Walking Dead: Unlock the Umbrella Corporation Hive Begins with Hunting Chapter 102 102: 102

The gray-white walls of Fort Eisenhower towered beneath the afternoon sun, far higher and thicker than those of the prison.

The main gate stood wide open. One side of the iron gate hung crookedly, its hinges blown apart by an explosion. The twisted tal curled outward like crumpled paper.

Rick crouched on a hillside, binoculars raised to his eyes. His gaze swept from the gate to the barracks, then across the training grounds and finally toward the row of gray hangars in the distance.

The entire base was eerily silent.

There were no Walkers. No living people.

Even the wind seed to have stopped.

"Not many Walkers," Rick muttered.

He handed the binoculars to Sean.

"The gate's open. Looks like soone lured them away."

Sean took a quick look and nodded.

"So we ca all this way for nothing?"

Rick didn't answer. He stood and brushed the dirt from his pants.

"Let's go take a look."

The four n rode in a Humvee.

Rick drove while Sean sat in the passenger seat. Glenn and T-Dog squeezed into the back.

The vehicle crawled forward, its tires crunching softly over the gravel.

As they approached the entrance, the damage beca clearer. The warped iron gate was riddled with bullet holes, clustered so densely they resembled a honeycomb.

Rick parked outside the gate and stepped out with his rifle ready.

Sean followed behind him while Glenn and T-Dog covered both sides.

The scene inside was even worse than it had appeared from a distance.

The barracks walls were covered in bullet holes. In several places, bricks had been blasted away, exposing dark, hollow rooms within.

Dried bloodstains stretched from the barracks entrance all the way across the parade ground.

Human remains lay scattered everywhere.

A military boot sat abandoned on the ground. Everything above the ankle had been blown away, but the foot inside remained. The skin had dried to a dark brown and clung tightly to the bone.

Glenn crouched to examine it before standing again, his expression grim.

"Civilian."

Sean nudged a spent shell casing with his boot.

"A lot of civilians."

T-Dog gripped his shotgun and scanned the surroundings.

"What the hell happened here?"

No one answered.

Rick pushed open the barracks door.

The interior was dark. The ergency lighting had long since failed, leaving only thin shafts of sunlight filtering through the windows.

The light illuminated bloodstains and bullet-riddled walls.

Luggage lay scattered across the floor—backpacks, clothes, children's toys, and a shattered picture fra whose smiling faces had long faded beyond recognition.

Rick crouched and picked up a small child's shoe.

After staring at it for a mont, he carefully placed it on a nearby table.

"They killed a lot of civilians."

His voice was barely above a whisper.

Sean surveyed the devastated room.

"Maybe the civilians turned into Walkers and the military put them down. Or maybe the army opened fire first and the civilians fought back. Who knows?"

He was fairly certain the army had deliberately fired on the civilians. The massacre may have sparked resistance, leading to the chaos now surrounding them.

Turning away, he said,

"Let's check the armory."

Rick placed the shoe down and followed.

Sixth Floor

The corridor stretched endlessly before them.

Closed doors lined both sides.

Rick led the way, rifle pointed forward. Every step landed carefully and silently.

Sean followed close behind, with Glenn and T-Dog bringing up the rear.

They cleared room after room.

Empty.

Empty.

Still empty.

Rick stopped at the final office.

The door stood half-open.

Deep scratches marred the fra, as though soone had clawed desperately at it with their fingernails.

Slowly, Rick pushed the door wider with his foot.

His rifle entered first.

Then he slipped inside.

The office was spacious, furnished with a sofa, bookshelves, a wall map, and a telephone on the desk.

A man sat motionless in a high-backed chair.

Three stars adorned the shoulders of his uniform.

His head rested against the backrest, mouth slightly open and eyes half-closed.

A dark bullet hole marked his temple.

Dried blood trailed down his cheek and disappeared beneath his collar.

His right hand still hung over the armrest, loosely gripping an M9 pistol.

Rick stood silently before the desk.

The man had been dead for a long ti.

Yet he hadn't turned into a Walker.

Lowering his weapon, Rick stepped forward and picked up a photo fra from the desk.

A woman and two children smiled happily on a beach.

Three stars.

Sean remained in the doorway.

"Lieutenant General or General?"

Rick returned the picture fra and walked out.

"Maybe one day, when I earn enough stars of my own, I'll know."

Then he added,

"Let's check the armory."

Sean chuckled.

The armory door was already open.

Rick froze briefly as he stepped inside.

It was enormous—several tis larger than the prison's ammunition depot.

Rows of steel shelves stretched from floor to ceiling.

Ammo crates filled every rack.

Even more crates were stacked across the floor, forming small mountains of green and brown containers.

But so shelves stood empty.

Long drag marks scarred the concrete floor.

Soone had been here before them.

And they had taken a lot.

"A lot of guns and ammunition are gone," Rick observed.

Sean crouched beside the drag marks.

"But the heavy weapons are still here."

He walked over to a long wooden crate and pried it open.

Inside lay eight AT4 rocket launchers, their protective seals still intact.

Nearby sat several mortars, their barrels gleaming under the light.

An M2 heavy machine gun rested beside them, coated in anti-rust oil that gave the tal a dark golden sheen.

"What about the tanks?" Rick asked.

"In the hangars."

Sean picked up his radio.

"Bring every empty truck you've got. And anyone who knows how to drive one."

Rick smiled and leaned against a crate.

"After taking so much, at least leave so for ."

"I go through mountains of ammo every day."

"Those recruits are great at talking," he continued. "But the mont they're on the range, their hands shake like leaves. Half of them can't even keep their eyes open while firing."

Sean laughed.

"There's enough here that even if I left you half, you wouldn't use it all in a year."

T-Dog stood at the doorway, eyes gleaming as he stared at the towering stacks of ammunition.

He nudged Carol, who was busy recording inventory.

"One day, when I rank up, I'll just stand around, enjoy the breeze, and chat."

Without looking up, Carol kept writing.

"Sure you will."

T-Dog nudged her again.

"You don't believe ?"

Carol finally glanced up.

"First, make sure you can count today's ammunition correctly."

T-Dog opened his mouth to argue, then sighed and started hauling crates toward the trucks.

Outside, the setting sun shone through the armory doors, casting long golden bands across the floor.

The sound of engines echoed through the base.

One transport truck after another rolled in, tires crunching over gravel.

Sean stepped outside and stood on the loading dock steps, a cigarette dangling from his lips as he directed traffic.

Rick joined him.

Together, they watched the trucks reverse into position.

Glenn jumped down from one of the vehicles and approached them.

"Rick, there are three more tanks in the hangar. M1A2s. They look operational."

Rick nodded and glanced at Sean.

"You're taking those too?"

"Of course."

Sean flicked away his cigarette.

"Send them to the prison transfer station. The train heading to the CDC has plenty of room."

Rick simply nodded.

Then he headed back inside to help Carol with the inventory.

Sean remained on the steps, watching as the final truck backed into place beside the loading dock.

Looks like it's going to be a long night.

He lit another cigarette and watched the smoke drift away into the gathering twilight.