Supply run.

[themightyquesadilla]

The usual hustle and bustle of rapture had died down to a crawl. It had been a week since James had had his three hots. The rations were a measly fourth of what they were usually sized at. Even the few individual civilian-class merchants that James went to at recessions were completely out of stock. Nerves were running thin and patience low. James for one was not going to put up with it anymore.

A week before==;

The Sergeant Major casually pushed open twin glass doors, letting them swing back into position behind him. A tremendous stack of papers stood on the desk of a frizzy-haired secretary. Her beady eyes glanced over James for a second before sighing "All further appointments for the remainder of the day with the colonel are canceled until further notice." she continued on, obviously having said this same prepared bullock many times before "To schedule an appointment or request please fill out a form." He gestured to the tower of paper on her desk, rolled her eyes, and returned to her magazine and coffee.

James pulled a sheet off the top and began filling out a request to the colonel to the lead the next supply expedition. Volunteers were quite rare now-a-days. More often than not random members of rapture receive a sort of "Draft" for the job and are given a choice of acceptance or death. The thing appealed to James the most was having first dibs on meals, ammunition, and any other sort of goodies he could get his hands on, and some sort of ribble-rabble about "the people" and "poverty"

He handed the secretary his filled-out form and left the office.

Present day==;

The only letter he received that morning was one from the colonel which briefly sounded something like: "After much consideration and thought I have decided to grant your request of: One fueled cargo truck. You may bring any other volunteers who desire so."

At the bottom of the parchment was the insignia of the Army and an Umbrella logo.

The entire truck vibrated as the engine roared to life. Two hangar-sized steel doors opened up for the vehicle. The Sergeant Major maneuvered the messy roads of outer rapture, heading towards the town gates where most of the other enlisted were stationed.

The cargo truck came upon massive concrete walls, towering over his head to the heavens themselves. Two sniper guards were posted at either end of the upper wall. and several regulars at the base. Dozens of apartments were cramped into the small area, only seeming smothered by the markets and populace that flooded the streets. James hung out the door of the truck, facing the bulk of people. He cupped his free hand around his mouth and shouted "I'm going to be be going on a supply run to the outskirts of San Diego. IF there's anybody out there who's tired of this rationing bullshit, armed, and willing, I suggest you get your asses in the bed of the truck!"

[Saito]

Two weeks before the idea was put into motion and approved by the Colonel, it was being heavily considered. That is, to say, Erick, and he was certain the two men under his command, were feeling the push of the rationing. The supply depot in what was once San Diego was almost completely blocked off by swarms of undead dotting the landscape. The brass had no forethought into thinking up ways to getting rid of them, they didn't want to spend the money on soldiers whom had maybe 1/3 the normal life expentancy of an average human. The "grunts" often had to make due with limits on their entertainment, weaponry, transportation, even the things they ate. Reading the same books, doing the odd paperwork, receiving a check. Nothing held any excitement, and Umbrella made sure of it. It was a common question, "Where is all that money and supplies even going to?" The corrupt higher ups, even the rich of Rapture. They through some money around and put everyone in a sort of pit.

Erick had been sitting in the weight room, after having done a 3 hour workout proceeded to grab a cup of coffee, a treat if anything. He poured it from the steaming pot, added a spoonfull of sugar and a small little plastic creamer cup, and took a sip. "The rationing even makes the coffee worse...this is just..this really needs to be fixed. Definitely." He gulped the cheap cup of brew down and went to his unit's rec. room. A pool table that was in dire need of repair sat untouched, a bookshelf of 10 year old books stood dusty in a corner. Two armchairs and a couch were arranged around the room. The Seargent Major sat in one of the chairs, grumbling about the same thing the Captain was bugged about. "Send in a request immediately, the coffee has gone wrong." The order was brief, Erick turned and walked back out of the room without waiting for the soldier's reply.

Two weeks later and there was a notice stamped on Erick's door as he was leaving to take his morning run. It went on to say a brief message that his Seargent Major had been granted a resupply run to San Diego, and warranted that the Captain go along to supervise the matter. It was a 2 1/2 hour drive there, and an equally long drive back, and that wasn't counting the ghouls that wandered aimlessly along the barren land of California, practically mummifying in some of the hotter regions. In the wetter areas, they only stood to decompose faster, sometimes even rot into the ground to be forgotten. The Captain went off at a brisk pace to the garage, where the 1st Lieutenant was sure to be. "Gear up and head to the south gate, we're going to San Diego to get some better coffee..among other things. Maybe there'll be some junked automobiles or something?" He didn't know the Lieutenant very well yet, and the only incentive that came to mind was the only thing he'd ever seen the Lieutenant do, other than back-talk and be insubordinate.

