A rasping "huh, huh" came from Dave's throat, like air being dragged through a broken bellows.
He turned his head, his milky-white eyes "looking" at the gang member closest to the bus door.
The man was bent over vomiting, completely unaware of the danger behind him.
Dave lunged.
It was not the slow pounce of a walker. It was frighteningly fast.
He sank his teeth into the back of the man's neck, and blood sprayed out.
The man's scream lasted only half a second before it cut off abruptly.
Right after that, the other bodies inside the bus began to "wake up" one after another.
They turned terrifyingly fast. Less than five minutes passed between death and movement.
"They're turning! They're turning!" Terrified screams tore through the night.
Eddie's face went deathly pale. "Shoot! Aim for the head! Now!"
Scattered gunshots rang out.
But in the chaos, their aim was terrible.
A newly mutated walker burst out of the bus and tackled another gang member who had frozen in fear.
Rex struggled to crawl toward the edge of the hideout. His vision was getting blurrier, but his survival instincts pushed him away from that hell.
He glanced back and saw Eddie leading the few people who were still relatively calm, firing as they retreated, trying to use the vehicles and shipping containers as cover.
But the walkers were too fast, and their numbers kept growing.
Everyone killed by a bite staggered back to their feet within minutes and joined the hunt.
After a desperate fight, the gunfire finally faded.
More than a dozen bodies lay scattered across the small courtyard.
Some were walkers killed by headshots, including Dave, whose forehead still oozed black blood from the bullet hole.
More of them were gang members who had been bitten to death by walkers but had not yet had time to turn. Their wounds were horrific, and their eyes remained open in death.
Eddie leaned against the wall of a shipping container, gasping for breath.
The magazine in his gun was empty, his machete blade was chipped, and his arm had been cut by the shipping container while he was dodging the walkers. But he was still alive.
Only seven members of the Throat-Slasher Gang were left.
"They're all… dead…" A young gang member collapsed to the ground, staring blankly at the bodies everywhere. "What the hell was that box Dave brought back…"
"Shut up!" Eddie growled. The movement pulled at the wound on his arm, making him grimace in pain.
But he forced himself to stand, gripping the machete in his still-usable right hand as his gaze swept over the survivors.
Seven people.
Besides himself, there was Rex.
That bastard was lucky. Although he had been sleeping on the bus, he had been near the door and had opened a window himself, so he had been poisoned the least. His face was still deathly pale and he kept coughing, but at least he could move.
The other five were all fairly sharp and had reacted quickly enough last night.
"Listen," Eddie said hoarsely. "We can't stay here. The gas may not have fully cleared, and the gunfire and blood smell will draw more walkers. We have to leave."
"Go where?" one of the men asked blankly. "All our stuff is on the bus…"
"Leave it!" Eddie gritted his teeth. "Staying alive comes first. Grab any weapons that still work, all the food, water, and medicine. We…"
He paused, and his gaze drifted toward Block B despite himself.
The others followed his gaze, and all of them fell silent.
Just yesterday, the Throat-Slasher Gang had still been scheming about how to steal something from Rock Fortress and how to protect their turf and pride.
Now, their only way out seemed to be seeking shelter with the very force they had once looked down on and feared.
Humiliating?
Of course.
But Rex struggled to his feet, coughed a few times, and said hoarsely, "Eddie, Boss. Rock Fortress is our only option now. They have doctors. That poison gas from last night, their people must know what it is. Maybe they even have an antidote."
He pointed at himself, then at the others. "If these wounds don't get treated, infection will kill us anyway."
Eddie looked at Rex, then at the desperate hunger to live in the others' eyes. At last, he lowered his gaze to the ugly wound on his own arm.
He could feel it burning, pain pulsing through it in waves.
Without treatment soon…
"Pack up." Eddie finally made up his mind, his voice heavy with weary resignation. "We leave in ten minutes. Anyone who wants to come, come. Anyone who doesn't… do whatever you want."
No one chose to stay.
Ten minutes later, seven people covered in blood and filth walked out of the hideout they had run for more than half a year, carrying rough packs and supporting one another.
The morning light stretched their shadows long behind them, like a pack of wild dogs with broken backs.
...
Block B Command Center, eight o'clock sharp.
The long conference table was packed with people: Calista, Leah, Ancheta, Carver, Mike, Bossie, Turner, Allen Miller, and Rickson, who had been urgently called in.
Rickson had just been summoned from Rock Fortress. He had temporarily handed the base's administration over to his assistant, Ellie, and rushed over to take charge of the industrial park's affairs.
Spread across the table were the technical manuals and UAV blueprints brought back from Warehouse No. 7, as well as the data hard drive Carver had copied.
"…So, three Night Hawk prototypes, a complete ground control station, and enough spare parts to assemble at least two more." After going through the files and the physical UAVs, Bossie was giving the briefing with obvious excitement.
He had unilaterally declared that the "Black Raven" was now his second-favorite piece of equipment.
"The battery packs need a full inspection and may need reactivation, but the core motors, flight control modules, and sensors are all intact.
According to the technical manual, this thing has a maximum range of eighty kilometers, an endurance of four hours, and can carry visible-light, infrared, and even low-light reconnaissance payloads.
The data link is encrypted military-grade hardware. We'll need to crack it or replace the communication module, but that should be within the Doctor's ability."
Allen Miller studied a circuit diagram carefully. "I can try to reverse-engineer the communication protocol. The bigger problem is power. These batteries are specialized lithium-polymer units. If they've been fully discharged this whole time, they may already be damaged. We need to test them and look for alternatives at the same time.
Also, maintaining and operating UAVs requires specialized training. It isn't something just anyone can pick up."
"We can choose trainees from the existing team," Calista said.
Bossie raised his hand. "I can do it!"
Calista did not know whether to laugh or sigh. Wasn't he getting a little too eager?
"I wasn't finished, Bossie. You'll be in charge of the training. From now on, you and Miller will be responsible for the maintenance, operation, and training for these UAVs."
"No problem, Calista." Bossie grinned, and Allen Miller nodded as well.
Rickson was more concerned about the supplies. "The preliminary inventory for the shelving area is ready.
There are enough specialty alloy materials for us to expand the weapons production line, and the precision bearings and transmission parts can help us repair more machinery.
We haven't entered the temperature-controlled storage room yet, but if there really are intact optical and laser components inside…"
Halfway through the meeting, Danny knocked on the door and came in, his expression a little strange.
...
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