"Go on! Keep a watch on it because if they breach the flank, we'll all die." The commander's words cut through the groans and growls of the undead as his party of fifty surged forward along the narrow roadway.
The claustrophobic alleyway forced them into a tight formation. Their eyes scanned windows, rooftops, and balconies—any elevated point was a potential ambush zone. The walkers weren't smart, but one falling from above was enough to drag someone into the abyss.
One bite was all it took. Within an hour, the infected would turn, joining the endless sea of decaying faces.
With his heavy armor as a mark of his status, their leader, a seasoned veteran of innumerable conflicts, fought at the front.
He controlled his team's dread with his commanding presence and towering build. A variety of fighting weapons, including knives, axes, and maces, were strapped to his sides and placed for easy access.
However, it was the thick, indestructible iron rod he was holding that he used with deadly accuracy. The moist crunch served as a somber reminder of their reality as each swing broke a zombie's head.
Although their equipment was lighter, the soldiers behind him were also armored. The armor was robust enough to repel zombie bites while being made for mobility rather than durability. Guns, valuable, precisely rationed emergency tools, were carried by the inner circle of the formation. They saved their rounds for snipers positioned high or for rescuing men who were overpowered on the battlefield.
The team moved like clockwork. This wasn't their first mission, and they knew their lives depended on coordination. But this mission was different. They were venturing deeper into the city center, a zone long abandoned and overrun with walkers. It was a risk they had avoided for years, but the reward was too tempting to ignore.
At the heart of the city where the strange crash had occurred, reports were hazy, but at sunrise, the shape of the object became clear: a sleek, metallic craft, its surface a gleaming combination of red and black. Shaped like a massive egg with protruding sections, it sat at the center of a crater, almost unscathed. Its alien design screamed power and opportunity.
The factions of the city had no choice but to take notice. Something this advanced could change the balance of power entirely. Whoever claimed it could secure dominance—not just over the city but potentially the region beyond. The possibility of treasure, technology, and weaponry ignited a greedy fervor in every faction leader.
The veterans knew better than to trust the temporary alliances formed in the wake of the crash. After all, in a world like this, humanity had fallen too far. They'd seen people kill for a can of beans; there was no telling what they'd do for alien technology.
"Third-floor window! Red building! I saw movement!" a soldier at the front shouted, jolting everyone to attention.
A walker leaned too far over the edge and was shot down by a marksman in precise time. With a horrible thud, its body fell to the ground. Another danger eliminated.
The respite, however, was short-lived. The squad was frozen in its tracks when a high-pitched screech shattered the air and reverberated down the street.
A runner.
"Don't panic!" yelled the leader. "Frontal shields! When you have a clear shot, open fire! Clear the area, everyone else.
The zombie runner was a nightmare. Fast, nimble, and deadly smart, these second-class undead were not like the slow walkers.
They might even be able to trick lower-level walkers into falling into overpowering traps or ambushes.
Their scream served as the horde's rallying cry and was more than just a cry of wrath.
A second yell sounded as the soldiers braced themselves. After that, a third.
On their left and right, two more runners are close.
The leader felt really sad. It was a trap they had fallen into.
Now the group was in the middle of a large junction. Before, the wide area had appeared to be a tactical advantage, a location for repositioning and regrouping, but now it was a death sentence.
Their team of fifty seemed like a drop in the ocean as the horde converged on them from all three sides. Chaos was heralded by the runners' hammering footsteps and growing yells. They would be overrun if they didn't take quick action.
Other factions were also moving toward the crash site, far across the city. The paths were the longest and riskiest for those that were most distant from the city center.
Walkers had to take detours through new areas due to the sheer volume of obstructions and the crowded roadways. The trip was a calculated risk for some.
Others said it was almost suicide. There were already intense battles between the clans nearest to the crash site and the undead.
The commotion served as a magnet for the horde, drawing more zombies to the location with each combat. The city became more chaotic, louder, and far deadlier as the hours went by.
Three survivors watched it all happen from the top of the city's tallest structure. In a world that had long since fallen apart, their base—a feat of inventiveness—served as a ray of hope for survival.
These three had transformed it into an impenetrable fortress, while others had disregarded the idea of clearing out such a vast complex.
They rarely confronted walkers directly, instead relying on traps and slyness. They had removed the majority of the building's floors over the course of several months.
They completely locked off those they were unable to secure. Their fortifications were too strong for any average zombie to get past.
There was more to their inventiveness than that. They created a covert escape route by connecting their tower to a nearby smaller three-story building with a network of wires.
In order to avoid being discovered by zombies and other survivors, the three of them moved under the cover of darkness while supplies were transported back and forth.
They were perfectly positioned to observe the mayhem below. One of the survivors said, "Look at them," and lowered a set of binoculars.
Does the faction that claims to be the strongest fight like this? They are essentially pleading to be exterminated.
A self-described researcher, the second survivor smiled. "It is ideal for us. We can get to the crash site first by slinking past them while they're busy. Imagine all the technology we could get.
Their commander, the third, shook their head. "Ignore it. Right now, we're not going anywhere close to that location. Observation is our top priority. We will need a backup plan to deal with them if they manage to seize something of value." The first survivor whispered, "Assuming they even survive," gesturing to another crossing. "Take a look over there."
The sight was gloomy as the binoculars passed hands. As several factions gathered on the crash site, dozens of minor battles were erupting around the city. Although each group had to contend with the horde on its own, it was obvious that they were all going to the same place.
"Everyone seems to want a share of the prize," the leader remarked somberly. "The question is: who'll live long enough to claim it?"