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4 Blackhawk UH-60 helicopters, belonging to the 12th Aviation Battalion and operating from nearby Fort Lesley J. McNair crest the roofs of the school's surrounding houses. The roar of their engines suggest they're in a hurry, and they pass over the survivors, seemingly indifferent to their peril.

One slows however, and performs a wide arching turn to come back on the school. It quickly descends, and it is clear to any pair of living eyes that the side doors are open, and perched on the platform, are sure-as-day soldiers. They take a few seconds, watching the police car as it races across the green, and assessing the suicidal S.W.A.T as he flees for the school.

They raise their weapons and fire. 

But not at the squad car or the S.W.A.T, but at the masses of shamblers surging from the school. Their fire is inaccurate, but nevertheless devastating. Ranks of the dead fall to the waves of hot lead, many of them permanently - they are simply torn to shreds by the sustained automatic fire. Then they quickly switch their focus to the mass of feasting shamblers by the sniper's house. After a minute of ear-ringing gunfire, the soldiers cease their barrage. One of them holds up a loudspeaker, though over the roar of the UH-60's engines, his words are hard to hear. 

"SURVI###! FORT LE#### #S ##NE! EASTON I# #T#LL O#E#A#T#I#O#NAL! T## ROA#S ARE A N#-#O! GO TO F##t #AS#INGTO#! WE SAW PLENTY O# BO#TS!"

The soldier is interrupted as one of his comrades pats him on the back, and shouts something in his ear. The soldier looks back a the survivors, shakes his head, and lifts the loud speaker again.

"SORRY, W#SH W# CO#LD H##P YO# FO#KS MO#RE! G#T ## ###TON."

The UH-60's doors are slammed closed, and it rapidly ascends. Scores of shamblers lay motionless upon the grass, though some are crawling towards the car and the lone S.W.A.T with broken limbs. Others, hundreds of them, have no doubt been alerted elsewhere in the locale, but for now the survivors have time.