrived. "Gentlemen, welcome. I don't know about you, but I'm starting to get sick of seafood stew everyday. I figured it was best to talk about starting operations beyond the islands now that our situation is... secure for now." Flynn pushed the map over to the two men for them to take a look."A few points of interest that are nearby. Personally, I would like to take my boys and build a rampart around each of the islands so that we have cover from any direct fire from the mainland. That would eat up a lot of our fuel though... or take a lot of manpower. I am even considering that we push out our perimeter and secure the intersection between Checkpoint Bravo and Charlie and build the wall there. It would secure some space for people to move potentially and bring that auto shop and a few warehouses into our control."

"Alternatively, the water treatment plant... if we can get that up and running. We could have clean water again for the region though securing that seems a bit more daunting.Finally... the boat shop. Having additional means to travel on the water sounds pretty useful to me. Granted... if people start firing from the shoreline... I'm not sure how much cover these boats would offer."

Ellis listened to Flynn, looking over the map before giving his input on the ideas. “Securing the land route seems more important. That way Springs won’t run out of gas for the generators and go dark if we can restore electrical infrastructure in time. The water treatment plant on the other hand, it might be adequate to just secure the building itself and barricade it’s entrances. If we had enough fuel for the huey, like we could maybe one day get from the municipal airport down south a ways, I could resupply an outpost there and rotate people out.” He suggested.

“As for my own ideas…” Ellis began, “we need a census, photo IDs, paper documents, and a digital database of everyone on the islands. I’m hoping to talk to Hodges and Jenkins about it with Roger here. Maybe you could give me your support too, William. Essentially, we’d require proof of identity for anyone to receive rations, to travel, ect. It’ll tighten security, ensure even allocation of resources, and help us organize civilians for labor.”

Eyeing the other points of interest Flynn marked, and not having forgotten Flynn mentioning lack of food variety, he figures now is the time to speak up…
“When, and since, I’ve arrived here…” Ellis emphasized, “it’s come to my attention that there’s plenty of farmland further west. Upstream. We could easily reach it with the boats, grab whatever we can carry, and then return with enough grain and fresh produce to feed everyone for a couple more weeks or months. Just a full grain silo would be a godsend. Plus, there’s a chance we could find seeds as well as surviving livestock to hunt or bring back with us. Maybe even hens and roosters for egg-laying.” He said, perking up at the thought.

He crossed his arms. “It’s risky, I know. Yet I can’t imagine a grocery store run either side of the Saco River going off without a hitch or giving us as much even if they haven’t been picked clean. This way, it seems like we’ll spend less and gain more. Fewer infected and friendlier locals in the countryside beats what we’d surely be jumped by inside the towns while driving on crowded streets or entering unsecured buildings.”

“As for improving our odds, a small squad inserted by boat can do recon ahead of the mission, and for the day itself, the huey could provide support. We make enough nighttime preparations, maintain opsec until dawn, it’s even possible hardly anyone not in a uniform will know what is happening before it’s done. Plan might be even better if there’s enough of a distraction to conceal our activities from outside observation, like if we go out in force to clear no man’s land again. Particularly along the shoreline. Might not have the best positioning, but snipers posted on the rooftops of Springs and Saco could also protect the boats for a little while too.”

Hadley absorbed the plans as much as he could, looking at the maps and figures. He thought for a moment before he spoke. Hadley said, “I know it’ll be difficult to do in-depth biosafety during scouting, but when your teams are deployed they should use some criteria to make the trip worth the gas.”

“This virus is similar to Marburg and Ebola, which means it can have a long lifespan in the right conditions. Any foodstuffs, from loose grains to meat cuttings or eggs should be avoided if they’ve come in contact with blood of any type, especially if they’re indoors in a cool, damp place. There is a chance this virus affects other animals too. If there’s livestock they go through the same checking process as a human: are they vomiting, do they have diarrhea not related to recently ingested food, bleeding from eyes, ears, nostrils, gums, or other orifices. Redness of the eye or skin lesions included. Just those basics should keep us safe from ninety percent or more of exposure risk.”

“We shouldn’t be handling any person or animal unless you’ve done that visual inspection. It’s already hard enough trying to ensure people don’t lurk into the camp with other illnesses, the last thing we need is a person with an infection coming in and causing a new outbreak. There is also a risk of asymptomatic carriers. It’s rare, but they might be out there. If you want my advice, anybody you think might be a carrier should be quarantined in separated areas for at least thirty days. I know that isn’t the sexiest option, but it’d mean an asymptomatic person would run the full virus life cycle and no longer be infectious. Getting to that stage would take some questioning too.”

Ellis nodded along. “Of course. I doubt we have the luxury of a thirty day quarantine, nor the facilities to hold the quarantined for a whole month though. Just look at how quickly things deteriorated around here. That said… You really hear of asymptomatic carriers Doctor?” Ellis questioned Hadley. “Because if you haven’t, I would’ve expected better from you than conjecture. What do you think will happen once we reach capacity in one of these proposed areas and we’re equipped with the convenient excuse that someone might be infected? As far as I can tell, the infected turn in days at most.” He pointed out. Ellis held up his hands in a disarming gesture. “Your job is harder than most, and you’re the foremost expert we have on this, but we need to temper your knowledge with pragmatism. I don’t think the math works out with how desperate things are around here. Putting who knows how many possible carriers together with the sick until proven healthy is a risk too. If even only one of them is infected out of a pool, we could end up having a nasty outbreak anyway. Imagine if someone towards the end of their quarantine comes into contact with another at the start of their’s...”

