"Calista, the eastern perimeter checkpoint reports that a small group of survivors is approaching. Seven people. They look rough. The leader says his name is Eddie, and he claims they're from the Throat-Slasher Gang."
The conference room fell silent for a moment.
"The Throat-Slasher Gang?" Leah raised an eyebrow. "Those idiots from Block A yesterday?"
"Looks like their poison gas party's over," Carver said with a snort.
Calista looked up from the head of the conference table. "What condition are they in?"
"Seven people. Most of them are injured, with varying degrees of trauma. Three are showing obvious poisoning symptoms: vomiting, dizziness, blurred vision.
The leader has a serious cut on his arm. It's been roughly bandaged, but it may need debridement. They have weapons, but they don't seem hostile. Looks more like they're here asking for help."
Danny paused. "The checkpoint is asking how to handle them."
Everyone in the conference room exchanged looks.
The Throat-Slasher Gang was different from the Scavengers. The Scavengers had the elderly, the weak, women, and children, and they were timid by nature. The Throat-Slasher Gang, on the other hand, was made up entirely of young and able-bodied men, all petty thieves and street thugs.
Calista thought for a moment, then asked, "How did they deal with last night's walkers?"
Danny froze briefly, pressed his earpiece, asked a few questions, then replied, "According to them, they fought them head-on. A lot of people… died."
"So the seven who are left are either the best fighters, the sharpest, or the luckiest members of the Throat-Slasher Gang."
Calista lightly tapped her fingers against the tabletop. "And when they were cornered, they chose to come to us instead of fleeing somewhere else or trying to tough it out. That means…"
She looked at everyone. "They have nowhere else to go, and they'll keep their heads low."
"So we're taking in this bunch of thugs?" Rickson frowned. "They won't be as easy to manage as the Scavengers."
"We're not taking them in. We're accepting them," Calista corrected. "Different groups come with different acceptance conditions."
She looked at Danny. "Where are they?"
"In the buffer zone outside the East Gate. The checkpoint stopped them there."
"Have them stay there. Send Ethan over to give them a preliminary examination and treat their injuries. If anyone has been bitten by a walker, have the checkpoint handle it on the spot. Everyone else is to surrender all weapons, undergo a full body search, and be disinfected."
Calista continued giving orders in a calm, steady voice. "Once that's done, bring them into the park's quarantine observation area, separate from the Scavengers.
Tell them Rock Fortress's rules. Obey management, exchange labor for survival supplies, and their observation period will be longer than the Scavengers'.
During that time, any violation of discipline means expulsion on the first offense. Serious violations mean execution.
Those willing to accept can stay. Those unwilling can leave now. We won't stop them."
Danny quickly took notes, then looked up. "If they ask about antidotes and treatment…"
"We can provide basic treatment, but it's an advance. They'll have to repay it with future labor credits." Calista paused.
"Also, meet Eddie alone. Tell him that if he's willing to cooperate and tell us everything he knows about every survivor outpost, supply point, and danger zone in Knoxville,
and if he helps us manage and 'educate' the other newcomers, he can receive a minor management position and the corresponding treatment. But if he tries to play games, or rebuild his own little faction…"
She did not finish, but the coldness in her eyes said everything.
"Understood." Danny turned and left.
The conference room fell quiet again.
Maybe because the Throat-Slasher Gang had tried to steal things from Block A before Rock Fortress could get there, Rickson had a poor impression of them.
Even if what they had stolen back was a massive mine that had blown up their own nest.
Rickson shook his head. "I still don't think they'll behave."
"The risk is manageable." This time, Leah agreed with accepting them.
Calista stood, walked to the window, and looked out at the busy Block B. "We need manpower. We need eyes and ears familiar with the local area.
The people from the Throat-Slasher Gang are like Jason. They've scraped by at the bottom, so they're practical. Handle them the right way, and they'll be useful."
She turned around. "Of course, the condition is that we make it clear to them that here, rules and strength are what matter."
Calista looked at everyone. "The gains from Warehouse No. 7 need to be processed as quickly as possible. UAV repair and training take priority. I want eyes in the sky above us as soon as possible.
Speed up the expansion of the settlement area. Draw up a plan for labor assignments and management of new arrivals as soon as you can.
Also, Rickson, screen our current four hundred-plus people again and see if we have any medical personnel. Anyone with previous related work experience counts. Knoxville will need a permanent medical team from now on too."
Right now, Rock Fortress's medical team only had Dr. Evans, Harry, Felipe, Jenny, Sarah, and Dr. Jenner on a part-time basis.
Ethan was a medic, but he was also a Defense Force member from a special operations background, so he could not be counted as part of the permanent medical team.
And with the newly joined Scavengers and the Throat-Slasher Gang included, the base's total population was already close to six hundred.
All the functional teams needed to expand.
Everyone nodded, and the meeting ended.
Meanwhile, outside the East Gate, seven battered members of the Throat-Slasher Gang were nervously going through Rock Fortress's first screening.
Under strict rules and heavy labor, their wildness would gradually be ground down, and like other survivor groups, they would be folded into Rock Fortress, the ever-growing machine of survival.
...
The next morning, three trucks drove along the rugged mountain roads and into the depths of the Great Smoky Mountains.
The truck beds were packed with Scavengers: men, women, old people, and children. Most of them clutched their only worn-out belongings tightly, their faces full of exhaustion, with a hint of curiosity and fear they could not suppress.
Outside the windows, dense mountain forest swept past, and the air grew fresher and fresher.
Cole sat in the passenger seat of the first truck, silently looking out the window.
The Rock Fortress soldier driving beside him was a quiet young man. He focused on the steering wheel, carefully avoiding potholes in the road.
When the convoy passed through the final mountain pass and the view ahead suddenly opened up, the truck beds filled with suppressed gasps and hushed whispers.
Blackberry Ranch had arrived.
Rather than a ranch, it looked more like a fortified community carefully built along a gentle valley.
Neat, uniform rows of fields stretched toward both sides of the valley. The seeds for the season had already been planted, and tender shoots were growing from the soil.
The surrounding irrigation ditches and water pipe systems were clearly visible.
Nearby stood planned residential zones, arranged in clean, orderly rows with bright windows, all centered around a resort hotel from before the apocalypse.
Beside it was a communal dining hall with thin smoke curling from its chimney, as well as workshops and a steaming building that looked like a bathhouse.
People moved back and forth along the roads.
Some carried farming tools toward the fields, some pushed carts loaded with supplies, and some were Defense Force soldiers patrolling the open areas.
Everyone was busy, but their clothes were clean, their faces healthy, and their eyes held something the Scavengers had long since forgotten.
Stability.