Weapon System in Zombie Apocalypse-Chapter 103: Warning Them

Thomas's jaw tightened as Cruz's voice echoed over the intercom.

"A horde?" he repeated, already moving back toward the command terminal. "Cruz, you certain?"

"Affirmative, sir. Thermal confirms. Movement patterns consistent with infected. They're migrating fast. Looks like they're following sound—maybe caught a whiff of engine noise from Villamor's convoy."

Logan stepped up beside Thomas. "Route 29's a bottleneck. Forest on both sides. They won't see 'em until it's too late."

Thomas tapped the monitor twice, zooming in on the drone feed. The distant forms were unmistakable now. Hundreds of shambling heat signatures pushing through the underbrush like a dark tide. Southbound.

"Can we raise Villamor on comms?" Thomas asked, voice sharp.

There was a pause before another voice crackled to life on the overhead speaker.

"Overwatch HQ, this is Marcus at Signals. Captain Villamor's unit is running legacy military radios—short-range VHF. We don't share encrypted frequency bands. Not unless they're synced ahead of time."

"Can we break in anyway?" Thomas asked.

"Not directly, sir. Their radios won't pick up our digital packets unless we're broadcasting on their set frequency. Only way is to guess their active band or hit a universal open channel."

Thomas nodded. "So, can we flood an open band?"

Marcus responded immediately. "Yes, sir. I'll rotate a broadcast through all civilian emergency bands and legacy VHF ranges. If they're scanning or monitoring any of those, they'll hear us. But it's not guaranteed."

"Do it," Thomas ordered. "Warn them."

Marcus began typing rapidly in the background. "Broadcasting now. Message is on loop:

'This is Overwatch Command. Horde detected west of Route 29. Reverse course immediately. Repeat: reverse course immediately.' Cycling across all known VHF bands."

Thomas watched the drone feed. The convoy was still rolling forward—steadily, unaware. The horde was closing in fast, crawling over fallen trees and dry creek beds like a colony of ants.

"How much time do we have?" Thomas asked, eyes locked on the screen.

Cruz checked his telemetry. "At current speed, convoy hits the intersection in twenty-one minutes. Horde crosses in twenty-five."

Thomas turned to Logan. "If they slow down for any reason…"

"They'll collide head-on."

"Perhaps we can cull the zombies? The Reaper has hellfire missiles mounted on its wing," Thomas suggested.

"It can definitely help them but that would mean them knowing that we have a Reaper drone, it's our trump card after all."

"Our base and my system are the trump card. I don't care if they are going to see a drone flying over their heads. I want this partnership to push through."

Then the radio call sounded again.

"This is Overwatch Command. Horde detected west of Route 29. Reverse course immediately. Repeat: reverse course immediately."

Over and over again.

The drone feed showed the horde creeping closer, still unseen by the convoy. He glanced at the digital clock ticking down on the bottom of the screen. They were dangerously close to overlapping routes.

"Marcus, status?" he asked.

"Still cycling, sir. Broadcasting on all known open VHF bands. If they're monitoring, they'll catch it."

Inside the lead military truck, Corporal Tinio sat in the back seat behind Villamor, fidgeting with the volume dial on the truck's dash-mounted military radio. A sharp burst of static made him flinch.

"Sir," he called out. "I think we're picking up something."

Villamor leaned back slightly. "What is it?"

The radio crackled again—then a clear voice broke through:

"…Overwatch Command. Horde detected west of Route 29. Reverse course immediately. Repeat: reverse course immediately."

The message looped again.

Delgado, driving the vehicle, turned his head. "Did that just say Overwatch?"

"Confirmed," Tinio replied, turning the dial slightly to clean up the signal. "They're warning us about a horde."

Villamor's brows furrowed. "What frequency is this?"

"Not one of ours, sir. Must be open-band," Tinio answered. "They're hitting all known channels. They must've gone wide."

Villamor's eyes immediately turned to the road ahead. Dense trees on both sides. Visibility was low. If a horde was moving from the west, they'd be boxed in real fast.

"Tell the other trucks to stop," Villamor ordered.

Delgado hit the brakes, and the truck squealed slightly as it came to a halt. Behind them, the other two vehicles followed suit. Soldiers dismounted with caution, weapons ready, scanning the treeline.

Villamor grabbed the radio mic and keyed it.

"This is Captain Enrique Villamor of the Philippine Army, to Overwatch Command. We read your warning. Can you confirm direction and bearing of the horde?"

Back in the UAV Ops Center, Marcus looked up as the signal came through.

"We've got him," he said into the headset. "Villamor's transmitting. Patch him through, sir?"

Thomas, now fully geared and standing over Marcus's shoulder, nodded once. "Do it."

"Captain Villamor, this is Commander Thomas Estaris of Overwatch," Thomas said into the headset. "We're tracking a horde two to three hundred strong. Thermal confirms mass movement from grid Lima-Three-Four. They're west of your position. Bearing east-southeast. You've got less than twenty minutes before they cross Route 29."

"Wait—how are you knowing this?" Villamor's eyes wandered up toward the sky, narrowing against the morning glare. "You have a bird in the air," he muttered.

"Affirmative," Thomas replied. "A drone, high altitude. We've been monitoring your convoy since you left the base."

There was a moment of stunned silence on Villamor's end. Tinio and Delgado both turned their eyes skyward, scanning for anything—but at 25,000 feet, the drone was invisible to the naked eye.

"You've got a drone that far up?" Villamor said, slowly. "You've been tracking us the whole way?"

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"Yes," Thomas said plainly. "And we weren't going to reveal that unless necessary. Right now, it is. You're walking into a meat grinder, Captain."

Villamor looked down at his map, then up at the treeline again. The wind rustled faintly through the leaves. Nothing yet—but the urgency in Thomas's voice said enough.

"What's your recommendation?" he asked.

Thomas's voice came back quick. "Reverse course immediately. If you can't get back in time, divert east. There's an old farm road that breaks off at grid Juliet-Two-One. It's narrow, but it'll buy you space."

Villamor grabbed his own radio and relayed the new orders. "All units, prepare to divert. Immediate reroute to grid Juliet-Two-One. Maintain visual spacing. Weapons hot but hold fire unless we have contact."

Delgado turned the wheel and began backing the truck into a turn. The other vehicles followed, tires crunching dry gravel as the convoy began to pivot.

Back in the Reaper's feed, Cruz watched the movement and confirmed. "They're turning around. Looks like they're taking your advice, Commander."

Thomas exhaled. "Good. Keep eyes on the horde. Let me know if they change direction."

"Copy that," Cruz said, zooming in again. "Zombies still pushing east. No sign they've noticed the shift."

Villamor, meanwhile, stared through the windshield as Delgado accelerated down the path, the others close behind. The tension inside the cabin was thick.

"Hell of a call," Tinio muttered. "We'd have never seen them coming."

Villamor didn't reply. His thoughts were still on the drone. On the system Thomas had built. On the fact that Overwatch wasn't just well-armed—they were technologically two steps ahead of everything the Philippine Army had left.

And for the first time, Villamor truly understood why Thomas had been so calm during their last meeting.

However—as they were driving towards the location—something hit them on the side.