The target practice continued for another hour under the strict supervision of Lieutenant Stroud. Shots rang through the air as the recruits tried to hit the infected writhing in their restraints. For Stroud, moving targets were essential: there was nothing more effective than preparing them for the reality they would face out there.
But now, the hardest part—and, for Stroud, the most interesting—was about to begin.
"Very well," he said loudly, his voice echoing through the recruits' murmurs. "Everyone, put your weapons back. That's enough with the bullets for today."
One by one, the recruits began to unload their rifles. They removed the magazines, removed the bullets from the chamber, and left the weapons in their assigned carts. They were not professionals, and for some it was a slow, clumsy process. However, they all complied with the order, albeit with obvious nervousness.
When the last rifle was secured, Stroud turned to a group of soldiers waiting nearby. "Bring the melee weapons," he ordered in an authoritative tone that left no room for questions.
Within minutes, soldiers arrived pushing carts filled with makeshift weapons: knives, machetes, metal bats, and even tools like screwdrivers and wrenches. The recruits exchanged uneasy glances as they surveyed the collection of lethal implements.
Stroud walked over to the carts and picked up a machete, holding it out in front of them. His gaze was serious, almost contemptuous. "Listen carefully," he began, walking slowly in front of the formation. "Anything you have on hand can be turned into a weapon. A tool, a piece of metal, even a damn rock if necessary. The difference between living or dying can depend on how quickly you learn to use it."
He set the machete on the cart and continued. "Bullets aren't infinite. So if you're lucky enough to be armed, waste your bullets on the enemies who deserve it: insurgents, Fireflies, anyone who tries to take you down. But for the infected... sometimes they'll have no choice but to do it with their hands."
The air grew heavy as Stroud motioned, and more soldiers appeared, pushing reinforced cages. This time, there were even more infected than before. The clickers, runners, and stalkers were gagged with metal muzzles, preventing them from biting, but not from growling, snapping, and writhing violently.
The group instinctively backed away. Even for those who had already fired at them, having them so close and hearing those terrifying sounds was something else. Elliot felt a chill run down his spine at the sight of a clicker. The infected's head was completely deformed by the fungus, which had grown to cover the entire skull. Their distinctive sound echoed in the air, a mix of clicks and growls that seemed to come straight from a nightmare.
Stroud stopped in front of the cages, pointing at the infected one by one. "These are your enemies. It doesn't matter if you're terrified, or if you're shaking, or if you think you can't do it. Because if you don't learn to kill them, they will kill you. Period."
Elliot gulped, feeling his heart pounding. The closeness of the infected made his skin crawl. This wasn't like shooting them from afar. This was personal. This was real.
Stroud grabbed a knife from the cart and turned to the recruits. "Today, you're going to learn how to kill an infected in hand-to-hand combat. Because out there, you won't always have a damn gun or rifle. And when you do, you better know how to use what you have in your hands."
She turned to one of the bound infected, a runner who was thrashing furiously against his restraints. With precise movements, Stroud moved in and pinned him down, driving the knife straight into his skull with one well-aimed blow. The infected stopped moving instantly.
"That's what I want to see," she said, pulling the knife back and turning to the recruits. Her voice was cold, almost indifferent. "One clean move. No hesitation. No mistakes. Because if you hesitate, you'll be dead before you can breathe."
The lieutenant pointed to the cages. "Each of you is going to face an infected. And I want you to kill it with the weapon of your choice. It's time to prove that you're not a bunch of useless people."
The murmurs began again, but this time they were filled with fear and anxiety. Elliot felt his hands sweat as he looked at the tools in front of him. His gaze shifted to a clicker, which looked more monster than human. The thought of facing one of those things hand-to-hand made his stomach turn.
"What are you waiting for?" Stroud shouted, breaking the silence. "Pick a weapon and get ready. There's no time for hesitation out there. And here, neither."
Elliot took a deep breath. This was the next step. And there was no turning back.
