The night of the scavenging mission had arrived. It felt surreal as I stood with 45 other survivors, all geared up and ready to leave for Zone 12. Behind us, Alice, Reyes, and the remaining 126 survivors stayed behind, their survival resting partly on our success.
Reyes had been thorough in her preparations. She handed us two weeks' worth of rations and tasked us with returning with at least four months' worth of supplies. Alongside food and water, we were to search for survivors and any information about the virus that could help us. It was a monumental task.
Our convoy consisted of 12 Humvees and three large trucks to transport whatever we managed to find. The vehicles had been carefully maintained, and each one carried soldiers, medics, and engineers. It was the best Reyes could spare without leaving the camp completely vulnerable.
As we drove through the desolate roads, silence reigned in the Humvee. The faint hum of the engines and the occasional static from our radios were the only sounds. Everyone knew the stakes.
After 40 minutes, we reached Zone 3, which served as a waypoint before entering Zone 12. Our convoy came to a halt as the last of our fuel ran dry.
"Damn it," I muttered, stepping out of the vehicle.
To our relief, there was a gas station nearby, miraculously still functional. We decided to secure the area for the night. The undead presence was minimal, and the soldiers swiftly and quietly dispatched them. By the time we were done, the station was clean enough for a temporary stay.
Inside, the group began fortifying the building, setting up barricades and watch shifts. The dim lighting cast eerie shadows on the walls, a reminder of the constant danger we were in.
"Hey, Michael," I called out as I hammered nails into a wooden plank.
"Yes, sir?" Michael replied, his voice tinged with exhaustion.
"Tell us a joke," I said, trying to lighten the mood.
He chuckled weakly. "What do you call a bread that can walk?"
"I don't know… breadwalker?" I guessed, raising an eyebrow.
"Wrong! Breadstick!" Michael burst out laughing at his own joke.
I rolled my eyes. "Congratulations. You've just earned the 'Most Unhilarious Joker' award."
"Hey, you asked for a joke!" he protested, grinning.
Turning to Kayla, I asked, "What about you? How do you think the virus started?"
Kayla paused, her pen hovering over the notebook where she'd been writing. "No idea. But if we're taking cues from zombie movies, it's probably either a rat or some kind of biological weapon."
"Not bad guesses," I said, glancing out the window. "It's insane, though. The idea that something from fiction has become our reality…"
She nodded. "Yeah, but instead of dwelling on it, maybe we should focus on making this place useful. Having a functioning gas station nearby could be a huge advantage."
Before I could respond, Michael butted in with a mischievous grin. "Hey, is this some kind of romance story I'm reading here?"
Kayla's face turned bright red. "W-What?! Michael, stop saying nonsense!"
I smirked. "Truth or dare, Michael?"
"Uh, dare," he replied cautiously.
"I dare you to tie yourself up and let me beat you to a pulp," I said coldly.
Michael threw his hands up, laughing. "Alright, alright! I'll stop. Jeez, can't a guy have a little fun?"
As the night wore on, we discovered a small stash of food and water in the gas station. Most of it wasn't expired, and we packed it up carefully. It wasn't much, but it was a start.
A few hours later, the camp settled into a tense silence. Soldiers took turns standing guard while others tried to catch some sleep.
I found myself dozing off in the manager's office, Michael and Kayla asleep nearby. For a brief moment, it felt like the old days—friends crashing at someone's place, the world still intact. But that illusion shattered when the nightmare began.
"Alan, wake up!" A voice screamed in my ear, desperate and terrified.
I jolted, but my body wouldn't respond. It was as if I was paralyzed, frozen in place.
"Brother, help!" Alice's voice rang out, filled with fear.
"ALICE!" I tried to shout, but my lips wouldn't move.
I could only watch in horror as a monstrous, grotesque creature loomed over her. It tore into her flesh, ripping her apart. Blood splattered everywhere, painting the scene in vivid red.
"NO!" I screamed internally, tears streaming down my face. "Move stupid body! Do something!"
But I couldn't. My body refused to obey.
The creature devoured her, leaving nothing but mangled remains. My chest tightened, a wave of fury and despair crashing over me.
Why couldn't I protect her? Why was I so weak?
"Alan, wake the hell up!" A loud voice jolted me awake.
I gasped, sitting upright, sweat pouring down my face. My chest heaved as I tried to catch my breath.
Michael stood over me, his expression a mix of concern and confusion. "Sir, are you alright?"
I wiped my face, trying to shake off the remnants of the nightmare. "What… what time is it?"
"Time to move out," Michael replied. "Have you forgotten? We're heading to Zone 12."