Hadley spoke as he put his hands together. “I only mention asymptomatic carriers because on a microscopic level Necro-Filo looks like Ebola and Marburg, where we do know people have walked around for weeks without symptoms and have spread it to others. I was working with a CDC team on early identification and isolation, but that work was cut off when my team died in New York. We were trying to study the virus more, including if a person can have it without symptoms.” Hadley scratched his chin and adjusted his glasses. “From what we knew then, it’s possible the first cases that reached Panama were from infected foreign nationals and US citizens who boarded flights and unwittingly spread the virus to hotel staff and a cab driver. We lost contact with medical investigators in the country before we could get a definitive answer.”

“I understand why you’re against isolation areas. Those concerns are valid. Instead of quarantining areas, Doctor Albescu, medical professionals, or I can do blood examinations. We take a blood sample, like a finger stick for blood sugar. This virus is readable under the electron microscope still operational at the lab: rod shaped masses often in clumps that move by themselves. If they are a carrier, however unlikely it might be, or a person with indirect infection like contaminated drinking water, they can return to the camp while following safe practices; using their own utensils and not sharing, isolating their latrine time, and using baby formula when feeding children.”“If they aren’t a carrier, they’ll show the rest of the virus life cycle symptoms and,” Hadley slowed his speech. “You know the rest for that. If they are a carrier it can mean a serious problem, especially if that knowledge leaves the medical team or the military staff here. If any mild symptoms are ignored it can be a death sentence for everyone. NecroFilo spreads fast.”

“I’m sure a short quarantine period in isolation is doable. Perhaps a day or two, plus whatever testing procedures can be devised. For field use… Maybe PH strips or scanning for elevated temperatures?” He suggested. “I’ve heard that mosquitos don’t bite the infected,” he also helpfully? Supplied.

“Does anyone else have any other plans or feedback to air? I’d like to talk to Hodges as soon as possible about organizing people. I’d prefer it if someone like William takes the lead on checking out the countryside for food so I can focus on the bureaucracy.”

"Major Hodges? I was just with him"
Ionut thanked the sent soldier and took a seat. "Mr Ionut Albescu, at your service. "
He looked at everyone gathered. "Though if you prefer you can call me John"
"I'm a little lost at why I've been called here? A polite soldier said he had been sent to find me but did not go into too much more detail."
He stifled a yawn. "Though perhaps I may have missed it" the dentist joked.

“Lieutenant Flynn thought it would be a good idea to start talking about expanding our operations off the islands,” Ellis filled ‘John’ in on the general idea of the meeting. “I’m not sure how you can contribute, but as a dentist maybe you could refresh us on the strength of the human bite, or give some of our less seasoned medics a few pointers from your experiences this past month. Information about Saco and Biddeford would be helpful too, if you care to share any insights you might have for the local area.”

"I'm all for an expansion, in whichever direction you all decide is most prudent. Projection of our power is a must -- we can't let those outside the Safe Zone claim the shit which we've not scavenged or made use of," Roger says, snorting and clearing his throat. "As much as I feel for those who didn't make it in, they've got to find somewhere else to shack up. This is our territory, and we've got to go and mark it." Roger took an aggressive stance against outsiders in all situations. "The farmland upstream sounds promising, and I'd be honored to spearhead our raids there. Get the shit, and get out - or occupy, if you guys think that's a good idea," Roger says, before realizing he'd been forgetting himself, speaking too bluntly and casually in the presence of ranking officers. Overcorrecting himself, the sergeant slings his rifle and stands to attention, facing Lieutenant Flynn.

"Second platoon is ready for action, sir. Just point us in a direction. Though my commanding officer is not present..." Roger began, disdain marking his tone as he referred to Lieutenant Brown, his platoon lead. Roger wasn't his biggest fan as of late, nor were most of the men in his unit. "...I would be honored to hand down orders from HQ." In his opinion, a mission in the field was exactly what Second Platoon needed -- their readiness had fell to standards which made Roger turn his nose up. No thanks to their CO, Lieutenant Brown.

Flynn carefully listened to all the speakers and addressed their ideas and suggestions individually.

"I do agree that caution is needed. While a month in quarantine is unfeasible, I do believe that setting up holding rooms for people returning from the outside to not only search for bite marks, but also to observe for symptoms and buy time for us to run blood tests would be a worthwhile investment. The last thing we want is for someone to go out, get bit and come back to the island while hiding their bite... then come a day or two later we have an outbreak in the apartments."

"This is actually the reason why I requested the doctors and anyone with medical experience to come to this meeting. I am hoping that you all could help provide feedback and advice on establishing such holding cells and procedures around making sure we do a good job of catching any such threats to our safety while staying... sanitary. Would 48 hours or 72 hours in such quarantine be sufficient time for you to run blood tests and for us to keep an eye out for potential symptoms? I propose that ANYONE entering the Safe Zone must be at least tested before being allowed to walk freely in the zone. If there are too many people to test at one time, then we can quarantine them for up to 3 days to allow more time, or at least let us observe if any of them develop any symptoms."