Elliot, like his comrades, chose a melee weapon. He settled on a combat knife, lightweight and versatile, which he felt most confident with. He gripped the handle tightly, trying to ignore the sweat that ran down his palms. This was no game.
One by one, the recruits faced the infected under Stroud's watchful eye. Many managed to dispatch them with well-aimed blows, earning the lieutenant's approval, though her face rarely showed satisfaction. Others failed, paralyzed by fear, or were beaten by the gagged infected when they made mistakes. Not everyone was ready for the brutality of hand-to-hand combat.
However, Elliot noticed something strange. No one was stepping forward to confront the clicker. Its mere presence was enough to terrify the group. The monster was writhing violently in place, its distinctive clicking sound echoing through the air as a reminder of its danger.
Stroud, with his usual coolness, broke the silence. "What's wrong? Is everyone afraid of a blind man with fungus on his head?" His gaze swept over the recruits, until it stopped on Elliot. "Star Men! Towers!"
Elliot looked up, and his heart seemed to stop when Stroud pointed at him.
"You're the one I have the most hope for. Take out that clicker," he ordered, his tone making it clear he wouldn't take no for an answer.
Elliot swallowed, feeling a lump form in his throat. He didn't want to. But something inside him, perhaps pride, perhaps fear of looking like a coward, compelled him to move forward. He nodded, raising his knife and heading toward the clicker.
The infected, tied to his post, began to thrash even more as he sensed Elliot's presence. Despite having no eyes, his hearing was incredibly acute. Every step Elliot took seemed to ignite his fury, and the infected strained against his bonds, growling and snapping relentlessly.
When Elliot was close enough, a chill ran down his spine. The clicker was "looking" at him, though he couldn't see him. Its muzzled mouth tried to bite, and its movements were erratic, desperate to break free.
Elliot took a deep breath, adjusting his stance and preparing to attack. "I can do it. It's just a clean move. Like Stroud said," he thought, trying to calm himself down.
"Make it quick, Torres!" Stroud insisted from a distance.
But before he could act, the clicker went completely mad. He began to violently pull at the ropes holding him, slamming his body against the post and thrashing around like a rabid animal. And then the worst happened. One of the restraints snapped, leaving the infected with much greater mobility.
"Rooks!" Stroud shouted, his voice echoing with urgency.
The clicker, partially freed, lunged at Elliot with terrifying swiftness. Elliot backed away, stumbling and falling backwards to the ground. His knife slipped from his hand, landing a few feet away. The infected was almost upon him, pulling at the post still holding him.
Elliot felt panic seize him as he desperately searched for something to defend himself with. But before the clicker could reach him, he remembered Stroud's words: "Do not falter. If you do, you will be dead."
Gathering all the courage he had left, Elliot rolled to the side, just as the clicker lunged toward where he had been. He quickly scrambled to his feet and ran for his knife, raising it in both hands. He couldn't afford to miss.
The clicker turned toward him, guided by the sound of his movements, and charged again. This time, Elliot stood his ground. When the infected was close enough, he dodged its attack in one swift movement and lunged toward its side. With all the strength he could muster, he plunged the knife into the base of the clicker's skull.
The infected thrashed violently for a moment, as if fighting death itself, and then collapsed to the ground, motionless. It was over.
Elliot stood there, panting, knife still in hand. The world seemed to have gone silent, save for the sound of his breathing and the deafening pounding of his heart.
From a distance, Stroud watched him with a mix of disbelief and respect. Finally, he spoke. "Looks like you've got some brains in that head after all. Well done, Torres. But don't let this go to your head. This was luck. Next time, make sure you don't put yourself in such a stupid position."
The recruits stared at him in awe, some even muttering compliments under their breath. Elliot simply nodded, wiping the knife on his pants as he walked away from the clicker's corpse. He had survived. But he knew this wouldn't be the worst he would face.
End of Chapter 4.