We lull them into a false sense of absolute security.
And when the Commander inevitably kicks down the front gates, probably covered in blood and demanding to know why the motor pool isn’t swept, we will hand him the list. We uproot the rot all at once, cleanly, efficiently, and with extreme prejudice."
Sarah stared at the slight, bespectacled man.
Julian had never once fired a weapon in his entire career, nor did he engage in active combat.
He spent his days arguing with quartermasters over the inventory of canned peaches. Yet, standing there, calmly outlining a mass execution plan, he was the most terrifying person in the room.
"And what if you’re wrong, Julian?" Elias asked, his voice low and dangerous. "What if Marcus really did it? What if Adrian is dead, and we just sat here polishing our boots while a murderer took over?"
Julian didn’t hesitate. "If sixty days pass, and the Commander has not returned, or if incontrovertible proof of his demise is presented, then that means my plan is flawed."
Julian reached to his hip and unholstered a small, standard-issue sidearm. He held it out by the barrel, offering the grip to Elias.
"If that happens," Julian said, his voice completely steady, "you can use this to put a bullet through my skull for giving you bad advice, Elias. My life is the collateral for this strategy. I am entirely confident in my risk assessment."
Elias stared at the gun, then up at Julian’s unwavering, determined face.
Julian was a precious friend. He was the annoying, overly-meticulous glue that held their squad together. For him to put his own life on the line with such absolute certainty... it shook Elias to his core.
Elias slowly pushed the gun away.
"Keep your weapon, Julian," Elias muttered, running a weary hand over his face. "You’re right. Rushing in blindly without a plan is what got the Vanguard nearly wiped out in the early days. Adrian taught us to do better than that."
Sarah let out a long, heavy breath, slapping the gas tank of her bike. "Fine. We stay. We make your damn list. But the second Marcus slips up, the second I catch him celebrating, I am feeding him his own teeth."
"Understood," Julian nodded, smoothly holstering his sidearm and tucking his clipboard back under his arm. "Now, I suggest you both return to your barracks. Marcus has scheduled a ’Base Reorganization Briefing’ in thirty minutes. It is imperative that you both attend and look appropriately devastated."
As Sarah and Elias trudged back toward the barracks, the weight of the apocalypse heavy on their shoulders, they prayed Julian was right.
They prayed to whatever gods were left that Adrian Pendelton was out there, fighting, surviving, and planning his violent return.
Meanwhile,
Approximately fifteen miles away, Adrian Pendelton was currently doing none of those things.
Adrian Pendelton was having an absolute blast.
"Woooo!" Adrian roared, slamming the steering wheel of the massive black SUV.
SPLAT! CRUNCH!
The reinforced steel brush guard connected with a massive cluster of Tier-1 zombies that had grouped up near a toll booth. The undead exploded like overripe melons against the grill, sending a wave of black sludge washing over the hood.
Adrian didn’t even tap the brakes.
Instead, he reached over and cranked the volume dial on the radio.
"The ants go marching three by three, hurrah, hurrah!"
A cheerful children’s choir blasted through the SUV’s premium surround sound system.
It was a scene of absolute madness.
The terrifying warlord, sporting a neon pink dinosaur band-aid right between his eyes, was grinning like a maniac as he committed vehicular slaughter to the soundtrack of preschool counting songs.
"This suspension is incredible!" Adrian shouted over the music, purposely swerving to run over a mutated, spiked traffic barricade, completely obliterating it.
"You feel that, Dia? Smooth as butter!"
In the passenger seat, perched upon her tactical flak-jacket booster seat, Dia sat with perfect, rigid posture.
Her tiny hands were resting neatly on her knees.
Her expression was the definition of impassive.
Analysis of current situation,
Dia watched another zombie disappear beneath the tires.
Adrian is experiencing elevated emotional activity, likely caused by surviving a near-death experience and acquiring new abilities.
She tilted her head slightly as the SUV bounced over a corpse.
He is also using vehicular impact as stress relief.
Another zombie flew past the window.
The vehicle remains structurally sound.
She nodded to herself.
Therefore, his current behavior is acceptable.
The auditory input, while bizarrely juxtaposed against the visual of flying corpses, remains mathematically predictable and thus, soothing.
"Yes, Uncle Adrian," Dia replied, her small voice cutting through the chaos with absolute deadpan precision. "The shock absorption is functioning within acceptable parameters. The kinetic transfer of the deceased biomass is highly efficient."
Adrian let out a booming laugh.
He loved this kid.
He didn’t know where she came from, he didn’t know why she talked like a military field manual, but she had saved his life and she was entirely unfazed by the apocalypse.
She was the perfect co-pilot.
"The little genius gets it!"
He reached over and affectionately ruffled her messy hair.
Dia blinked.
Her hair was now sticking up in three different directions.
She considered fixing it.
Then decided it wasn’t worth the effort.
The physical contact was also tolerable.
Adrian was warm.
And, more importantly, he had strawberry milk.
She could endure a brief hair disturbance under those circumstances.
Then—
GRRRRRRUUUUMBLE.
Adrian blinked.
In the quiet moment between the ants marching three-by-three and four-by-four, a sound echoed in the cabin of the SUV.
It wasn’t the engine. It wasn’t the tires.
His eyes flicked toward the dashboard.
"Was that the transmission?"
Dia froze.
Every muscle in her tiny body went rigid.
If she possessed the physiological capability to sweat, she would be drenched by now.
The sound had come from her stomach.
Critical error.
Her internal alarm system practically screamed.
Host nutritional reserves critically depleted.
Her stomach growled again.
GRRRRRR-SQUEAK.