It had been just over a month since the destruction of the other group of survivors in Portland, and just over seven months since the fall of civilization. Sparta was now the only sign of life in the city. The largest salvage operation in Sparta’s short history was about to set out, determined to clean out the contents of a semi-forgotten Safeway Grocery Store that sat on the outskirts of Portland State University Campus, commonly known as “The Sketchy Safeway” due to the shoplifting that had plagued it. Cameron’s salvager team had been returning from a successful raid of the Campus Medical Center and had stumbled across the store when they were forced to stop due to a flat tire. He had spoken to Natalie, and somehow forged an agreement that allowed Cameron to lead both teams, with her as the acting second in command for the duration of the mission.

There had been something akin to a briefing session for all of those who would be coming, especially since roughly half of those involved with the mission had never worked with Cameron before, “I’ll say this only once. If you are going to work with me, then you do things my way. That is rule number one. Rule number two is that nobody is to be a hero so that everyone comes home. If we are clear on that, we can get down to business.” Cameron’s brisk almost abrupt style was a reflection of himself: He got the job done but at the expense of minor details and anyones feelings. Everyone had a specific part to play, and he made sure that everyone knew what to do. Satisfied that they were ready, he ordered that the final checks be made, throwing the clipboard at Steven who just happened to be passing through – in the wrong place at the wrong time – to check the status of the vehicles one last time as a form of controlled chaos engulfed the ground floor of the parking garage that made up the south east corner of Sparta.

An hour later, the convoy departed, savoring the warmer than usual late spring weather. The irony was not lost on Cameron, as if the world had been given its last hurrah in a peaceful Christmas and New Years before everything went to hell in a handcart. What remained of the city of Portland was the husk of its former glory as burned out cars and despoiled buildings tainted the landscape, some covered in the remnants of their Christmas decorations, never taken down. It was as familiar a sight as the few straggling zombies that wandered in to the streets from whatever holes they had been hiding in. The dull unseeing eyes tracked their movements and several shuffled after them trying to catch one of the vehicles. Those that showed too much initiative were suitably rewarded with bullets to the head. The stench of decomposition from decaying flesh and dried blood had begun to fade and the void created by humanity’s near total extinction was filled by Mother Nature, plants, birds, rodents and other small animals now beginning to reclaim the city.

Less than ten minutes by road and their destination came in to view, the tall white building turning gray from mildew and fungus that was steadily eating through the layers of paint. They circled to the rear and the loading docks, backing the massive truck in to place. Properly parked, engines fell silent as they settled in to wait, for the inevitable. Their passage had stirred up numerous members of the local deceased population who were dispatched with suppressed gunfire. They sat and waited like hawks for almost an hour before Cameron finally signaled that it was time to move. Two covered their escape route, as the rest began to work on getting through the rear doors.

It was an arduous process as an oxyacetylene torch burned through the lock on the door. The power in this part of Portland had gone out several weeks ago but Sparta still had the luxury of electricity, and none complained about their good fortune. They stormed the doors, with military precision, the first through had already snapped their glow sticks and tossed them inwards, as weapon mounted torches threw pools of light, chasing away the shadows that very likely had claws and teeth in their midst. The silence was oppressive but the smell was a debilitating mix of wet damp and rotting food. The stench acted like smelling salts for Natalie, reminded of the nightmare from the first days of the outbreak. She shook her head and swept forward, weapon at the ready. Everyone knew that there would be at least a few zombies somewhere inside.

When they came across a section of cleaned out shelves, with crude barricades and fresh footprints in the dusty floor, both Cameron and Natalie stopped short: They were raiding another community’s supply stockpile… or breaking in to somebody’s home. But the men and women of Sparta were concerned with the needs of two hundred fellow Spartans, “Stinks, doesn’t it?” muttered Cameron to the fifteen people spread out behind him. The air was heavy with the sickening stench of food and flesh in decay, hanging heavy in the air.

It almost possessing a physical strength as it coated his throat and dirtied his clothes and hair. It was making Jaira retch and heave – she’d never smelt anything as disgusting in her entire life as she swallowed for a third time to keep the rising bile in her stomach, “You know the drill. Sweep the aisles and clear the store. Suppressed weapons only! Once it’s clear we start bagging and tagging,” a dull moan echoed out of the darkness ahead as a woman, in the guise of a shop assistant staggered forward. Her left arm had been reduced to a stump and the rest of her was covered in both blood and bites. A single 5.56mm bullet exploded out the back of her skull and they watched as she toppled over that exploded out the back of her skull.

He stood and watched the remains of a gaunt, mousy-haired shop-assistant for a moment... she had definitely been turned, but she had been killed a second time, recently. He gave the corpse a savage kick to the face, “There are going to be more of them,” meaning freshly killed zombies, “Watch yourselves,” he ordered.

They encountered a further five ragged cadavers trapped inside the store: The clumsy remains of two shop employees, a delivery driver and two customers all moaning in their hunger, skeletal thin and emancipated as if they had not eaten since they were turned. One of the undead reached out with a bony hand and they opened up, the bullets tearing through paper thin flesh to shatter bones and drop the foul creatures where they were standing. It took them another twenty minutes to sweep the store and pronounce it clear. And also to find that they had hit the veritable mother-load. Everything that could possibly be needed was stacked neatly upon the shelves of the store with the only exceptions being firearms, ammunition and fresh food.

