"I can't drink this sewage," Andy said.
"Then don't."
"You know, it's full of sugar."
"Then don't drink it."
He glared at her, sulking, then retrieved the bottle and unscrewed the cap. "Alright, you've forced my hand."
After thirty minutes, the road opened up around a flat roundabout covered in vehicles. They drove straight over the center as the Trojan ploughed through a copse of trees which had sprouted there. Birds squawked and broke from the canopy as the battlewagon flattened a path, then took an exit road which cut through overgrown fields. Finally, the traffic thinned out. With two wheels on the verge, they were able to pick up a little speed, shifting into third gear, heading onto a motorway which wove around the city's perimeter.
Clara checked the dashboard–the jeep's amber engine light was always on, but it never stalled or broke down. The keys jingled in its ignition–a vehicle that didn't have to be hotwired every time you started it was a rarity these days. Occasionally, on the motorway, they would encounter vehicles piled up where a crash had occurred, forcing their little convoy to find a way through or go around. Clara was used to traversing such terrain. During the cataclysm, people had fled the cities like ants in a disturbed nest, clogging the roads, cementing their doom.
It was 16:30 and the sun was beginning to set when they closed in on their target coordinates. Clara wound down her window, enjoying the fresh breeze, and spotted a group of large buildings across an empty field. She shifted their jeep into fourth gear as they sped over the open road–traffic had cleared up close to the coast. Checking her maps, she pinpointed that their destination facility was at the back of an industrial estate built around an estuary. The facility was once possessed by the Bulwark Project–the same international collaboration of scientists and military personnel who had endeavored to keep humanity from extinction. No doubt, the previous owners had something to do with the reason Blue Eyes and his Harmonies had repossessed the building for their own research. Exactly what, remained a mystery.
A mesh wire perimeter fence enclosed the estate. The gate hung open on its hinges. The battlewagon pulled up beside the fence, fumes coughing out of its exhaust as it kept the engine running. Clara parked nearby, and the Hogs' two pickup trucks rolled to a stop beside her.
"Stay here," she said, getting out of the jeep. Andy was busy nursing his pink gin, she doubted he'd be a bother.
One of the Hogs' rolled down their window. The man sitting inside had a rugged appearance which was softened by his gentle green eyes. He scratched the stubble of his chin, faint wrinkles of age adding a depth to his thoughtful expression. Clara recognized the tattoo on his neck–two tusks crossed to make an X–it must be the symbol of their troupe. "This is it, yeah?"
"These are the coordinates," Clara said.
"One at the back?"
Clara confirmed with a glance. "That's the one."
"Any signs of life?"
Clara squinted towards the building. Derelict vehicles dotted around the estate, nothing serviceable. There were no smoke stacks, no guards, no lights on inside. "Doesn't look like it."
The man took a breath. "What's the plan then?"
"We've confirmed that there's zombies in this zone, but slow ones. We're a little far from the city now though, so they might not have wandered this far."
"Let's not rely on that."
Clara leaned down to the window to peer inside the pickup truck. Sax was sitting in the passenger seat with a pair of binoculars. Taking up the entire back row was Abigail, her spear lying across her lap.
"We should go in quiet," Clara said. "Check it out." She turned back towards the Trojan. Nobody from the battlewagon had come out to parlay. She'd have to go and knock to get their attention.
"One team or two?" the mercenary asked.
"Two," Clara said. "Andy and I work better alone."
"I'm glad you agree," Sax said, setting aside his binoculars. "Definitely Bulwark. It's got the logo."
"We'll take the left side," the other merc added. "You take the right."
"Okay," Clara said, recalling the mission briefing. "The facility is on the top floor. Let's meet there, but clear the building first."
The mercenary nodded. "Be careful," he said, glancing behind her towards Andy sitting in the jeep. "Scientists can look suspiciously like zombies sometimes. Wouldn't want to kill someone we're here to save."
"You too." Clara patted the door frame and returned to her jeep. She didn't much like being belittled, even if it was a good point… "Oh, one minute." She turned back around, unclipping her radio. "Let's sync-"
Without warning, the battlewagon roared, revving into gear and rolling off down the road. It slammed through the chain link gate, picking up speed, rumbling over the estate beyond. Clara jumped into their jeep and slammed on the gas to catch up. She would not be left in their dust, it was a matter of pride as much as strategy.
Andy whooped and bounced in his seat.
"What are they doing?" Clara said. "I wanted to do this quietly."
"Nah, this is way better."
The Trojan battered through a second perimeter fence like a cannonball, careening towards the target site. The building stood six stories high, a cluster of satellites clung to a tower on its roof like aphids on a stalk. An old sign above the lobby entrance read 'Synthtech', but a banner above superseded it, reading 'Bulwark Project'. The banner was signed by a logo which anyone would recognize: A DNA strand divided a circle in two horizontally; beneath it, a sea of black swelled as waves, pushing against the strand's barricade, above which shone a sky of white.
Closer now, Clara could see the signs of a recent battle. Withered corpses lay on the concrete, yellow and emaciated; she could have mistaken them for mounds of dirt were it not for the baggy clothes that clung around their stick-thin shoulders. The bodies formed small mounds beneath the building's compact windows, like sand swept into the corners. The windows were boarded with scrap furniture, but many were shattered and penetrated. The Trojan ploughed ahead, then careened sidelong and stopped. There was a small popping sound and the battlewagon turned about.
Clara swerved right just in time as an explosion ripped through the building's entryway, blowing brick and glass shrapnel across the car park. A fireball rose out of the mouth of the lobby as though the building itself were belching flames. Clara felt the heat of the fire in her lungs as she breathed deeply, adrenaline flooding her veins. She bounced over a pile of corpses around the side of the building, screeching to a halt, sandwiching their jeep between the concrete wall and the perimeter fence.
Grabbing her submachine gun, Clara slung on her backpack and threw open the door. "Let's go."