Morning at the base began at 7:30.
Aside from rotating patrol and sentry posts, everything else followed the pre-apocalypse routine: eight hours a day, from eight to five, with an hour for lunch.
At that time each day, the Knoxville Industrial Park, Blackberry Ranch, and Rock Fortress's residential area came alive.
Doors opened and closed. Footsteps sounded along the roads, flowing toward the communal cafeterias and the various work assembly points.
Calista stood on the balcony of her room, holding a cup of black coffee as she leisurely watched the base below gradually wake up.
People moved along the paths toward different functional areas.
The construction team headed to Blackberry Ranch to expand the residential zone.
Morgan, Joy, and the others from the agricultural team inspected vehicles and farm tools, preparing to head out to Blackberry Ranch.
From the training ground came the shouted cadence of the Defense Force's morning drills.
Order.
This was the most precious thing she had rebuilt from the ruins, after pouring in countless hours of effort.
The past week had been a rare stretch of calm.
Several simple production lines in Blocks A, B, and C of the Knoxville Industrial Park had gradually been restarted.
The constant stream of people seeking refuge from around Knoxville had pushed the base's population steadily past thirteen hundred.
Good news had also come from Dr. Jenner's underground laboratory.
They had made a breakthrough in the preliminary sequencing of the virus samples taken from the first-generation local walkers found inside the Pioneer Pharmaceuticals plant, and Milton's observational data on walkers' "residual behavior" had proven extremely valuable.
Everything was moving forward steadily.
"Commander, today's briefing."
Ellie placed a folder on the table behind her.
Calista turned and skimmed through it quickly. Most of it was routine, with one final item.
They were expected to receive around twenty to thirty newly arrived survivors today from the highway to the northwest. They had already passed preliminary screening at the outer checkpoint of the industrial park.
"Have Gwendolyn and Oak keep an eye on them," she said, closing the folder. "We've had a lot of people coming in recently. Extend the quarantine observation period if necessary."
"Understood," Ellie said with a nod.
...
The newcomer reception area was set up in the fire station on the outermost edge of the Knoxville Industrial Park, kept at a cautious distance from the inner factory zone.
Clear process charts were posted on the walls, marked with simple drawings and words: registration, preliminary physical exam, temporary storage of belongings, interview, and temporary housing assignment.
Gwendolyn sat behind a desk, her expression neither overly warm nor cold.
In front of her was a mother with two half-grown children. The woman's eyes were panicked, and she kept repeating what had happened to them on the road in a disjointed rush.
Gwendolyn listened patiently, making notes on the form from time to time, her voice steady.
"All right, Mary. You and the children are safe now.
"See the people in white over there? Take the children to them first for a quick check. They're just going to look for injuries or fever.
"Then come back, and we'll talk about what you and the children used to do, okay?"
Her reassurance eased some of the woman's trembling.
Not far away, behind another desk, Oak was questioning a man who had arrived alone.
"So you came from the eastern section of Route 64, near the abandoned long-distance rest stop?"
Oak confirmed the route. "Did you run into any large survivor groups on the way? Or... any unusual walker herds?"
The man sitting across from him was a truck driver. He scratched his stubbled chin.
"Large groups? Didn't see any.
"A few unlucky stragglers here and there.
"As for walkers, they're pretty much the same everywhere. They follow noise, dumb as rocks..."
He paused, as if remembering something. "Oh, but now that you mention it, there was a weird guy traveling with us. Kept muttering scary things the whole way."
Oak's pen did not stop. This kind of thing was not uncommon.
"About what?"
"Said we shouldn't come to Knoxville. Said inside the chemical plant in the industrial park, there was some... 'monster more terrifying than walkers.'"
The truck driver curled his lip in disdain. "He made it sound real, too. Said it was much faster than regular walkers and looked different.
"He scared several people in the group so badly they couldn't sleep at night. We almost split up halfway here.
"If you ask me, the guy's probably lost his mind. On the road these days, who hasn't seen a few people go completely crazy?"
Oak looked up. "Where is he now?"
"He came in with us. That one over there, huddled in the corner, tense as a wire." The truck driver jerked his chin toward the corner of the waiting area. "Don't know his name. Nobody dared talk to him much."
Oak followed his gaze.
A man sat against the wall there, wearing a tattered coat whose original color could no longer be made out. His arms were locked tightly around a bulging old travel bag.
His head was lowered, his hair greasy and matted, hiding his face. But his entire body was stiff and tense, completely different from the other newcomers nearby, who at least looked somewhat relieved despite their exhaustion.
In the remarks section of the truck driver's form, Oak quickly wrote: One traveling companion spreading panic-inducing claims, pointing to Block D and alleging the presence of "abnormal walkers."
After thinking for a moment, he added: Remarks negatively affected group morale.
The next several newcomers, whether alone or in groups, almost all brought up the "madman" and the frightening claims he had spread on the road during their routine questioning.
The details were largely the same.
A monster. In Block D. Not a regular walker. Extremely dangerous.
Some scoffed at it, dismissing it as the nonsense of someone who had broken down. Others were clearly still shaken, their eyes darting when they mentioned it.
When the sixth person being questioned also brought it up, Oak stopped writing.
He realized this was no isolated case.
It was not unusual for someone to develop delusions under the pressure of the apocalypse and influence others. But for so many people to consistently point to the same specific location, Block D, with descriptions that were vague yet shared the same core, "monster" and "different from walkers," and for those words to keep affecting an entire group of people from different backgrounds...
This went beyond ordinary crazy talk.
Oak stood and whispered a few words to a Defense Force soldier maintaining order nearby.
The soldier glanced at the man in the corner and nodded.
After finishing with the family she was handling, Gwendolyn walked over and asked quietly, "Oak, what's going on? The one in the corner? He doesn't look well. Should we have the medical team check him first?"
"It's more than him not looking well, Gwendolyn."
Oak handed her his notes. "Almost everyone mentioned him and what he said about Block D. It's too consistent."
Gwendolyn skimmed through the notes, her brow furrowing.
She was more experienced, and immediately sensed something unusual.
"It sounds like someone fixated on a specific thing after trauma... but Block D..."
Gwendolyn recalled some vague information she had heard before, about Block D holding a large number of walkers.
"Finish the process first. Afterward, take him to the interrogation room for a private interview. Don't alarm the others."
The interrogation room was where the base isolated and questioned people with minor issues. It was gentler than a detention cell, but still secure enough.
However, things soon drifted slightly away from the plan.
...
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