“Hey, dickhead! Hurry up, we got a water restriction remember?" Jeremy shouted, accompanied by several large bangs on the bathroom door. He was yet again pissed that I was going over our agreed ten minute water usage period. His charming voice tended to carry with a bold edge, although at the moment I was more annoyed than charmed.

"I'm almost done." I simply replied as I washed my dark brown hair out of my eyes. I heard him mumble something unpleasant as he walked down the hallway, leaving me alone with my thoughts. About a minute later I turned the slightly rusted shower handles off and emerged from the grimy shower and toweled myself off. Turning to the mirror, I looked myself over and realized I needed a shave.

My brown hair now reached my shoulders, which meant I was due for a visit to the barbers. At least my fringe stayed away from my eyes and I could still rock the bedhead look. My face was handsome by most peoples standards with a strong jawline, high check bones and usually a five o'clock shadow. Shame the most noticeable thing on my face was the three cut scar running from atop my right eye down to my right cheek. The guys assured me that girls find scars sexy, and sure, it'd worked sometimes, but personally I think the ability to cook is hot, or someone having a sunny disposition...Or, at the very least, good hygiene. Come to think of it what I find sexy would have been the social norm ten years ago. I was built like most people with my type of job, athletic, well built and scarred(mostly around the chest and on my left arm). After a quick shave, I wrapped my towel around my waist and walked out into the hallway.

Our house was pretty good, it had electricity, running and heated water and insulation. Compared to the usual shacks, hovels or run down apartments that most people lived in around here, our two story house was pretty boss. Turning to my left I walked towards the end of the hallway to my bedroom, past the various old world posters, photos of the team and random swear words and quotes we had hung up or drawn onto the faded cream coloured walls.

"Hey, shower's free!" I yelled down the hall as I closed the door behind me.

"About time. I swear if you used up the last of the hot water, I'm gonna kick your ass." I heard him say as I looked around my room. It was arguably the best room in the house and I was proud to say I won it in a match of four-way rock/paper/scissors. Totally worth all the weeks my friends hated me.

The walls were dark blue, and the floor, like the whole house, was hardwood. A queen sized bed with stained blankets took up most of the left side of the room and the right side was occupied by my closet, dresser, mirror and posters. Opening the dresser I pulled out my favorite set of normal clothes. A singlet, light camouflaged bullet proof vest, a black shirt that simply read 'same shirt, different day' in big bold white letters, a blue hoodie with bullet holes, burn marks and tears and to top it off, the zipper didn't work. My 'lucky' hoodie. I then put on a pair of dark camo pants with light kevlar woven into it for protection, knee pads and black steel toe combat boots. And to finish it off; my lucky silver necklace off which hung a gold pendant with an encrusted ruby, and a silver ring. Looking into the mirror, I looked like a twenty-something-year-old trying to look like a depressed, militarized teenager, complete with shoulder length bedhead with a fringe covering my right eye.

Walking over to my closet, I opened it and looked inside. While my dresser was full of clothes and stashed alcohol, my closet was full of guns, supplies, my bandoleer and rifle, my belt and holster and more stashed alcohol. Pulling my brown belt off its rack and buckling it, I looked around the top shelf for my revolver. It didn't take long to find it. A black steel Smith and Wesson Model 686 with a six-inch barrel. On the left side of the barrel I had carved 'Big Iron' into it and on the right twenty etches, you know, to add personality.

After checking to make sure it was loaded, I holstered it and picked up a small box of speed loaders off the closet floor. Opening a small pouch I had added to my belt, I put ten speed loaders inside, giving me fifty-four extra shots. If I was allowed to, I would carry more guns, but the local guard tells me it makes everyone paranoid when I walk down the street with a loaded assault rifle. Now I needed to find my other three friends; Hipster, Weepy and Badge McGoldstein. It didn't take long for me to find my old photo, which I carefully folded and put inside my hoodie's hidden pocket and my badge. Picking it up I decided to wipe off some of the dirt it was smothered by. Looking it over it seemed like your generic sheriff's badge at first glance. A gold ring with the words 'Sydney Ranger Tycho' around the top half and 'Know thy self, know thy enemy. A thousand battles, a thousand victories' on the bottom half. In the center of the ring sat a silver seven point star with the words 'Lest We Forget' carved into it, a constant reminder of both the Old World, and the uncountable amount of people we've lost. The surface of the badge was damaged as more than once a bullet or knife had grazed it. After I felt I should stop staring at my badge like a jackass, I pinned it to my hoodie, over my left man boob.