"Sargeant Noones, I am glad to see that you are eager. Clearly, we both believe that the thing people need the most is to have some sort of purpose in these... uncertain times. I think what makes sense is for Mills to scout out some POIs with his helicopter and identify farms that look like they could be worth visiting. In the meantime, Between first and second platoon, we have enough men to sweep the auto shop to the south and take up positions while my engineers work on setting up a HESCO wall around the new perimeter."

“I’d be glad to scout things out but it’d be better for everything to be in position to launch the operation before I do. Once I fly out there, local survivors are going to be on the lookout for us, and it’s a possibility the number of infected in the area might increase.” Ellis pointed out.

“Minimizing their preparation time, keeping the stragglers in Saco and Biddeford too busy to respond to the boats coming and going, and getting in and out fast before our noise attracts unwanted attention, could be the key to this mission’s success. Too much delay invites risk.”

"I understand, Lt. Mills. However, I am not expecting close flybys to the point where you can trim some trees. Flying high should avoid all those issues and still allow you to potentially spot any livestock or people lurking about in the fields." Lt. Flynn relpied.

“I’ll see what I can spot today after I get the ball rolling with Hodges on the census.”

"I do have four years of medical school under my belt Mr...?" He looked at Millis, leaning forward in his chair. "But when it comes to a humans bite force, it varies with age and even gender. While it can tear muscle and skin easy enough what you really need to watch out for his infection. Even an uninfected's bite on any extremity, nose, fingers, ears can lead to things such as fever and loss of feeling."
Ionut rested back into his chair and grinned."I won't be of a much help when it comes to local knowledge. I, like many, am a refugee. Though perhaps not as far as you think despite the accent" he joked.
He listened to the rather pointed opinion of another soldier present, though the good dentist thought better of sharing his thoughts. He just noted the mans appearance and decided he would keep his distance unless necessary.
He spoke openly to everyone but kept his eyes on Flynn "I prefer the notion of holding rooms to cells. People would perhaps be more compliant and... receptive if they felt like they were being taken care of rather than isolated. Is there not an empty space we can use? Perhaps you in the military would be willing to give up a barracks or building? You have been trained for such circumstances and would fare better than the civilians in.... 'the outdoor life'."
He let the question set, knowing full well he may get push back on his suggestion.
"Could we not just give those entering the Zone a medical exam to check for wounds? Offer private screening, medical personnel of both genders to limit insecurity. Those who refuse can be detained by military personnel, if worst comes to worst."

"I will see what I can do" He looked towards Mr Jones "It is a pleasure to be working with you Mr Jones.

Dr. Cael Burton uncrosses his arms and sits up after adjusting his spectacles. He's the only doctor that made it out of the Maine Medical Center alive, now offering his servicds to the Safe-Zone medbay. "Perhaps these holding areas should be established off of the islands. If they turn, have it not be near the other patients."

Captain Spencer brings up a few things. "Just to put this out there -- we're having problems with drinking, popping pills, smoking pot on duty. Sexual assault."

The Saco PD lieutenant, Evan McAllister, nods along. "I've heard complaints about some of the guards taking bribes, trying to help themselves to civilians' belongings... Other times, they're wasting ammo."

"Agreed, Dr. Burton. I think we can convert the warehouse by the Autoshop into such a holding center and impromptu drunk tank."

"Captain Spencer and Lt. McCallister, it's clear we have a morale and discipline issue. While I do not think its not a major problem to drink or get high off duty. On duty smoking, bribes and sexual assault... we would court martial for that just a month ago. Between punishing the most serious offenders via military tribunal and giving the men something to actually do. I think most of the men will get their act straight."

CPT. Spencer nods. She's often in the headquarters, but her husband, MSG. Spencer, no doubt kept her up to date on the goings-on. "There's a few men floating around the ad-hoc platoons that were part of military police outfits. Maybe we should form a squad of them, have them keeping our guys accountable."

“Speaking of these problems, I’d like a brief sidebar with Cpt. Spencer, Lt. Flynn, and Lt. McAllister before I head out. In private.” He asked, already thinking of adjacent rooms where they’d have some privacy. “I think we can begin to implement some changes around here to solve, or at least begin to address, a few the issues raised today.”

“Pleasure working with you too Doctor Albescu,” Hadley said. He turned his attention to the military men. “Two to three days is enough time to watch for symptoms and perform electron microscopy. If your men have the spare space during gathering missions, anything that could be used for testing and medical purposes would enable us to perform more testing and avoid double usage of materials. We do the best we can with the autoclave in the lab and our washing stations but there’s only so much that can be cleaned that way.” Hadley nodded his head in satisfaction with the discussion.

"I'll see what we can do. I do think visiting the University could be very helpful for any research projects regarding the infected, but we have to prioritize our safety and survival first." Lt. Flynn replied.

“Lieutenant Flynn,” Hadley said. “We talked earlier about creating a quicker testing method to use in the field and in the safe zone. I have a few ideas on what could be used to create a such a test. But I’ll need a supply of blood from the infected to perform the experiments. If you get the chance, could we organize a scouting mission to gather some infected blood? I should have enough equipment to gather and store the blood, I’d just need a protective detail. One completely drained infected individual is enough for the tests I’m thinking of.”

