“What do you mean bitten?” asked Cameron, his hands already a little jumpy. During their short road trip, he had snapped fresh clips and shells in to his assorted firearms. Cameron recognized the Guardsman but said nothing of it, and he did likewise. The guardsman sported the chevrons of Lieutenant was obviously the checkpoint commander, shrugged his shoulders, “Truthfully, whatever it is, that turns people in to these undead things is transmitted by their bite. If they’ve have bitten you, then you are already infected, and given enough time you’ll turn in to one of those things out there,” he gestured to the butchered corpses, “And we’ve already had two incidents since we secured the roads leading to the mall,” he remained relaxed, his side arm in his holster, the Heckler and Koch MP5 remained lowered, “Please step out. Just let us check you over and we’ll get you all squared away inside the mall. The alternative...” he said no more, only gestured with his head down the bridge, back the way they came. The choice was a simple one; especially with the National Guard have the firepower to convincingly finalize any debate or discussion that got even slightly out of hand.

They stepped out of the vehicle, killing the engine as they did so, and more than one eyebrow was raised as Cameron stepped out and the Lieutenant raised an eye, “Cameron, why am I not surprised to see you carrying an arsenal?” Cameron cracked his neck and smiled at his acquaintance from the shooting range, and nodded.

A Guardswoman frisked him, carefully, making sure not to miss an inch of skin, whether exposed or covered, checking for the warm wetness of blood or a bandage as Cameron replied, “Stupid question Brennan.” Cameron winced at the thoroughness of the search, “Sweetheart, if you want to get that personal with me, at least let me buy you dinner first.”

The guardswoman search him blushed as chuckles broke out all round, easing the tension of what had already been a long and dangerous day. Satisfied with their checks, they were waved onwards, “We’ve used vehicles to block off as many of the roads as possible that lead towards the mall. So if you see them, don’t worry, we’ve got people at every barricade guarding against the zombies, killing them as they come.”

Cameron climbed out of the vehicle and slung his heavy backpack in to place. Its weight felt like the responsibility he had upon his shoulders for the two others that he had brought this far with him. Cameron faced his friend slash acquaintance and sized him up. Brenan’s somewhat slight five foot five inch frame was not muscled out like a “Rambo” figure but his short cropped black hair was out of his brown eyes as he sized up the armed Cameron who towered over him by about six and a half inches, “So what exactly is going on here Brenan?”

“That’s a very good question. We’ve been holed up here since about noon, and apart from three roads we’re deliberately keeping open, we’ve barricaded every other road – engineers have laid down dragons teeth. You and your friends are the first to come in from anywhere in almost three hours,” Brenan paused, paused, wondering how far to trust Cameron, but he wasn’t a lieutenant for nothing: Survival came before national security and came clean, “There are about two hundred and fifty people in the mall. We’ve got plenty of space, food and supplies. Problem is, there are only a hundred and fifteen, hundred and twenty of us National Guardsmen and we’re mostly just weekend warriors. Anybody who knows how to shoot is welcome to sign up for a reserve commission.”

Cameron raised an eyebrow, “So you’re the big stick running this show.” It wasn’t a question, but a comment on the current situation.

Brenan took a breath to steady himself, “I am,” following Cameron’s stare down the bridge at the oncoming trio of undead, that were only mindless shambling forward until suddenly, one of them broke in to a hobbling run towards them. He gestured to the now running trio of undead, “Shoot them in the head and they stay down permanently.”

The range was a little too far for the MP-5, any handgun and using several dozen rounds to kill three of the undead would be wasteful, but the voice was calm, echoing down from above, “I’ve got them.” Cameron looked up and spotted her resting a top an eighteen wheel big rig, the massive sniper rifle balance comfortably on its bipod. Cameron looked up at her, and saw a flash of recognition… the guard who had frisked him even as Brenan filled in the blanks, at something new, “Corporal Coltrane up there is good shot with that rifle,” His point was reinforced as the suppressed semi automatic sniper rifle hissed three shots in the space of five seconds, dropping the trio to the ground with the contents of their skulls evacuated.

“Corporal, keep me posted on events here. I’m reachable on general broadcast or specifically Tac-Three,” he gestured to another pair of guardsman, “Lock this place down. Nothing gets in or out after 18:00 hours. And make sure those spotlights stay on.” Turning to Cameron, he slapped him on the shoulder, “Come on. Let’s get something to eat. I’ve always wanted to try that fancy Chinese place.”

“What? The Chrysanthemum Garden?” asked Cameron, his mind drawing up an image of a beautifully constructed restaurant with even more beautiful waitresses in their red Cheongsams, not to mention the supposedly outstanding cuisine that they had never had the opportunity to try.

“No... The fancy Chinese place in the Food Court – I’ve got a couple of the men working in the kitchens with some of the survivors to crank out food for everyone. It’s going to be military grade chow… but I don’t think any of us beggars can be choosers at this point,” said Brenan, as he slapped Cameron on the shoulder, “I told you we should have gone to the Chrysanthemum Garden last week!”

They began the walk, only a kilometer or so, as Brendan brought the radio to his lips, “Control to Gateways, sitrep.”

“Gateway One: Perimeter secure. No hostiles.”

“Gateway Two: Marginal contact several minutes back. Perimeter is now secure, no hostiles. No further contact to report.”

“Control to Gateways: Lockdown at 18:00,” he ordered. Acknowledgements trickled in and Brenan gave a sigh of relief.

The burden of command, and the responsibility of almost a hundred and fifteen national guardsmen and nearly the same number of civilians rested squarely upon the shoulders of one man for the moment. At least, his responsibility for the rest of the night was far simpler. Cameron slapped him on the back, “So Lieutenant Brennan Sinclair, what are your plans for tomorrow?”

“Ci Vis Pacem Para Bellum,” he replied.

“Ci Vis What?” asked Cameron.

“Ci Vis Pacem, Para Bellum,” he repeated, “If you want peace prepare for war."