The Armory

Chapter 6 

The Armory 

As the group gathered together in the dimly lit armory, the air was heavy with the scents of 

gunpowder and metal, a clear reminder of the building's purpose. The fluorescent lights cast 

long shadows across the walls, making the space feel almost eerie. Mark's voice echoed in 

the stillness, breaking the heavy silence that hung over the group. "Let's rest for now. We 

need to gather ourselves before we tackle the weapons and ammo." he said, his voice 

carrying a hint of fear, relief, and anticipation all at once. The others nodded in agreement, 

collapsing onto the cold, hard floor. Some leaned against the walls, while others sat with 

their backs to the cold metal containers that lined the back of the room. Madison and Eric 

had taken the initiative to distribute some snacks and energy bars they had found in their 

pack. They handed out the food in silence, the only sounds in the room being the soft rustle of 

wrappers and the sound of chewing. 

"I-uh-… I took this ring from the house we were in…" Emma said as she picked out an ornate 

dark blue saphire and blood red ruby ring from her bag. The ring was made of pure gold with 

the saphire forming a rectangle and the ruby shaped into an 'A' sat inside the saphire with 

gold inlays. "I took this from the house we were at earlier. Found it in the bedroom, I think it 

was a marriage ring. Took it cause Aron would like it….. he's my brother…. Was….my brother. 

Just leave it. I just was thinking if I did something wrong taking this. It just reminded me…" 

Emma sobbed. Eric tried to comfort her; knowing the sorrows of loss himself he knew how 

she felt. 

Mark's voice echoed through the room, breaking the heavy silence that had settled amongst 

the group. "Alright, let's get down to business. We're here for the weapons and ammo," he 

said firmly. The group looked around, taking in their surroundings. The walls, lined with 

reinforced steel, enclosed a space that was both sanctuary and arsenal. The air was thick 

with the scents of gunpowder and metal, a stark reminder of the armory's purpose. Eric's 

eyes swept over the abandoned firearms and supplies, resting on a sleek pistol resting on a 

dusty rack. Eric, whose bag was already quite full of jackets and vests at this point had 

avoided guns and ammo till now, but now he found himself drawn to the firearm. His fingers 

flexed involuntarily as he approached the pistol, running over the smooth, dark surface. 

Eric's eyes fixated on the sleek pistol, the custom carbon black metal gleaming in the dim 

light. The grips caught his attention, a unique combination of custom golden lacing on 

polished dark red wood. The handle made of silver-coloured steel adding a contrast to the 

overall black and red scheme. Eric's fingers itched to reach out and touch the gun, his 

curiosity piqued by the unusual design. Mark approached Eric, eyeing the sleek pistol that 

the young man had been admiring. "That's a fine gun you've got there," he said. "It's a 

custom- made Kimber Custom, a 1911 model. I suppose it was made for some retiring officer. 

It's all yours now..." He watched as Eric's fingers traced the scratches and ridges of the 

handle, his eyes settling on the etched name 'Georgie' above the trigger. Mark handed Eric 

two boxes of ammo, marked with the number '45' on the corner. "Here, take these too. Ammo 

for your new firearm." Eric carefully took the boxes from Mark's hand, his eyes still fixed on 

the gun. The cool metal felt strangely comfortable in his grip. He weighed the gun in his 

hand, feeling its weight settle into his palm. "Thanks," Eric muttered, finally tearing his gaze 

away from the weapon to look at Mark. 

Mark, now standing beside eric picked a gun. Eric had failed to notice the emposing firearm 

next to the ornate pistol. "Its an AR 15. RMCS 3 as well. " Mark held the gun expertly, 

checking its weight and balance. "I'll be taking this one," he said, a hint of satisfaction in his 

voice. Eric nodded, his eyes drawn to the gun in Mark's hands. From his perspective, the rifle 

looked imposing, a long and deadly weapon designed for efficiency and precision. The dark 

metal gleamed in the dim light, the grip worn from frequent use. Eric could sense the deadly 

potential of the gun in Mark's hands but also the comfort and familiarity with which he held 

it. 

