Chapter 12 - Dylan
Dylan stamped her feet and rubbed her hands together as she walked, trying to ward off the bitter cold. It was ten to seven in the morning, and they were on their way to the armory. Nick, Saul, Tara, Ethan, and herself had convened at the house for breakfast at six before braving the elements.
At that time of the morning, the sun wasn’t even up yet. The wind howled through the bare branches of the trees and cut to the bone. Despite the thick jacket, jeans, and boots she wore, she couldn’t feel her fingers or her toes. Every breath produced a puff of white mist, and her ponytail had turned into an icicle.
“Man, this isn’t funny,” she complained to Nick. “Does it always get so cold here in winter?”
“It can drop below freezing, and it will likely snow one of these days,” he replied, looking up at the grey clouds above their heads.
“That sucks,” Dylan muttered. “I’m not fond of the cold. I prefer sunny weather. I spent a big chunk of my teens in Florida.”
Nick nodded. “Yeah, it can get pretty miserable around here, but it’s not as bad as the northern states. Still, you’d better get yourself proper gear for the season. Thermal underwear, a waterproof jacket, gloves, a beanie, that kind of stuff.”
Dylan shot him a wry smile. “I’ll put it on the list next time I go shopping.”
Nick rolled his eyes. “Tell you what. If we make it out of this, I’ll take you to the Quartermaster, and we’ll get gear for all of you.”
“It’s a deal,” Dylan said, looking up at the building that loomed in front of them. Armory B1. “It’s about to get real, isn’t it?”
“I’m afraid it is,” Nick said.
They stopped in front of the entrance and turned toward Tara and Ethan. Tara hugged Saul and smiled at the rest of them. “This is where we part ways for now. I’ll be at the lab entrance, setting up the decontamination room. I’ll see you there.”
“And I’m organizing an emergency unit for you guys in case one of you gets hurt. See you later,” Ethan added.
“Bye, guys,” Dylan said, watching them leave.
Nick tugged at her arm. “Come on. Let’s go inside. You’ll see your friends soon enough.”
She stepped through the door and felt immediate relief from the cold. While not precisely warm inside, the armory did offer shelter from the icy wind.
Lieutenant King and his men were already there, sorting through the gear lying on the counter. They were dressed in fatigues with a matching helmet, and each carried a backpack, rifle, side-arm, combat knife, ammunition, and a radio.
King looked up as they entered and pointed toward three bundles. “That’s for you, guys. Miss Young, you can dress in the back room. No one will bother you there.”
“Thanks,” Dylan said, scooping up her stuff and ducking into the offered room. She closed the door behind her and examined the gear with a frown. She wasn’t with the army, and the uniform was alien to her. Oh, well, here goes.
With nervous fingers, Dylan undressed and folded her clothes into a neat pile. She tugged on the t-shirt, followed by the pants and belt. The boots went on next, followed by the jacket and vest.
The combat knife, Beretta, and radio went onto her belt, but she had no use for the rifle. She wasn’t experienced enough with its use and would probably kill someone if she tried to shoot it. Instead, she added a machete to her arsenal of weapons and tucked another knife into the top of her right boot. There, that should do it.
After rummaging through the backpack, she determined it contained a canteen of water, a packet of rations, batteries, a flashlight, a first-aid kit, and extra ammo for the rifle and sidearm. She tossed the rifle bullets aside and tucked several full magazines for the sidearm into the available pockets on her vest.
A knock on the door announced Saul. “Need any help?”
“I can’t use the rifle,” she answered, pointing to the gun and its ammunition. “I’ll take the pistol, the knife, and my machete.”
“That’s alright. Your load will be lighter, in any case. You’d better use this, though,” he said, producing a silencer.
“Thanks, but these aren’t really silent. Not like in the movies,” Dylan said, eyeing the hollow tube. “That’s a myth.”
“I know it’s not silent, but it will help to reduce the noise. Trust me; you don’t want to fight in narrow hallways with automatic rifles and pistols thundering in your ears. You’ll burst an eardrum.”
“Why not wear earplugs?” Dylan asked.
“Then, you won’t hear anything coming at you.” He screwed the silencer onto her Beretta before helping her put on the backpack, gloves, and helmet. Afterward, he looked her up and down with an approving nod. “You’re a proper soldier now.”
“That’s hilarious,” Dylan replied, but one look in the mirror showed her he was right. With her hair tucked into the helmet, the chinstrap, full uniform, and the jacket zipped to the chin, she looked like a boy — a soldier boy.
Nick appeared in the door and stared at her. “Looking good, Miss Young.”
“Why, thank you, sergeant. You’re looking rather dashing yourself,” Dylan replied with a flutter of her eyelashes. The humor helped to relieve the nervous tension in her stomach.
“Are we ready to go?” Saul asked once they all had their gear in place.
“I am,” Dylan said.
“Me too,” Nick replied.
They walked out into the cold and joined Lieutenant King and his team. Together, they jogged toward the USAMRIID building where Tara, Ethan, Dr. Patel, Dr. Wilkins, Major Reed, and a few others waited. The perimeter bristled with armed guards huddled behind a wall of barbed wire and concrete.
“The major really doesn’t want the zombies to get out, does he?” Dylan asked with a whistle.
“Evidently not,” Saul replied.
“Not that I blame him,” Nick said.
A decontamination tent had been set up close to the
