The girl didn't smile or even seem to acknowledge the praise for her ruse. She just looked around and sort of resigned herself to what was happening. It seemed she was more comfortable controlling the situation. And it wasn't a far stretch to imagine that the reason why had to do with being controlled by those who were no better than the undead.

More kids came out of hiding. In all the were eleven of them with ages that seemed to range from around ten to around eighteen. Maybe. They had backpacks, duffel bags, milk crates, and even one small suitcase. They were armed too. They had a collection of baseball bats, homemade spears, knives, and several .22 caliber pistols. They were dirty, very dirty, and it occurred to the men that it was more concealment than lack of proper hygiene.

"So, are you guys going to try and fight the oats?" A boy asked.

"Shucks, Danny, will you and the others stop calling them that!" A girl of around Gretchen's age cried out. "It's not oats. Billing is a terrible speller. It's A-O-T-S. It's the army of the south. not the of army the south you nitwits."

"Kid I don't try to fight anyone. I don't look for trouble."

"If trouble finds me and mine I kill it."

He stood up.

"We're headed somewhere safer than here. You should all come with us."

"Tell us about this so called Army of the South on the way."

"I'll make you the same promise I make everyone. I won't try to rob you, kill you, or rape you and I won't tolerate anyone else trying to do it either."

"Living or dead they'll have to kill me to get to you."

“Sam. Pleasure to meet ya”. He smiled.

“What’s the deal with these AOTS people? Why’re they after you?”.

Gretchen sighed and then sat down on an overturned bucket near the men. She looked off into space for a moment, it wasn't lost on anyone that she was considering what to tell them. Finally she turned a bit and began to speak to them in a surprisingly clear and calm tone.

"They call themselves the Army of the South because they are members of the Klu Klux Klan." She started, looking at them for their reactions. "I guess you have noticed all of us are what is known as WASP, or white Anglo-Saxon protestant. We are the children of some of the members that decided to that the way things were going was wrong. They killed our dads and turned our moms into slave of a sort. There were more of us."

She seemed to zone out, memories could be a real bitch. The other kids had grown quiet, somber, some sobbed quietly holding onto one another.

"Sheet wearin' pricks always think they speak for the south..."

"Well...Fuck 'em! I'll put 'em on the list."

He looked around to all the kids.

"You got your packs? You got your weapons? Alright we're moving out."

"We're headed east further into the hills."

"Your all going with us. We'll get you somewhere safer and then we can work on getting your moms back"

He stepped back and started waving an arm in the direction he wanted them to go.

"We're going to need a bigger vehicle. Gotta be a school barn around here somewhere right?"

Gene looked at Troy. He seemed a bit confused. It was getting late in the day and it looked like a storm might be rolling in.

"I thought we'd be stopping for sheltah soon. Those clouds look threatening. Then again we might be able to squeeze into tha box truck if it is running."

He looked at some of the older kids.

"How long have you been heah? Have you seen anyone from the AOTS since you found this place?"
This message was last edited by the player at 03:11, Tue 08 Feb 2022.

"Gretchen was expecting them Gene."

"My guess is she knew they haven't gone far enough but the younger kids, maybe all of them, had to rest."

He looked at Gretchen to check how close he was.

"That grenade plan was because these shit birds want the kids alive. Especially the older girls."

"We gotta move 'em back off the main road."

"We'll have to find a different shelter. Ask 'em any questions you want but do it walking."

Gene nodded, "Good points. Come on Caspah, this way!"

He left the building and waved to Ralf to indicate things were ok.

Troy had a good sense of things. There was no real advantage to staying here. They had time to find a better place to hide before dark. Gene hoped the kids could maintain a decent pace. They would certainly have more energy than he did.

He checked the weapons they had stashed on Shrek for a side arm that was easier to reload than his vaquero.

Gene came across a small pack, it had belonged to a woman that had recently fled from kidnappers and was lost to the men, inside Gene found a pair of CZ 83 pistols in .380 ACP. There were nearly a dozen magazines, holding ten rounds each, and several plastic bags of various .380 ACP cartridges.

"We need to move to the west." Gretchen suddenly blurted out. It was obvious she had beans to spill and she now realized that the can was on its side, so, "Look, the Army of the South is a bunch of, I don't know, of radicals. They were successful in the Before. They owned businesses. They were wealthy enough to plan for a sh-crap hits the fan event, a world death they called it. They are fundamentalist christian extremists. Mom said as long as they felt they had God on their side they could do anything and would be ok. And they do terrible things in the name of God and the pursuit of humanity. It's a bunch of bullshit!"

The kids were all staring at her. They were all healthy; well fed, in good shape, and none of them seemed hurt at the moment. They could use with a bath, but there wasn't any particularly powerful smells coming from them.

Once Gene dug out the first two pistols he came across he settled them in easy to reach places and ushered Shrek into motion. Seeing the men start to amble along the children quickly followed suit. Troy subtly turned their line of march due west into a nearby wood line. Gretchen, her pack on and a small duffel bag in one hand, quickly caught up to Troy.

Figuring action being better than words at a time like this, they simply kept moving the wake of Gretchen's diatribe. After several minutes the trees gave way to yet another overgrown northwest Georgia field. The light was falling quickly now but their didn't seem to be any shambling shadows in the distance.

"I'm sorry." Gretchen said. "I knew you weren't the Army when we saw you walking up the road. Wrong direction, wrong travel formation, wrong uniforms, and that donkey. Really, it would have been slaughtered by now with the Army."

