Chapter 114: Chapter 114 - The Route
They rode in a car marked with the logo.
The driver drove without talking, eyes fixed ahead. Cyborg sat in the passenger seat, relaxed but alert, Malcolm and Iyisha in the back while the other vehicles kept formation behind them.
After nearly an hour, Iyisha shifted again, eyes still scanning the road.
Cyborg noticed. He was watching her through the mirror, not staring, just tracking.
"You’re waiting for something to move," he said, voice even, measured, the kind that carried without needing volume. "Most people do. When you’ve spent long enough seeing the dead everywhere, empty roads start to feel wrong instead of reassuring."
He looked forward as he continued. "This corridor runs close to the Indianapolis safe zone so the military is committed to holding it."
Iyisha leaned slightly toward the window. "So there’s no undead out here."
"Not enough to be a problem," Cyborg said.
That didn’t sit right with her. Cities were always red marked. Everyone knew that. She glanced toward the direction of Indianapolis, unease tightening in her chest. "But the city’s close," she said. "Is it actually clean?"
He shook his head slowly. "Parts of it. Last confirmed report I heard had about half the city secured, mostly infrastructure, supply zones, and housing they could actually maintain. The rest is either monitored, restricted, or abandoned entirely depending on how hard it is to keep clear."
He glanced at her again in the mirror. "That’s also why you haven’t seen scavengers. The military doesn’t tolerate independent movement near a controlled zone. Too many variables."
Iyisha frowned. "Yet they let the Route exist."
Cyborg’s mouth twitched. He chuckled softly, eyes returning to the road ahead, and didn’t answer.
Iyisha leaned back, absorbing it.
After a while the scenery shifted.
Concrete closed in. Storefronts and warehouses replaced open stretches, the kind of downtown space built for trucks and foot traffic, not comfort. Then the fencing appeared.
It cut cleanly across streets and wrapped around an entire block, chain link reinforced with wire, tall and deliberate. Guard towers rose at intervals along the perimeter, each one manned, silhouettes steady against the sky. Others patrolled the fence line on foot, spaced evenly, rifles carried with familiarity rather than tension.
At the main gate stood five guards, alert but unhurried, and above them a tower loomed with a mounted machine gun fixed in place, heavy and unmistakable.
Iyisha blinked.
As the gate opened and the convoy rolled inside, the difference was immediate. This wasn’t a camp. It wasn’t something hidden.
Multiple buildings filled the fenced block, old stores, service structures, warehouses, the streets between them kept clear and active. Guards were scattered throughout, visible without being oppressive.
"Welcome to the Route," Cyborg said, turning just enough for them to hear him clearly. "Where everything is possible."
They drove deeper and sound began to carry through the space, music first as a distant pulse, then loud enough to feel. The convoy pulled into a wide parking area and the building ahead came fully into view.
A Walmart.
Iyisha stopped short.
The choice made unsettling sense. Size. Layout. Loading docks. Enough room to divide and repurpose without tearing everything apart.
They got out of the cars and people moved freely around them, going in and out of the entrance, laughing, talking, some visibly drunk as if the world outside the fence had stopped existing. Guards remained present, spread through the lot and near the doors, watching without interfering.
Iyisha glanced at Malcolm. He was already scanning the area, eyes moving, taking in positions and patterns.
Waldo stayed close. Lauren hovered just behind. Marybeth lingered farther back, distracted, while Brix, the other man in the crate, stood stiff, clearly overwhelmed.
Inside, the space changed again.
The massive interior had been broken into divisions, walls built where aisles once ran. What greeted them first felt like a club. Lights low and colored. Music heavy. A long bar stretched across the front, bottles lined neatly behind it, a bartender working steadily. Servers moved through the space with practiced ease.
In the center sat a raised circular stage, lit and empty.
Iyisha slowed, trying to process the sound, the structure, the normalcy layered over collapse.
Inside the bar, people were spread out around tables like nothing outside the walls mattered.
Drinks sat half finished. Someone laughed too loud near the bar. A couple argued quietly over a bottle. Music thumped through speakers that were clearly maintained, not salvaged. A few people were already drunk, swaying in their seats, loose and careless in a way that made Iyisha stop short.
She stared.
This wasn’t hiding. This wasn’t scraping by.
"What the hell," Waldo muttered under his breath, eyes moving from the bar to the tables and back again. "Is this fucking real?"
Marybeth let out a short laugh, sharp and disbelieving. "People getting drunk," she said. "Like the world didn’t end."
Iyisha felt the same disbelief knot in her chest. The noise felt wrong. The ease felt wrong. She glanced at Malcolm, then back at the room, trying to line up the sound of laughter with everything she knew about what waited outside the fence.
No one inside looked like they were listening for danger.
And that was what unsettled her most.
"Yo, Cyborg."
The voice came from the bar.
The man who spoke was Black, tall, with long locks pulled back neatly and a fitted black polo that showed he took care of himself. His beard was thick and well maintained, lined clean, and the way he leaned against the bar said this place answered to him whether he spoke or not. His eyes flicked over the group and he grinned.
"You got the girls," he said, casual, amused.
Iyisha stiffened immediately. Her shoulders tightened before she could stop it, her body reacting faster than her thoughts. She shifted closer to Malcolm without realizing it, the noise of the room suddenly feeling too loud, too close.
Before Cyborg could respond, movement came from deeper inside the bar.
A woman walked out from between the sections like she’d been waiting for her cue. She wore a red silk dress that flowed easily over her body, the kind of fabric you didn’t see anymore unless someone made a point of finding it. Her red hair was styled perfectly, makeup sharp and deliberate. She moved with confidence, eyes already bright as they landed on the group.
She smiled like she was pleased.
Cyborg glanced at her and said, "Here."
That was all it took.
The woman lit up immediately, stepping closer, talking fast, laughing, looking them over openly without bothering to hide it. Her attention moved from one face to the next like she was cataloging, clearly enjoying the moment.
"Everyone, this is Marco," he said, nodding toward the man at the bar. "He manages things here. And this is Pauline. Madame of the Route."
Iyisha didn’t like that title. She didn’t like the way Pauline stood too close, or how her eyes lingered on her and the other girls.
Pauline stepped right up to Iyisha and reached out without asking, fingers brushing along her arm like she was testing fabric. Iyisha pulled back sharply, irritation flashing hot and immediate, and grabbed onto Malcolm’s arm, grounding herself there.
Cyborg chuckled and caught Pauline’s wrist, stopping her easily. "Not like that," he said. "They’re here as visitors."
Pauline paused, then smiled again, clearly disappointed but not embarrassed. "Visitors," she repeated, rolling the word around like she wasn’t convinced.
Cyborg turned slightly toward Malcolm. "This is my chief," he said, tone shifting just enough to matter. "from Navy."
Pauline’s attention snapped to Malcolm instantly.
Her expression changed, interest sharpening as she lifted her jeweled hand toward him, palm up, waiting, clearly expecting him to take it.
Iyisha felt irritation spike again, her grip on Malcolm tightening as she watched.
