[i]Never let a sense of morals stop you from doing whats right.

Never let a sense of morals stop you from doing whats right.

FRAKKING SHOOT![/i]

Victor snapped back to conscious awareness of his surroundings to the smell of burning wood and flesh, and the scent of gunpowder from his favored shotgun in his hands after is blew a hole in a infected man's head. He must have fired by reflex, and that instinct saved his life in his cabin when a infected tried to break in after the crash.

"Boss! Boss! You alright up there?!" Called out a voice down the hall. Victor picked himself up to peer out the doorway to find a pair of familiar faces from his gang with smoking pistols in their hands rushing up to him. "You okay boss? Your covered in blood."

"Not mine. Its Peterson's when some bastard infected tore out his throat trying to get into my cabin." Waved off Hawthorne as he pulled himself into the corridor after picking up his ready bag from its cabin locker. "How many survived Marks?"

"About forty of our guys boss. Port forward cargo bay was crushed, nobody's alive there sir. I think the aft cargo hold fared better, I sent Roland to take a look. Some aft bridge crew and military-types signed on with us, they're working forward to the armory lockers with Reed to grab some guns and ammo and see if this ship is gonna explode or not." Marks face was pale and his breath was coming in staggered heaves, but he diligently reported as he fumbled to reload his pistol. "Gotta be careful sir, theres infected everywhere. Best to stick with us."

"Agreed. We move together. Alright, lets get to the aft cargo hold and grab everyone and everything we can. Forget the starboard bay, lets focus on the aft hold.” Taking point with a now-reloaded shotgun, Victor took his two men through the fire and smoke-filled corridors of the airship calling out for survivors, more than once running into infected that had to be put down. Man, woman, child, it made no difference to the trio of hardened criminals who had once thrived under the chaos the plague had brought back in their homeland. The infected had to die. The only cure was a bullet to the head.

Managing to make their way to the aft cargo hold, Victor saw firsthand the ruin the crash landing brought upon the stacked cargo and packed refugees within, but squelched the revulsion at the sight of blood with a brutally analytical assessment. There were at least a hundred people alive in this bay, possibly a hundred more amongst the corridors and cabins. A fraction of those who boarded, but perhaps enough for his purposes. Miraculously, no infected here.

A ragged blonde-haired woman in a aviator’s jacket rushed up to meet him at the hatch, heaving with exertion at both the run and the large bundle in her arms. “Boss. We got about a hundred-fifty people in this here hold. Lotta crates of food and hard clothing too. I think the cargo doors are still working, but I haven’t had a chance to check the control box yet.”

“Right, good work. Alright, you and Marks check out the control box and prepare to get the cargo doors to open on my order. Jamal, stand by the door and make sure no infected get in. It would be mite embarrassing if a plaguer interrupts my speech.” A round of affirmatives as Victor’s associates rushed to obey his orders while he clambered ontop of a stack of crates and fired his shotgun into the ceiling to get the attention of everyone in the bay.

“LISTEN UP! My name is Victor Hawthorne, and we need to get out of this crate! If we’re going to survive, we need to stick together! Everyone grab something and be ready to haul it out of here the moment those doors open, nobody comes out of here empty handed you hear!? Get to the treeline, and stay there until I tell you otherwise, got it! Any objections? No? Good! Now get ready to move!”

Victor honestly didn’t know how the crowd was going to react to his crazed rant, but everyone seemed to be in enough shock to obey and start lifting crates and bundles. Someone evidently had the smarts to try and get a pull-sled moving even without a steam engine on hand, replacing it with the muscle of twenty men. In the control booth, Roland gave Victor a thumbs up, which he returned with a wave in acknowledgement.

“Get to the treeline and don’t stop for anything!” Repeated Victor as he reloaded and picked up a travel bag that looked military. “Open the gate! GO GO GO!”