"Now, where the fuck's Hipster?" I asked no one as I began looking on the floor, the top shelf, in the pockets of my different uniforms and hidden compartments...And then I remembered I put it in the fridge downstairs because warm drinks are pussy stuff. Walking down the hall, past the various rooms and the bathroom and then down the stairs at the end led me into the living room.

The room was pretty plain; some framed photos and medals, a coffee table with empty beer bottles and cans, dirty plates and a map of Australia littered its glass surface and there was a flat screen TV built into the wall currently playing the local news, though someone muted it. Looking down to my right at the old red couches, I saw the guy who probably muted it: Cameron, the local pyromaniac was passed out on the couch.

Cam's usually short orange hair was a mess and his blue eyes where no doubt bloodshot. His face, like his body, was a tad chubby and had a few freckles dotted on his cheeks. He was the shortest guy in the team, about five foot nine tall, but was also the strongest, being surprisingly well built and athletic. People have said before that one of the most attractive things about him was his hair. Turns out not a lot of survivors have bright orange hair, making him a eight out of ten to some people for some reason.

He was still wearing his armor; black camo pants with knee pads and Kevlar armor, black steel toe boots, a heavy bullet proof vest with a black shirt with a fire hazard sign colored red over it and he also wore black fingerless gloves. He wore a black trench coat with red lining along the collar and where the coat parted. His coat, gloves and pants were made of a fire proof material that made handling stuff like flares, grenades, fuel and flamethrowers his problem. Pinned to his coat was his badge, which was similar to mine, but instead of reading 'Sydney Ranger Tycho' his read 'Sydney Ranger Flare' and instead of my quote his read 'Courage is fire, weakness is smoke'. Appropriately, his badge's ring and part of the star was partially stained grey from ash. He had a few burns along his arms from fights that went wrong and a cut along his chin from a bar fight, but the burns should heal in a few months.

He had his belt on which holstered his white .357 Desert Eagle. Along with his gun, he had his belt custom made to include a small pouch for a few magazines, and he also felt the need to carry a couple of flares and hand grenades and a smoke bomb on his belt all the time. You know, in case he gets attacked by a light armored vehicle or a group of assassins. Sticking out of his pants left pocket was his old silver lighter, engraved with his initials, C.W, and a date that only means something to him.

Seeing as I didn't gain anything from waking him up yet, I went into the kitchen through a small doorway and saw the last room mate I lived with; Rohan, the hungover doctor.

"Morning Matt." He mumbled as he downed a bunch of aspirin with a glass of juice and then went back to slouching over a bowl of cereal. His usually cool and calm voice was replaced by a raspy, angry and tired one.

"Oh and what a lovely morning it is, Ro! The sun is up, sharing its blistering heat with everyone in Alice Springs and the cool winter brings its cold winds with it." I yelled delightfully as I grabbed a jug of milk from the fridge, a box of cereal from the cupboard and poured both into the least dirty bowl I could find.

"Please, shut the fuck up..." He mumbled as he rubbed his temples. As he did that I put the milk back in the fridge. Just as I was about to close the door, I grabbed Hipster, my stainless steel hip flask full of whiskey. I'd carved a crude smiley face into one side and 'It's afternoon somewhere' on the other side with my knife. I placed him in my other pants pocket.

Grabbing my bowl, I walked over to the table and sat next to Rohan, and being this close gave me a really detailed look of how shitty he looked hungover.

