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“Yeah… long story,” Shep replies, his tone dry. “For now, call me Lieutenant Colonel Daniels in front of the Coalition flyboys helping us out. This SAMAS isn’t exactly legal, so I put together a recon cover story. Seemed easier than trying to convince them not to arrest me—or shoot me—on sight.”

A flash of recognition passes the sheriff's eyes as he listens to Shep. "I'll just let everyone else think that you're an army Colonel."

Shep's helmet turns slightly as he takes in the faces clustered behind the doors. “Is anyone hurt? We’re setting up the clinic as a safe zone. The doctor’s already there and working nonstop.”

Al peeks forward, "No rush, but that's great news!" Shep remembers that Al was injured early on.

The sheriff nods approval, "No one is critically injured, some bumps, bruises and one broken wrist."

For just a second, Shep's gut tightens at the memory of Nova’s injuries—his doing. “Nova’s in bad shape, but she’s alive. The doc’s doing everything he can.” He shifts his stance, keeping his body language calm and reassuring. “Sergeant Williams is up on aerial recon right now. We can escort you to the clinic as soon as you’re ready.” A brief pause. Practical, as always. “Before we move, is there anywhere nearby we could pick up weapons or ammo? Every bit helps.”

"The sheriff's office and jail has a small armory of hunting rifles, shotguns and a few revolvers and 9 mm pistols. That could be useful. Susan said that hammers, spud bars and pipes work better. Haven't had a chance to test it out myself." Hank looks up towards the SAMAS scouting above. "He must mean Reg, Maz and Jack. They okay?"

Shep tips the Silver Eagle's helmet upward and answers over the external speakers, his voice measured and commanding. “Copy, Sergeant. Intercept, assist and direct them this way.” He pauses, aware of how exposed the words sound without a private channel. "Just keep eyes on them and steer them wide if something trails in.” His gaze settles back on the barn doors. “They’re not trouble. If you know them, just let them come in easy. They’re probably as rattled as the rest of us."

"Yeah, tell that to your father," the sheriff comments, "You weren't supposed to know that he defected to come back home. We thought that you were grabbing his old broken power armor unit. Last I knew, it didn't work."

"You can count on me, sir!" Williams blares loud enough for people in Camp Wilson to hear.

“The kids were fine the last I saw them,” Shep says, answering the sheriff’s concern first. “Things got a little tense getting the suit back. The folks in that building were hard up, and I had to negotiate for access. I’ll owe them more than what we were able to leave behind.” He shifts slightly in the armor, the movement restrained. “I took off as soon as I finished a basic diagnostic. Time mattered. The kids were going to follow on horseback.”

He hesitates at the mention of his father. “Maybe I wasn’t supposed to know,” he says quietly. “But maybe it was about time I did. He’s still a hero in my eyes. I figure he had his reasons.” For a moment, he considers saying more—about the suit, about CARL—but lets it go for now. “For the moment, we need to get organized. Anyone who wants to come with us to the clinic and help secure a safe zone should grab whatever they can use as a weapon—pipes, hammers, bats. Anything that can put one of these things down for good.” A brief pause. Practical, careful. “If you don’t want to make the trip, or can’t, barricade yourselves in here and wait it out.” His gaze moves across the group. “If you’ve got ideas, now’s the time to speak.”

“The kids were fine the last I saw them,” Shep says, answering the sheriff’s concern first. “Things got a little tense getting the suit back. The folks in that building were hard up, and I had to negotiate for access. I’ll owe them more than what we were able to leave behind.” He shifts slightly in the armor, the movement restrained. “I took off as soon as I finished a basic diagnostic. Time mattered. The kids were going to follow on horseback.”

He hesitates at the mention of his father. “Maybe I wasn’t supposed to know,” he says quietly. “But maybe it was about time I did. He’s still a hero in my eyes. I figure he had his reasons.” For a moment, he considers saying more—about the suit, about CARL—but lets it go for now. “For the moment, we need to get organized. Anyone who wants to come with us to the clinic and help secure a safe zone should grab whatever they can use as a weapon—pipes, hammers, bats. Anything that can put one of these things down for good.” A brief pause. Practical, careful. “If you don’t want to make the trip, or can’t, barricade yourselves in here and wait it out.” His gaze moves across the group. “If you’ve got ideas, now’s the time to speak.”

"He did have good reason, She... err Colonel," The sheriff replies, "For now, I think it best if we can form up a posse and get to the clinic, then worry about the weapons."

"Shep, he's right." Carl finally speaks, "Tactically, it would prevent the slower people from being caught out and would speed coordination much faster. So I wonder what turned your dad against the army?"

"Let's wait for the boys and swap them out for some of the slower folks. Mazur will probably have to stay on the one horse. He's rather slow on his feet." The sheriff adds, but then frowns, "So they kept that old thing a secret all this time?"

“Sounds like a good plan,” Shep says. “Sheriff, get everyone that’s coming ready to move.” He pauses, then adds, practical as ever, “I’ll do a quick recon and make sure we’ve got a clear path while we wait for the horses.”