Erick ran to the locker room and slipped into his Black Ops gear, holstering his weapon and the little extra ammo he had into his field ready rucksack, or FRR as the troops called it. "Damn, the Brass is even too cheap to give me more simple handgun ammo. Greedy shits. And here I was thinking this job paid more." He pulled the helmet from the small hanger and tucked it under his arm, slamming the locker door shut while it relocked itself automatically. The Captain hoofed the normal 20 minute transit to the south gate of Rapture in 8 minutes, a record time as far as he was concerned. The truck was sitting inside the security gate, various bystanders eyeing Erick and the driver in their Black Ops suits. The public didn't generally like soldiers, especially front-paid teams like this one. He heard the Seargent Major's voice holler from the truck something about gathering more bodies for the trip. Many just stood and stared, two men on the corner of what looked like an old barber shop cursed and yelled obscenities, while three young men nodded to each other and ran inside. All looked to be in their early twenties, and came out from the building they entered with melee weapons. Most firearms were confiscated by the military.

Bristow rounded the truck and pulled open the door, saluting his team member before literally hopping into the truck seat with the agility of the most trained kind of athlete. "We'll wait for the 1st Lieutenant, then we'll get on our way" he said to the driver, indicating he move from the seat. The three boys pulled themselves into the back of the truck, which had a front accessway into the cabin. They sat down silently, talking only to each other while eyeing the Captain carefully. Erick put on his helmet and sighed, closing his eyes in what was near meditation while waiting for the last of the resupply crew, the driver.

[Ferahgo]

Lukas sat on a stool in the garage, with his back to the work table. He stared blankly at the vehicles, the prices for gasoline had risen to 15$ per gallon. He sighed and went back to his work of buffing and cleaning up the garage. The food as well was bad and un-appetizing and small.

A few days later the captain came in, telling Lukas that he was to gear up and head out to the south gate, to get coffee and "Other things". The idea of junked cars actually didn't sound half bad, if there's cars there's bound to be fuel of some sort.

He geared up and headed to the south gate, other modes of transportation were pointless. He arrived, a large truck, the Seargeant Major and Captain sitting inside, with some young men in the back. "It seems I get to drive," he muttered under his breath. He walked up and yanked open the truck door, he jumped in and turned to the rest of the squad, "We all ready?" he asked.

[themightyquesadilla]

The ground trembled as the stone gate receded into the wall, seeming only to split a hairline from afar-in actuality the gap was forty feet across. In hoped three armed men and their third. James threw a casual salute at the bulky man. The truck jerked forward as they took off down the muck road to San Diego. The trek would take roughly two and a half hours. Rotting trees and corpses alike littered the sides of the roads. A ring of automatic defense weapons signaled their final checkpoint. Almost immediately the radio flicked on. Blazing trumpets and maracas accompanied by a Bass-Viola played over the speakers.

His superiors sat now in the front seats while James and the others took to the cargo area. There was roughly a 5' by 5' area between the front seats and two parallel benches that ran along the inside walls, either one came with the usual seat belts, gun holsters and footlockers underneath. A mesh camouflage covered the half-circle shape of the bed, not counting the bed door. Wind tugged at the mesh through the opening in the reverse. What was quite out of place here was a large olive-green crate that sat in the empty space between the front seat and cargo benches.

On the side of the steel crate was a keypad, to which James knew the code. After several seconds of processing air pressure seals released, hissing out smoke, which was vacuumed out the opening instantaneously. The Sergeant Major coughed and fanned away traces and gleamed at the insides of the case. Simple flak jackets cushioned the surface, and several simple pistols were nailed to the sides. James passed out these extras to the volunteers. "Thanks" one muttered, the others took theirs without any comment.

His jaw dropped at what was beneath the jackets. 'THIS is what I'm talking about.' The first piece James pulled from the crate was a large cordless drill, followed by some bolts (of course). James looked around the side of the crate and found two flat metal brackets on either side with half-inch holes dotting down their length. In a couple seconds James had drilled holes into the truck bed and put in four bolts on either bracket. He piled the rest of the pieces out like a kid playing with his first lego kit.

"What is all that stuff?" one of the volunteers inquired.
"Insurance." James replied, focused on the job at hand.

A folded piece of paper lay in the midst of the assorted metal. The Sergeant Major opened it up and was left in a stupor. "It's in Spanish.." He muttered.

'Bienvenido Y saludas'...' Primero quiremos a dijer gracias por comprando la torrecilla 3 IIL. La primero cosa que vas a querer a hacer es el Aro. Despues el Trípode'.... 'Luego la silla, la torrecilla y la pistola automatica...." A person's handwriting was very clear at the bottom of the page; 'Ha Ha.'

The first piece James tinkered with was a thick iron ring that lay perfectly within the parameters of the crate top. A combination of obviousness and diagrams helped the Soldier arm the turret. After putting in another code into the keypad, Hooks sprung out of the box and latched the ring securely. He used a supplied box-cutting knife to open a hole in the mesh for the gun to fit through later on.

Within half an hour a mountable .50 caliber machine gun turret was set up. In which James plopped into comfortably. Wind lashed at his face as the truck picked up speed. The Sergeant Major looked down the sight of the turret and practiced his aim on wandering undead. After several missed shots he fell into the learning curve, slowly gaining accuracy and control over the weapon. He twisted in his seat and fell back down into the bed with the rest and eased onto an empty bench seat. He let the sounds of the Mariachi music drown out his thoughts, relaxing every muscle in his body.