Heading For Evacuation

Chicago, or as most would call it, hell on earth these days. Thirteen mismatched survivors marched their way towards the edge of the town; a large fenced-off barrier surrounded the exit, with many watchtowers and spot lots dotting the edge. At one point, they were constantly being patrolled by the military, but now, they looked just as abandoned as the rest of the city. Being site zero, Chicago was by far the most controlled outbreak zone of the infection, but that wasn't saying much, not when over two dozen other outbreak sites had been confirmed, with surely dozens more beyond that. Containing things was no longer an option; the eastern and western seaboard were no longer safe, and the only place left to go was inland. Thankfully, the plan was to do that with as many people as possible.

Leading the group were two members of the military, the first being a younger member of the coast guard by the name Ryan Barker, or at his preference, simply Barker. His black hair was slicked back, a scruffy, unshaven beard lined his face, and his deep blue eyes remained ever vigilant as he marched his group closer and closer to the eastern checkpoint of town. Alongside him was a grizzled member of the Marines, a giant of a man that went by the name Marcus Hammon. His deep red hair was shaped into a crew cut, while a hint of scruff lined the edges of his already intimidating face. Each man was armed with two rifles as they marched, being ready for whatever might be lurking behind a wrecked car or street corner.

"Mr.Barker, sir? Are we almost there?" A nervous cracking voice called out, earning him an immediate shush from Marcus.

Barker glanced back, eyeing the young, eighteen-year-old teen Mitchell, "Yeah, kid, we're almost there." Barker calmly assured the teen, who nodded and kept his head down, staring at the pavement as they walked.

"You'll have enough space for all of us, right? I don't want to get left behind." A blonde girl with pigtails, Holly Boone, immediately added a whine,

"No one is getting left behind; I promise," Barker reassured her.

Barker took a moment to flick his eyes to each of the other members of his rescued group; there was Amy, a tall slim blonde that had a small dusting of freckles on her cheeks, a detective from the local police . Journalist Ivey Page, a stunning redhead whose zealous passion for her work was as fiery as her hair. Darius Jones, a scruffed-up man with a thick mop of brown hair, Barker could immediately tell, was a local punk kid who had more than a chip on his shoulder. Alice Collins, a short, filled-out blonde nurse, was sticking close to the elderly John Stevens, an elderly surgeon from the hospital they both worked in. Joshua Wolf, an incredibly built African American laborer who most recently was working as a tree trimmer. Then there was Mirabelle Cooley, the middle-aged veterinarian. Mac Cooley, her husband, a very quiet hunting store owner who was armed with the only other substantial firearm, a classic bolt action hunting rifle. And their young son, Henry, a kid just barely pushing eleven. And finally, the oddest out of the bunch, Mike, the local elderly homeless vet who continued to walk without a care in the world. It was more than a mixed bag, but Barker wasn't going to judge; no matter who they were, they were alive, and that was one of the more important commodities that anyone could have these days.

Marcus lowered his head down to Barker's ear and spoke in a low whisper, "You know, we haven't heard from anyone at the checkpoint in hours. Routine check-ins were supposed to happen every hour on the hour."

"I know, but comms have been spotty. There is no need to freak anyone out until we know for sure there is an issue." Barker murmured back, and Marcus gave a nod. The man couldn't help but feel a small pit in his stomach form. Even if he himself to try and believe what he had just said, Barker couldn't help but feel that this radio silence was far too foreboding.

Another few minutes passed as the group marched, and finally, they reached a large, dark green, rolling metal door. "I take it this must be the place," Mike grunted out as he walked up to Barkers' side, looking up at the gate with his hands on his hips, "Guess it looks no worse for wear, which is something."

"No deadheads are getting through that thing, old man, believe me," Marcus assured the vet.

"Come on, let's get inside where it'll be safe." Barker interjected before looking back towards the group, "This is the place. Once we're inside, you'll all be checked over, documented, and then we'll be loading up on helicopters and heading out to somewhere safer."

"Thank God," Amy sighed back in relief, "I've seen more than enough of this place for my life; I'm ready to get somewhere new." Barker let out a soft chuckle and motioned the group with a nod of his head, leading them up to the checkpoint's door.

Barker grabbed a radio from his belt and brought it up to his mouth, "Base camp, this is echo team returning with its group of VIPs." Marcus moved to a mounted console on the left side and scanned a keycard from his pocket. The group waited for a few moments, all eager to get inside and get to safety.