He steps away from the barn, the Silver Eagle’s weight shifting as he scans his immediate surroundings, eyes moving over the ground, nearby buildings, and likely approaches. After a moment, he engages the thrusters and lifts off, climbing just enough to get a better view of the route ahead as he begins checking for anything that could complicate the move to the clinic.

“Sounds like a good plan,” Shep says. “Sheriff, get everyone that’s coming ready to move.” He pauses, then adds, practical as ever, “I’ll do a quick recon and make sure we’ve got a clear path while we wait for the horses.”

Shep notices some of the elderly in the bar, far older than he is. He steps away from the barn, the Silver Eagle’s weight shifting as he scans his immediate surroundings, eyes moving over the ground, nearby buildings, and likely approaches. After a moment, he engages the thrusters and lifts off, climbing just enough to get a better view of the route ahead as he begins checking for anything that could complicate the move to the clinic.

Shep immediately sees Sgt. Williams speaking with the guys on the horses north of town, heading towards the bridge. Hughe and Johnny leading some fast ones further north. They may be getting low in fuel and with Ryan's face bashed up, he may not be able to outrun them if that happens. Some of the undead dot the town, looking for more victims. The route towards town looks fairly clear as he notices some of the town pets are running towards the farm. Down below, Shep spies something that could be useful. The Harper families old wagon, designed for being pulled by horses. It could accommodate the slow.

Shep runs some quick calculations in his head, weighing time, distance, and risk. The wagon could solve the problem of the slower folks—but only if it was hitched quickly. He weighs redirecting the riders to bring it up themselves against hauling it back to the barn under his own power.
[OOC: Need more information before committing to a course of action.]

His attention shifts back toward the movement north of town. He tries to catch the sergeant’s attention—first with a sharp, deliberate hand signal, then by broadcasting if they’re close enough to hear. He keeps the message simple, gesturing toward the riders further out and trying to convey that he needs to go give them a hand, pulling up what he can remember of proper military hand signals.
[SKILL: Military Etiquette]

Shep runs some quick calculations in his head, weighing time, distance, and risk. The wagon could solve the problem of the slower folks—but only if it was hitched quickly. He weighs redirecting the riders to bring it up themselves against hauling it back to the barn under his own power. With just Jack, the sheriff and Reggie, they should be able to hook up the wagon within a minute or two; if they hurry.

His attention shifts back toward the movement north of town. He tries to catch the sergeant’s attention—first with a sharp, deliberate hand signal, then by broadcasting if they’re close enough to hear. He keeps the message simple, gesturing toward the riders further out and trying to convey that he needs to go give them a hand, pulling up what he can remember of proper military hand signals.

Sgt Williams signals an affirmative as Shep can hear the folks inside preparing with arming themselves and supporting each other and the injured. He notices the horses pick up pace.

Shep raises one arm and gives a brief, urgent wave toward Reggie and the others, urging them to hurry. He then drops back toward the barn, landing just long enough to address Reggie’s dad over the suit’s external speakers. “Reggie and the others are inbound with the horses,” he calls. “As soon as they get here, hitch them to the wagon. It’ll make moving the slower folks a lot safer.” With that passed along, he turns back toward the open ground, scanning for any movement before pushing forward to close the distance with the horses, positioning himself to give them an escort and a measure of protection.

Shep raises one arm and gives a brief, urgent wave toward Reggie and the others, urging them to hurry. He then drops back toward the barn, landing just long enough to address Reggie’s dad over the suit’s external speakers. “Reggie and the others are inbound with the horses,” he calls. “As soon as they get here, hitch them to the wagon. It’ll make moving the slower folks a lot safer.” With that passed along, he turns back toward the open ground, scanning for any movement before pushing forward to close the distance with the horses, positioning himself to give them an escort and a measure of protection.

The sheriff instructs Shep to pull the wagon over as he checks the harnesses for anything sharp. Reggie, Jack, Mazur and Scar Face (Cal) arrive in the driveway with Sgt. Williams hovering swiftly beside them as they approach. Hank, Al and a few of the more middle aged, able-bodied men quickly encourage Reggie and the others to dismount as they prepare to get the hay wagon ready to hook up. Shep notices that they boys won't be able to ride the horses. They'll either have to be coachmen or walk.

Hank promptly runs over to his son and gives him a strong hug, "Let's stick together from this point on, Reg."

The Sergeant addresses Shep, "Sir, the kids have been brought here safe and sound as requested. Are we flanking the wagon or going point and rear?"

Shep notices Mazur and Jack as he notices they're scanning the crowd for their parents. They don't know that their parents are dead.

“Thanks, Sergeant,” Shep says over the external speakers. “Take point. I’ll stay to the rear and keep an eye on the wagon.” After a brief pause, he adds, more measured than directive, “Use your infra scanners as you go. Let's keep an eye out for other survivors”

He then turns away from the wagon and walks toward Mazur and Jack, slowing as he approaches them. His voice, when it comes, is quieter but steady. “Boys… I need to tell you something before we move.” A short pause, just long enough to brace himself. “Your parents didn’t make it.”