Rhonda quickly organized a perimeter, though with far fewer instructions than Rebecca would have expected — probably because of having subordinates to delegate to, and the proper training most of the group had received in a past life. Golf Zero and One soon trundled back down the way they'd come, headed in a wide loop around to the major intersection nearest the far end of the apartment complex and rear entrance to the National Guard compound. It didn't escape Rebecca that Ronnie seemed to be giving orders to the guy riding "shotgun" in Golf One — but she wasn't sure if it was a rank thing, or a comparative competence evaluation after the shootout earlier in the morning.

Lance Corporal Epstein was left in command of a small detachment guarding the vehicles, while the bulk of their group leapfrogged the creek at both crossings and spread into the woods northwest of the road. The girls lingered several yards behind the professionals in their skirmish line, within easy sight range of Ronnie, and about twenty feet to the left of Patrick and Chris. At least the ford where the road crossed through the creek was only an inch or two deep — with any luck, there wouldn't be anyone with soggy feet because of her.

At that thought, she couldn't help glancing across the mostly uniformed backs ahead, some with name patches or Sharpie scrawl on the back, some of those growing gradually familiar. She really hoped nobody got hurt because of this excursion, all starting with a silly notion of poking through her apartment for whatever may or may not still be there. Yeah, there were the solar panels, and if that paid off, they'd be a big benefit to the community, so that made the effort and risk worthwhile. Still, she knew she'd be able to find plenty of ways to trace blame back to herself when push came to shove... and that Sam would have a lecture ready. She might as well skip ahead to accepting it and focusing on the moment.

Rebecca wasn't sure if Sam could sense her thoughts, or just somehow picked up on her posture change as she got her game face back on, but Sam glanced over for a brief moment of eye contact, and gave her a quick encouraging nod. Rebecca could hear the "You got this, sugar" echoing in her head from the briefing, and returned the gesture.

Her SMG's effective range was shorter than the rifles of the soldiers in front of her, so she only kept it at a low ready, but she swept her eyes from shadow to shadow, and even paused to scan behind them twice as they moved in an arc around the apartment development. The trees here were probably clearcut and replanted decades ago, so the underbrush was passable and their advance fairly easy — except for the odd uneven incline or muddy hollow.

Eventually, she noticed the wings of their line curling back, the outermost individuals slowing and turning outwards, watching the fringes of the forest towards both her old apartment building and where she was starting to see a stretch of overgrown cyclone fence with bulky shadows beyond it. The gradually stretching peninsula shape stopped when Ronnie gestured for a halt, leaving a slightly denser perimeter at the tip, and gestured the two pairs of civilians forward.

"You kids ready?"

Rebecca glanced quickly at her three friends, then looked back to Ronnie. "Good to go, Gunny." She didn't want to be too informal and undermine Ronnie's authority.

Rhonda nodded curtly. "Good. Second Squad's going to sweep the other floors of your building, and then covering Third when they advance to clear the building opposite so we can bring the trucks up."

"Yup, and we listen to any orders from Three Two even though we're not officially in it." Now that they were on foot, Rebecca had caught on to switch from vehicle call signs to infantry organizational units.

"Right." Rhonda gestured to the man two to her left. "Davis is Second Squad's leader. He's been briefed on your objective and the building layout."

Rebecca nodded in greeting to the African-American man in his late twenties. Glancing at his arm, she saw only a single chevron, meaning he was only a private or maybe a PFC. But, given gaps in the command ranks, it wasn't too surprising to see him filling a role that would have normally been assigned to a corporal or sergeant. Heck, even Epstein leading the vehicle squad was probably operating above his theoretical pay grade. "On your go, sir."

She wondered for a moment if that would make a good impression or come across as trying too hard, but Ronnie's voice chased the debate away. "Second and Echo, move out. Stay focused, stay safe."

Davis led eight men and four women forward from the line, with Rebecca's group spaced out behind him, just left of center. The group halted just shy of the treeline, and he waved her forward. Rebecca knelt next to him and lifted one earmuff away on its hinge.

"Miss Clinton, I hear you have keys?" Oh my. If she wasn't firmly attached to Sam and in the middle of an op, that nice baritone would have gotten a lot more of her attention. But, focus.