His black, curly mini afro was more messy than usual, though his hair still went down past his ears and made it impossible to see them. His green eyes were bloodshot red and caked in sleep. He was built like a beanpole, skinny as hell but the tallest guy in our team, close to seven feet tall. He had pale skin, as opposed to everyone else's fair skin, giving him a sort of unhealthy or sick look, ironic as he was the guy who patched us up. He had a strong jaw line and his eyes seemed to sink into his face, casting a shadow over them. He had a bit of muscle and was far from unfit but he was definitely the weakest and slowest guy in the team.

He wore grey cargo pants held up by a white belt with a red cross painted on the front. In his belt holster sat a SIG Pro handgun, spare magazines in a pouch next to the gun, and on the other side of the belt was a small portable first aid kit with bandages, painkillers, antibiotics, a needle and thread and a small bottle of sterilized water. He wore a plain white button-up shirt that was stained with dried blood that wouldn't wash out, mostly his, and a few bullet holes which showed a few ugly bullet wounds in his torso. He also wore a black jacket with red and white stripes on the arms and on the back was a print that had been sown on by a patient he once treated. White cloth-like material with a red Caduceus design and the words 'tell me where it hurts', something he both asked patients lovingly, and people he had just shot in the knee for being a prick or a slaver. He also wore black jogging shoes.

Pinned to his jacket was his badge that read 'Sydney Ranger Patches' and 'There is no medicine, tonic or incentive as great as hope'. It was also splattered with a small amount of dried blood. The last noticeable thing about him was the bloodied white handkerchief that was kept in his shirt's chest pocket.

"Well, whats new?" I asked as I grabbed his cup of juice. I knew for a fact he would barely touch his breakfast and ignore his drink if he was as badly hungover as he looked.

"Not much, Town Watch wants us at HQ around twelve and I have vowed to never touch any form of alcohol for as long as I live." He muttered as I began shoveling cereal into my mouth.

"The hell they want with us?" I asked, annoyed we actually had to do something today.

"I don't know man, best guess is they've either finally fixed Sheila, or the Rangers out in the Great Divide radioed in a new operation." He said as he went back to slowly eating his now soggy cereal.

"Well, seeing as how you’re sad to look at, I'm going to go piss off Cameron." I said as I grabbed my bowl and cup and walked back out into the living room, leaving Rohan behind as he rested his head against the table. Walking up to the couch, I put my stuff down on the table and looked down at Cam.

"Aw, he looks like a hateful little angel. How do I wake him up delicately?" I said, pausing to clear my throat.

"WAKE UP, CANADA IS INVADING!" I screamed, causing Cameron to yelp, fall of the couch, stumble up, reach for his gun, and shoot at the wall missing the TV by a few inches, all while I'm laughing in my new spot on the couch.

"Dude! What the fuck?!” he asked furiously as he tried to calm himself. His angry, cocky and loud voice rang out louder then the gunshot.

"Gah! My ears!" Screamed Rohan from the kitchen.

"Now what?" Jeremy asked from upstairs.

"Sorry, but you were taking up the whole couch and I needed to watch some TV." I apologized as I went back to eating.

"Dude, the next time you do that, I'm shooting you in the foot." He mumbled as he sat down next to me. I heard someone walking down the stairs and turned to see it was Jeremy.

He was the same height as me, roughly six feet or so, but slouched, making him look shorter than he was. He had blonde, messy hair that ended just above his ears but was a bit longer in the front hanging just above his eyes. He had a few pimples and freckles on his face and a small beard but tended to shave it after a few days. His brown eyes looked at me, pissed about the shower. He had high cheekbones and looked younger than he was, giving him a handsome and boyish look. He wore brown cargo pants that had metal shin guards built by him on and black steel toe boots with green shoe laces. He also wore a light kevlar vest underneath his white singlet, which was stained with oil and dirt, a green and black checkered jacket with a large, lightweight steel pauldron strapped on his left shoulder, both dirtied and scratched through various firefights and tours.

His badge was pinned to his jacket and it spelled out 'Sydney Ranger Sundown' and 'Pretend inferiority and encourage his arrogance'. His badge was damaged with a few chips of the gold ring and the top right point of the star missing.

