Chattanooga, Building Materials Market.
The place had clearly been picked over several times since the apocalypse. Everything was in complete disarray.
But Calista and her team had a clear objective—
Rolls of thick, heavy barbed protective wire mesh, along with bulky but extremely sturdy square steel bars, channel steel, and cement paving tiles.
Ordinary survivor teams couldn't move these things, nor would they even bother with such "junk." But for Calista's team, with heavy vehicles and skilled manpower, these were pure treasure.
After taking care of a few wandering walkers, the group immediately started loading.
"Hurry! Get that thickest roll onto the truck!"
"Channel steel! There are a few long ones over there! Danny—use the winch!"
Carver, Turner, Jenson, and Mike turned into human forklifts, while Leah kept watch and Bossie scouted the perimeter.
Calista checked off items on the list while directing everyone to pack the most urgently needed construction materials into the vehicle.
Before long, the Humvee's cargo bed and roof rack were stacked high with heavy steel and building supplies.
The building materials market was cleared out in no time.
Sitting in the passenger seat, Calista looked through the rearview mirror at the small mountain of square steel, channel steel, and bundles of gleaming barbed wire mesh. The satisfaction she felt was indescribable.
A perfect start. The haul from this "zero-cost shopping trip" had already far exceeded expectations.
Now it all depended on how the rest of the trip went.
"Calista, that's the barbed wire factory up ahead," Turner said, pointing at the run-down factory complex while holding an unlit cigar between his teeth.
Ever since Calista once quietly complained to Leah that she didn't like the smell of smoke, nearly half the young people in Rock Fortress had started quitting. Even Mrs. Howard found it remarkable.
The place in front of them was supposed to be a factory complex, but it looked more like bombed-out ruins.
Half of the massive workshop building had collapsed. The remaining walls were riddled with scorched bullet holes and streaked with dried black blood.
Several trucks burned down to skeletal frames lay tipped over near the entrance. The air carried the smell of rust, scorched metal, and an indescribable stench of decay.
"Stay alert," Leah's cool voice came from the back seat, her rifle already ready to fire.
Jenson had climbed onto the roof with his sniper rifle.
The convoy slowly drove through the factory gates.
Bossie slipped off the vehicle like a nimble wildcat, crouching low as he moved through the rubble and quickly scouted the surroundings. After a moment, he signaled.
"Clear—for now. Bodies inside. Human-inflicted fatal wounds, not walker bites."
Everyone got out of the vehicles with weapons ready and cautiously entered the largest warehouse.
Inside was just as chaotic—collapsed shelves, finished and half-finished wire mesh scattered everywhere.
But just as they had expected, many massive metal spools and rolls of finished protective fencing still lay deeper inside. They had simply been too heavy, or too far in, for others to take.
"We're rich!" Mike's eyes lit up as he stared at the mountain of professional-grade fencing. "This stuff's way tougher than the wire mesh we strung up ourselves!"
"Move, move! Bossie, Turner—you two get those big spools out! Carver, Mike, help me move these bundles of mesh! Danny, take the high ground and keep watch! Cali, be careful not to cut yourself on the wire."
Leah rolled up her sleeves and got to work.
Just as everyone was hauling materials at full speed, Danny suddenly called out in a low voice and pointed to a pile of collapsed shelving in the corner of the warehouse.
"Look over there!"
Several bodies were pinned beneath the racks.
One wore a security guard uniform with a sharp kitchen knife stabbed into his chest. Another, wearing work pants, had his skull smashed to pulp by a blunt weapon.
Further away, a man in a tracksuit lay on his back with his throat slit, still clutching half a bag of blood-soaked compressed biscuits.
Except for the one whose head had been smashed, the others had already turned into walkers, trapped beneath the fallen shelves and unable to move.
"Damn…" Carver spat on the ground. "Killing their own people over a bit of food?"
The scene silently told the brutal truth of the apocalypse—
Walkers were terrifying, but sometimes the human heart after the collapse of order was even deadlier.
"Stop staring. Let's move faster," Calista said steadily, though her chest felt tight. "Once we finish loading, we're leaving. This place is bad luck."
She didn't want to stay here any longer than necessary.
Everyone silently sped up their work, the atmosphere turning heavy.
By the time the last bundles of wire mesh were loaded, the Humvee's tires were visibly compressed under the weight.
Calista leaned back contentedly, mentally ticking off another item on her plan.
Now they could finally build a full perimeter around the manor.
The last stop—the broadcasting station—was far less rewarding.
The original plan had been simple. If they could find any working transmission equipment, even something low-powered, Rock Fortress's communication range could expand significantly.
Future teams heading out would find it much easier to stay in contact. They might even occasionally pick up signals from other survivors.
However, the moment their vehicle entered the city, Calista's expectations were shattered by the sight of Knoxville.
The golden Sunsphere sculpture in the city center had collapsed halfway, its surface so blackened and corroded that its original color was no longer recognizable.
Abandoned vehicles twisted together along the streets, their windows shattered and their bodies covered with dried dark-brown bloodstains and bird droppings.
The wind swept through the empty streets, sending scraps of paper and plastic bags swirling while producing a hollow, ghostly howl.
A piano bar she remembered as elegant—where the waiter had been particularly handsome—now had a dried skeleton lying at the entrance, frozen in a crawling posture.
Calista pressed her lips together, her chest tightening.
She knew the apocalypse was like this, but seeing familiar places turned into such a nightmare still made her throat feel tight.
The traces of human civilization were being erased at an alarming speed, leaving behind a vast and suffocating emptiness.
The radio station building was no better.
More than a dozen walkers wandered outside, wearing torn suits or janitor uniforms—likely employees who had failed to escape when everything collapsed.
There was nothing to discuss.
Clear them out.
The mercenaries moved with clean, efficient precision, ending the fight quickly.
But once they entered the building, their hopes were immediately crushed.
The main equipment in the transmission hall had been smashed to pieces, as if deliberately destroyed with heavy weapons. Components were scattered across the floor, cables ripped out and strewn everywhere.
The backup generator room looked even worse. The engine's core components were completely gone, leaving behind nothing but an empty shell.
In the archives, records and tapes were scattered everywhere, ruined by mold and gnawed by rats.
"Calista, I checked everything—there's not a damn thing left inside," Turner said as he crawled out of a control room, covered in dust and grime, spreading his hands helplessly.
"Can't even find a working speaker, let alone transmission equipment. Total waste of a trip."
Calista kicked a rusted microphone on the floor, sending it clanging loudly across the empty hall.
The sound echoed harshly through the building.
She took a deep breath of the musty air and forced down the disappointment and irritation rising inside her.
"Alright, no more wasting time. We're leaving," Calista said, waving her hand, her mood complicated.
"Besides, we already have enough radios and walkie-talkies. If there's no transmitter, then there's no transmitter."
...
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