﻿<strong>Malcolm Mercer<br/>Thursday, 7/18/11 -- 7:45 AM<br/>McLemore's Auto Service<br/>"Pest Control"</strong><br/><br/>The sound of a voice over a megaphone, garbled and mechanical, alerted Mal to the sudden alteration of his circumstances. He stole another peek out the small, grime-covered window and spotted several military types methodically mowing down every walking corpse in sight. His eyes widened like saucers as he took in the scene, and his mind raced as he weighed his new options. Now that the military was on site, the situation was completely different. Walking out on foot and turning himself over to their custody sounded a hell of a lot better than trying to navigate the nightmare he'd awoken to by himself. But as he watched, he couldn't see any identifying patches on any of the soldiers' uniforms. Not that he was familiar with every patch or symbol in the military, but there should have at least been<em>something</em>he recognized, shouldn't there? Unless they weren't with the U.S. military...which was a scary thought all on its own. Who else would have the kind of resources and manpower to launch an armed rescue attempt? And how did they arrive so fast?<br/><br/>Mal shook his head and chased the thoughts away; whoever they were, they obviously had the weapons and tactics to deal with the situation. As the soldiers outside finished mopping up, Malcolm looked around the garage for anything that might prove useful. On a far wall hung a faded, pressboard tool rack. Mal stepped lightly through the clutter and grabbed a medium-length flat-head screwdriver from its resting place on the table beneath, and tucked it into the inside of his left boot. A heavy adjustable wrench hung from one of the hooks on the rack, and he slipped it into a back pocket. A small pair of needle-nose pliers, their blue rubber handles ragged and stained, went into his inside jacket pocket. Mal looked around for anything else, but decided he had the most common tools he could need. Anything else would only be added weight, slowing him down.<br/><br/>It sounded like the gunfire had ceased outside. He rushed back to the window and looked out. It seemed the infantry had cleared the area and were starting to move out.<em>'Oh hell, no! Y'all ain't leaving without rescuing my ass!'</em>Mal thought as he slammed the second garage door open. He thought about running out and yelling for their attention, but figured that might be a good way to get accidentally shot. Mal took a few tentative steps outside, looking around in case one of the shamblers was only playing possum, and began waving his hands in the air, palms out to show he was unarmed.<br/><br/>"Hey! Hey, wait! Civilian here, I need help! Hello!" Mal shouted at the soldiers, hoping he'd made the right choice.