His leather belt held three important things; a Mini Uzi, a blowtorch and his hammer, a spare melee weapon and tool. The only other noteworthy features about him where the scratches and cuts from failed machinery, the jagged and prominent scar in the palm of his left hand and his necklace. It was a silver chain necklace with two miniature dog tags, one black with a silver streak running down the middle with a small glass diamond embedded in its streak and the other silver with an engraved message.

"Thanks to you, I had to use cold water half way through." He mumbled as he walked into the kitchen, grabbed an apple from the fridge and sat down on the other couch to my right.

"Hey, that's what you get for keeping me awake at night with your god damn late night workshop sessions." I responded, citing the lack of precious sleep I received.

"Hey, you weren't complaining when I fixed up a new scope on your rifle, ‘sides, you're the only one bitching about it." He said with a mouth full of apple.

"That's because Cam and Ro sleep like a brick, not everyone is a light sleeper like me. Speaking of, why the fuck were you on the couch?" I asked, shifting the conversation over to Cam as Rohan entered the room, a canteen of water in his hands as he sat down next to Jeremy.
"Got home late. I was going to go upstairs, but I realized I would have to walk upstairs and I was already tired from walking back from the armory across town." He said as he got up and went into the kitchen to grab an energy drink.

"Still, you should try to get home before-oh thanks-before two in the morning. Thought you were a thief or something, almost threw a wrench at you from the garage." Jeremy told Cam as he handed him a can.

"Ah forget about it, lets just watch some cartoons, then go see what they want." I said as I unmuted the TV and flipped through the various channels which were either news, reruns and new shows.

"I'm still amazed society was able to bring back TV, it would have been a boring apocalypse without entertainment." Cameron absentmindedly commented as I continued to scan for a good show. He was right though, if it weren't for a group of scavengers, scientists and engineers no one would neither have all the old shows we used to watch, nor the necessary power or a decent enough studio to film new shit. Thank God for lazy people with too much time. I was planning on switching back to the news until-

"I want to be the very best, like no one ever was~" Sang a voice from the TVs speakers as I started smiling and singing along.

Two hours later
Outside the Local Watch Headquarters
11:50AM

As I and my three friends walked down the cracked pavement I couldn't help but zoning out and look around. First of all, fuck off sun. I know we all need you to live and grow food but I don't need your shit. Living in the only safe patch of land in Australia is awesome, the only problem is its Alice Springs, meaning we're looking to have a day where the weather is under twenty degrees and the dry and arid country made things worse. If you were to tell me that in ten years I would be living in the middle of Australia I would have told you you were full of shit, but here I am, in Australia's second largest city; Fort Alice. Originally just a small camp built around a rural police station way back when, slowly more and more people came and helped build up a group of shacks and walls, turning the shitty little police station into a huge strategic asset for control over all of the Wasteland. The city stood strong at a population of around 50,000 civilians and a local militia of 5,000 men and women AND a small Ranger station, currently being handled by us. The town was built over the ghost town of Alice Springs but was now a major hub for travels towards the Dead Coasts or flights to other countries.

Despite the small size of the original city and the harsh surrounding area, the First Settlers were able to expand the city's edges and rapidly build around the old town. The entire city was surrounded by a big wall of scrap metal acting as our main defense against hordes of infected and slavers. Originally a small metal wall, the local builders had been, over the years, adding more and more layers and metal to the wall, to the point where it was now thirty feet high with a constant patrol around the top. The town was mostly made up of hand built houses and shops around the edge of town and Old World infrastructures scattered around the city. In the centre of the city sat the militia HQ. As we walked towards it, we went out of our way to avoid getting crushed by the likes of the military convoys and supply trucks on the road or beckoned by the homeless and street vendors that littered the sidewalk. Despite the large amount of homeless, Fort Alice was one of the largest and safest New World cities standing. We were now nearing the police base, which once looked like a small place, barely a threat to crime. In its place stood a large, heavily guarded military base. Complete with patrolling guards, a new brick wall, security check point, search lights and guard towers AND a newly built prison. It was truly a fort. Slowing up, we approached the walk-in check point.

