“Do you really give a shit?” I replied.

“I do if someone knows where to come looking for it.”

I smirked back, “Good thing the person I got it from doesn’t need it anymore.”

Polman peered at me from under his hood, his grey hair falling down over his eyes, “They better not. Did you make sure?”

I pushed my right foot against the table, leaning my chair back while eyeing my fingernails. “Don’t really need to check for a pulse when you snap their neck. We won’t be around long enough for it to matter, anyways.”

“Let’s hope not.”

Polman bent down under the table to get a bundle of cloth and dumped it on the table, sending a could of dust flying through the air. He unrolled the bundle and exposed the array weapons he’d been working on getting. A few pistols, mostly nine-millimeters, a 12-gauge shotgun, two AK-47s, and 30-06 for long range.

“Our friends from the Atlanta Quarantine Zone have done right by us.” Polman said.

“I’ll say.” I had to admit it. I didn’t trust those thieving bastards, but they’d smuggled us more than enough firepower to get out of here when combined with the element of surprise on our side. “Let’s just hope they’re not waiting for us down the road to get this shit back and sell it to the next bidder.”

“I’d rather go out like that than live one more day in this hell.” Polman replied.

“Can’t say I disagree with you on that one.”

Rusty hinges creaked behind us, “Are we late to the party?” Martin said as he crawled up through the trapdoor. He held it open as Zeke, Andy, and Bev followed him up.

“Only always.” I said smiling. Our three companions strolled across the floor, boots scraping against the aged wood.

“Jesus Christ,” Andy said, “I can’t believe they came through.”

“They always do, for a price.” Polman replied, finally taking his hood off.

I chimed in, “Let’s get our shit together and get back before anyone notices we’re gone. Everyone know what to do or should we run through it one last time?” Nobody spoke.

Bev, always the quiet one, broke her silence. “Alright, let’s do this.”

I waited patiently on the rooftop by the barricade separating us from freedom. I went there right after my shift at the auto factory ended. Now, the residents in Sector B of the Charlotte QZ were lining up for final roll call before lights out. The sun was down, and only bright fluorescents illuminated the people on the street below, my friends among them. We’d divided the weapons among ourselves before leaving our meeting, knowing it should be easy enough to conceal them in our dorms until after shifts and under the panchos we each wore at roll call.

Sector Leader Sherman rode up in his armored truck and began to call out numbers. He was surrounded by QZ soldiers on all sides.

“Dumbasses.” I whispered to myself with a smile.

“AARON, NUMBER 4369!” He shouted, and Victor Aaron stepped forward to be counted.

“DISMISSED!” Sherman yelled through his megaphone.

Remember, we’re going on Bailey Burnam, I told myself.

I worked my way down the fire escape of the old building as Sherman went through the rest of the As and started on the Bs. When I got to the ground, I walked through the shadows until I found my position behind a dumpster, a mere thirty feet or so from Sherman’s truck. I reached into my bag and pulled out our secret weapon Polman hadn’t believed I could get my hands on: a hand grenade. I waited for the queue.

“BURNAM!” Sherman called out.

This is it. I pulled the pin on the grenade and leaned out from behind the dumpster and into the light. Quickly, I tossed it underhanded toward the only part of the truck not armored: the undercarriage.

“YOU!” One of the QZ soldiers next to the truck yelled at me, raising his gun. He didn’t have time to take aim before the grenade landed directly below the engine bay of the old Dodge and blew the fucker to kingdom-come, engulfing him and the others surrounding the vehicle in a fireball.

Screams and gunfire ensued, my friends were fighting the soldiers that bordered the rows of residents. I rushed around the building to join them, firing my AK at every asshole in a while helmet emblazoned with “CQZ” on the front. We made quick work of it, all of the fighting over in a matter of forty-five seconds or so.

“LETS GO!” Martin turned to yell at me, his long blonde hair flapping over his shoulder as he did. We’d only have another minute or so before more soldiers showed up, so we had to make this quick. My four friends and I ran to the gate at the barrier, a chain link fence secured with a chain and combination lock.

“Dumbasses.” I said again.

Bev pushed through with the twelve-gauge and blew it apart. Polman pulled the chain through the fence as Zeke and myself pulled the two sides of the gate apart so we could make our escape. Once we’d all gotten through, we reconnected the gate, wrapped the chain through its links and put our own lock on it to buy us a little bit of time.

Once the gate was secured, we heard trucks approaching from inside the QZ and took off in a dead sprint down the street, out of the city and into the darkness.