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Translator: 8uhl
Chapter: 46
Chapter Title: Signs (2), Atascadero
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The sky outside the car window was ash-gray. Occasionally flashing thunderclouds. Raindrops splashed into the Humvee. It was because of the turret mounted on top. At least Winter, riding in the lead turret, had it better. The machine gunner perched in the turret was doomed to get soaked the entire way.
The road bypassed Paso Robles on the way to Atascadero. Even though the previous mission team had cleared the obstacles, covering 40 km still took a considerable amount of time. Roads were wrecked all over the place. Traces of repeated airstrikes. The convoy struggled to pick up speed.
It happened while crawling over a dug-up section like a caterpillar. From an abandoned ranch to the right front, infected variants were chasing riderless horses. Spotting them, the variants switched targets. They charged across the yellowed, dead grassland, arms flailing furiously.
The machine gunner thumped the roof.
"Two o'clock, range about fifty, standard variants—eleven… no, thirteen. Engaging."
He yanked the lever right away. The turret spun with a grinding of gears.
Soon, the heavy machine gun spat fire. Three Humvees up front unleashed a wall of lead in competition.
The rounds were fat, so the sound was thunderous. Nothing like personal firearms. The charging bastards shattered with wet thuds. White steam rose from their mangled bodies. Proof of their superhuman metabolism. The cold air played a part too, no doubt.
"Noise Control, this is 331 Mission Team. Firing fifty-cal. Request noise support. Over."
Lt. Jeffrey's voice crackled over the radio. As the senior officer in charge of this mission team, he rode in a vehicle behind Winter.
Not long after the transmission, raucous noise erupted from three directions beyond the horizon. The recently deployed noise makers kicking in. Thanks to them, noise burden during ops had dropped. Otherwise, heavy weapons would've been off-limits.
Jeffrey radioed the ceasefire. Silence fell immediately.
"Oh, damn it!"
The driver cursed. A variant had popped out at point-blank range.
Thud!
No time for the gunner to shoot. The driver just rammed it. Blood smeared the windshield.
There was a reason no one had spotted the variant. It was caked head to toe in mud and fallen leaves, like it had been rolling in the muck. No wonder it blended in while sprawled like that.
"Almost like it was camouflaged."
The driver grumbled. Winter didn't bother replying.
Nothing else happened the rest of the way.
The state hospital, their destination, sat on the eastern outskirts of town. Sheltered by a low ridge, it was invisible until you got close.
The grounds were vast. Double chain-link fences ringed the whole facility, with guard towers like you'd see in a prison lining the perimeter.
It was a prison, in fact. According to pre-mission intel, this place held criminally insane patients. Perfect for isolating infectees. No wonder the CDC had made it a regional control hub.
The convoy pulled into the east parking lot. Roughly a platoon dismounted. Fewer than the previous team, but more combat troops—and crucially, Winter was with them. The soldiers joked he was worth a company. Command thought even higher.
During final gear and weapon checks, something odd turned up. Lt. Jeffrey frowned.
"Radio static's brutal. Jamming?"
"No mention in the briefing."
The comms specialist looked stumped. The long-range radio they'd brought was useless. No link to camp or any nearby U.S. bases. They'd planned one last noise support request before entry, but no dice. Recon support was out too. They'd have to go on briefing intel alone.
Winter checked his own radio. Even short-range platoon chatter was spotty. Had to turn the volume down for stealth, making it even harder to hear.
No choice but to push on. Jeffrey gathered the troops.
"Listen up. This hospital warehoused a ton of infectees. Briefing said the isolation wing's intact, but don't buy it. Why else would the advance team vanish? Assume worst-case. No splitting up, got it?"
Short, low affirmatives. Jeffrey nodded.
"Alright, King David leads as planned. Good luck, everyone."
King David was one of Winter's recent nicknames. The way he took down that Grumble looked like David vs. Goliath. Probably Sgt. Cohen from Able Company.
Winter let it slide.
The hospital grounds were eerily quiet. A few variants shuffled inside windows. No shots fired. Breaking glass would be too damn loud.
The advance team's vehicles were found in the south lot. Trucks and Humvees abandoned. Intact, fuel full. No signs of combat, no bodies. Cargo gone. Just like they'd arrived.