"Name and registration." A bored guard said as he read a copy of today's newspaper, not even bothering to look up. His blue pants and shirt, black vest and hat and rank, two rifles crossed, gave away his status as as a militant.

"Sydney's Rangers Flare, Sundown, Patches and Tycho." Cam answered. The guard's head shot straight up looking over our badges and hastily opening the locked wire door by pressing a button.

"Sorry for the hold up, won't happen again!" He half shouted as he was clearly afraid of making a bad impression on us. Walking into the station's courtyard, we could see various recruits running laps around the base, people practicing at the firing range and various noises coming from the machine pool and garage behind the station. As we moved across the courtyard, steering clear of the busy roads, we chose instead to go around the small road that lead up to the stations entrance the looped back around to the car check point.

"So, you guys heard that our little UK representative is going to be checking up on the Ranger stronghold in the Great Divide soon?" Rohan asked, deciding to strike up a conversation as we walked into the foyer of the station, which was alive with people running to and fro, all with different jobs to do.

"Shit, haven't seen her in awhile, think she's gotten nicer?" I asked.

"Doubt it, that bloody ice queen is one hell of a mean bitch, and her dog's an asshole." Cameron muttered.

"Whats pissing you off?" Jeremy asked as he lead the group down the winding hallways, past various guards on duty, officers entering and leaving different rooms and various citizens waiting for their problems to be fixed.

"She just annoys me alright? I feel like she goes out of her way to make my life hell." Cameron replied, getting bothered.

"Dude, Rosie's like, ten years old, eleven in a few months." I reminded him, eyebrow raised.

"Hey, age doesn't make you any more or less of a bitch." He replied, acting like there was some sage wisdom to his words.

"Your just mad that she's a slightly better shot than you." Rohan said, happy with how riled up Cam was getting.

"Hey, my gun was tampered with, I know it was! Anyways, we're here." Cameron said as Jeremy opened the double doors at the end of the hallway into the 'war room', one of the newer additions to the building, the war room was a new room where all the generals, politicians, scientists and Rangers go to when something needs to be talked about. Not much more than a big room filled by a few plants and a long wooden table with a few ornate chairs, it was basically a meeting room. Already seated at the table was Colonel Olivia, leader of Fort Alice's Militia Division.

Olivia was fifty three years old and was in the army before everything went to shit. Her once blonde hair was now snow white, both from stress and age, and was tied back into a bun. Her face was scarred and showed clear signs of aging but she still had a strong and graceful air around her. She wore a plain black officers jacket, with her various medals pinned to it and a pair of black pants and shoes with two Micro Uzis holstered at her hips. She had proven time and time again that she doesn't fuck around in the office or on the field, earning her the respect of many Rangers and the fear of those she commanded. Standing up, she walked towards us with an outstretched arm.

"Colonel, pleasure to see you again." Rohan said with a smile as he shook her hand.

"As it is to see you four again." She replied with a faint smile as she shook all our hands and then went back to sitting down in her chair. She sat at the head of the table, Cameron and I sat to her right and Rohan and Jeremy sat at her left.

"I'll skip the formalities and get right to it. The Rangers messaged us, telling us something that we found very worrying; during a patrol through the Badlands a group of scouts spotted a large number of Rebels located in the ruins of Canberra. We believe they are American." She said grimly.

"Shit, how did the Blue Coats get so close to us without us noticing?" I asked, shocked.

"We have no idea, but the assumed answers are either they know something we don't know, or someone's working with them, falsifying our reports. Both are equally worrying." She continued.

"Spies?" Rohan asked seriously.

