They spent enough time idling at the base of the main gate's ramp that Rebecca could see the vehicle's battery reserves had climbed a dozen percentage points and the air conditioning finally settled things into the comfortable low seventies. She kept the ventilation intakes wide open and hoped they'd get moving soon, not eager to find out what five people and a dog would start to smell like boxed up in an armored vehicles with fixed windows in warm weather.

She soon got her wish when the radio chirped and a velvet baritone she'd recognize anywhere, even through static or tinny digital compression, flowed into the cabin. Sam had the advantage without her hands on the steering wheel and beat Rebecca to one of the microphones, giving a teasing wink in the mirror as she replied.

"Copy, Victor Blue. Echo's ready to move to the rendezvous."

"See you shortly then, ETA zero-five minutes," the disembodied sonorous voice of Private Davis, the squad leader from the search of her old apartment building, replied.

"Blue?" Rebecca looked away from Sam's playful gloating when her mother spoke. Laura had overheard plenty of comm traffic over the previous weeks, but apparently not with the mobile elements of Tierman's forces.

"Patrol labels — to make it harder for eavesdroppers to figure out what part of town they're in, or who's in them. That's also why the times are randomized — and we got to sleep in."

The hiss accompanying Rebecca's release of the parking brake alerting the sentries ahead that she was starting to roll, and they started to open the sturdy welded steel gate. She couldn't help comparing it to the comparatively anemic chain-link fence Jaime had pushed open a year and a half prior.

She realized she was chewing on the corner of her mouth and glanced up in the mirror, confirming that yes, Sam had indeed noticed and was looking back with a gently concerned frown. Oof. Without the armor on I'd probably have been pawing at my necklace again. Rebecca tried to smile reassuringly and reached for a radio, this time the personal unit attached to her gear, keying the personal channel the two of them shared with Ronnie. "Hey, we're heading out."

A brief delay was probably Ronnie switching to the same channel before transmitting. "Drive safe, kiddo."

"We will. Thanks m—" She faltered for less than a second, conscious of Laura in the adjacent seat, but had already clearly said the first syllable. "...ama bear."

This time, it was Laura she carefully didn't look at, focusing on her driving. Much like the changes to the perimeter, their tactical vehicle was a far cry from her little CUV. The one thing she disliked most about driving it was the big blind spot right under its nose. The height made for great visibility in the distance, but as they neared the crest of the ramp, she briefly couldn't see anything but sky and upper stories past the high hood.

There'd originally been a 360-degree camera system that she and Ronnie apparently broke part of shooting up the front of the truck as it barreled down the street towards Sam. They hadn't discovered it, or the damaged front lenses, until well after moving 'back home', and it never felt worth making a stink to try stealing the parts from the other big cousins adopted by the troops. She was just happy to have the side and rear cameras intact when trying to park the thing!

Just as Rebecca was slowing hesitantly at the top of the ramp, the electric motors in the roof turret whined again. Sam guided it to the lowest possible aim, giving Rebecca a much better view over the hood from several feet above her position. Since the screen mirroring the gun camera was closer to Laura, Rebecca couldn't avoid incidental eye contact.

Her mother smirked back at the glance. "I don't know why you're surprised. You two are totally in sync."

Again. Back in sync again, now that we've been home for a while. "I'm not." Rebecca ignored her mother's chuckling as they lumbered over the crest to level ground, instead sparing an appreciative glance in the mirror. She only caught a glimpse of Sam's freckled cheek and one bright eye, but it was enough to see the amused affection coming her way.

Rebecca was good for her word and the armored brute rode smoothly over the urban streets, the only vibration reaching the cabin a low rumble from the tires. It did lean enough to send Laura grasping for handholds when Rebecca swerved to avoid a manhole cover, worried about it supporting their weight, but they were well within the safety margins on the tilt indicators on the dash. Old habits from her hybrid CUV kicked in, and she let the vehicle's abundant inertia coast them for the final block before stopping just shy of the rendezvous intersection. They were still within sight of the main gate, and she shifted into reverse while they waited tucked between the buildings — no sense in sitting exposed in the intersection.

It wasn't long before the first Humvee of Davis' patrol came into view in the intersection ahead — Rebecca was glad Sam had just finished panning the turret around and checking the nearby buildings and that it wasn't moving when the lead vehicle's crew saw them. They'd hopefully been told to expect the big black armored truck instead of a more conventional transport, but still... no sense spooking them unnecessarily. She poked the button for forward movement again and crawled ahead slowly, lifting her fingers from the steering wheel to wave when what she thought was Davis' ride passed — not that she knew if he'd be able to see the gesture or not.

It made her think of the awkward wave from her car when first encountering Allison and Leonard. Once in a trailing position behind the convoy, driving didn't require as much attention, and her mind roamed as she habitually looked around to monitor their surroundings.

The headspace that memory had put her in turned contemplative. They were outside the blocks-deep area that had been thoroughly swept and barricaded to provide a buffer zone around the settlement, but all of these buildings were still close enough to have been searched and scavenged. Spray paint or chalk marked most of the storefronts and residences. The laundromat and restaurants on the right had been cleared of anything immediately useful — though with all that power coming in, maybe a few washing machines were on their shopping list. The townhouses across the way still had decent furniture remaining, but one had been tagged with black plastic sheeting and a crude biohazard symbol that might have even predated their own exploration.

