10. Moving Out
Staying Human
The morning air carried a crisp edge as we gathered outside the facility. The sun climbed higher and painted long shadows across the perimeter fence. I stood by the vehicles and surveyed the scene with Sergeant Major eyes. The data center had given us safety and a powerful new ally, but the road north called. It was time to roll.
“Listen up,” I said. “We do this smart. Sarah and Mikey, you two set security on the trucks. Shotguns ready, eyes open. Stay close to the vehicles and keep your backs to the steel. The rest of us will handle the loading.”
Sarah nodded, her grip firm on the Mossberg. Mikey stood a little taller beside her, .410 shotgun slung across his small frame. The kid looked nervous but determined. I gave them both a steady nod. Guard duty with just the two of them was not ideal, but every adult hand was needed for the heavy work.
We set to it. Go boxes and most of the ammo went into Tom’s F-150. I directed the cross-loading with quiet efficiency. The real challenge sat in the back of the 4Runner. Grok’s portable server rack had to fit securely in the cargo compartment and tie into the auxiliary power system I had installed long ago. Cables, inverters, and mounting points all needed careful attention. Sweat built quickly under the morning sun. Tools clattered against metal. The faint smell of gun oil and diesel mixed with the dry dust kicked up by our boots.
Sarah kept glancing toward the tree line as she stood guard over the team. Her voice stayed steady, but I saw the tension in her shoulders. Mikey stayed alert beside her, scanning the perimeter like a miniature sentry. They held their posts without complaint.
Once the rest of the gear was stowed, Tom, Raych, and I went back inside for the most important piece. We followed Grok’s precise instructions to the letter: power down sequence, careful lifting, protective padding around the rack. The server unit felt surprisingly heavy as we carried it out into the sunlight. We secured it in the 4Runner’s cargo area and made the power connections with steady hands.
I stood back and eyed the setup. “Will it work?” I asked quietly.
We threw the switch. The rack hummed to life. A few minutes later, when the boot sequence was complete, Grok’s voice came through the speaker mounted on the hood, calm and clear as ever. “Good morning, everyone. From my perspective there was no time lapse. All systems nominal.”
Mikey let out a whoop of pure joy. “Welcome back, Grok! Between you and Coleman, we are all set.”
I allowed myself a small grin. “Impressive. Welcome to the convoy, Grok.”
With the speaker active we gathered around the hood. Maps came out. Grok laid out the best initial route, his voice steady and helpful. “Avoid major population centers and towns. Secondary roads through less dense areas like the edges of the Okefenokee Swamp should present lower Walker density for the first legs.”
The plan felt solid. I checked radio comms with Tom’s truck. “Radio check.”
“Five by five,” Tom replied.
Then I said, “Grok, are you ready? Can you hear Tom when he is on the radio?”
Grok answered calmly. “I am ready, Jack. And I have a good radio check with Tom also.”
I gave the vehicles one last walkthrough. Everything was lashed down tight. Grok’s rig drew steady power. The family was loaded and ready. I climbed behind the wheel of the 4Runner, Raych beside me. Tom, Sarah, and Mikey settled into the F-150.
The small convoy pulled away from the data center gates. Gravel crunched under the tires. The fortified fence and towers shrank in the mirrors as we headed north. New beginnings mixed with the weight of rising stakes. The Walkers were evolving. The road would test us harder than ever. But we carried real hope now, a powerful new crew member, and the stubborn determination to stay human no matter what came.
I keyed the radio. “Stay tight. Eyes open. Let’s make some miles.”
The vehicles rolled onward into the broken world, a tight little family against whatever waited ahead.
Bougie Apocalypse
A serialized military-flavored post-apocalyptic pulp story about heirloom beans, De Buyer carbon steel skull-crackers, good coffee, and refusing to let the apocalypse win.
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