"I do. Same one will open the back door and both stairwell doors."

"Okay. We'll cover as you open the back door, but then we'll need to get both stairwells open."

She fished her keyring out of her pocket, tucked her SMG between her raised thigh and torso, and started working a specific key off of the split ring. "Okay. I can open the near side and then pass it off? My apartment's closer to that side of the building.

"That'll work. I'll take it from you then lead two fire teams up the other stairwell for the even-numbered floors. Do you think your key will work across the street?"

"No, I'm pretty sure it won't. Sorry..."

He glanced back over her shoulder to another group arrayed behind them. Third Squad, she supposed. "Eh, that's fine. They'll figure it out. You ready?"

Rebecca nodded, feeling a prickle of apprehension that only made her more motivated to rip the bandaid off and see what the next short while held for her. "Let's get this show on the road."

Private Davis ordered Second Squad forward, under the watchful guns of Third covering them and scanning the windows of the facing apartments. The unkempt stretch of lawn between the building and trees wasn't very far, but it was still a nerve-wracking scamper across open space that Rebecca didn't enjoy. Too bad there wasn't a nice service tunnel or something to creep through. But, before she knew it, she was leaning against the wall next to a steel fire door with a wire-reinforced window, carefully sliding the detached key into the lock, twisting it, and sidling away as the first few team members slipped through the door. Sam and Chris were stacked up against the brick facade wall behind her, with Patrick bringing up the end. When the first two fire teams were fanned out through the garage, Davis gestured with a head tilt and moved through the door. Rebecca followed, and was doubly dismayed by what she saw after the short hallway. The tenant storage cabinets were all wrenched open, remaining contents strewn about or spilling into the garage. Also, she recognized one of her neighbors' cars still there, clearly unmoved for the last several months.

Damn. Janet, the girl in 302, had been pretty nice. Rebecca really hoped she'd made it to safety some other way, and the obvious looting of the garage didn't make her optimistic about what she might find upstairs. But, things were in motion and there was nothing to do but press onwards, so she led her friends to the nearest stairwell door, repeated the process of opening it for the first fire team, and passed the key to Davis.

Sam knelt down behind her as the lead group went through and started up the stairs, and Rebecca turned her head to mumble back over her shoulder to her. "I really hope there aren't any bodies."

She the movement of Sam nodding in her peripheral vision. "Yeah. Do you have your mask?" Rebecca shook her head, turning further to look back at Sam wistfully. Rebecca could tell that Sam hoped the small grin she gave her was encouraging. "Well, fingers crossed."

They were turned back to business by radio traffic from the team above. "Three-two-one. West stairwell clear to first floor." (Rebecca had to stifle a chuckle at the call sign for Third Platoon, Second Squad's first fire team... but it lightened her spirits a little.)

That was their cue. Rebecca lifted the P90 to her shoulder and went through the wedged-open door, aiming up the narrow open center of the shaft. They had a different call sign since they weren't really part of the reconstituted military structure. "Echo One, moving up the stairs."

Other radio traffic indicated the teams at the other end of the building were on the move, slightly behind the western teams because of the delay unlocking the east stairwell door. The second fire team reached the second floor just after her group passed it, then it was her turn to report progress again, pushing the transmit key for her radio. "Echo One, entering third floor."

She took a deep nervous breath, and felt Sam pat her shoulder while Chris watched the stairwell above and Patrick kept an eye on their flank. "We're here, hon."

Rebecca felt hearing Sam's voice dull the edge of her anxiety, and Sam noticed her boots shift to a more confident position before Rebecca rose and led the team onto her old floor.

The stairwells had windows in them, letting natural light in... but the interior hallway wasn't as dark as she expected it to be. On top of the light coming in through the open fire door to the stairwell, it was illuminated by indirect ambient light from a few open apartment doors. After a moment's pause, Rebecca shifted her grip to turn on the P90's light, deciding that she'd be visible either way, and it was better to blind someone in the dark than be silhouetted against the open doorway.