“When Mills mentioned mosquitos, it reminded me of the bio indicator regimen we’d use at the CDC for quickly diagnosing hazardous water. It’s possible that if we can’t find a chemical test, we could use a natural testing agent, like lichen, or another plentiful organism to test blood here, or even in the field. I’d need a large quantity of source blood for the tests. It’d warrant more missions in case the experiments start having successes, but if we get a reliable testing regime, we could greatly increase our testing load and reduce the work necessary.”

Flynn nodded and replied "I intend to make sure we can have a secured area to hold potential infected and actual infected. I imagine we'll have live samples for you to conduct experiments with soon enough. If not, then yes. You can join one of our expeditions out to try and gather samples." With that, Flynn took his leave to gather his men and go on his operation to secure the southern auto shop and surrounding warehouses.

---

An hour later, Flynn stood in a side room of the barracks with his squad leads while the rest of his platoon were preparing for the operation with a refreshed sense of purpose. He drew a rough diagram of the southern area and marked several things on the diagram.

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"We will break up the area of operations into 3 sectors and conduct this operation in multiple steps. Each sector is split up by the roads and railroad. The sector with the Autoshop will be Sector Alpha. Sector Bravo is the Mainenergy warehouse. We expect there to be a lot of gasoline, oil, propane and fuel in this building. Sector Charlie is the Northeast Electrical Distributors sector. The first phase of the operation is to secure sector Alpha. Clear it out of any potential infected. If there is anyone alive that we encounter, then they are to be detained unless hostile. If they flee, then let them. There is no point in chasing them down and risking lives.

Once Sector Alpha is secured, we will establish fire positions to over watch the area and fortify the buildings. I especially want a fire team on the roof of the south western building of Sector Alpha with a SAW set up. After we establish our positions, SFC. Noones and his men from second platoon along with Sgt. Yates and his squad will move to clear and secure Sector Bravo while the rest of us provide over watch. Once the Mainenergy warehouse is secured, SFC. Noones and Sgt. Yates will dig in and provide cover while Sgt. Gardner's squad moves to fortify Sector Bravo with the M9 and whatever else he needs to get the job done as indicated by the blue lines with HESCO walls or just a nice tall earth wall. We will fortify the warehouse so that it becomes a fortress.

Then, once Sector Bravo is secure, Sgt. Yates and his men will return to Sector Alpha to take over the firing position. Once, Sgt. Yates is back, my and Smith's men will move to secure sector Charlie and take over the buildings to establish overwatch. Once done, Sgt. Gardner's squad will move in to Sector Charlie and work on fortifying the sector and the warehouse just like in Sector Bravo while under overwatch by Smith's squad. If all goes well, then we will have a lot more space and room for people and a bunch of new supplies. We'll likely establish a new checkpoint at the yellow X where the main road and the train bridge meet. If shit hits the fan and you find yourself having to fall back. Sector Alpha will be the first fall back position. From there, if things look bleak, then we will fall back to Springs Island."

"Any questions, gentlemen? If not, get back to your men and get ready to go on this operation. If you can grab other men who you know are itching to do something rather than sit on this island, then do it. We're going to need as many men as possible to make sure that this operation goes smoothly."
 
The rest of the meeting with Lieutenants Mills, Flynn, and the others went by in a bit of a blur. There was talk of Flynn's ideas about keeping a paper trail on the people in the zone, for the purpose of controlling them better, as well as standardizing procedures for quarantining. The nerds, Abescu and Jones, had a lot to say about the specifics on those matters; Jones even wanted to do experiments on the infected. Roger got where he was coming from, Saco was probably one of very few places left that had the people and equipment to even try something like that, but he still didn't like it, even if he understood it. Doing shit like wrangling a live freak or even taking a sample was going to put the men at risk. Noones had markedly less to say throughout the meeting, but he was able to wrap his head around the basics. He was just glad to see something productive was getting done, and people were putting their heads together. Although nobody was really willing to come out and say it, the junior officers needed to be running the show. When Flynn started planning operations, that's when Roger perked up.

Eventually, most of the attendees filtered out and the meeting slimmed down to just Lt. Flynn, Cpt. Spencer and Lt. McAllister - Mills also motioned for Roger to join, which surprised him. This seemed like a meeting he wouldn't have clearance for...turned out, he didn't, looey just wanted him to watch the door. Fair enough, Roger thought, he didn't want to get too distracted with the bigger picture. Roger saw himself as a cog in a machine - his cog was responsible for leading and maintaining the readiness of his platoon. The details beyond that could be handled by his superiors. Cpl. Lutoll and Sgt. Anderson, enlisted officers of his platoon who had been at HQ, come over and join his sentry over the meeting, keeping him company. Eventually, the meeting adjourns, with Roger and his men being ordered to report to the barracks for a briefing in an hour by Lieutenant Flynn.

Noones took a walk around Mill 5 in the intermission, mingling with soldiers and civilians. Wrestled with some of the older kids, traded a couple of his cigarettes for a bottle of spiced rum for later, got into an argument over a dice game with some grunts from fourth platoon that almost came to blows before cooler heads prevailed, and by then it was time to report. The heads of each platoon and their seconds were crammed into one of the ancillary armories - not a lot of room to maneuver.

