In the relative safety of the car, on one end of the back passenger seats, Evan raised his head up from taking cover and peered out the window at the roaring helicopter. “Military,” he whispered incredulously. “They’re still alive and they’re helping us.” He looked at the dozens of fallen zombies, impressed by the sheer firepower the soldiers had. Evan strained to hear and make sense of the broken words shouted over the loudspeaker, washed out in parts by the violent noise of whirs; but as a DC local, he was fairly confident in his interpretation of the puzzle and told the fellow survivors, “I think he said: Fort Lewis is down. Easton is still operational. The roads are a no-go. Go to Fort Washington, they saw lots of boats.”

Heading out to sea would be a good idea to get away from the zombies, at least for a while, he thought. They could drive down the river and resupply through less densely populated areas to arrive in at military base. But he needed to know if everyone he cared about was gone or if they were still alive, he could bring them along too. “I need to go back home,” he said. “It’s a few blocks from the pier. Does anyone else have family in Washington?”