The report of my rifle filled the air and the sights jerked as another shot rang out. A quick triplet of shots dropped another three. I moved the crosshairs and fired another three shots, reflexively hammering the magazine release and pulling the empty mag out. Fumbling at the full magazines at my belt, I backed off from their advancing numbers.

As we backed away dropping them like flies with our rifle-fire, I glanced over my shoulder at the lights in the distance. Something didn’t seem right, but I quashed my doubts and brought the gun to my shoulder again, firing with the assured confidence of a veteran survivor, remembering the old words on so many posters throughout the country, “Keep Calm and Shoot The Head”.

The sound of a poorly-amplified voice filled the air.

“You there, survivors on the perimeter, get inside the compound. The gates are open, get inside!”
A second volley rang out from behind us, dropping a fresh set of corpses in their tracks. I turned and ran for it.

We’d made it to Fort Detrick.