The briefing was kept concise, but very detailed. The whole element would be making a push to the south to secure valuable resources and facilities, occupying and defending multiple targets. Roger's platoon would be working alongside the 1st to secure some warehouse. It was a sensitive environment - Roger noted to himself to make sure his platoon understands the ROE for moving on this sort of site.

As the briefing came to a close, Sergeant Noones and his CO, 1Lt. Brown, are dismissed. The two talk about their approach to the mission - Brown delegates rallying the troops and explaining ROE to his 2ic, which was typical behavior for the apathetic commander of second platoon.

"ATTENTION!" Roger screams, bursting into Second Platoon's section of the barracks, located on the other side of the complex from where the briefing had took place. "You can braid each-other's hair later, time to ruck up! Bring spares of everything, we don't know how long we'll be gone! Bayonets and chem protection are a must! Get the fuck outside and in formation in FIVE MINUTES!" Noones demands, his booming voice making a chorus with those of other officers. Everyone was whipping their men into shape. "If your battle buddy isn't here, GO FUCKING FIND HIM!" Noones adds, before darting to his rack to get himself ready.

Soon, the sergeant was equipped for the mission, carrying all the essentials and more of the essentials in his ruck which was about a hundred pounds once it was all packed up. Spare ammo, meds and tourniquets, respirators, a full MOPP suit, portable radio, food, the list went on. Better to have it and not need it.

Within minutes, Second Platoon would join the forces amassing outside the barracks, ready to move out. Roger would brief his men on the situation. "Whole company is moving on high value locations just outside the zone. We're going beyond the wire. First, we're gonna take an auto-shop, all of us together, then our platoon and the 133rd are moving on a warehouse adjacent to the auto-shop. This warehouse is full of VOLATILE SHIT - gas, chemicals, bad stuff, so easy on the trigger and watch your fire, or you're going to kill all of us. I'm sure Lieutenant Flynn has armed his section with the same information. Inside the warehouse, firing your weapon is an absolute last resort - this is why I said bring your bayonets. I don't think any of you are fucking idiots, but just in case you didn't know, you need to be careful about being up close and personal with an infected individual. Nobody enters the warehouse without a full seal. COPY!?"

They copied.

"We're expecting resistance, from both infected and refugees. If they run at you, kill it, if they run away, don't kill it. Detain non-infectees, but be smart about it, don't put yourself at risk for some bum who can't figure out he's somewhere he shouldn't be. You get seperated or in any other kind of shit, fall back to the autoshop."

With all that said, Second Platoon awaited orders.
 
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Anthony
~~~~><~~~~
A Past Relived


Civil Support
Certainly, Anthony has reached the low point in his career. The last time he did civil support, he was in the cadets. He always imagined his destiny was on the battlefield, shedding the blood of America's enemies, and sharing the glories of victory amongst his fellow marines. And yet, during perhaps the most pivotal period in human history, he will be spending his time surrounded by the peace and comforts of the Zone, while others go forth into the valley of death and fight so he does not have to. Truly, Lieutenant Smyth would be pissed to see it.

Walking back to the barracks, Anthony could hear Smyths various outbursts. The man was entertaining, if nothing else. He was a man who thought the only legitimate force in the United States army was the marines. He had much to say about the other branches, but most disparagingly did he speak of the National Guard.

Part-time pansies, he would say. Cowardly and incompetent pricks, incapable for anything better than guard duty, where they prance around pretending to be soldiers while the real warriors are out here facing the enemy. Warriors like us. Us. US Marines! America's greatest and finest! The Deadliest weapons in the World! If there ever comes a day when America relies on the Guard, then that day is the day America is royally fucked!

The Corporal cannot help but sigh, welling up once more in anger and frustration. God, would he give anything to be with Smyth and his platoon right now! But it's no use. They're gone. Anthony may never see their obituaries, but in his heart and hearts he knows they are gone. With all the fuss going on since the outbreak, he's never let himself feel it. The loss. The empty throbbing in his core. Knowing he's never going to see them again. Never again.

Reaching the door of the barracks, Anthony steadies himself against the doorframe, unable to push away the ache in spite of his trying. Major Hodges, why did he have to bring up Anthony's platoon?! Why did he make him remember them?!

Bed. That's what he needs, he thinks. Sleep. Sleep will make the ache go away. Right?
~~~~><~~~~

Anthony is adrift in a sea of stars, surrounded by the great glittering void, bathed in the light of the Sun. He has had this dream before, he thinks. Hasn't he?

The great void suddenly shimmers and bends and warps, surrounding Anthony with smoke that sharps and reforms itself, becoming men and earth and sky. He has had this dream before as well. But wait, no, this isn't a dream. It's a memory.

Men in simple clothing stand in a perfect line under the blessed warmth of the summer sun. They each hold a bow, and they each knock and launch their arrows, each hitting their targets in perfect precision. A crowd, a crowd Anthony is part of, cheers and whistles. But the men continue, undeterred, launching volley after volley, each hitting their targets in harmonious synchronicity. Anthony remembers this, and has not seen its like ever since. When did he see this, though? He tries to remember, and looks down at his hands. So small. So delicate.

Then the memory breaks, bursting back into the smoke from whence it came, and soon takes on knew shapes. This time, Anthony remembers a hall, old fashioned like something out of a children's story book. A man sits at a big and wooden table, the same table Anthony finds himself sat at, and the man smiles at him. His eyes. So bright and green. Like emeralds. Anthony's heart skips a beat. He knows this man. He knows him so well. Or, at least, he did.

