“Let’s go!” From behind the relative safety of the alley, the small paramilitary unit haul ass across the road. The moans of the undead swarm echo off the crumbling skyscrapers. Once a testament to man’s greatness, now a reminder of how many people once called this city home, how many worked here, how many could be mindless monsters hunting them. Glass crunches underfoot. A can skids across the pavement. Their breathing is hard and loud. They stopped trying to be stealthy. It wasn’t fast enough. They started the journey seven strong. Now, three remain; Shockwave, Shockblast, and Airtight. Survival of the fittest.
They had been Joes. G.I. Joes. The elite. Silent warriors. They had once had the latest and greatest technology available to them. All the best instruments for killing Uncle Sam could afford, and the good Uncle had deep pockets.
Now they were survivors like everyone else. Just trying to make it one more day. Long gone were the plate carriers covered in ammo pouches. The last rounds came screaming out of their rifles and pistols years ago, their firearms abandoned like so much scrap metal and plastic. They survived using their knives, their wits, and anything they could find, and then only as long as they lasted; baseball bats, antique swords, makeshift spears, anything that was quick and quiet.
The trio takes refuge in what had been a high-end designer shoe store. Airtight peers through the window, “Did they see?”
Shockwave grips the bat he's carrying a little tighter, “No. But they heard.”
“Fuck.”
“Zip it.” Shockwave tilts his head in the direction they had come from moments before. Out of the shadows come the unmistakable visages of the rotting undead. While they didn’t actually rot, whatever it was that reanimated the dead also kept decomposition at bay, regardless, the years had not been kind to their withering carcasses.
The first was a fast one, blue veins visible even from the distance separating them. Then more. Runners. Followed by the walkers. Shockwave whispers, “Let’s go. This time be quiet.” They slowly make their way towards the back of the store. Careful to stay out of view and silent. They’ve been doing this for years. They know if they can’t find a backdoor then they need to make damn sure they are in a spot where they can each take on the hungry beasts one at a time. It’s the only way to see tomorrow.
They find the door without trouble. No zombies in closets or under a table to reach out and grab them. It unlocks with a barely audible click. At least barely audible by those creatures out on the street. If there is anything on the other side it’ll sound like a dinner bell. They slowly open it. They see nothing. —- looks back a question at his friends. They both nod in agreement. He opens the door and steps cautiously out into the empty alley. He keeps the door between him and anything that could be on the blind side. He pokes his head around.
It isn’t the large up-armored black Hummvee that he finds most striking it's the four rifles trained on him by Cobra Vipers. A smile grows on Shockwaves face. “Oh thank god, it’s you.” He comes out hands raised. His friends behind him walk out arms reaching for the heavens. “We seek refuge.” A fifth Viper places his hand on the door and carefully closes it. From behind the mask a voice states, “You’ve come to the right place.”
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G.I. Joe SRT 1: Bulletproof, Shockblast, Shockwave, and Long Arm
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