The stadium had fallen and his men were scattered, broken, and more than likely, turned into those wretched ghouls that walk the streets. Carter had barely escaped the over-run sports center with his life, refusing to evacuate without his family. He slowly scouted every room, throwing things to distract the undead and remain unseen. Though there was no trace of his wife and son. That was good at least. They certainly would have been found if they were turned. The old soldier finally left the stadium, though before he could get too far, he heard a jeep pull up. The colonel muttered a soft, "Shit..." under his breath, remembering a few pieces of paperwork he'd signed. "We were supposed to get some more men today..." With a soft groan, he twisted around and ran back to the stadium, unfolding the entrenching tool on his belt as he went. 

Carter came upon the stunned captain and crept up within earshot of a whisper. "We were compromised... Unless you feel like dying today soldier, I suggest we get the hell out of here. That motor's gonna draw every last one of those freaks for about five blocks." He glanced around nervously and clutched the bladed shovel in his hand as he waited for the other's reply. His MP-5 hung on a 3 point sling resting on his right side, and his M9 was in a small holster attached to the chest of his IBA.