"Always remember, little one," The man speaks, and Anthony listens. "One day, there will come a time when we must take a stand and fight against the Darkness. That is why we are all here. That is why you are here. The Lord has chosen us, chosen to grant us His revelations. He tried once before, to warn us of what was to come. But His warnings were corrupted, turned into lies, the lies of the Rapture..."

BLASPHEMY!!!

A howls splits across Anthony's mind, shaking the foundations of his vision-world, blurring all that he sees before him.

"...always remember," the Man speaks again, breaking through to Anthony, the gentle and familiar voice pulling Anthony back into the vision, and the world falls calm and stable once more. "Always remember, little one, that those who face the Darkness and conquer it are worthy of salvation. Bravery. Strength. Faith. These are what bind us, ground us, and push us ever onward in spite of all our hardships. There is so much for you to learn, and I shall be the one to teach you."

The vision breaks, reshaping and reforming again, now Anthony find himself on his knees, side by side with other faithful, as another, a man of great bearing, a man with blonde hair and bright green eyes recites a prayer for all to follow. This man is not the same green-eyed man as before, but another, older. And then, Anthony remembers. His father. This is the green-eyed man's father.

"We give thanks to the Lord, we give thanks to the Lord. Who grants us his blessing, who grants us his blessing. Who guides us in our aim, who guides us in our aim. Who strengthens our arm, who strengthens our arm. Who watches our enemies, who watches our enemies. Who sees the coming end, who sees the coming end. Who prepares us to face evil, who prepares us to face evil..."

Once more, the scene dissipates, and takes on new shapes. The green-eyed man again, the younger one, he is standing before a weapons rack in the great hall, where he and Anthony were sat before. The man is showing him the weapons; swords, bows, arrows, and other implements. Medieval, all of them.

"But why can't we use guns!" Anthony pipes up, his voice so young and innocent. He knows where this is now.

"While we could, and we do, during the end of all things, there will be little left of the world we know today." The Man tells Anthony, picking up a bow. "But these are sacred tools that have guided the faithful for centuries. Through so many dark and terrible days, so long ago, we clung to these tools and we survived with them. The sword itself is more than just a weapon, it is the very symbol of our faith, of our Lord."

"C-Can I have it?" Anthony asks, reaching for the bow. "I-I want to use it! Like how the others did!"

