The convoy representing the might and reach of the General rolled into the parking lot of the mall hot and straight.
There were three trucks, that looked more like they belonged in a military convoy rather than a farm, but they were big enough to hold the supplies and people that the General demanded. Each one had a marking stenciled in black against the forest green, with a number.
Men stood on the outside rails with their rifles up, ready for action on at a moment's notice.
There were no flags, no banners, nothing really marking them as the General's, but still, no one dared to get in their way.
Not to mention, the men had just the kind of discipline that didn't need decoration.
Captain Harlow dropped from the front seat before the tires even stopped turning.
He buttoned his collar, checked the lot with a brief glance, and lifted two fingers. One man went high on the smashed escalator. Two peeled wide to the flanks. The third shadowed his shoulder by habit.