Eric carefully placed the custom-made pistol into his bag, ensuring it was snugly packed so 

it wouldn't fall out. He then continued his search through the armory, moving away from the 

weapons rack. He could hear Mark's voice echoing faintly from across the room, presumably 

giving instructions to the others. Eric's eyes roamed over the various storage units and 

crates lining the walls, his mind focused on finding anything useful. He made his way over to 

where Madison and Dylan were searching, hoping to find something useful in their vicinity. 

They were muttering to each other quietly, their voices low as if trying not to draw attention 

to themselves. Eric approached them slowly, not wanting to startle them, and looked at what 

they had found. As he approached, he could see they were examining a small pile of supplies 

they had discovered tucked away in a corner. Madison held up a package of granola bars, 

her eyes lighting up with excitement. Dylan was inspecting a pair of boots, turning them over 

in his hands to examine them from all angles. Madison looked up from the package of 

granola bars as Eric approached, a small smile on her face. "Look what we found," she said, 

holding up the bars for Eric to see. "Seems like someone was hoarding food supplies." Dylan 

held up the pair of boots he had been examining. "Not just food, but these boots look barely 

used. Whoever left this stuff here must have been in a hurry." Eric looked down at his own 

boots, taking in their worn and battered state. They had been with him for months, and it 

showed. "You're right," he said, nodding in agreement. "My boots could use some upgrading." 

He bent down to inspect the pair of boots Dylan was still holding. They looked sturdy and 

well-made, with thick soles to protect against rough terrain. He tried them on and walked 

around a few steps, feeling the sturdy soles under his feet. The fit was snug, but comfortable. 

He looked up at Dylan and Madison, his eyes filled with gratitude. "Thanks, these will do 

nicely," he said. "My boots were fucked anyway." 

Mark called out to the group, his voice cutting through the murmur of conversation. "Hey, 

guys! Gather 'round." The rest of the group slowly made their way to where Mark was 

standing, their eyes fixed on him in anticipation. Mark held up a small box in his hands, his 

face lit up with a grim smile. "I've got something you're all going to find useful," he 

announced. Mark took out a piece of paper and wrote something down, his hands moving 

quickly. He held up the scrap of paper for the group to see. "These are the coordinates to this 

armory," he said. "I had the idea of possibly connecting this place to the base through an 

underground tunnel. We could use one of the basements in the school as an entrance and 

exit. This will give us some reach and eyes on the outside when needed." The others looked 

at Mark with surprise. The idea had never occurred to them before but now that it had been 

suggested, they could see the potential benefit. "You think this shit is possible?" Madison 

asked, eyeing the basement skeptically. "We are already numbered there" Mark shook his 

head, a hint of uncertainty in his eyes. "I honestly don't know," he admitted. "But I found this 

GPS navigator in the armory, and it got me thinking. Even if the tunnel plan doesn't pan out, 

having coordinates to important places could be a real lifesaver. We could use it to mark 

where we find food, weapons, or anything else useful." He held up the GPS device as he 

spoke, his fingers tracing over the buttons on the small screen. "With this, we could keep 

track of where we are and where we need to go. And who knows? Maybe we'll find 

something else in this armory that could help us make the tunnel plan work." Mark placed 

the GPS device back in his bag and shrugged. "Well, anyway, just an idea for now," he said. 

"But we should focus on gathering supplies for now, that's more important. See if you can 

find anything useful around here. We need to pack as much as we can." 

Eric began to look through the various storage units and crates, his eyes scanning the area 

for anything useful. He found a pile of clothes and began to pack them into his bag. 

Meanwhile, Madison and Dylan were exploring the armory, their voices quiet and hushed as 

they discussed what they had found. Mark was still across the room, checking the 

surroundings and keeping watch. Meanwhile, Emma and Joshua were searching through the 

supplies on the other side of the armory. Emma had found a few medical supplies that she 

carefully packed into her bag. Joshua was examining a rifle closely, his fingers tracing over 

the ridges and dips in the metal. The air was filled with the sound of shuffling and movement 

as everyone worked to pack up as much as they could. Eric occasionally looked over at 

Emma and Joshua, noticing the intense concentration on their faces as they searched 

through the supplies. 