"Sorry, little one, but you are too small yet." The Man smiled down, kind and warm. "Soon, though, soon you will be old enough. And when you are, you will be a holy warrior like no other. I promise."
~~~~><~~~~

The Corporal almost throws himself out of his bunk as he bursts awake, drenched in sweat and panting for breath. The Sanctuary. He dreamt of the Sanctuary. A great flood of memories flows through his mind, yet none are as clear as what he just experienced. Just... random voices, random imagines. Of the Sanctuary, of its grounds and houses, of its people whose faces blur in his mind. And the smell. The place always smelled of flowers. Everywhere. Perhaps because they grew them, all over the grounds as well as throughout every home, always the scent of fresh and sweet flowers. It wards against evil, Anthony remembers. Evil cannot stand the presence of beauty.

Shaking his head, Anthony pulls himself out of his bunk, and goes to get himself some fresh air. Stepping outside, he suddenly feels the sun, and he looks up. He remembers how the Sanctuary always being so sunny. There was never a dull day there. Always bright, always warm, always sunny. It was nice, he remembers. He liked bathing in the light of the sun, but then everyone else did as well. Something about it, the sunlight. So pure and so loving. Holy, even.

Anthony cannot quite tell where all of this is suddenly coming from. Yesterday, the Sanctuary was so distant in his mind that he might be forgiven in thinking he imagined it, but now, reliving memories thought long lost, so much of the Sanctuary is returning to him. And then there is the green-eyed man. Anthony's heart thumps against his chest as the man forms a solid picture in his mind. He was important. A mentor, a teacher, a guide, and a guardian. He was all this and more. His name. What was his name?

Rennox makes his way over the showers, to wash himself of his sweat and to discard his drenched fatigues. He walks over to the basin, glances in the mirror, and looks back again pointedly. His eyes. Were his eyes always green? Anthony tries to remember, thinks hard about it before something clicks, and he smiles to himself. Yes, of course they were always green. Why would he even think otherwise? Shaking himself, Anthony concludes he is thinking far too much about his past, spooking himself when he should he focusing on... his new assignments.

With a sigh, Anthony finishes washing himself, puts on fresh fatigues, and gets on with his duty.
 
Hadley Jones
90s Laboratory.jpg
Hadley was thumbing through his notes, some of the last he gathered with him before he was scooped up by the military. Among them was a fax, 40 pages long, including granulated black and white photos of a dismembered man. Hadley did his best to connect two dots together when the clap of boot heels alerted him.
---​
Obsidian Obsidian
"Good day, Dr Jones." Rennox greeted Hadley, catching the man while he was in the laboratory. "I understand that you can advise on matters of the Undead. Due to the limited stores of ammunition, it is very possible that we may need to engage them in hand to hand combat. Tell me, how would we best go about this? What would you advise to minimise the risk of infection?"
---​
“I admit I’m no expert in hand-to-hand combat Corporal, but there are some things you can take into account,” Hadley said. “NecroFilo is blood and saliva borne, at least from what research we have. If you’re going to fight the infected with blunt or sharp weapons, you’ll need protective gear from the virus itself. Make use of gloves, eye protection, face shields, and if practical gas masks. Cloth face masks can be used but they should be disposed of, or if reused, must be soaked in a 10% bleach solution and left out for some time so the bleach can degrade the individual viruses. If you can keep some distance with a longer weapon that’d be ideal, it’d reduce the chances of getting blood spatter on you, or other bodily fluids.”

“For actually protecting yourself, anything that would prevent slashes or bites breaking the skin can be used. You can use soccer shin pads or any type of material that can overcome a dog bite to cover your arms and legs. Maybe a bulletproof vest, or even a cut resistant coat can prevent scratches. If anyone has gone hand-to-hand with an infected person, their clothes should be decontaminated, and they should wash their hands and face to prevent residual infection. If they’re already biting you, there isn’t much we can do after that.”

“Same rules apply for killing with melee weapons and firearms,” Hadley said. “The only guaranteed way of stopping the infected is either getting through the skull or decapitating the infected person. You can’t fight them like you would an ordinary person; gouging out their eyes or going near the mouth only increases your chances of being infected. Ideally, we shouldn’t be fighting hand-to-hand, but that’s a problem for if this planet doesn’t get torn apart. Those precautions should help at least. I guess I’d emphasize that distance is your friend. If you have the choice between a baseball bat and a knife, I would use the baseball bat.”
---​
Obsidian Obsidian
The Corporal listens most intently to the good doctor. He knew fighting the Undead in close quarters would come with increased risks, but at least measures could be taken to decrease infectivity. Still, fighting at a distance is still preferable, avoiding scratches and bites and contact with blood being a must. Stealth attacks could be effective, if one can approach them undetected. Bows are largely silence weapons, much quieter than any gun. Perhaps even slingshots could be effective, ball bearings launched at a great enough force could split a skull open. Heavier weaponry, like maces or hammers, would make the task of taking out zombies quick and simple.

As for armour, they have to be things which protect the body from sprays of blood, and could not be easily bit or scratched through. Swimsuits could protect against blood and other infectious fluids. In Maine, being on the coast, it should not be too hard to find swimwear stores, and they ought to contain waterproof masks as well. As for something thicker, any form of military equipment would simply be taken by the covetous guardsmen, so it cannot be something obvious, but not too hard to find. Motorcycle wear, perhaps? Made to withstand road accidents, zombies should have a hard time biting through those; the boots, gloves, and body armour would all be made thick and enduring. Should not be too hard to find such things.

Minutes ticked by as Anthony thought this through, and he looked to the doctor with a slight smile. "Thank you, doctor. You have given me much to think about. Should you have any other insights, I will be setting up some training sessions for the refugees, and would be glad for you to join us and share any more advice you would have."
"I will leave you to your work," Anthony concludes, seeing the doctor has much to do, and takes his leave.
---​
Hadley scratched his goatee and looked back down at the notes. The dismembered man. Hadley thought about what more he could learn about the virus. He had to get his hands on infected blood, and something to test it against. He can’t test it against people, and Hadley doubted that he could find a biological reactor which would create something to react to NecroFilo. It would take a heavy amount of experimentation, but there was a chance something out there could react to it.

features writing by Obsidian Obsidian
 
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After the preflight checks are complete and the area around the makeshift helipad is clear of hazards, the FEMA ground marshal raises both of his wands overhead, clearing LTJG. Mills for takeoff. Senior Master Sergeant Mann remained on comms. "FERRRYMAN, this is Ground. Wind is calm, 4 knots from the south, visibility is 9 miles. Radio is silent, got no other aircraft in sight — still, proceed with caution, over."

