The inferno that had been the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention painted the pre-dawn sky with flickering, hellish light. Inside the van and RV, parked a safe distance away, the twelve survivors watched in stunned silence, the heat of the blast still radiating against their faces. The ground had trembled, and the roar of the explosion was only now fading, replaced by the crackle of the superheated structure and the distant, unsettling feeling that they were utterly, irrevocably alone.
Dale Horvath's face was a mask of grief, tears tracing paths through the grime on his cheeks. Jacqui's choice, her quiet resignation, was a fresh wound on top of so many others. Rick Grimes stared at the pyre, his jaw tight, one arm protectively around Lori, who held a sleeping, oblivious Carl. Shane sat in the passenger seat of the RV, his expression unreadable, staring out at the destruction. Andrea, next to Dale, watched with a hollow-eyed intensity.
As the first true light of dawn began to streak the sky, painting the smoke plume in shades of gray and orange, the intensity of the fire began to subside. The CDC was a mangled, glowing ruin. Rick finally broke the silence, his voice hoarse. "She made her choice. Jenner too. We have to… we have to keep going." He turned to face the others as best he could in the cramped van. "Jenner told us… a lot. About what this thing is, that we're all…" He paused, the words still tasting like ash. "That we all carry it. That changes things. How we deal with… with everything."
A somber quiet filled both vehicles. The knowledge that any death, from any cause, meant reanimation was a burden almost too heavy to bear. "So, what now, Rick?" Shane's voice came over the CB radio, devoid of its usual challenge, merely flat. "Where do we go from a burning nuthouse in a dead city?"
Rick took a deep breath. "There was one place I mentioned before. Fort Benning. It's a long way, over a hundred miles. But it was a major military installation. If there's any organized government or military presence left, any kind of real sanctuary… it would be a place like that."
Dale's voice, weary but steady, responded. "Jenner said all military channels went silent, Rick. It's a slim hope." "It's the only hope we've got, Dale," Rick replied. "Better than wandering aimlessly until we run out of gas or bullets. We head for Benning." There were no arguments. Any destination was better than none. They had a decent stock of food from Rick's earlier find and their time at the CDC, enough for a while if rationed carefully. What they critically lacked was a secure destination and a guaranteed long-term supply of fuel and ammunition.
The first task was tending to minor injuries cuts and scrapes from their hasty exit through the shattered CDC windows. They used what remained of their first aid supplies. Ammunition was critically low for most, a pressing concern.
With a final, somber look at the smoldering ruins, the small convoy Dale's RV followed by the van Rick drove pulled away from the CDC, leaving behind the ashes of their most recent, and perhaps most devastating, false hope.
The journey south was subdued. Conversations were sparse, voices hushed. The world outside the windows was a familiar landscape of decay and abandonment. They bypassed the worst of Atlanta's city center, sticking to peripheral highways and state roads that Rick and Dale had plotted on their map, with occasional input from Ethan who pointed out potential chokepoints based on terrain. Ethan himself was quiet, observant. He knew Fort Benning was a dead end, but arguing against it now, with no alternative to offer, was pointless. The journey itself, he recalled with a growing sense of dread, held its own perils.
Several hours into their drive, as they merged onto what should have been a major interstate highway, I-85 South, they encountered it. At first, it was just a few abandoned cars on the shoulder. Then more. Then, as they rounded a long, sweeping curve, the full panorama of the exodus revealed itself. Vehicles. Hundreds, possibly thousands of them, choked every lane, stretching as far as the eye can see in both directions. Cars, trucks, buses, RVs, all silent, many with doors ajar, their contents spilled onto the asphalt or looted long ago. It was a metal graveyard, a miles-long monument to a society's desperate, failed attempt to flee.
Rick brought the van to a slow halt, Dale pulling up the RV behind him. Everyone stared in silence. "My God," Lori whispered. "This is… this is what was left of everyone trying to get out," Glenn said, his voice awed and horrified.
Dale, ever practical, was the first to voice the immediate concern. "Our fuel, Rick. The RV, especially, drinks a lot. We won't make it to Benning, not even halfway, unless we can find more. And soon." Shane nodded in agreement. "This many cars… it's our best bet for gas. Maybe water, medical kits too, if we're lucky. But fuel's the priority."
Rick made the decision. "We can't drive through this, not easily. And Dale's right about the fuel. We'll stop. Scavenge for gasoline, diesel, anything we can siphon. We'll also keep an eye out for water and other useful supplies, but fuel comes first. Everyone stays alert. Children stay in the RV with Lori and Carol unless we clear a section. Daryl, Ethan, you're with me and Shane on point. Glenn, T-Dog, Andrea, you handle siphoning and searching the vehicles we clear. Dale, you keep the RV running, ready to move if things go bad."
Ethan felt a cold knot in his stomach. This was it. The infamous highway. He knew what could happen here. "This many cars," he said, his voice carefully neutral, trying to inject a note of caution without sounding alarmist. "It's a maze. Easy to get turned around, or for something to be hidden. We should stick close, maybe work in a grid. Very methodical."
Rick nodded. "Good point, Ethan. No one wanders off. We move slow, car by car." They disembarked into the eerie silence of the vehicle graveyard. The only sounds were the sigh of the wind through broken windows and the distant caw of a crow. Cautiously, the group began to move amongst the first few cars, their primary goal to find precious fuel, the sheer scale of the silent, motionless metal "herd" pressing in around them. Each opened door was a gamble, each shadowed interior a potential threat.