—(Davis)—

You know those documentaries about combat medics who come in on helicopters to evacuate casualties from combat? That's what I just came from, only to find my now ex-fiancée sleeping with John from the bar. Safe to say, I'm glad I dodged a bullet.

And that was the good part of the week.

It all quickly turned to shit when I was ordered to report back to base the following day at fuck-me-o'clock. Could it get any worse? I swear I should've kept my mouth shut when I uttered those words. I was only told to bring my gear because I would be doing evacs soon.

We were told that we wouldn't be reporting back to base once we were wheels up, as it was being abandoned for more defensible positions. Can you imagine that? The army pulling from its own stateside bases?

"Oh, and that was just the tip of the iceberg," I said, shaking my head.

"What do you mean?" asked Johnson, our pilot, his voice crackling through the comms.

"They gave us the green light to use deadly force against anyone refusing orders or showing rabies-like symptoms."

"Rabies-like symptoms?" Johnson echoed. "What the hell is going on?"

"You'll see," I muttered, already dreading the answer.

At the ass crack of dawn, we were being loaded up into pretty much anything that could fly and sent to evacuate people who were labeled the highest priority for the continuation of our nation. Only the pilots knew where we were heading. But I could already see the Statue of Liberty coming into view.

The city was burning. I could never have imagined something like this happening. Plumes of smoke rose from high-rises to burning cars. As we got closer, I saw people running everywhere and attacking each other.

"Johnson, look at that," I said, pointing.

"Jesus Christ," he breathed. "What the hell happened?"

"I swear I saw someone being held down and mauled, only to stand up a few moments later and start running," I replied. "That's when it clicked: rabies-like symptoms, shoot first, evacuating high-value targets. It's goddamn zombies."

"Zombies? You're shitting me."

"Wish I was."

The pilots gave us a 5-minute warning that we were getting close to our first stop and that we wouldn't be touching down. We would be hovering, and the VIP would be jumping on before we pulled away.

I easily recognized that our first stop would be the United Nations building. Other helicopters were pulling the same plan we were trying to execute.

"It's pure chaos over the air channels," Johnson said. "We just got orders to go to the next clear helipad to pull our United States representative."

"Perfect timing," I muttered, watching the stairway leading to the rooftop. Security was clearly on the losing end.

"Hang on, Davis," Johnson said as we practically touched the ground. Two of our guys jumped out, pulled the VIP into the next available seat, and we quickly started to pull away.

At that moment, I saw the door fail, and what seemed to be an endless line of people surged forward. The initial people at the front of the pack were, from what I could tell, "uninfected." It was the people behind them that had my hairs on end. They were bloodied, wild, and ran at the healthy people.

"It's a shit storm down there," I said, gripping my rifle.

"First person just opened fire," Johnson reported. "They're not affected by body shots; they just keep moving forward."

"I see that," I replied, watching the chaos below. The next helicopter to land was swarmed by people trying to escape. It started to pull off, and people hung onto whatever they could. Some fell off the edge of the building as it pulled away. The last helicopter on the roof didn't even have time to lift off before the infected rushed toward it and got inside. The pilot must've jerked the controls because it started to lean over before momentarily lifting into the air and then crashing back onto the rooftop.

"Turn away," Johnson said, voice tight. "It's a slaughter down there."

I turned away, heart pounding. "Yeah. It's a slaughter of the living."

Johnson's voice came through the comms, tense and urgent. "All other VIP landing zones are too hot. We're being redirected to land at an aircraft carrier off the coast."

"Roger that," I replied, looking out at the chaos below. "Get us the hell out of here."

As we made our way to the aircraft carrier, the city's burning skyline faded into the distance. Soon, the massive ship came into view, its deck crowded with civilians and multiple helicopters.

"Davis, look at that," Johnson said. "I've never seen so many people on a carrier."

"Better than down there," I replied, still rattled by what we had just witnessed.

We landed on the crowded deck, the rotors still spinning as we disembarked. The scene was chaotic—civilians huddled together, soldiers trying to maintain order, and helicopters coming and going in a constant stream.

"Davis," a commanding officer called out as soon as my boots hit the deck. "You're needed in the mission briefing room. Now."

I followed him through the throng of people, weaving our way to a more secure part of the ship. Inside the briefing room, high-ranking officers and other military personnel were gathered around a large table covered in maps and documents.

"Davis," one of the officers said, "tomorrow morning, you'll be extracting a UN investigator and his family from a residential building in the city."

"An extraction?" I echoed. "What's the intel on this?"

The officer handed me a dossier. "Gerry Lane, the investigator, is of the utmost importance. He has critical information that could be pivotal in understanding and potentially stopping this outbreak. Your mission is to ensure he and his family make it out alive, no matter what."

I nodded, flipping through the dossier. "Understood. What's the plan?"

"We'll insert you into the area at first light," the officer explained. "We've identified a relatively clear LZ on the roof of the building. Your team will secure the area, locate the targets, and extract them back to the carrier."

"Got it," I said, already mentally preparing for the mission. "Anything else I should know?"

"The situation on the ground is deteriorating rapidly," the officer warned. "Expect heavy resistance and stay vigilant. We can't afford to lose Lane."

I left the briefing room with a heavy heart, knowing the stakes had just been raised exponentially. I found Johnson near our helicopter, running through pre-flight checks.

"How'd it go?" he asked.

"We've got a mission tomorrow morning," I said, handing him the dossier. "We're extracting a UN investigator and his family. His name is Gerry Lane, and his life is of the utmost importance. We do whatever it takes to get him out alive."

Johnson skimmed the dossier and nodded. "Understood. We'll be ready."

As night fell over the aircraft carrier, I tried to catch some rest amidst the noise and chaos, but my mind was racing. Tomorrow's mission could be the key to understanding the outbreak, and failure was not an option.