Eric finished packing the pile of clothes into his bag before walking over to where Emma was 

standing. She was carefully organizing some medical supplies into her bag. He walked up 

beside her and spoke quietly. "Hey," he said gently. "You alright?" Emma paused for a 

moment, her fingers stilling on a roll of gauze. She looked up at him, her eyes betraying a 

deep sadness. "You mean about my brother," she said quietly. "I don't want to talk about it." 

Eric nodded slightly, understanding her pain. "I know how you feel," he said gently. "I lost my 

daughter too. Ellie." Emma's expression softened at his confession, a look of empathy 

crossing her face. "I'm sorry," she said quietly. "It's tough losing someone you love." Eric 

nodded again, his eyes filled with a mixture of sadness and determination. "Yeah," he said 

softly. "It's tough. But that's all we can do, right? Keep going and keep their memory alive." 

Eric nodded once more, the words coming out of him with quiet conviction. "That's what they 

would want," he said firmly. "They wouldn't want us to give up and wallow in our grief. They 

would want us to keep fighting, to keep living, and to keep their memory alive." 

Mark and Joshua approached Eric and Emma, their faces etched with exhaustion. "We should 

rest for now," Mark said firmly. "We've been awake for a while and we all need to recharge 

before we move out tomorrow." "Tomorrow?" Emma asked. "Yeah, tomorrow." Mark replied. 

"We need to get some sleep tonight and leave early in the morning. We've got a lot of ground 

to cover, and we need to be well-rested." Mark continued. "It will take us time to slowly get 

back and we will have to take the long way again. And traveling at this time in heavy sun 

would be a death sentence if they can see us." Mark's words hung in the air, the gravity of 

their situation weighing heavily on each of them. Eric could see the tiredness etched on 

everyone's faces, the exhaustion of months of travel and hardship finally catching up to 

them. He knew that Mark was right, they needed to rest and be smart about their travels if 

they wanted to make it back alive. 

As everyone settled down to rest, Eric sat silently on the hard, cold floor. His mind began to 

wander, his thoughts drifting towards the life he had led before the world had fallen apart. 

He remembered his wife, her soft smile and kind eyes, the way she would laugh at his jokes 

and sing old songs in the shower. His thoughts turned to his young daughter Ellie, her bright 

laughter and the way she would cling to him when she was scared. Eric lay on the ground, 

his body exhausted but his mind still racing. He continued to think of his life before the end, 

his thoughts flitting from memories of his wife to his daughter. He eventually felt his eyelids 

growing heavy, his body succumbing to the sweet embrace of sleep. As his mind slowly 

began to drift, the world around him faded away and he slipped into a deep, dreamless 

slumber. 

The sound of Mark's harsh voice woke Eric from his deep sleep. He slowly opened his eyes, 

feeling the stiffness in his muscles from the uncomfortable floor. He looked around to see 

the others slowly stirring as well, their faces etched with fatigue. Mark stood over them, his 

expression grim. "It's time to move," he said firmly. "Gather your things and let's go. We have 

a long day ahead of us." Eric groaned as he got to his feet, his limbs feeling stiff and heavy. 

He heard the familiar sound of bones crackling and popping as the others stretched as well. 

Everyone was still half-asleep, their movements slow and sluggish. Mark watched them with 

a stern expression, urging them to hurry up. "We need to get moving," he said again, his voice 

a bit impatient. Everyone gathered their bags, their movements slow and deliberate. Eric 

shouldered his heavy backpack, feeling the weight of the supplies resting on his shoulders. 

The others did the same, their faces tired but determined. Mark was at the front, his hand on 

the doorknob. He glanced back at the group, his expression betraying a hint of anxiety. 

"Everybody ready?" he asked gruffly.

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