Chapter 118: Nuclear Submarines
The early morning at Kings Bay Naval Submarine Base was shrouded in mist. A thin layer of fog drifted over the sea, blurring the outlines of the gray submarines until they resembled an ink-wash painting.
Rick stood at the entrance of the base, binoculars raised as he surveyed the scene inside.
The main gate stood wide open. One of the iron gates leaned to the side, its hinges blown apart. Jagged metal edges curled outward like crumpled paper.
Spent shell casings and dried bloodstains littered the ground. Drag marks stretched from the gate all the way to the distant barracks.
There were very few Walkers.
Occasionally, one in a navy uniform would wander aimlessly through the open area between the buildings, only to be dropped by a single shot from T-Dog.
"Someone's been here."
Carol crouched down to inspect the shell casings.
"These aren't standard military rounds. They're 9mm."
Rick nodded.
Submachine guns.
He lowered his binoculars.
"Let's move in. Stay alert."
The Humvee rolled forward slowly, its tires crunching over gravel.
The barracks doors hung open.
Inside, everything had been ransacked.
Beds were overturned.
Lockers had been emptied.
Discarded military uniforms lay scattered across the floor.
The office building had suffered the same fate.
Documents covered the lobby floor, trampled into an unrecognizable mess.
The second floor, third floor, and fourth floor had all been thoroughly searched.
Drawers had been pulled out.
Cabinets had been forced open.
The safes stood empty with their doors hanging wide open.
Someone had arrived before them.
And it had happened quite some time ago.
"The armory's empty too."
T-Dog jogged over from the warehouse, breathing heavily.
"The gate was pried open. Not a single gun is left inside. The ammo crates are open, and there are shell casings everywhere. Most of the ammunition is gone, but there's still some loose ammo scattered around."
He pointed toward the warehouse.
"Whoever did it was in a hurry. They didn't bother cleaning up."
Rick stood before a gray concrete structure and looked up at the heavy metal door.
There was no handle.
Only a card reader and a small keypad.
The numbers on the keypad had been worn away from years of use.
Massive blast-proof locking bolts were embedded around the frame—two on each side, top and bottom. Each was as thick as an adult's arm.
A faded warning sign remained visible on the wall.
MILITARY RESTRICTED AREA
NO ENTRY
TRESPASSERS WILL BE SHOT ON SIGHT
Rick reached out and touched the door.
The metal felt cold.
When he knocked on it, there was no echo.
"This is it."
Michonne stood beside him, her katana strapped across her back.
"Blast-proof construction. Electronic keypad. Card reader."
She shook her head.
"We're not getting through that."
Rick stepped back and stared at the door.
"What about the submarines?"
The group headed toward the harbor.
The water was remarkably clear, revealing the concrete supports and rusted steel framework beneath the dock.
Three Ohio-class submarines rested silently at the pier.
Most of their gray hulls remained submerged beneath the water, with only a portion visible above the surface.
The portholes were pitch-black.
The deck railings were rusted.
Paint peeled away from the hulls, exposing the dark-red anti-corrosion primer beneath.
The hatch covers remained sealed and coated with dust and bird droppings.
"Not going to be easy."
Michonne crouched at the edge of the dock and studied the nearest submarine.
"The passages inside are cramped and full of blind corners. If there are Walkers down there, there's nowhere to run."
Rick removed a glow stick from his backpack.
"Still better than leaving empty-handed."
He bit down on the tube and snapped it.
Green light flooded the plastic.
He tossed it into the hatch.
The glow stick struck the metal floor below, bounced twice, and rolled into a corner, casting an eerie green glow.
Taking a deep breath, Rick grabbed the ladder and climbed down.
Michonne followed.
Her scabbard lightly struck the railing, producing a sharp metallic clang.
Carol glanced down through the hatch and immediately stepped back.
"I'll stay up here and keep watch."
T-Dog crouched on the opposite side, gripping his rifle.
"Me too."
Rick's boots landed heavily on the submarine's deck plates.
The corridor was extremely narrow.
Two people could barely walk side by side.
The ceiling was low enough that Rick nearly hit his head on the pipes overhead.
The emergency lights had long since died.
Only the glow stick illuminated the passage ahead.
The air smelled of mold, rust, and something far more unsettling.
A Walker in a navy uniform leaned against the wall.
Its head hung limply to one side.
Its mouth was open.
Its eyes were half-closed.
As Rick passed, the Walker suddenly snapped awake.
Its gray, pupil-less eyes opened wide.
It lunged.
Rick sidestepped and drove his dagger upward through its jaw and into its skull.
The Walker twitched once before collapsing.
Rick wiped the blade clean on its uniform and continued forward.