Their decaying limbs thrashed about, desperate to grab hold of her. But Emily was swift and nimble, utilizing her combat skills to her advantage.
With a sudden burst of speed, Emily managed to outrun the horde momentarily. She found herself in a narrow corridor, illuminated by flickering lights that cast eerie shadows on the walls.
Her breath came in short, ragged gasps as she pressed on, pushing her body to its limits.
Aware of the dwindling time and the urgency of her mission, Emily focused her energy and summoned her inner strength.
She reached for her weapon, a gleaming blade known as Shadowstrike, and held it firmly in her grasp. The cold steel felt reassuring against her palm, boosting her confidence.
As the zombies closed in on her once again, Emily unleashed a flurry of precise strikes with her weapon.
With each swing, she sliced through the decaying flesh, severing limbs and incapacitating her attackers. Her movements were swift and calculated, a dance of survival amidst the chaos.
The sound of clashing metal and the agonized cries of the undead reverberated through the corridor.
Emily's determination was unwavering as she fought off the relentless horde, one zombie at a time.
Her skills as a Slayer were put to the test, but she remained focused and resolute, knowing that failure was not an option.
"Phew! Done!" Emily clapped her hands together in satisfaction.
"Good job, Emily. Don't forget to set up explosive traps at every corner in case there's a sudden zombie horde attack. The supply depot is often a hiding place for people during critical times, and the zombies will chase them there."
"Oh, but I think you're overthinking it, Alina! Everything seems under control," Emily replied, strolling casually towards the main storage room.
"Just follow my orders," Alina said firmly, her strikes against the zombies' necks precise and swift.
"Well, well, look at all these fashionable decapitations! Neck accessories are all the rage among the undead these days. Who needs a trendy necklace when you can have your entire head detached?" Alina commented sarcastically, kicking the rolling heads of the defeated zombies.
Emily grimaced in annoyance. "Arrogant as always," she muttered under her breath.
She proceeded to set up an explosive device at a corner, strategically placed to catch any sudden swarm of zombies.
"And Emily, it seems there's a lot of activity in the main storage room. Alina was right, they're gathering there," Alex emphasized, his voice tinged with concern.
"Okay!" Emily set up the explosive device at the entrance of the main storage room and stepped back. "Get ready for the blast."
Alina's attention momentarily diverted from the battle, her brow furrowing as she interjected once again. "Wait! After the explosion, our communication system might be slightly disrupted. Mark, can you provide us with an update on the situation and your current position?" Alina inquired.
"Somewhere between life and death," he replied in a jesting tone, struggling to break free from the grip of the infected communication center administrator he had saved before.
"Shit! I hate this damn virus!" he cursed, delivering a sharp elbow to the man's stomach. He swiftly retrieved a simple knife from his belt and plunged it into the administrator's neck.
The administrator writhed in agony, clutching at his neck as blood gushed from the deep wound inflicted by Mark's knife.
His face contorted in a twisted mix of pain and despair, the last vestiges of humanity slowly fading from his eyes.
His breathing became shallow and raspy, punctuated by guttural growls that seemed to emerge from deep within his chest.
The infected wound pulsated with a sickly green glow, a stark contrast against the pallor of his skin. Veins bulged and writhed beneath the surface, as if they were battling against an unseen force, struggling to maintain a semblance of normalcy.
The once familiar features of the administrator were now distorted, his mouth contorted into a grotesque snarl, exposing jagged and discolored teeth. Dark veins snaked their way up his neck, spreading like a web of corruption.
His movements became uncoordinated and jerky, his body contorting with spasms as the infection coursed through his veins, taking control of his every movement.
A low, guttural growl escaped his throat, blending with the agonized cries of his dying breath. His eyes, once filled with life and intellect, now held a vacant and insatiable hunger, fixated on the group before him.
The administrator, now reduced to a mere shell of his former self, displayed an insidious hybridity—a haunting fusion of the living and the undead.
His half-transformed state made it evident that his struggle against the infection had reached a critical point, where the line between human and monster blurred in a nightmarish amalgamation.
As Mark pressed the knife deeper into the administrator's neck, the flesh tore and gave way, revealing the pulsating, infected mass beneath.
A sickening mixture of blood and mucus oozed from the wound, staining his clothes and hands. The administrator's movements grew slower, his body growing weaker with each passing second.
"What kind of mission is this? Am I supposed to evacuate zombies?" Mark exclaimed, his frustration evident as he sat on top of the administrator's lifeless body.
He swiftly retrieved a syringe filled with antidote from his waist and injected it into his neck. "Upper Society just wants to toy with me! Damn it!"
Alina's voice broke through the chaos, urging Mark to regroup. "Mark, hurry back to the rendezvous point. The evacuation truck won't wait for more than ten minutes."
Mark grumbled under his breath, but quickly regained his composure. He stood up, brushing off the dirt from his clothes, and nodded in agreement. "Okay," he replied
"Alright, Emily, initiate the countdown now," Alina directed.
"Okay," Emily responded. "Wait for me, I loaded the masterpiece!" she replied as she set up the bomb.
With her heart racing, Emily focused meticulously on her task. She believed that the right combination of explosive materials was the key to the success of that mission.
The dim light from the flashlight illuminated her skillful fingers moving, casting dancing shadows on the cold walls of the underground chamber.