"We don't know Patches, but what we do know is this; the Rangers are planning a massive attack on their holdout near the outskirts of Canberra. The Rangers are asking for any and all Rangers not already in the field to lend their support and assist, that means you four." She said as she revealed four different pieces of paper. They were detailed maps of their camp, no doubt sketched by a scout, along with photos of the surrounding area and a detailed list accounting any and all rogue elements like terrain conditions...Overgrown nature, better bring my ghillie suit. The nearest horde and the next expected Anomaly to happen. The operation was to go down in a week from today.

"Ma'am, how soon can we hit the road?" Jeremy asked, anxious to finally do something.

"How soon can you get to the garage?" She smirked.

"Sheila's ready?" I asked, hopeful our car was finally fixed.

"Correct. You'll find your orders and any information you may need in those papers, boys. Dismissed." She said as we quickly got up and raced out the door and down the hallways, leaving Olivia behind to collect her thoughts.

Militia Motor pool/Garage
12:05AM

As we walked into the garage, my ear drums were assaulted by the sounds of machinery cutting into pieces of scrap that would soon either be used on a new building or added to the Wall, new cars and tanks being upgraded or built and the sounds of engineers swearing at each other. As we walked past the rows of various parked vehicles in the large, white garage. And then, we saw her, Sheila, in all her beauty.

Sheila was an armored Humvee with a roof mounted thirty-calibre heavy machine gun built into a large stand that swiveled around a roof hatch giving the gunner 360 degree aiming and a large metal shield offering mild protection. The Humvee itself had bullet proof glass, reinforced metal armor, a cow catcher on the front grille which also protected the large headlights, two large floodlights on the roof and also a large boot in the back for extra supplies. The Humvee was also painted with desert camo, making it blend in with the outbacks harsh terrain. And the last feature was the crude Ranger symbol we spray painted onto the drivers side door. Sheila is the most fucking awesome car in the world, fuck you if you say otherwise.

“Oh, there you guys are!" An engineer yelled as he spotted us. He wore plain blue overalls and his voice was muffled by his welding mask.

"Now, after the stunt you pulled, we decided it would be smart to reinforce your cars framework so we won't have another 'incident', like last time." The guy said as he eyeballed Cameron.

"Hey, I still say driving head first into those slavers base was a good idea." He said defensively.

"Yea, and we almost got killed." Rohan said, still not over the whole thing.

"But we didn't, so we can all laugh about this in a few years." He rebutted, smiling smugly.

"Anyway, the glass is thicker than before, so a light machine gun won't do shit against it now, nor will light explosives like a firecracker or a flash-bang. Though anything heavier and you may be in trouble." He said as he pointed out the new improvements.

"The cow catcher was installed per request and should be able to let you drive through a group of infected without any problems, though try not to piss off any hordes. And lastly, the gun. We kicked it up to a higher calibre so the gun is also bigger, which as you know means it's also heavier putting a bit more of a strain on the cars weight. We put six extra box mags for the gun in a box in the boot." He said as he opened the boot to show us.

"How much will this cost us?" I asked.

"Normally the bill would be staggeringly high due to the complete overhaul we had to go through just fixing it. But seeing as how I and my crew personally owe you for what you and the other Rangers did at Hobart, this one's on the house. Just this one, don't expect anymore favors." The guy said, irritated and thankful at the same time.

"Sweet, Rohan, you’re driving." Jeremy said as he climbed into the back with Cam, leaving me to sit up front. Clambering in, we saw the car's interior was also improved. Leather seats, stronger seat belts, a bobble head of Tony Abbott glued to the dashboard, a new stereo that can hook up to our phones, and bigger cup holders for both the front and back. As Rohan slowly pulled out of the garage, avoiding any and all workers and their wrecks, we soon found ourselves driving around to the front of the police station and then back out the security checkpoint. After we got back on the road we had two goals in mind: get home and hit the road.

Home
12:15 AM

"Remember! Take only what you need!" Rohan shouted from his room down the hall as everyone went about gathering their belongings. In my room I was finalizing my list as I stuffed everything into my black hunting backpack.

