Within five days Lexington found itself a powder keg, at the mercy of the citizens it sought to protect. . . Lexington's cityscape was a stark contrast to what the city had become known for. It's cleanly streets were traded for shattered alcohol bottles and gore covered rags used on the beaten and bruised. Skirmishes between rioters and police painted the streets red and coated their truncheons in a layer of blood. Tear gas covered entire city blocks and a suffocating smog hung over the city. Those that hadn't taken to the streets in forms of protest were set out in tents and makeshift living accommodations spread across the Red Mile. Entrenched in a waist-high wall of sandbags. Guarded by the 4th Calvary Brigade with mechanized reinforcements, all hailing from the train wreck of Fort Knox. On the sixth day of rioting, the Brewgrass Trail lit up in flames. Several well-established distilleries had blown their top, and a chain of explosions rippled across Lexington. Smoke rose from the city and in the silence it's citizens held, the screams and stomping of Red Eye hordes could be heard in the distance. Rioters had become cannon fodder for the tidal wave of bodies that flooded through downtown Lexington. The last bastion of hope laid within a den of sin and gambling. The Red Mile Quarantine, a mess of displaced persons inside. Neighbors, business owners, blue and white collar workers all the same. Husbands, fathers, mothers, and daughters were coerced by certain Death to toe the line alongside the National Guard. The Red Mile Quarantine continued to hold for several days and nights. It's tracks lit up by perpetual gunfire that consumed the area. Bodies began to stack high enough to be considered walls. As the desperate citizens continued to be battered and beaten against, an escape plan had begun to be formulated. With far too little fighting transport to survive the brutal hordes that lay just beyond the wall of corpses and sandbags that surrounded them, other means of transport had to be explored. The stable contained bony and gaunt horses, emaciated from lack of care. The fighting few of the quarantine zone were to hold out for but two days time. Ammunition continued to dwindle, Red Eyes and former survivors of the quarantine were burned brazenly in the track's center fields. Cleared of all tents, the horse racing field was used as training grounds to basic horseback riding. Taught by amateurs and professionals alike to those without the faintest idea in riding. As the second day neared it's end, the last magazine was expended by the National Guardsmen. The sun fell beneath the horizon, the last traces of light leaving the sky above them. Women, children, elderly, and unfit to ride were piled into IFVs, APCs, and armored busses. Those ready and willing prepped a light, mounted on their steeds, and waited for one flare, in it's bright burning red it held the intensity of a thousand suns for the sliced and scarred men and women amongst them. As the Red Eye hordes let out on final scream making a mad dash in the absence of a proper fighting force, engines and the sound of galloping horses resonated from the ramshackle Red Mile Quarantine. A brilliant red bathed everything around them in light, illuminating the innumerable horde outside the front doors. Riders were torn down from their horses, horses gruesomely split apart in the midst of their stride, and legs ripped to shreds as claws and gnarled teeth ran across them. The hope for the women and children became futile as their shrill screams pierced the air. One single IFV was seen escaping the carnage, tailed by a small Red Eye horde. Those that survived managed to do so from none other than blind luck. Taking greenways toward the tainted hills that edged around Lexington's boundaries. Leaving behind them heaps of carcasses to decorate the city. Armed with their horses and very little else, Red Mile's Riders sought out greener pastures. In the end, could there be any way but up when contrasted against what Lexington held within it?