The strengthened crew of the fortress made good time down the highways that had been built by a nation that had loved fast cars, and the Fortress arrived on the northern outskirts of Shasta Lake City just before dusk. They had probably another half day of travel ahead of them. That didn’t bother them, but it was the raiders that that had Cameron worried.

The newest and most temporary member of the crew had taken what was dubbed a “Cameronesque” approach to dealing with the painful losses he had suffered. He didn’t talk to anyone unless they spoke to him first and had kept his answers monosyllabic. Natalie however, seemed to have taken a sharp interest in him and they had passed the long time on the road with long conversations, even if all he did was sort through the filled duffel bags, and steal a glance every so often at the freezer that held the remains of two of his comrades.

Nastia’s remark that they had “found themselves another taciturn lone wolf leader thing” had brought the hint of a smile to Cameron’s normally taciturn features which promoted further comment from the five foot four inch tall redhead that had them all laughing, except for Cameron who just smiled.

“Outskirts of Shasta Lake,” said Robert as he slowed them down, “We’ve got a couple of hours of daylight left. You want to call it a day or push through?”

“Push through,” replied Cameron, “I’ll go find out what exactly we can run in to.” Sure enough, Peter was in deep discussion with Natalie over some fairly esoteric matter in the real trailer where the two were sorting through the sixth bag of medical supplies. Natalie nodded and Cameron returned the gesture, taking a knee next to them, “Hope I’m not interrupting, but we’re coming up on Shasta Lake City,” Peter froze for a moment, “What is the apocalyptic worst case scenario?”

“The raiders are based somewhere in the city – never been able to find out really but so long as you stay out of downtown, you shouldn’t run in to them or their random patrols.”

The Fortress lurched to a halt, throwing Cameron off balance as his knee made hard contact with the metal floor but picked himself up as he half ran and half limped forwards towards the cab. The sight that greeted him could hardly get any more sickening: They swayed gently back and forth in the nonexistent wind, and bullet holes marred the chest and torsos of every single one. They had been dead for maybe a day at most. Robert looked over his shoulder at the small crowd of faces that had come to glimpse at what had made him stop short and the looks ranged for disgust to anger intermingled with grief, “Those bastards,” he growled. Shoulders shaking he turned away and Cameorn didn’t have to give the order as they melted away to the guns.

Nastia took the other rear gun, and waited for Peter to settle in, he shook silently as a trickle of tears made their way down his cheeks. She reached out to him, putting a hand on his shoulder, “You knew them didn't you?”

“Yeah,” he wiped his eyes quickly, “Thomas, Kosta, Vera, Shawn, Tina and Brock... they had two vehicles between them.” He smiled, at odds with the tears and rage that warred for supremacy on his face, “I’ll mourn them when the time is right, but until then,” he turned away as they rolled through the ruined city. Peter worked the bolt on the machine gun and nothing more need be said. Natalie clambered up the ladder to the grenade launcher as Jaira had both flank guns prepped and ready in the first trailer, with Cameron upon the forward gun alongside Robert.

The drive was quiet but Robert could feel something wrong, that they were enjoying the calm of a coming storm. He said as much to Cameron who was in the process of agreeing with him when a dozen rounds splattered against the armored exterior, “Contact right!” Engines roared and vehicles shot in to the open from hiding places amongst the wreckage and shadows of numerous buildings to form a blockade across the road. Several more bullets whipped past the view screen and Robert brought the fortress to a halt, dropping the armor plate over the windscreen.

The center of the roadblock was a civilian humvee and a pickup truck, both sporting crudely mounted .50 caliber machine guns. From the back of the pickup truck, a man rose a bullhorn to his lips, “We represented the power of our, and soon to be your Holy Father, Arch-Cardinal Jordan St. Jamais. You have slaughtered members of our faith and although our fallen brothers call from heaven for vengeance, Know that the Brotherhood does not seek war with the shattered remnants of humanity. I command you to switch off your engine and surrender your arms. We give you one minute to decide: Surrender or the fire of holy and righteous purification will cleanse your souls before your communion with the Lord!”

Cameron had not and would not even consider the possibility of surrendering anything to anyone. At odds with religion and God in general Cameron studied the road block as he pulled the headset in to place. It was a small innovation that served the dual purpose of allowing them to communicate without having to shout over the roar of machine gun fire, “On my signal, give them hell.” He ordered before taking the microphone from Robert to address their acquaintances, “We are heavily armed and will defend ourselves to the death! Move aside or we will move you!”