"OK, extra food and water, check. Two boxes of ammunition for both guns, check. A box of matches, check. A flashlight, check. Emergency flares, check. A compass and map, check. Box of blunts in case I get bored, check. Chocolate for the ride, check. My lucky hoodie folded and cleaned, check, Roll-on camouflage paint, check. Ghillie suit, check." I listed everything as I looked over all the stuff I had packed into the different pouches, and the folded woodland ghillie suit next to my bag.

As I checked over my stuff, I couldn't help but feel I was missing something...Something important. And that's when it hit me. I grabbed my stuffed Jack Skeleton plushie and shoved it in the bag. Then I went to my drawers and moved the secret panel out from behind the top shelves back and pulled out my three old friends: red wine, bourbon and absinthe. The wine I had found when we had raided an old, ransacked mansion. Whoever the owner was, they where good at hiding treasures, the bottle was over a hundred years old. Some bartender appraised it to be worth thousands, so naturally I was saving it for a rainy day. Or a really good day. The bourbon was well aged, smooth and its shade of copper was beautiful. I had no idea what it was called as its label was ripped off, but after a small sip I learnt it wasn't poisoned, it wasn't drugged and it tasted amazing, so I kept it for a celebration or something important, though I never found the best time to use it. The absinthe was a gift from a now retired Ranger who owed me, told me it was the only bottle he had ever found while scavenging, making it rare and expensive...Or he was a shit Ranger who knew nothing about the fine art of drinking. It was alright in taste and it burned like hell but REALLY fucked you up. Plus its green glowing color looked awesome. I was gonna sell it, but I kept it around in case someone had a taste for the stuff. They were all pretty small bottles, only a bit bigger then my hip flask and a bit of a burden, but I felt like this mission was going to play out differently, so in case I was going to die, I wanted to die surrounded by my friends and piss drunk.

"You ready?" Jeremy asked from his room.

"Almost." I replied as I tucked my bottles away, put the bag on and looked at myself in the mirror.

I had removed my hoodie and put on a bullet proof vest over my shirt, along with a long sleeved under shirt and then put on my torn, dark green and brown cloak over my vest, which ended just above the back of my legs and had a hood woven on. It helped keep me dry on a rainy day and also kept me warm. As I looked at myself in the closet mirror, I saw I looked well-armoured, but under armed.

Reaching into the closet, I hoisted out my black bandoleer and my rifle; an Mk.14 enhanced battle rifle. The rifle was immaculate, as I kept it as clean as possible, though the gun was scratched in places. The gun had a black silencer placed over the end of the guns barrel and a long range adjustable scope that could magnify up to fifteen times. It had an adjustable stock and a tripod placed under the gun, near where the barrel began. The gun used extended magazines which carried twenty bullets instead of the usual ten. I loved that gun, it'd been just like a gun to me.

Placing the bandoleer on over my armor and putting the rifle on my back, I then proceeded to put five spare rifle magazines in the bandoleer's pouches. Next I grabbed my hunting knife and placed its sheath on my belt, keeping it on tightly.

The last thing I needed was my mask. Looking up to where it usually hung, I pulled it off its hook and inspected it for damage. It was a black gas mask with a cloth design resting over the plastic parts which also didn't cover the eye holes.It was a black cloth with a white skull painted on, using the masks eye holes as its eyes. It covered the mask's filter, offering mild protection against natural elements. Putting it on and leaving it around my neck, I hooked my bag on, picked my ghillie suit up and walked outside to see my team was likewise ready.

Jeremy was leaning against his door, his eyes closed. He was wearing the same stuff as before, but now he had his welding mask resting on top of his head. All though he carried around a small gas mask like everyone else, he thought it would be much more safer for him to use a welder's mask. His armor plates had been recently cleaned and polished given them a dull sheen. He had his backpack on but three things stood out. On his hip sat both his red tool box, full of bits and pieces of machinery he could work into something, and tools obviously. The other thing that stood out was his old red wrench; Its main function had stopped being repairs a long time ago.

