Can't Have Shit in Kentucky (Project Zomboid) ch.16 (Patreon)

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"Jesus, look at that," the pilot said, awed. 

Below them, it was the veritable scene of the apocalypse. A shrine to industrial capitalism laid low. Sedans, SUVs. Big cars, small cars. The roads of Kentucky were chockful of them, compressed together as sardines in a can.. Some of their drivers clearly tried to get out, swerving onto the side of the road. A useless attempt as it only got them stuck in the mud. The Cowboy leaned out a little bit, spotting a trailer on its side and its contents spilled onto the earth. Bags and items were littered too. 

And death. 

So much of it.

They were like little spots of color, huddled together under the rising morning sun. Even from the sky, Cowboy could hear their howls and screeching. He pitied the poor wretches, bloodied and bleeding and bruised. He wondered if deep within their brains if some of them were still alive. Now that? That was a horrifying thought. To be conscious yet bereft of control over your body. To tear apart the flesh of screaming victims and unable to stop it. 

It was not just cars too. The very air was a sort of grey. Smog, from the pollution of dead or dying fires. And by God, there was a lot of them. The helo shot through a small town, its name unrecognizable to the Cowboy. It was utterly wrecked, cars smashed into walls or poles. Overturned on their sides or ashy from being burnt. Buildings were broken into, looted of what it had or simply burnt down to their pillars. Its inhabitants gone or simply wandering the streets, howling at nothing. 

"Poor bastards," the pilot said, shaking his head. 

The Cowboy said nothing. He doubted anything he could say would offer the dead any comfort. He leaned back on his seat, glancing down at the map on his lap. He wasn't here to sightsee but to plot a route. And that was what he was going to do. Already, he could see a potential path. The main roads as to be expected was a death hazard. Cars and undead blocked it. Time and speed was important here. The faster they could get to Rosewood, the better. 

"Ey, Cowboy. Flare, 1 o'clock!" the pilot called out to him. He glanced up from his plotting. Indeed, there was a flare burning brightly in the sky, its reddish glare clear. The Cowboy took up a pair of binoculars and zeroed on to its origin. There on a roof, people stood up waving at them. Civilians, to be clear. Some were wildly flailing their arms, others with signs with SOS. Hell, a woman was practically raising a bundle in her arms. 

A baby.

"What do we do?" the pilot asked. While his voice was level, it was clear that the man wanted to swerve over and head to them. 

"We can't do anything for them," the Cowboy said plainly. "We do not have room in this chopper and our job is to scout, not rescue people. The only thing we can do is mark their location and send it to the army." 

If the Pilot was upset, he did not show it. "Understood, LT," he said plainly, turning away from the sight and back to piloting. Sighing, Cowboy made a mark on his map. For the duration of their scouting, he would find his map filled with plenty of markers. 

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As the Cowboy busied himself with his mapping, the Buyer's forces prepared. Deep inside Lumiere, rifles were cleaned and looked over again and again. Bullets were noted and counted. Nothing was left to chance. Everything had to be fool-proof. The Buyer walked forward, hands clasped behind his back as men busied themselves to roll out any second. Behind him followed two men, rifles slung over their shoulders. 

The Buyer halted before another man, a clipboard in his man. He was busy barking orders before the Buyer crept up to him. "Quartermaster. How's the preparations going?" 

The Quartermaster was clad head to toe like the buyer in a thick trench-coat, olive too. His gasmask however hung limply on his belt, revealing a fresh face with sharp features and brown hair. There was notable mole on his right cheek however. "It's going good. I am just having the guys run another check-up over their fear," the Quartermaster replied, a slight French accent to his voice. "So far, we have little to worry about." 

To facilitate his point, there was a low servo whine as a turret turned, the barrel of its gun swerving up and down. The Cadillac Gage Commando was a cold-war era light armoured scouting vehicle. With a range of six hundred and forty three kilometres, it was a vehicle sufficient enough to operate within the boundaries of Kentucky. It's armor wasn't thick but it could take on basic short arms fire enough. But against zombies, it might as well be a tank. The Buyer wanted more for his vehicles however. And the Commando in front of him, and the others as well sported .50 caliber barrels. 

That was surely enough to deal with zombies or if worse comes to worse, other people. 

"Hopefully," the Buyer nodded. "How is our supply situation going along?" 

"Well, you won't have to worry about running out, boss. We got enough to last us a year. Provided we aren't wasting it on useless shit, we are good." the Quartermaster said. "And besides, we can always make more."  

The Buyer snorted. "It was thanks to my paranoia we are all here. I think I am going to listen to my paranoia." 

"As you say, sir," the Quartermaster shrugged. "The guys are ready to leave as soon as you give the order." 

"That order will be given as soon as Cowboy comes back," the Buyer said, nodding. "I'll be around. Hit me up if you need something." At that, the Buyer walked off, his thoughts in a swirl. He thought of where to go next and decided to see the refugees again. They ought to have finished their discussion by now. And so, he turned to go find them. 

From one room he came and went, stopping before a great grey door. Behind him, a door was shut. Quickly reaching for his gasmask, he brought it up just in time as air hissed around him. Not a moment later, the door in front of him opened to the world outside. The bright Kentuckian sun shone on his mask. He could feel it, the sun's warmth kissing through his coat. He wished to be free of it, to feel the air and the sun on him again. 

But until Blair could confirm that he and the others were immune, or until the Rosewood base was destroyed, he was going to have to put up with it. Pushing the rather unattractive thoughts of living life like a Krieger away, the Buyer marched to the refugee side of Lumiere. It seemed that he arrived just in time for the Kentuckians had finished voting. 

"I see you all made your choices," he noted. They turned their heads towards him, their elder nodding for them. 

"Some of us want to join ya, Buyer. We want to fight," the old man declared, earning nods around. 

"That's good. Understand that this is going to be very, very dangerous." he warned them. Roy however, snorted. 

"Buyer, I survived Vietnam. I'm going to survive this," Roy declared firmly. 

"And we fought them already too," Elis added, grinning. "We won't be so caught off-guard like last time. We're going to show these Romero's what happens when you mess with Kentuckians!" 

Some cheered. The fighters, the Buyer saw.

"Very well." the Buyer nodded. "We start today." 

That seemed to have caught Elis off guard. "Uh...today?" 

He nodded yet again. "Yes. I sent Cowboy out on a reconnaissance mission. As soon as he returns, he is going to brief us then, we leave." 

"O-oh," Elis stammered. "Ya'll work fast."

He shrugged his shoulders. "The sooner that base is burning, the sooner I can get out of this damn mask." He meant every single word. He was starting to feel the stress of wearing shit like he worse on the daily. He wanted the sun on his face again. "Now, fighters, stand up." 

And so, they did. One by one. They ranged from young and old, fit and unfit. But all were motivated. A part of him hesitated. Was he really going to bring a civilian militia with him to the battlefield? It wasn't as if he really needed them. But they were locals and they knew the area more. They could know things that the Cowboy simply could not spot. "Alright, with me. I'm going to get you all fitted." the Buyer declared. At that, a surge of excitement electrified in the air. Elis was visibly pleased too, grinning wildly. 

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A/N: It's kittin time. They shall be rolling out soon.