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Chapter 2;

Robert Wilson and the only man left from his settler group, a Mr. Sotello, slowly made their way down the road towards the outpost still about a mile away. Wilson still had tears in his eyes, but hope in his heart. He, his family, and some friends had been permitted to settle fourteen miles from the outpost deep in the city in an old apartment building. All had been fine until around midnight their sixth night when a practical sea of infected fell upon it.

They had fought for hours, killing infected by the truckload, but it had not been enough. They had fired so many shots Wilson only had eight left for his Lee-Enfield and Mr. Sotello only had maybe twenty for his M16 style AR-15, but this had not been a problem in the cool dawn hours as they had yet to meet an infected.

Continuing foreword, the memory of just a few hours ago still plagued Wilson. First, his old friend John from medical school had fallen, trying to hold them off with an axe, then his youngest daughter, thirteen years old, the youngest age allowed to settle in the city. Next his brother had fallen, trying to hold them off from behind an aged couch with his friend Mr. Sotello, and then so many more had died.

But, there was still hope in Wilsonâs heart. His oldest daughter, Samantha, a former police officer, and two others had fled upstairs when he and Mr. Sotello got separated from them and fled out the window. When he and Mr. Sotello got outside, they saw a flag waving from the highest window in a barricaded room a sign they where still alive, dug in for the long haul.

The thought that at least some where still alive was enough for Wilson and Mr. Sotello, enough to drive their exhausted selves back to the outpost to get whatever aid was available for them. It would not be easy to convince the Defense Forces to send a rescue team, but they had to try.

Turning a corner, the two heard something, a manâs scream, and gunshots. Hurrying their pace, the man came into view. Wearing a black suit, he stood on top of a car with a pistol in his hands, shooting down into a surrounding crowd of maybe fifteen infected. Several more lay dead around the area, but it was clear from even this far away the man was getting tired and was about to fall to the infected claws.

Lowering himself to one knee, Wilson took the Enfield from his shoulder and held it into his shoulder. âIâll lure them to us if I can, then you pick them off, alright,â he said, turning to Mr. Sotello.

Mr. Sotello simply nodded and shouldered his AR-15.

Taking a breath and trying to use the iron sights through the dim dawn light, Wilson fired his first shot. The .303 round tore through the air, smashing into the chest of a frail infected male, throwing him to the ground.

The noise of the shot had been enough to capture the attention of the infected crowd and several started to run towards the source. Operating the bolt, Wilson fired a second shot, the bullet smashing into the chest of a larger infected female, throwing her to the ground, but she struggled to get up before dying of blood loss.

With the infected charging, Mr. Sotello squeezed off four shots from his rifle and killed two infected, then shot another. Wilson fired again, and then another three fell to the AR. With victory in sight, Wilson stood up and slowly started to advance foreword, as did Mr. Sotello.

Drawing ever closer to the car, Mr. Sotello finished off two more infected and Wilson shot one more before the man was finally safe, having shot one or two himself. Realizing the danger was over, the man sighed a sigh of relief and climbed down off the top of the vehicle.

Leaning against the car and slowly lowering himself down, he placed the pistol in his suit jacket pocket and looked up at his two saviors.

âThank you, thank you ever so much,â the maybe fifty year old man said, a large smile on his lips.

Wilson nodded. âOf course, we have to stick together, we should probably get back to the outpost,â he says, nervously checking out his surroundings, knowing that all that shooting had to attract some attention.

Nodding, the man stood up and started to follow them towards the outpost.

âTell me kind Sirs, how may I ever repay you, I am a senator of the outpost, I can make many things happen, and I truly feel I owe you, another five minutes, and, well,â he says, trailing off on his sentence, knowing what could have happened.

Wilsonâs eyes light up at the mention of senator. âWell, senator, there is one thing I could ask, one request I have, but, itâs big,â he says, not quite sure how to say it.

The man smiles, showing he is willing and able to repay his savior in any way possible. âWell, me and Mr. Sotello, we are, well, where settlers, deep in the city, when our settlement building was besieged by infected, we fought for hours, but, to no avail, most of our group was slaughtered, but, some survived, some made it upstairs into a safe room, they are most likely still alive, they could last at least two days up there, at least,â Wilson says.

The man nods. âThat is a difficult request, but, the Defense Forces should be able to carry it out, the settlements are a necessity to our retaking our city and our nation from these monsters, we canât afford to loose them, and we need all the survivors we can get, consider it done, Mr.â¦,â the man says.

âWilson, Robert Wilson, thank you Sir, thank you so much,â he says, his hope realized. His daughter and the rest of his group, if they can old out, will be safe soon.

~ O ~

Private Williams entered the former clothing store used by her platoon, what was left of it, as a makeshift barracks. Cots lined the wall with large trunks standing in front of them, a table to the side of each cot. On the tables where pictures and other personnel objects, as well as more in the trunks, placed there to remind the cotâs occupier of their former life, before all this. This former first floor store had just two nights ago been home to over forty young and middle aged men and around ten young to middle aged women, divided in the room by shelves holding ammunition and weapon cleaning kits, but united in a desire to retake their former homes. Now, there where less then ten left to this platoon, and she knew it would soon be less.

Looking down the rows of cots, she sees Corporal Ryan lying on his cot reading a journal he had found laying around an old apartment building when on patrol one day. He had found it on a table, its cover stained in the blood of its writer, telling of the hapless manâs last days during the initial outbreak.

âGood morning Williams, back so soon,â Ryan says, turning from his journal. Michelle nodded, then reached into her pocket and pulled out a piece of paper.