The last thing that stood out was along with his bag, he had a black suitcase so big he had to wheel it around. I had no idea what was in it. On his back sat a semi-automatic shotgun, an M1014 to be specific. He had painted it orange and yellow stripes on both sides of the gun, running length ways and on the guns stock he had painted the outline of a sun with four large rays swerving out from the center in all four directions and smaller ones in the diagonal directions. The gun used iron sights and he had a bolt key chain on his gun. He also had a choke installed at the end of the barrel. He had a leather strap on the gun, keeping it on his back at all times.

On the other side of the hallway, Cameron was staring down and idly playing with his lighter, repeatedly flipping the cap on and off. He now wore a black cowboy hat which hid most of his face from view with his head down, like it was now. His gas mask rested down as well. Strapped to his belt was a second pistol, his solid red flare gun: Big Red. Big Red had four flare rounds also packed next to it and on his back rested his machete. The handle was burnt black and the blade was sharpened and cleaned from time to time to keep it from getting dull.

At his his feet laid three guns that never failed to scare me: His flamethrower, rocket launcher and grenade launcher. All of them were supplied by Ranger HQ after he insisted his grenades and flare guns just weren't cutting it. They told him to only bring one on a mission, but he didn't really give a damn. The flamethrower was one of the old backpack and handle guns but carried enough fuel to burn down half a town. He painted the whole thing black and the tank red.

The rocket launcher was brand new, barely used when the Rangers found it. Its missiles weren't laser guided, which pissed Cam off, but the thing was accurate enough already. The launcher was heavy and needed to be supported on his shoulder, only taking it off to reload it if someone else wouldn't.

And to top it off, an old M79 grenade launcher. He asked for an Mk.19 grenade launcher but we told him there was no way in hell we would let him get his hands on an automatic grenade launcher if it wasn’t going on the car, so he settled on his next best friend. The wood was dark red and he'd carved 'bombs away!' on the launcher's barre. Seeing Cam with those things was almost enough to make me shit my pants.

Emerging from his room, looking off into the distance, was Rohan. He now had his helmet on, an old army helmet painted black with the red cross on each side, and his gas mask down. Over his white tee shirt now sat a grey bullet proof vest. In his hands, a large duffle bag, no doubt full of medicinal supplies in case the camp we would soon be heading to was under supplied.

Hanging off his back like Jeremy's shotgun, was his AK-47. After painting the guns wooden stock red he had a red dot sight placed on the left side of the gun, a bayonet at the end of the barrel and switched to extended magazines. At his hip rested his melee weapon of choice, an iron crowbar. He saw it as both practical and lethal and loved the thing.

"Well, we all ready?" Rohan asked as he snapped back to reality.

"Yep." I said simply as I walked down the hallway.

"Lets go, The early bird gathers no moss! The rolling stone catches the worm!" Cam said energetically.

"Wonder if there will be any good salvage when this is all over." Jeremy said as he walked behind Cam.

Slowly, we made our way downstairs and out the door, Jeremy locking the front door behind him and then throwing the copper house keys over to Rohan. As we walked away from our two-story orange brick house, I couldn't help but admire it. Half the windows were boarded up, the old black roof had a few holes in it and the front door's window was busted, but I still loved it. As I turned around and walked across the dry grass in our front yard towards Sheila, who was parked on the street, I couldn't help but wonder how this mission was going to play out. Walking around to the back, I placed my pack into the boot along with my ghillie suit, as everyone else placed their extra weapons, gear and supplies.

"You're driving." Rohan said as he threw the car keys over the car after at me. I unlocked the car door remotely and everyone climbed in. Ro, Jeremy and I placed our guns on the floor. As I turned on the engine and strapped in, I was silently hoping nothing would go horribly wrong. I should have known, as I drove down the cracked streets of Old Alice Springs, that everything was bound to wrong sooner or later.

Author's Note

Hey, I would like to that my good friend Pipebomb for helping me come up with ideas and dealing with my shit on a daily basis. This was actually my second story idea and I've been workshoping it for a long time. I hope its finally likable.

In case you where wondering, their backpacks look like this: http://cdni.llbean.com/is/image/wim/250660_34710_41?wid=428&hei=494