"Ha, where the hell did they all go?"
Lt. Jeffrey muttered, face uneasy.
Now the platoon crossed the lot to the main entrance. A chill wind stirred the empty lobby. CDC evacuation mess, everything trashed. Amid the chaos, some graffiti caught the eye. A long-nosed face peeking out, with one line:
"Kilroy was here."
"Was there a Kilroy on the advance team?"
Winter's question broke the tension. Platoon snickered. As Jeffrey scolded them, the radioman replied.
"Sir, it's just graffiti. Maybe someone from the team doodled it."
Winter tilted his head and resumed the sweep. Jeffrey left the comms guy and one squad in the lobby to secure the exit. The rearguard piled debris for barricades and set booby traps.
Convex mirrors lined the halls. Prison-style blind-spot elimination. Good and bad—variants could see them too.
Case in point: At a hall bend, Winter locked eyes with one via ceiling mirror. It shrieked and charged the mirror. Others trailing behind. Winter raised a fist—hold position. Platoon hugged walls. Winter crouched low too.
The blindly charging pack rushed past the huddled platoon toward the mirror. They clustered below, hopping madly. Winter fixed his bayonet, slipped behind, and stabbed from the rear—sparing ribs, piercing heart.
Thuds as bodies piled. Like a farmer harvesting crops, Winter methodically finished them. A few soldiers joined. Nervous about screwing up, two per target, stabbing wildly.
"Damn, you've got balls."
A squeamish soldier shook his head at the feel of it.
They covered both hall directions, waiting for noise to draw more.
Just one came. Winter handled it.
They left troops at key junctions, advancing. Numbers dwindled fast. Had to secure retreat and maintain radio relay to lobby. Comms range shrank inside the building.
Skirmishes were frequent but minor. Then another problem cropped up.
"Why are there so many damn cockroaches?"
Crawling everywhere—floors, walls, ceilings. Hard to avoid stepping on them. Some climbed legs. Roach-haters freaked. Jeffrey chewed them out, then yelped and hopped himself—one in his clothes. He begged quietly for help. Winter obliged.
Splat!
The squished roach soaked through. Jeffrey looked tragic.
"…Think about it. Wasn't there a better way?"
"How long you wanna take fishing it out?"
Jeffrey couldn't blame him. Winter ignored roaches entirely. Brushed off only those reaching his neck.
*Familiar since forever.*
The poor house, critters crawling from bedding.
No trace of the advance team in the CDC drug depot either. While soldiers hunted clues, Winter pocketed a small vial of antibiotics.
"Now what?"
Jeffrey slumped. No point searching more hospital. He'd expected breached isolation wards, but they were still locked.
Too easy. No real threats.
The turning point came via radio. Relay from the lobby comms guy.
"Hold up—what? Rescue request received? You sure?"
«I'm just passing it on, not sure myself. But they said it's weird—listen for yourself.»
"Shit."
Retracing took little time. Full platoon reassembled in lobby. Comms guy looked pale. Jeffrey demanded details; guy just handed over the receiver. No words for it.
Winter's turn too.
Static still bad. But human voices cut through—not one, dozens. Overlapping, fragmented. Like comms channels mashed together.
"Feels like the same stuff looping."
"That's what makes it weirder."
Jeffrey replied.
Unprecedented. «Day after Apocalypse» world adding new elements. Winter listened closer.
«At the junction… contact…» «你不...劝我...» «Multiple wounded… can't… exfil on own…» «…mission… failure…» «Woun… ded numerous… can't… escape…» «…to Santa Rosa…» «...救性命...反正我...去» «…contact… outpost…» «...逃到了...什么?」 «你不...劝我...» «Civilians… ass… mission failure…»
"Can you triangulate the source?"
Comms guy hesitated.
"Not impossible. Crude method—wander till signal strengthens. But it'll take time. Distance unknown."
He warned of the delay.
Jeffrey sank down.
"Let's eat something first and think. Starving here."
============================ Author's Notes ============================
Q. I like the game system explanations and viewer reactions, but I'd prefer more emphasis on the story progression.
A. The real-world backstory and viewer reactions are all part of the story progression. Not just thrown in for laughs.
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