Ivan, Victor, Marx, and Sarge were brought to Vineyard's command room.
The space had once been a large apartment living room in the residential tower that Vineyard had converted into its administrative center. Whatever softness had once existed there had long since been stripped away. The couches and rugs were gone. The walls were covered with pinned maps layered over one another, some printed, others hand drawn and annotated in charcoal and marker. Patrol routes crossed the city in dense overlapping lines. Red circles marked recent sightings of infected movement. Supply corridors were highlighted in yellow where escorts were required.
Two long tables had been pushed together in the center of the room. The surface was cluttered with open notebooks, rolled maps, and stacks of patrol logs thick enough to look like bricks.