She held up a hand. In it was a smooth round shape with a block and lever extending around its sphere. "This is a real hand grenade, an M-67 fragmentation grenade. I have two. Stole them from man guarding us in the compound after I stabbed a pencil into his ear. I miss being a cheerleader. Boys were easier to deal with when all I had to do was tell them no."

Sam peaked into the post office one last time, quickly glancing around before bringing up the rear of the procession. Whoever this AOTS was, he really hoped they didn’t run into them any time soon. Or worse, lead them to George’s refuge.

Shrek is a gaited mule! God Damnit...

Gene chuckled at the on going joke that would not go away.

He was more comfortable within the treeline. He kept up with the others but maintained enough
of an interval prevent the formation of an enticing target for someone armed with grenades. He watched Casper and Shrek for reactions to noise or scent.

"Any fahmhouses close by?"

He looked for a way around the field that wood allow them better concealment.
This message was last edited by the player at 00:48, Fri 11 Feb 2022.

"Those may come in handy. Gotta be careful though. They throw fragments further than you would think and you don't want to hit any good guys."

"We'll get you a knife and a gun. Be easier than a pencil the next time you have to deal with some asshole that thinks he owns you."
This message was last edited by the player at 20:40, Fri 11 Feb 2022.

The trek to a new location was shorter than expected. Less than a mile away they came across a small farm. There were several small fields with ambling cows. And a lot of cow remains. And a lot of stomped up corpses. It was rather disgusting actually.

There was a pair of small outbuildings. Not quite barns but big enough to house a tractor and a farm truck. Both of which looked as though they hadn't moved since the dead arose. There was a one of those prefab homes, bigger than a double wide but similar in construction, at the end of a driveway that twisted off out of view in the the woods. It was quiet. Serene would have been applicable had it not been the end of the world.

"Cool, a tractor." One boy said. "I like tractors."

"Hold up out here and keep your eyes open while we clear the house."

“Someone armed should stay behind with the kiddos; I’m happy to unless anyone else wants to. Otherwise I’ll leave the briefcases here and come scout the house”.

Without warning the radio in Troy's pack suddenly began to speak, "Troy, this Bill Dance."

Troy perked up. Bill had been one of the survivors from Ringgold. If he could be heard on that radio then he was well within a few miles. Two to two and half at best, Troy figured owing to the hills and low mountains.

"We are on Red Bud road. Making yet another detour." Bill said. "IF you can hear this avoid the dead. They are radioactive. Do not go due south either. Those armed survivalists George told us about are moving around south of here out of north Atlanta. They call themselves the Army.." the radio faded out into a peel of static. He was moving away from Troy.

Gene looked at Troy,

"Does that message change our plans fah sticking around? If naht, I'll help cleah the house."

He checked his weapons to ensure that they have been topped off.
This message was last edited by the player at 22:51, Wed 16 Feb 2022.

"Not in the short run. Means the Good Guys are close but we still gotta get some rest."

"Sam watch the kids. Kids watch Sam. If Zeke shows up move away and signal us. Don't fight, especially hand to hand, unless you can't avoid it."

"Gene and I will check this place out."

The house was a flat, post modern home. The front door was offset and skirted by a large porch. To the opposite end of the house from the porch was obviously a garage. The roof wasn't steep and showed great depth indicating a rater large structure extending away from them.

The windows of the house were boarded over from the outside but the front door was open. It looked intact, just left open. A leaf and tree sap covered Honda Accord was parked in the yard near the porch with an open trunk and driver's door. There didn't seem to be any signs of physical violence.

Approaching the door cautiously they could smell the mustiness of the house. The interior was gloomy looking and they realized it was sheets draped over furniture making the interior seem darker than it was. Stepping onto the porch they were greeted by a sphincter tightening crack of wood as a stair gave way under Troy's weight.

Heartbeats later, once their blood pressure was approaching normal, the men took up positions to either side of the door. Inside was they could bodies laid out in the floor, sometimes in piles. Old bodies, months old. Looking closely it was clear the these people had all been brought in just prior to, or just after, someone had shot them in the back of the head.

Sam lead the kids over to the tractor so they weren’t so exposed in the open field.
He plopped down by one of the big wheels and stretched out his legs, letting out a sigh of relief, before ushering the children to sit down as well.

Troy pulled his leg back up and stepped on into the house.

He scanned the bodies to see if any of them had managed to avoid a bullet in the head and therefore needed to get one now.

Gene followed close behind Troy. He carefully screened the room and any oservable entrances for movement with his Marlin. He left the rifle in half cock state until he could manuver without muzzle sweeping Troy. Once clear of Troy he cocked the hammer completely and mindfully maintained muzzle discipline while working his way further into the room. His finger remained off the trigger until a target presented itself.

There was little to see. Just old fetid furniture and bodies. Lots of bodies. The house was a killing ground. It had been a minute since anyone had been there, but it didn't mean no one was coming back. Troy and Gene could see that the place wouldn't provide anything useful without a really disgusting search. But two things became apparent as they neared the bodies; none of them had been in the throws of undead cannibalism but they all bore bandages or small bites and scratches. They must have been shot out of fear.

Gene gagged at the stench.

"Why put hem here in a perfectly good house? There's probably enough equipment here to at least dig a common grave."



The house did not seem lik e a good place to shelter in now. He waited for Troy to arrive at a similar conclusion before backing out the door.

Troy moved back outside as well.

"Maybe don't want to see people they knew after they shot 'em. Maybe just crazy."

"Don't matter. There's no shelter here. We move on."