"He's moving. He must be alive."
"Don't be foolish, human. Thermal readings are not sufficient proof that he's fine. His body might just be taking time to cool to their level after being bitten."
"Why do you always have to be so pessimistic about everything?"
"I speak logic. Emotions are for the weak—and humans."
"Just say 'weak humans'; no need to tiptoe around my feelings. I lost all my brain cells after listening to you in my ear twenty-four-seven!"
"Humph! Without me, you'd be long dead. Perhaps a demonstration is in order to help you understand."
"Wait! Wait! Fuck! Stop it!" I instantly regretted my words. She made sure I learned my lesson throughout the entire flight, flinging me around and claiming she was taking the fastest route. But honestly, who cared if the passenger lived or died during the journey?
...
...
...
After Theo left, the others calmed the old man down, reassuring him that the stranger didn't seem to be from around here. They couldn't see his face due to the helmet, but his accent alone was enough to unsettle them.
"Do you think I care what others call me? I was called worse in the army when I was a cadet! Now get your ass back there and bring me some weapons to kill these bastards. This one's been gnawing at my boot since I got here!" He stomped down on a zombie's head, silencing its grotesque chewing. The area was littered with similar undead, growling and twitching, but to young soldiers, they were nothing more than target practice.
He didn't need their laughter or mockery, so he barked orders for them to hurry. They needed to leave this damn place before sundown—who knew how many more of these monsters would crawl out at night to turn their lives into a waking nightmare?
As they cleared the area, a sudden shout rang out. Someone had spotted figures on the horizon. The old man lifted his binoculars, expecting more zombies. But as he focused, he saw their weary, unmistakably human faces. Then it hit him. That weirdo had mentioned survivors heading their way.
He hadn't thought much of it—until he recognized someone.
His expression darkened. These were members of Harman's group, the ones who had gone ahead before the attack. He hadn't contacted them in the chaos, but he had trusted that young man. Their 'reverting' conversations—always circling back to whether bullets were better than melee weapons against zombies—came to mind.
"Prepare supplies for them. Tell them to follow us back. No one is to ask what happened." His voice was firm. He didn't need to ask. Their tattered clothes told the story.
Sitting back in his beat-up car, he retrieved an old wooden box. Inside lay his prized Cuban cigars, saved for moments like this. Others caught on and grew solemn, yet no one wept. Now was not the time for tears.
They had clashed with Harman's group before, but just this morning, they had fought side by side, bound by an unspoken camaraderie. The old man lit his cigar in silence, inhaling deeply. Taking in Harman's people would strain their resources, but it was the least he could do to honor the brave souls who had fallen.
He chuckled wryly. He had survived longer than most. Maybe his belief in bullets over blades had some merit after all. For now, there was no time to mourn—only to remember and fight on. He hoped his people would do the same when his time finally came.
Meanwhile, Theo was pushing forward toward Veer's location, struggling just to stay upright. He had chosen his battleground well—thick stone walls, narrow windows, and a single corridor to funnel them in. But the sheer number of zombies was overwhelming.
He had been fighting nonstop for days, but these creatures just kept coming. No support. No backup. Just him, swinging his weapons, smashing heads left and right. The floor was slick with blood and viscera, the air thick with the stench of decay. His armor protected him from contamination, its built-in mask shielding his face, but the heat was unbearable.
Mumbai's sweltering climate turned his suit into an oven. In the dead of summer, even indoors felt suffocating. He was losing fluids fast, and his vision blurred as dehydration set in. Through the tiny windows, hundreds of soulless eyes stared back at him, as if mocking him—waiting for him to fall.
His body screamed for rest. He was nearing his limit. His consciousness flickered. A warning.
He drove his iron staff into a zombie, pinning it against the stone wall. Lodging it there would buy him a few precious minutes. Stepping back, he took in their grotesque forms. Maybe it was the fatigue, but for the first time, he truly saw them. Their dead, emotionless eyes. Their unnatural movements. How did they even function? What was driving them?
His mind drifted. Thoughts of home. His son, Shrihan. Had he made it back safely? He had faith in the boy, but he longed for confirmation. Just one sign.
And his wife. He wanted to see her smile one last time. She always smiled when he left, pretending to be strong for him, but he knew. He knew how hard it was for her to send him off, never knowing if he'd return.
If he died here, he wanted her to live. For their son's sake.
But he had no way to leave a message. No words of goodbye. Everything around him was drenched in gore. A letter would be useless. And, honestly, sentimental gestures weren't his style.
His fingers tightened around his mace. Leaning back onto a broken sofa, he let exhaustion take him. As the darkness swallowed him, distant sounds reached his ears—a hum, followed by the screeching of the undead. Then, silence.
Theo arrived to find Veer sprawled across the floor, looking more like a discarded suit of armor than a man.
"Unbelievable. He's actually sleeping?"
"Fascinating! We have to bring this human back. His body is remarkable—I've been monitoring him, and he fought for three hours and twenty minutes straight without a single bite!"
"Look at his armor. Do you really think anything could bite through that?"
"You don't get it. He didn't just endure—he thrived. No normal human can last this long in those conditions without breaking. He might be the best specimen of human resilience I've ever seen!"
"Stop drooling and locate his base. We're not taking him with us. We're taking him home."
"But—" Ariella wanted to say something but he shut her down!
"No 'ifs' or 'buts.' End this mad scientist talk. You're seriously creeping me out!"