Almost at the same time, at a gap in the barbed wire fence in the southeast corner of Block A, five figures were sneaking in.
Dave led the way, machete in hand, warily scanning the abandoned factory grounds.
"Hurry up! What are you dragging your feet for?" he urged the others in a low voice. "Get to Warehouse No. 7 before the Rock Fortress people show up!"
Rex followed in the middle with an empty backpack on his back, clutching a crude hand-drawn map that was nothing like Cole's.
He couldn't shake the uneasy feeling in his gut. His right eyelid kept twitching.
"Dave, something feels wrong." Rex quickened his pace and moved up beside him. "It's too quiet. Didn't they say there were hundreds of walkers in Block A? We've been in here a while, and we haven't seen a single one."
"They were all herded into Block D!" Dave snapped, waving him off. "That just makes things easier! Find the damn warehouse!"
That was what he said, but even he found the silence unnerving.
No walker groans. No wind. Just the faint crunch of their own feet on broken glass and scrap metal, and the sound of their heartbeats growing louder.
Following the map, they turned into a narrow lane lined with abandoned shipping containers.
In the distance, the gray warehouse marked "7" appeared and disappeared in the fog.
The warehouse was not very tall, but it covered a huge area. Its walls were thick concrete, with only a few rows of narrow ventilation windows high up. Most of the glass had shattered, leaving dark, hollow openings like staring eyes.
"There it is!" Dave's eyes lit up, and he picked up the pace.
When they were less than fifty meters from the warehouse, one of the men at the rear suddenly let out a quiet "Huh?"
"Dave… look over there."
Everyone followed where he was pointing, toward the side and rear of the warehouse.
There was a row of low outbuildings there, probably old power rooms or maintenance rooms.
A heavy black padlock hung from the handle of one steel door, completely out of place amid all the rust and decay.
Then they looked back at the front of Warehouse No. 7. In the center of the heavy roll-up door was an electronic lock panel covered in dust, but it was definitely locked.
Dave's heart sank, and his face turned even uglier. "Damn it… has someone already been here?"
Rex crouched and carefully checked the ground.
There were no tire tracks in the damp mud.
"Not recently," Rex said, standing up. "It was probably locked back when the virus outbreak happened."
Dave stared at the door unwillingly, then glanced at the men behind him with their empty bags. A burst of anger rushed straight to his head.
The meat was right there, and now it was gone?
No way.
"We're already here!" he said through gritted teeth, his eyes shifting toward the row of outbuildings. "If we can't get into the big warehouse, there has to be something in these smaller rooms. Pry them open and check!"
"Dave, don't," Rex tried to stop him, but Dave had already led the others over.
The new lock was solid, but the doorframe had rotted with age. Dave jammed a crowbar into it a few times, and with a clang, the door gave way.
Dave shone his flashlight inside. It was a maintenance room packed with junk. Rusted tools sat on the shelves, a few buckets of paint had long since hardened, and an old arc welder stood in the corner.
"Jesus, it's all garbage!" Dave spat, but he still refused to give up and kept rummaging.
One of the men pulled back a tarp in the corner, revealing several green metal cases. A lightning bolt symbol was printed on them, with a small line of text underneath: [High-Voltage Testing Equipment].
"Dave, these boxes look pretty sturdy!"
Dave walked over and used his machete to pry open the latch on one of the boxes.
Inside was foam padding fitted around several oddly shaped metal probes, coils, and a few sealed glass tubes filled with some kind of dark red gel.
"What the hell is this?" He picked up one of the glass tubes and held it up to the light.
Under the flashlight, the dark red substance looked as thick as syrup. Rex leaned in for one glance, and the bad feeling in his gut grew stronger.
"No idea… but I think we'd better not touch it. This place used to be an industrial park. Who knows what deadly stuff the chemical plants and labs left behind? Grab what we can use and let's get out of here."
But Dave was getting excited. "What are you scared of? Maybe it's worth something. Load it all up!"
He ordered the others to drag the boxes out, then shouldered one himself.
The glass tubes shifted slightly inside the case, and the dark red gel slid along the walls of the tubes.
Just as they carried the boxes out of the maintenance room, the sound of engines came from the distance. Diesel engines, and more than one.
Everyone froze.
Dave leaned over and looked out through the broken window. Two modified Humvees were driving along the factory's main road toward the warehouse.
"Damn!" Dave cursed under his breath. "Move! Get out of here!"
The five of them hurriedly shouldered the boxes and ran like mad back the way they had come.
The boxes were heavy, and the metal parts inside clanged with every step.
Because of all the jolting, the stopper of one glass tube in the box on Dave's back came loose. A faint sweet, metallic odor began seeping out through the seams of the case.
None of them dared to look back. They rushed all the way to the gap in the barbed wire fence, scrambled through it in a mess, then jumped into the beat-up pickup hidden behind the rubble. The driver floored the gas, and the truck vanished at full speed.
A few minutes later, two Rock Fortress vehicles stopped in front of Warehouse No. 7.
Calista was the first to jump down from the passenger seat, her combat boots hitting the ground with a sharp thud.
She was in full black combat gear, wearing goggles, and carrying an M4 fitted with a silencer.
Carver, Mike, Bossie, and Turner got out one after another. Cole was last. His face was pale, and he was gripping the newly issued handgun in his hand.
Bossie crouched to examine the tire tracks and footprints on the ground.
"Someone left not long ago. No more than ten minutes. The footprints are panicked, heading southeast. Five to six people."
He pointed at the pried-open maintenance room door. "That place has been searched."
Calista walked to the doorway and shone her flashlight inside. The junk had been turned into a complete mess, and there were a few drops of dark red residue on the floor.
She crouched, dabbed a little with her gloved finger, and brought it close beneath her goggles to inspect it.
It looked like something had spilled from a container. A gel-like substance. The trace was fresh, with a sharp, sweet, metallic smell.
Calista immediately frowned, pressed her earpiece, and said in a low voice, "Leah, intruders found outside Warehouse No. 7. They've fled.
There are traces of an unidentified highly toxic chemical substance at the scene, with a distinct odor. The intruders may have taken some dangerous materials.
Send someone over to collect a sample and deliver it to Dr. Jenner's lab for analysis. We'll enter the main warehouse as planned. Raise the perimeter alert level by one."
Leah's voice came through the earpiece. "Copy that. I'll send someone to collect a sample right away. Be careful."
Calista stood and looked at Cole. "Access card."
Cole handed it over with trembling hands.
Calista took it, walked up to the massive roll-up door, and inserted the magnetic card into the slot on the side of the electronic lock.
A green light came on. The heavy mechanical lock gave a series of clicks, and the roll-up door slowly began to rise.
Behind the door was darkness so deep it seemed endless.
Cole watched, his legs going a little weak.
But Calista had already switched on her headlamp and stepped inside first.
Carver patted Cole on the shoulder and grinned. "Come on. Show us your 'treasure.'"
Cole swallowed hard and followed.
In the distance, inside the Throat-Slasher Gang's beat-up pickup, Dave was smugly patting the box beside him. "See? Even if they got the biggest piece, we still managed to grab some meat!"
He did not notice that the sweet, metallic smell leaking from the seams of the box was getting stronger.
Rex, sitting closest to it, was already starting to feel a dull ache in his temples and an itch in his throat.