The American Army M-72 LAW or Light Anti-tank Weapon is that it is one of the easiest anti-armor weapons to deploy and Peter knew full well how to use one. He flipped up the caps at both ends and extended the tube to its full seventy centimeters length before he unlocked the roof hatch on the second trailer. He was halfway up the short ladder when Nastia hissed at him, “What the hell are you doing?”

“Raising hell,” replied Peter as he cautiously pulled himself half out of the massive vehicle. Balanced on the ladder and the edge of the hatch, he heft the opened tube on to his shoulder and set the rear sight before lining up the foresight on the target. Peter saw the bullhorn reappear, and he was halfway through his reiteration of his demands when Cameron’s voice crackled in everyone’s headset, “Weapons free!” The LAW is an open breach weapon that has almost no recoil but produces a back blast that was fatal to anyone caught within the thirty meter radius behind the weapon as superheated exhaust gasses vented out. There was a heavy whoosh and Cameron blinked as the missile streaked towards and engulfed the two vehicles at the center of the line in hellfire, turning them to scrap metal.

There was a moment of shocked silence, “Oops,” mumbled Peter. He rolled the spent weapon tube over the side and dropped back inside, sealing the deadbolts before turning his attention to the machine gun. From the outside may have looked a little strange as five beams of red light stabbed out to find targets before horizontal red rain pierced and punctured everything in their path. Jaira ripped through two on the left before Nastia tore up a matching pair on the right. The grenade launcher gave off a long deep throated cough, Natalie having opted to fire off a brace of fragmentation rounds. The raiders broke without firing a return shot as the fortress unleashed its own brand of hell upon them.

Peter seemed to take a ridiculous delight in downing the fleeing enemy, taking careful aim to send short controlled bursts like piranhas in to anyone stabbed by the red beam. He was avenging friends and excising a few demons at the same time.

The Fortress smashed through the burning wrecks, taking the turn south following the road sign towards Redding leaving the ruins of the ambush to burn behind them. It would be another two hours before they called it a day, Robert parking the massive vehicle across the four lane highway to present half their firepower towards Shasta Lake City, in case the raiders were actually foolish enough to try their luck again.

Anastasia Sokolov toyed with her fork, pushing around another rehydrated MRE. She had nothing against Pasta Bolognaise, but the questions gnawing at her consciousness were like a dog gnawing at a bone, as she wondered about it more and more, wondered who exactly she could turn to for advice. Natalie would be the logical choice, but then again, so was Jaira. Cameron....Cameron was not a man that she knew how to approach – let alone talk to without putting her foot in her mouth. That was the answer to her question: Peter. She called towards the driving cab, asking for someone to cover her while she went to the bathroom and it was Cameron who filled her freshly vacated slot, jerking his head in the appropriate direction, “Take all the time you need.”

She nodded and disappeared in to the rear, where Peter sat eating his own pasta, taking his time to chew it unlike Cameron who inhaled whatever food was put in front of him. He was taking his time to savor the texture and flavor of what he was eating and sat down next to him, “You actually like this stuff?”

“Hot food beats whatever comes out of a cold can,” he replied as he took another bite and chewed it slowly.

She chuckled, and took a bite of her own pasta. True enough, it was still warm and tasted like pasta but she could not pin down whether the sauce was actually bolognaise or a cream sauce, despite its deep red color, “So how do you rate the cooking tonight?”

“I'd rate it about a seven or an eight. But if I'd done the cooking, I would have gotten a solid nine.”

“That low?” she retorted, “Cameron's not going to be happy that you don't like his cooking.”

Peter didn't reply to that, as he shifted the topic, “What's up with your leader anyway? He seems to be wound a little bit tight.”

“What? Cameron?” Nastia hesitated, wondering how much she could reveal to someone who was in many ways still on the outside, “You don't trust him?”

“I trust him as much as I trusted those who I used to work with in Redding,” he paused, obviously trying to pick his words carefully to avoid stepping on toes, “But I've seen him when he sleeps. He tosses, turns and twitches and jerks like sleep is a long nightmare.” The truth was that Cameron had nightmares every night, “and he's a lot calmer when Jaira...” Peter was lost for words.

“Keeps an eye on him?” supplied Nastia as she took another bite, “I don't know everything about him but I do know the causes of some of his nightmares. It has a lot to do with things,” Nastia shuddered at the memories, “that happened about three months ago, when our own community in Portland City was destroyed by the dead.”