Natalie and Denniken walked past everyone, their soft rubber soles boots making no noise along the polished floor as they moved towards the front of the store, the glass windows were still intact, no sight of the undead close at hand, but the doors were locked, and there was no dust, or anything beyond bare shelves. It didn’t look right and definitely did not feel right, “Cameron – Natalie here; looks like we’ve barged right in to the middle of somebody else salvage operation. Looks like the first dozen or so isles of things have been cleared out. We’re setting up to keep an eye on the street. They’ve been using the front door so they’ll probably use the same way in again. We’ll keep you posted.”

Cameron silently agreed with Natalie’s ideas, double clicking his radio to let her know that he’d heard her before passing word on to the guards at the loading dock just in case. He didn’t worry too much about the others as they were busy and there was no sense in burdening them with information that would only worry them without letting them do anything about it. He glanced at his watch and wrestled with the dial on the hand held radio. The range was limited to several dozen kilometres, but it was more than enough for their purposes. Thus far, they were not in the habit of venturing too far from Sparta, “Sparta this is Salvage. Do you copy?”

“I read you loud and clear Salvage,” replied Steven. Cameron winced when he heard that particular voice. The man was useless at almost everything that he did and Cameron asked himself yet again why he had bothered to save the pompous political science professor who did little more than sit around on his prosperous ass, “What is your situation?”

“Arrived safely and beginning operations. We’ve hit the mother-lode out here: Canned food to medical supplies, pharmaceuticals, and hygiene products. Be advised that we have trace contact with other survivors. No actual but we believe they are close. Will keep you posted.”

“I will pass word on to Brennan regarding your findings and possible contact,” Steven sounded almost bored but then most of the time, he considered his standing as a Harvard professor should have been respected, placing him at the top, amongst the men and women who made up the council. It grated on his nerves constantly, especially the fact that he was forced to complete such menial tasks and assignments. Steven turned and Brennan nodded. He had been sitting there the whole time, the second man on the radio room, just to keep an eye on him. After what had happened last month in Westmoreland, Brenan didn’t trust him either.

Cameron killed the radio connection and turned his attention back to the business at hand. From his backpack, he pulled half a dozen neatly folded duffel bags. Opening the first one, he swept his arm along the aisle, simply knocking everything in to the bag. Everyone did the same, whether it was canned food, dried sundries to hygiene products and pharmaceuticals, knowing that they would sort everything out once they get home. They worked fast but without compromising the silence, their most powerful asset against any zombies wandering around, inside and outside. Each filled bag was pilled against their entryway, where a team of three would lift and load them in to the two twenty foot containers attached to the eighteen wheeled truck that opened up like the mouth of a prehistoric sea monster. The truck was nearly only two thirds full when the first piece of worrying news reached him, “Contact! Harley Davidson motorcycles, several cars and jeeps. They’re cutting across the campus… heading straight for us and they do not look friendly.”

“Weapons?” he snapped

“Some emblem on the vehicles and jackets… a white something. Armed with small arms and shotguns…shit!” she was cut off as a multitude of cracks and the deeper booms of shotguns ruined the silence. It stilled everyone for a second, “Contact!!” Natalie’s shout was punctuated the heavy bass roar of her British L96A Accuracy International sniper rifle unleashing a .300 Winchester Magnum bullet.

Cameron turned to the Spartans around him, “Hostile contact! Evac!” Nobody said a word but grabbed the last few items within arm’s reach, and then sealed their bags and hightailing it towards the loading dock, Cameron repeated his orders through the radio as the comforting dull roar of engines coming to life drowned out another shot from Natalie’s rifle. Jaira emerged from the swirling mass of Spartans, tossing her half full duffel to someone else as she brought the Mossberg Combat Shotgun to bear, eyeing the front of the store, “Denniken, Natalie! Get the hell out of there!” barked Jaira.

Cameron blinked, considering that she was stepping on his toes but didn’t bother to disagree. He reached for his own radio and barked the same thing only to have static fill the channel. The saurian roar erupted again, temporarily drowning out the sound of everything else, until Natalie spoke, racked with pain and grief, “Denniken’s dead!” another roar echoed towards them, “I’ll cover your withdrawal!” she snarled “And take them to hell with me!” she said to herself as she pulled the trigger again.

Natalie shed no tears, holding them back as bullets ricocheted all around her. Denniken had risen to paint a target with the tracer rounds when the bullet had caught him in the center of his face, killing him instantly. A small consolation as his blood sprayed across Natalie’s face. She’d paused only long enough to clear her eyes. Lining up her sights, her finger gave the trigger a smooth caress and sent a bullet in to the open mouth of one of their attackers.

Natalie’s news made Cameron hesitate as Jaira continued forward a few steps before turning to him, and grabbing his arm, “No heroics. Nobody gets left behind!”

He shook his head, “We’re going to need to make a fast exit once we pick her up.” She followed him towards their entryway in to the store, “Listen up! We’ve got two pinned down at the front of the store,” His orders were sharp as they cleared out one of the few humvees, “Inform Sparta we have Broken Arrow,” he ordered, “The rest of you get going! Me and Jaira,” he paused knowing he was violating rule number two, “We’ll get them out.”