Chapter 142: How About Making a Documentary?
The sky above the Georgia–Florida border was overcast, with low-hanging clouds stretching across the horizon like a gray curtain ready to burst with rain.
Wells gripped the control stick of the Puma helicopter, his eyes fixed on the long, slowly moving gray line below.
A zombie horde stretching for kilometers was emerging from the interior of Florida, flowing through abandoned farmland and dried riverbeds as it moved northward.
They weren't fast, but they never stopped.
Lowering the helicopter's altitude, Wells finally got a clear look at the front of the horde.
It wasn't a zombie.
It was a deer.
A white-tailed deer was sprinting desperately along the highway, chased by hundreds of zombies, then thousands, then tens of thousands.
The deer could run faster than the zombies, but it would eventually tire.
The zombies never would.
Sooner or later, the exhausted animal would become part of the horde's feast. Of course, if it managed to escape far enough, it might survive—unless it accidentally ran into another cluster of zombies.
In that case, there would be no escape.
Wells pressed the weapon-release switch.
The missile launchers beneath the helicopter's wings opened.
Two missiles shot downward, trailing white smoke before plunging into the densest section of the horde.
Boom!
Boom!
The explosions blasted dark soil into the air. Zombies were hurled away by the shockwaves, limbs and bodies scattered across the ground.
Yet the zombies behind them simply stepped over the burning craters and continued marching forward.
Within seconds, the gaps created by the explosions disappeared.
It was like throwing stones into a lake.
The ripples vanished almost instantly.
"Damn it."
Wells cursed under his breath, pulling the helicopter higher before pressing the communication button.
"Robins, this is Falcon. The vanguard of the Florida zombie horde has crossed the state line and is advancing toward Savannah. Missile strikes have limited effectiveness. Requesting permission to return to base."
"Falcon, permission granted."
Wells banked the helicopter northward and headed home.
---
CDC Headquarters – Third Floor
Wu Fan stood before a giant wall-mounted display, a cigarette dangling between his fingers.
The Red Queen's display had switched from satellite imagery to real-time surveillance footage.
Millions of walkers crawled across southern Georgia.
From above, they resembled a spreading patch of gray moss consuming the land.
Wu Fan tapped the screen, zooming in on Savannah Port.
The city walls were clearly visible.
Several ships sat docked in the harbor, while shipping containers were stacked across the docks like miniature mountains.
"Red Queen, where are Hank and the others?"
"At the Atlanta Military Freight Terminal. The first group has already boarded the trains and is expected to arrive in Savannah in four hours."
Wu Fan lit another cigarette and took a slow drag.
Ninety thousand personnel traveling from Atlanta to Savannah by rail.
This wasn't relocation.
This was war.
He picked up the phone on the table.
"Send Sandra here."
Sandra arrived quickly, carrying a freshly printed supply inventory.
Wu Fan glanced at it before handing it back.
"Move as many weapons and ammunition supplies as possible from the warehouses. Transport everything by armored train and deliver it to Andrea."
After a brief pause, he continued.
"Andrea doesn't have enough experience to command a battle of this scale. Send Sean along with his two troublemakers and Rosita. Have them take charge."
Sandra nodded and turned to leave.
Wu Fan stopped her again.
"Also, find ten digital cameras from storage."
Sandra blinked.
"Cameras?"
"I need people documenting this battle."
She laughed.
"Boss, are you planning to make a movie?"
Wu Fan didn't smile.
"This is history."
His gaze remained fixed on the screen.
"If we record it, future generations will know how this world was saved. New survivors will understand where they came from and feel a stronger sense of belonging."
Sandra's smile faded.
She nodded and left.
Wu Fan picked up the radio and switched to Robins Air Force Base's frequency.
"Marcus, bring camera equipment. I want footage from the air and the ground. Multiple angles. High definition. No editing."
Marcus's helpless voice came through the speaker.
"Boss, we're Air Force personnel, not cameramen."
"Congratulations."
Wu Fan leaned back in his chair.
"You have a second profession now. That's an order."
Marcus sighed.
"Copy that."
Putting down the radio, Wu Fan walked to the window.
Outside, people strolled through the streets of the small town.
Some chatted with friends.
Others jogged along the sidewalks.
Children rode skateboards after school.
None of them knew that millions of walkers were converging on Savannah hundreds of miles away.