A chill ran down her spine at the implications, and she shifted her gaze back to the road. It looked better than the streets she used to walk side-by-side with Ronnie a year ago, like footage she'd seen of towns in early stages of hurricane recovery. The accumulated trash and wreckage were piled well aside so decaying leaves swirled freely away from the group. The wakes of the lead vehicles reached several feet on either side, and she reckoned their behemoth could probably clear the entire four-lane street moving at speed.

There was something symbolic to that. Here she was feeling the reminders creeping in at the edges of her consciousness, the unavoidable fact of what their world was now stirring up discomfort deep in her chest. And yet, she was with her mother, and Sam, and friends, and her freaking dog. Riding in one of the second-biggest military vehicles in town and packing a crapload of heat. I wonder if that stupid cable trap would even slow this thing down.

The tires grumbled as they comfortably loped over a railroad crossing, almost like the surly beast they rode mulled the idea and wanted to find out for itself, and she couldn't help patting the steering wheel at the thought.

**

Not carsick (or suffering from anxiety-induced nausea) this time, Rebecca had more opportunity to look around as they approached their destination.

She'd been for a run along the county road that passed the airport a few years ago, before meeting Jaime, so some of the scenery was vaguely familiar. The tattoo shop with the weird golden monkey painted on the front window, shade-dappled bridges over wooded creeks, the car wash place where she'd bought a bottle of water from the vending machines. Her current-day perspective was as different as the rest of the sights though. Riding high in the beast, she could see over fences that had separated her from neighborhoods she had idly wondered about. More signs of dilapidation pushed back by organized scavenging showed around and on the businesses and homes they past. And, the checkpoint outside of the pipeline terminal where all their fuel was coming from stood out like an imposing sore thumb.

Or maybe middle finger. That was definitely the message sent by the fortified office building that seemed to be the main strongpoint. It was counterbalanced by an armored vehicle across the street that was even larger than hers — tank treads, a blunt 'nose' with some kind of hinged flap that gave it a massive underbite, and weird corrugated steel sides. Rebecca assumed it must be one of the 'amtracs' Epstein had referenced before all their recent adventures had kicked off. She was surprised to notice the chunky off-center turret appeared to sport identical armament to their own upgrades, and wondered again if Ronnie had committed a disproportionate portion of their arsenal to the little jaunt.

Rebecca caught a glimpse of the propane station next to the heavy fuel depot, and then they were into another patch of woods before a stretch of intermittent fields and trailer parks. The open spaces became more predominant over the following mile, making it easy to pick out the watchtowers and walls around the airfield. The construction techniques seemed to mix those of both her recent "home" settlements — the shipping containers and overturned vehicles of Broadway with the razor-topped fencing and earth-filled cubes now so familiar at the Garden. She tried to note all of the details she could to share with Ronnie later — no doubt there'd been some left out of official communications, either for security purposes or just due to institutional oversight that inevitably survived the apocalypse like a cockroach. "Military intelligence" being an oxymoron and all.

It was possible Rebecca's perceptions of upper ranks were influenced during her mentorship by an experienced sergeant who'd faced those tribulations for an entire career.

Tierman's people had been busy. The perimeter had shifted since their last visit weeks ago — now, instead of the main gate guarding a turn from the main road into the airport compound, it actually spanned the road, enclosing both sides of the street. The walls and fencing across the street from the airfield arced away into a cluster of trees, where Rebecca could see house rooftops in the distance.

The former entrance to the airfield had lighter fortifications in place where the gate and watchtower used to stand, and Rebecca slowed to a crawl at the turn so she didn't demolish any sandbag walls or send her mother into a tizzy again. The soldier manning the turret in the Humvee directly ahead waved, then pointed her towards an open area to the side of what seemed to be the main motor pool.

Her mother mumbled a comment about reserved parking as they all scaled to the ground after the truck shut down, and Rebecca hefted Rufus down in a bear hug while Sam hastened to get Nate's wheelchair set up. Laura looked around, undoubtedly taking in the sights of a purely military outpost that contrasted with their hybrid environs at home. "I don't see a swimming pool. If we couldn't park any closer, do you think there's a bellhop?"

Rebecca smirked as she kept an eye on Rufus taking a pee near the fence line. "You didn't have any problems with a third-floor walkup in Thailand, Mom." Laura's expression reassured Rebecca she'd been joking, not about to go full 'speak to the manager' on some poor soldier.

On that note, Davis' familiarly exquisite voice hailed them with an ambiguous "Miss Clinton". Both of them turned to look, but his eye contact was unsurprisingly with Rebecca.

Of course, He probably doesn't even know who Mom is. "Hi, PFC. Thanks for letting us tag along."

He'd shaven his head since they last met — maybe because of the heat, as she noticed a glint of perspiration when he changed from his helmet to a crisply-hemmed USMC cap while walking towards them. "Of course. Specialist-slash-mayor-Landry should be along shortly to help you get settled."

"Mayor?" Rebecca couldn't hide the surprise in her voice, and Davis chuckled at her.

"More of a nickname he's picked up than an official title, but it fits since the new settlers seem to have voluntold him as their de facto leader."

"I do wonder what he thinks of all that..."

Davis flashed her a smile as he started to pivot away. "You'll probably get a more honest answer about it than any of us."

Rebecca chuckled and waved, then returned to the group. Laura grinned from near the cargo bay. "See? Bellhop."