Chapter 54: Choice
The air in the refugee camp was thick with oppression and despair.
The muddy ground in the tent area had been trampled into hard, compacted earth, littered with trash and empty cans.
Several thin children squatted in a corner, poking at ants with sticks.
Their mother sat nearby, eyes hollow, lost in thought.
Outside the barbed wire fence, Walker shadows occasionally drifted past. But no one reacted anymore—since they couldn't escape anyway, what was the point of fear?
The first person to notice the armored vehicle was the guard at the gate.
A black, glossy machine rolled to a stop, bearing a red-and-white emblem shaped like an umbrella.
The door opened.
A fully armed woman stepped out.
Black combat uniform. Bulletproof vest. Tactical helmet. Pistol at her waist. Boots so polished they reflected light like mirrors.
She removed her helmet, revealing a calm, clean face and a neatly tied ponytail.
The refugees stared at her like she was something unreal.
They hadn't bathed in who knew how long. Their clothes were wrinkled, their faces covered in grime.
Compared to them, she looked like she had stepped out of a pre-apocalypse magazine cover.
Whispers spread quickly.
"Who is she?"
"Which unit is she from?"
"They don't look like military…"
Suspicion, envy, and curiosity mixed through the crowd.
Inside the command room, Major Harris sat at the end of a long table, smoking an empty pipe.
There was no tobacco left, but the habit remained. As long as he held it, he still felt like an officer.
When the door opened and Sandra stepped in, he nearly dropped it.
"Sandra?"
Sandra froze for a moment as well.
She recognized him immediately.
Major Harris.
She had once served under him in the National Guard. The assignment had been brief, but memorable.
"Sandra," Harris said coldly, recovering his composure. "I didn't expect you to still be alive."
"I could say the same," Sandra replied flatly.
Harris narrowed his eyes. "State your purpose. If this is a provocation, I'll treat it as a declaration of war."
Sandra gave a faint, controlled smile.
"Don't be nervous, Major. I'm here on behalf of Umbrella Corporation."
The room went silent.
"We are a biotechnology company that previously cooperated with the federal government. After the outbreak, we have continued virus research and are working toward a vaccine."
Murmurs broke out immediately.
Sandra continued without pause.
"We also have a functioning research facility at the CDC, with more than a dozen scientists. Recently, two additional experts joined us—Dr. Elias Benson, a biologist, and Dr. Arthur Hawthorne, an authority in human genetics and virology."
The mention of those names caused a visible reaction among several officers.
Even those who didn't understand the science recognized their significance.
And then Sandra added the final piece:
"We also have an unlimited supply of food."
That sentence landed harder than any academic credential.
Several soldiers immediately stood up.
"I'll join!"
"Me too!"
"I'm in!"
Harris slammed his hand down and fired a shot into the ceiling.
BANG!
Silence fell instantly.
"Anyone who leaves without authorization will be treated as a deserter!" he roared.
For a moment, no one moved.
Then a young sergeant stood up.
"Sir… the Pentagon is gone. We have no contact with command. No supplies. How long are we supposed to wait? Until we starve?"
Harris froze.
His gun trembled slightly.
He wanted to shout orders. To reassert authority.
But nothing came out.
Because the sergeant was right.
There was no command anymore.
No reinforcements.
No future.
Just starving civilians—and a broken pipe in his hand.
Suddenly, someone rushed him from behind.
His pistol was seized. His arm twisted.
Harris stumbled and fell hard to the ground. His pipe shattered beside him.
When he looked up, he saw it clearly.
His soldiers had already moved to Sandra's side.
None came to help him.
Outside, the refugees faced a much simpler choice.
"Is there food?"
"A safe place?"
"Walls?"
"Doctors?"
"Clean water? Clothes?"
Sandra's team answered calmly, one by one.
Each answer made their eyes brighten.
People began rushing forward, carrying children, abandoning luggage, climbing into trucks before they were even fully stopped.
But not everyone moved.
A group stood off to the side, arms crossed.
"I am the deputy director of the Atlanta Planning Department," a man said proudly. "You expect me to do manual labor?"
"I'm a senior executive," another added. "I should be given management responsibilities."
"I am the vice president of Hades Group's branch," an elderly man said, lifting his chin. "You should have heard of Hades…"
Sandra didn't even look at them.
She turned away.
"Come if you want. Don't if you don't."
That was all she said.
The so-called "elites" froze.
No one begged them.
No one negotiated.
No one cared.
Meanwhile, others who had been hesitating immediately made their decision and ran toward the trucks.
At least working meant survival.
Following arrogant fools only meant death.
As the convoy prepared to leave, Sandra's expression suddenly changed.
"Turn around!" she ordered sharply.
Marcus glanced ahead—and saw it too.
A dark mass stretched across the road in the distance.
A Walker horde.
Without hesitation, he slammed the steering wheel.
The armored vehicle turned sharply.
Behind them, confusion spread among the other drivers—until they also saw it.
A writhing sea of corpses filled the horizon.
"Move! Turn around!"
Engines roared as every vehicle veered away from the threat.
The convoy fled in formation, abandoning the refugee camp behind them.
As for the people left there…
Only time would tell what fate awaited them.