I nodded, still shaken. "Right. Let's go."
After finishing routine maintenance on our vehicles, we set off once more, the convoy pushing toward Zone 12. The terrain grew rougher with each mile, debris from bombed-out buildings littering the road. The scars of the apocalypse were everywhere—a grim reminder of humanity's desperation to contain the outbreak.
It wasn't long before a distant, sharp sound shattered the eerie quiet: a gunshot. It came from a towering corporate building just off the main road.
"Ignore it," I said quickly, trying to keep us focused.
But one of the sergeants, a grizzled veteran named Conrad, spoke up. "Sir, I suggest we check it out. The shooter has a full-auto weapon, judging by the sound. It could be useful."
I frowned, knowing where this conversation was heading. "We don't know if they're hostile or friendly. We can't risk it."
Conrad didn't back down. "If they're hostile, we kill them and take the weapon. It'll be worth it, sir."
Before I could respond, Michael grabbed Conrad by the collar. "What the hell are you saying? We're here to fight the infected, not other survivors!"
Conrad shrugged him off, his voice cold. "Only the strong survive, Private. That weapon could save us later. You know it's true."
"Private? I am your damn Lieutenant you motherfucker! Treat your superior officer with respect sergeant!" Micheal replied further enrage.
"ENOUGH!" I shouted, silencing them both.
The tension hung thick in the air, but I pushed it aside. "We'll treat them as potential hostiles until proven otherwise. Sniper team, take up positions on the high ground. I want eyes on that building now."
Two ghillie-clad snipers, Leaves-7 and Mud-5, responded swiftly, moving into position atop a crumbled overpass nearby.
"Sniper team standing by," came the quiet confirmation through my radio.
"Alright, let's move in," I ordered, leading the rest of the team toward the building.
We approached cautiously, weapons raised and senses heightened. Suddenly, a burst of gunfire erupted from the building's shattered windows. Bullets ripped through the air, striking four of my soldiers.
"SHIT! GET TO COVER!" I shouted, diving behind a concrete barrier.
One soldier lay motionless, a bullet having pierced his helmet. The others scrambled for cover, clutching their wounds as medics rushed to their aid.
"Corporal Lee, get the snipers on comms now!" I yelled over the chaos.
Lee fumbled with the radio, his voice strained. "Leaves-7, Mud-5, do you copy? We're under heavy fire! Repeat, heavy fire!"
"Copy that," Leaves-7 replied. "Relay enemy positions."
Before Lee could respond, another shot rang out, grazing his leg. He cried out in pain, clutching the bleeding wound.
"MEDIC!" I shouted, grabbing a rag to staunch the bleeding. "Private William, get your ass over here as soon as we lay down some cover fire!"
"Roger that, sir!" William called back, his voice trembling.
I lobbed a grenade toward the building, the explosion sending dust and debris into the air. "GO, WILLIAM!"
William sprinted across the open ground, reaching us just as the medics began patching Lee up.
"DO YOUR JOB, PRIVATE!" I shouted, turning back to the firefight.
Shots continued to rain down on us, the enemy well-hidden and relentless.
"Leaves-7, Mud-5, report!" I shouted into the radio.
"Got eyes on two shooters," Leaves-7 replied. "Third floor, far-left window. Second shooter is moving between cover on the fourth floor."
"DROP THEM!"
"Engaging."
A second later, the crack of sniper rifles echoed through the air. The gunfire from the building ceased abruptly, and the silence that followed was deafening.
We moved cautiously into the building, stepping over shattered glass and splintered wood. The air was thick with the metallic stench of blood.
The shooters lay lifeless on the upper floors, their weapons scattered nearby. To our surprise, they weren't armed scavengers or rogue soldiers—they were civilians, desperate and terrified.
"Damn it," Michael muttered, kneeling beside one of the bodies. "They probably thought we were hostile."
I clenched my fists, anger and guilt swirling within me. "We had no choice. They fired first."
As we searched the building, we found a cache of supplies: canned food, bottled water, and medical kits. It wasn't much, but it was something. We loaded everything into the trucks and prepared to leave.
Before we exited, I glanced back at the bloodstained room, the weight of the decision heavy on my shoulders. The apocalypse had stripped away so much of our humanity. I wondered how much more we could lose before there was nothing left.
With the supplies secured, we pressed on toward Zone 12. The road ahead was long and fraught with danger, but we had no choice. Survival demanded sacrifices, and the mission wasn't over yet.
As the convoy rolled forward, I couldn't shake the lingering question:
How many more lives would we have to take to save our own?
Alice, please.... Help me.
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Sorry for not posting yesterday, was busy with irl work haha!