The afternoon sun beat down on the SUV's roof as Ramirez guided them down the abandoned highway. Sarah rode shotgun, her rifle propped between her knees. In the backseat, Quinn pressed a blood-soaked rag to his ribs, teeth gritted against the white-hot pain radiating through his side. Helen sat beside him, kicking her feet nervously against the seat while her fingers absently checked her sidearm.
"Keep pressure on it," Martha whispered from the middle seat, her fingers trembling as she peeled back Quinn's bandage. The wound pulsed angrily, the edges tinged an unnatural yellowish-gray. "This isn't just from the bullet."
Sarah glanced at Ramirez. "You saying Richter had actual military backing?"
Ramirez's scar twisted as he smirked. "Not just backing. Partnership." He tapped the military-grade radio they'd taken from the compound. "This ain't black market. That compound was a distribution hub. Food, fuel, ammo. All flowing in from somewhere."
Quinn shifted, wincing as the movement pulled at his wound. "Military doesn't hand out NVGs to warlords for fun."
"Unless they're getting something back," Martha murmured, her knuckles whitening around the medkit. "Richter always bragged about his friends in clean uniforms."
Helen's small hands gripped the seatback as she leaned forward, her voice piping up unexpectedly. "What could a bad man like that give soldiers?"
Ramirez's grip tightened on the wheel. "Loyalty. Bodies to throw at problems. My brother's settlement got burned three weeks after refusing to take Richter's 'protection.'" He glanced at Quinn in the rearview. "But here's the thing - the Whisperers came only after ClearSpring deliveries started."
Sarah turned fully in her seat. "You think it's in the water? That mineral company's stuff?"
"Maybe." Ramirez wiped sweat from his brow. "My brother drank that shit. Next morning, he tore out our cousin's throat with his teeth. But..." He hesitated. "I saw a case at the quarantine zone - nurse got sick without touching their water. Just breathing same air."
Helen's nose scrunched up like she'd smelled something bad. "So...it could be in the air AND water?"
"Or neither." Ramirez shrugged. "All I know is Devil's Creek had no cases until those trucks came. Then everyone turned within 72 hours."
As they rounded the final bend, the farmhouse came into view - along with three military Humvees parked neatly by the barn. Ramirez didn't slow as they pulled into the yard, all of them exiting with weapons drawn except Martha, who ran forward screaming, "George! GEORGE!"
The front door burst open. George emerged, beaming, followed by three armed soldiers in pristine uniforms. "Easy now!" George called, raising his hands. "They're friends!"
Quinn's pistol stayed leveled at the nearest soldier. "Since when do friends come armed to the teeth?"
Before George could answer, one soldier stepped forward, his rifle slung casually. "Lieutenant Quinn? We heard you might be operational." His eyes flicked to Quinn's bloodied side. "We had no idea Richter was keeping prisoners - our deal strictly forbade that." He grimaced. "This...complicates things." He gestured to George. "We're establishing safe zones. New Eden needs people with Mr. Ambrose's agricultural expertise."
The screen door creaked again. All weapons snapped toward General Aldridge as he emerged, his salt-and-pepper hair catching the sunlight. Quinn's breath caught.
"Stand down, Captain," Aldridge said, his eyes locked on Quinn. Then his face split into a genuine smile. "Son of a bitch. They told me your team didn't make it back from Jakarta."
Aldridge closed the distance in three strides, clasping Quinn's shoulder. "Anna's safe, son. Your boy and girl too - in New Eden's education sector." His voice dropped. "Your country needs you now more than ever. There are battles coming - not just against the infected, but against the chaos that could prevent rebuilding." He glanced at George. "Civilization needs people like him. Like all of you."