Wu Fan returned to his desk and picked up the supply report again.
Do we have enough ammunition?
Enough fuel?
Enough medical supplies?
If not, he could always redeem more.
After all, he had plenty of points.
---
Atlanta Military Freight Terminal
Bright floodlights illuminated the railroad tracks.
Hank stood at the edge of the platform holding a roster, watching clone soldiers board the trains.
Armored military trains sat waiting on the tracks, their reinforced doors wide open.
Soldiers filed inside with machine-like precision.
No one talked.
No one pushed.
No one took more equipment than assigned.
At another train car, Lu Bo stood by the door calling out numbers from a list.
Each number corresponded to another soldier boarding.
More than nine thousand personnel.
The crowds on the platform gradually shrank while the train cars filled.
Finally, Hank closed his roster and jumped into the last carriage.
The doors sealed shut.
The air valves hissed.
The train shuddered before slowly accelerating.
The rhythmic clatter of steel wheels echoed along the tracks.
Outside the windows, the station lights blurred from white to yellow, then orange, before becoming streaks of light.
The train left the station and raced through forests on both sides of the tracks.
Its destination:
Savannah.
---
Savannah Port
Andrea stood atop the city wall, binoculars raised toward the empty southern road.
The sea breeze whipped her hair wildly around her face.
Lowering the binoculars, she looked down at the soldiers carrying ammunition crates below.
Some shouted instructions.
Some pushed forklifts.
Others inspected machine-gun belts.
After watching for a moment, she descended the wall and entered the command office.
A large map covered the table.
Red circles and blue lines marked defensive positions.
Andrea picked up a pen and drew a red X thirty kilometers south of Savannah.
That was the first defensive line.
The minefields had already been laid.
Massive trenches had been dug and divided into sections.
Timber had been stacked beneath them.
Barricades and barbed wire were installed behind the trenches.
But there still weren't enough troops.
Andrea glanced at the wall clock.
Three o'clock in the afternoon.
Three hours until sunset.
One day until contact.
The office door opened.
Sean entered with Paul, Abraham, and Rosita.
Paul's skin had been tanned dark by the sun, and bandages wrapped around his arms, but his eyes remained bright.
Abraham carried an M249 machine gun over his shoulder like a veteran returning from war.
Rosita followed behind them, holding her red sniper rifle.
Her gaze lingered briefly on Sean's back before shifting away.
"The boss sent me to help with command."
Andrea smiled with relief.
"That's great. Thank you."
Sean stepped up to the map and examined the defensive layout.
"The line is too spread out."
His finger moved across several marked positions.
"We don't have enough manpower. Concentrate the defenses."
He crossed out several isolated strongholds and redirected forces toward the city walls and harbor.
Andrea silently nodded.
"Also..."
Sean tapped a mountainous area on the map.
"We don't need to worry about these mountains. Zombies aren't climbing over them."
Andrea frowned.
"But we haven't finished building the container barriers there. What if they break through?"
Sean looked at her.
"What's below those mountains?"
"...Forest and swamp."
"Exactly."
He pointed at the area.
"A natural death zone. Humans can barely cross it, let alone zombies. Leave two guards there and focus the rest of the troops elsewhere."
Andrea sighed.
"I understand."
As expected, she still lacked experience.
"I'm heading to the harbor. They need help there too."
Sean nodded.
"Go."
Andrea left the office.
The door closed behind her.
Sean stood quietly before the map.
A moment later, he picked up a marker and drew a thick blue line along Savannah's city wall.
"Paul, take the west sector."
"Abraham, the east."
"Rosita, you're with me."
The three nodded and departed.
Sean remained alone in the room.
Lighting a cigarette, he studied the map in silence.
After smoking half of it, he picked up the phone and called CDC Headquarters.
"Boss, the defense line has been consolidated. We have enough weapons and ammunition, but we're still short on manpower."
A brief silence followed.
Then Wu Fan's voice came through.
"More than nine thousand personnel are already on the way. They'll arrive tomorrow morning."
Sean hung up.
Crushing the cigarette into the ashtray, he walked out onto the city wall.
More than nine thousand soldiers.
Where had they all come from?
When the apocalypse began, even the military had collapsed under the infection.
Yet Umbrella Corporation had somehow preserved an entire functioning military system.
The deeper he looked, the more terrifying the organization became.