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Lieutenant Flynn's task force was assembled. He had first and (thanks to SFC. Noones) second platoon at his disposal, along with a pair of loaner squads from third and forth. These men are mostly volunteers, looking to get out of the cooped-up islands and either snag some supplies, see some action, or a bit of both. Everyone straps on a surgical face mask and goggles at the very least, though the most common sight is the full, M40 field protective mask. Various stages of MOPP gear are worn, with each soldier deciding how comfortable versus protected he wants to be. Major Hodges has always encouraged the maximum amount of protection, but standards haven't exactly been kept. It might be a different story depending on Flynn's leadership of 1st Platoon.

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The soldiers at CP Charlie picked up the sawhorse barriers and move them aside, waving the task force through as it immediately heads for Sector Alpha. SGT. Hunter dismounts and takes his squad inside the building by the railway. Private Kwan, wearing a durag and pink respirator, kicked open the door and went in with his Benelli M3, flashlight shining around the trashed interior of the first floor. Several bodies are found inside, mostly picked clean by the undead. One of them has reanimated, but it has been eaten down to the bones, its limbs barely able to be lifted. Kwan sticks the barrel of the Benelli in its mouth, looked away, and blew its head off.

The guys went up to the next few floors and started to clear out them out, room-by-room. There was an occasional loud pop as a ghoul is dealt with. CPL. Lathers started screaming after a brief tussle with one of the infected, but PVT. Cote smacked it off of him with a well-placed buttstroke of his M16A2. A burst was fired into the assailant's head, splattering grey matter across the floor. "Fucking bitch," spat Lathers. "Thanks, Jack."

With the building cleared, the squad broke out onto the roof. SPC. Bisson set up his M249 SAW overlooking the warehouse, and PFC. Zubrik got into position with his M21 sniper weapon system. SGT. Hunt unslung and set aside his M4 carbine before taking up an M24 bolt-action sniper rifle, as SPC. Warner crouched next to him, taking off the binoculars from around his neck and acting as a spotter.

SGT. Hunt spoke into the radio. "1, this 3-1 actual. Rooftop is secure. Be advised, Bisson says he think he's got eyes on a survivor," he reported. "I say again, straggler is uhhh, a bald guy carrying an AK-47, over."

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Meanwhile, SGT. Newman's squad swept and cleared Sector Charlie's buildings. It was a little sloppy and there were some close calls with some ghouls, but he got it done without casualties. A lot of automatic fire was used to spray down a gaggle of infected in front of the vacant storefronts. The garage, other storefronts and offices are also given a once-over, with no infected revealing themselves. "1, this is 4-1, Sector Charlie is clear," SGT. Newman reported. "Interrogative, you said something about survivors, 3-1? Over."

"4-1, this is 3-1, stragglers are at Maine Energy Recovery Co. I got eyes on a few people, armed. Anyone going into Sector Alpha, be advised, there are armed individuals in that area. I say again, there are armed survivors, over."


"1, is is 1-1," radioed SGT. Yates. "Please advise, how do we approach these people? They've seen us, I think."
 
"1-1, this is 1 Actual. Support 2 as planned. Sgt. Noones, talk them down into putting down their guns. I'm not looking to pick a fight with fellow Americans unless they give us a good reason to. If they want to join us in the SZ and be under the protection of the US Army, then they will have to put down their weapons and agree to testing by the Doctors to make sure they're not infected. Promise them access to medical services and anything else you think they may need. Do not engage unless they are hostile. Sector Alpha will be ready to provide cover and suppress them. It should allow you to maneuver if you are engaged. Advance or fall back as you deem fit, 2. Sector Charlie, make sure nothing can sneak up on us." Flynn replied to the radio comms.

Lt. Flynn then called out to his men approaching Sector Alpha "We have armed survivors in Charlie. I need more guns on the line! Find an upstairs window and get eyes on Sector Bravo. If 2 gets engaged, I want immediate fire superiority." With that, Lt. Flynn gripped his M4 and began hustling over to the five story building to get an elevated position and assess the situation.
 
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Ellis

“Copy ground, climbing to mission ceiling.” He said. Rising high into the air, he focused on gaining an altitude to about two thousand feet for now. “Langley. See if you can switch the radio over to Brunswick while we’re airborne. Maybe we can learn if anyone is still alive or if just an infected throating the mic,” he ordered, ready to take over communications once his copilot narrowed in on the frequency being used.

“Daughtry. See if you can snap some pictures of infected concentrations in the Saco-Biddeford area and map out the packs and hordes while we’re hovering. If we need to take a closer look, we’ll check out Saco in a half-circle, west to east, before heading south over Biddeford. Keep an eye out for how many we’re drawing too so we can adjust height. We shouldn’t be too loud up here, and the infected might not hear the greatest if we’re lucky, but our job is to figure out where things are, not move them around in our wake like some news chopper.”

That said, Ellis squeezed his eyes shut and prayed. A part of him wanted to join the fighting when the base got overrun, but things were too chaotic and uncertain that night to risk his passengers’ lives or those in the line of fire. He’d about given up hope there was any civilization left until he was redirected to the islands.

To think anyone was left behind to endure that hell was almost more than he could bear.

“Come in Brunswick, this is Ferryman. I repeat, come in Brunswick, this is Ferryman. What’s your status? Over.” Ellis asked, hoping to hear, well, anything in reply.

Lorsh Lorsh
 
"Friendly! Everybody, hold your damn fire!" Noones calls out as his unit approaches the warehouse. Some of his soldiers, including automatic riflemen from his own platoon and Yates' squad, are ordered to take up positions in the rubble and debris, training their weapons on the stragglers, while most remain in the open with their weapons at a low-ready, as a show of confidence to the armed men. Roger didn't want any trouble, but he didn't want to get caught with his ass out, either.

"I'm Sergeant Roger Noones of the Maine National Guard. My orders are to secure this warehouse, and clear it's occupants," Roger began, holding his hands at waist-level by his side, palms facing out, in a non-threatening posture. Still, his rifle remained slung in front of him, quickly accessible should shit go south. "We want to help you. I can facilitate your entry into the Zone - behind those big walls, you'll be safe there." Roger explains, pointing to the towering fortifications of Factory Island. "But first, you'll need to temporarily surrender your arms and submit to examination by our medical teams. We can't risk admitting anyone to the Zone who has been infected. If you choose to take your chances out here, I'm going to have to ask you to do it somewhere else. By order of Major Hodges, commander of the Saco River Safe Zone, you must vacate this area." Roger finishes, before visibly craning his neck to turn his ears toward the sound of the oncoming convoy - the construction team. "More of us are on the way to fortify the warehouse. Again, this is a decision you all need to make now. We bring you in, or you find somewhere new to hole up."
 
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