No one jumped into the hallway to attack them, and the air smelt musty, a little like an old dumpster, but not like a charnel pit like that one parking garage she blundered into back in the day. She breathed a little easier, and stepped into the rehearsed plan they'd practiced together.

They'd agreed they'd clear any open apartments they passed, and at least peek under any locked doors with the flexible camera that connected to the displays on Rebecca and Sam's forearms. They didn't expect so many of the doors to be open, but at least the floor was silent, the only dust in the air starting to stir with their movement. The doorframes of apartments 301 and 302 were splintered inwards, kicked or pried open long ago. Sam followed Rebecca into 301 as she crept forward, Christine kneeling only a foot into 302's entry hall, aiming her shotgun into the room beyond, while Patrick watched the hallway.

Rebecca had been into many empty residences by then, growing a little inured to the discomfort of sifting through the remains of someone else's life, but those were always strangers. These were the homes of people she was acquainted with, at least enough to smile to in the hallway or chat with in the laundry room. To give cookies at Christmas the year before things went to shit. Some of that chill came creeping back into the edges of her consciousness, like the shadows around her flashlight beam. Her mouth was dry as she quietly confirmed each room or angle she checked was clear and Sam replied in kind.

Parts of the apartment looked like they must have a year and a half ago, pictures on the wall, TV remote on the coffee table, a razor on the bathroom sink. Other parts of the same rooms looked no better than the garage - refuse strewn in some corners, cupboard doors hanging open and the shelves bare, drawers and closets tossed. Rebecca fumbled for and drank heavily from the straw tube running over her shoulder from the water pouch in her small backpack, the water slaking her anxiety as much of her thirst. Sam waited patiently and wordlessly, letting Rebecca take a moment before they moved on to 302.

Christine pivoted after they passed her, angling the shotgun to not sweep the muzzle across them, and aimed herself generally towards the door they'd come in, watching Patrick's back as he shifted across to 301's door so he could aim his gun down the hallway from deeper cover.

302 was worse, because she'd known the resident a little better. Rebecca was glad she hadn't walked in on a body, but still, Janet was just gone, and here was all her stuff, picked through by someone else. It was a little detail that really got to her, seeing half of a lilac bra dangling out of a top dresser drawer. That really drove home looking through a departed person's private remnants, and her face fell and shoulders sagged.

She felt Sam sidle up next to her, vigilantly facing the opposite direction, but making a point to bump up against her. "Remy... stop seeing their stuff. Don't look that deeply. Make sure there's no badguys and keep up your momentum."

Being told what to do helped. She loved and trusted Sam, and could push herself to shut up and do what Sam said to. She took a deep breath and felt a warm flush of gratitude, refocusing her attention on the whiff of Sam's lightly floral deodorant she caught, and the proximity it demonstrated. "Thank you, Sam."

"Of course. Ready?"

Rebecca nodded, and as she felt Sam move away, backed up in step with her, watching their flank as they moved back out of the apartment. Don't see the stuff. Just see the room, the furniture as shapes. No movement, nobody there. Almost to her place.

They moved through 303 and 304 well enough, Rebecca pushing back on her awareness and keeping her emotions distanced. But they paused, perplexed, when they reached Rebecca's door. The doorjamb was just as splintered as the rest around the knob, but the door was closed, held tight by the separate lock above it. Rebecca frowned in confusion, gesturing for Patrick and Christine to sweep 305, and then ducking into that apartment's entryway with Sam behind them.

Sam spoke first, tone hushed. "What the heck?"

Rebecca shook her head, still puzzled. "I dunno. I guess we didn't lock that when we left, and then somehow it relocked after the looters came? Jaime and I used to bicker about that, he'd always leave it open."

"Well that's counter-stereotypical. But okay... so two different someone-else's have been in there. Question is... when."

"Yeah." Christine came up behind her and whispered that the place was clear, and Rebecca reached for her radio key with her left hand, talking quietly. "Echo One. 301 through 305 clear. 306... potentially occupied."

"Echo One, Three Two Six. What are your intentions?" Davis' voice came back in her ear.

"We need to clear the buildings anyway so we can move on to the armory."

"Copy. Proceed with caution."

She knew Ronnie would be listening too, and would be thinking the same thing at her. "Affirmative."