âCorporal Ryan, I regret to inform you that I will be leaving this platoon, and the Defense Forces, I donât think I can handle it anymore,â she says, laying the discharge paper on a table near the door. Ryan shook his head.

âWhat, Michelle, Private Williams, this platoon canât afford another loss, we can hardly make two sections as it is, weâre practically a squad, hell, we are a squad, you canât just leave us, weâve been a team for nearly a year,â he says, sitting up and laying the journal down.

Williams shakes her head. âI just, I just donât think I can, we lost so many people the night before last, itâs just too much,â she says.

Ryan sighs. âMichelle, come on, if you leave, recruitment is done at the moment, people are too busy either sitting around waiting for us to end this or are becoming settlers, if we loose you, this platoon will definetly be divided up and used as replacements for other platoons, weâve fought together for nearly a year, donât do this to us,â he says.

Williams again shakes her head. âWe all lasted the year and a half or so after the initial outbreak without being in a platoon together, and how much longer can all this last anyway, as they said, the settlements will bring it all to a close before too long, you donât need me anymore,â she replies, then turns to leave.

Watching her leave, Ryan shakes his head and falls back into his pillow. With Williams gone, the platoon now numbers at eight people including himself, hardly enough even for a squad, just enough for a section though. Starring up at the ceiling, he knows what will happen within the coming days. Another platoon will come in having taken losses and maybe Jackson or Friar or Zapata or Allen or OâNeil will receive a page twenty-one order to report to them as a replacement. Soon enough, theyâll all be gone, the former platoon dissolved, old friends will never see each other again, and Ryan himself will become a replacement, and with the way replacements are used, he knows that fate is grim, just like the fate he left her too all those years ago.

~ O ~

Zapata and Friar walk through the large crowd of survivors living in the deserted mall compound. The sides of the hall referred to as the street are littered with stands selling looted items from the outskirts of the compound where it is viewed as safe to explore during the day and other items. People sit on benches or by the former mallâs ponds now populated with fish and plants and talk of a better tomorrow, some sing songs of hope and some complain about the problems of life that never seem to go away. Almost everyone in the crowd has a rifle over their back, mostly World War II surplus or AR-15s and the like, a practical law of the compound for fear of an infected attack. Some also carry chickens or small pigs, raised for food alongside whatever crops could be found or planted in the small park just outside the mall.

Turning a corner, the two find themselves at the former arcade now used as a gambling den. As they start to pass it, a depressed looking PFC Gordon steps out. Noticing the two, he tries to feign a smile, but fails.

âHow much did you loose this time,â Friar asks, knowing his comrade has a gambling problem.

Gordon shifts his weight a little and looks down at his feet. âTwo, maybe three hundred, all of it, plus extra rations and my class ring, all to that new guy, asshole, thatâs what he is,â Gordon mostly mumbles.

Zapata shakes his head. âYou should know better then gambling, especially with how much you loose, and to that guy, come on, everyone knows he wins nine times out of ten, at least,â the soldier says.

Gordon shrugs. âNine times out of nine, guess the next guyâs gonna be lucky, oh well, next time, next time Iâll beat him,â he says, starting to seem in a better mood at the thought.

Friar shakes his head, and then sees something out of the corner of his eye. Sitting alone at a table in the food court is Private OâNeil starring at a bowl of soup with a terrified look on his face. âWhatâs wrong with him,â he says to himself, and then starts to walk over to him, followed by Zapata and Gordon.

âHey, OâNeil, whatâs wrong with you,â Friar asks, walking up to the Private and pulling up a chair at his table.

OâNeil looks over at him, then reaches into his pocket and pulls out a folded piece of paper and slides it over to Friar. Taking it, Friar unfolds the paper and reads it, understanding whatâs wrong immediately.

âOh OâNeil, Iâm sorry,â Friar says, sliding the paper back across to the Private.

OâNeil nods, taking the paper and folding it back up before putting it in his pocket. âYeah, well, we knew it was coming with the last run and all, just didnât expect it this fast,â he says.

âWhat did it say,â Zapata asks, trying to figure out whatâs wrong.

Friar looks up at his friend. âA page twenty-one, OâNeilâs being sent to third platoon, combat detail to the outskirts of the city is tonight,â he says.

Zapata cringes a little, and then shakes his head. âIâm sorry man, but, at least itâs not nest hunting, just routine patrol, the outskirts shouldnât be as bad as that nest, and Iâm sure itâs a good platoon,â he says, trying to comfort the Private.

OâNeil shrugs. âYeah, well, I guess Iâll find out soon enough, good luck on your future assignments guys,â he says, then stands up and walks away.

As OâNeil walks away, the three left at the table stay is silence. OâNeil, someone who has been with them for nearly a year is gone now, and soon enough, they will follow. What possible need could there be for such a small group before then, it was now not a question of if they would be split up, but when.

~ O ~

Captain Miller climbs the stairs to the third floor and makes his way to the former security office used by the Defense Forces command. Opening the door, he steps into a large room filled with personnel frantically trying to keep up with mountains of paperwork dealing with the current situation.

Making his way through the crowd towards the back office used by the commander, he sees the door closed meaning the man is in a meeting, so the Captain takes a seat by the door and patiently waits for it to be over. He has finally decided he has been in the field enough and, as soon as this meeting is over, he will accept the staff position previously offered to him.

As he patiently waits, the Captain overhears what is being discussed in the meeting. He hears something about a Wilson family settling in the city and their holdout being besieged by infected and falling, but some of them surviving high up in the building. As he listens, he starts to wonder about what will be done, if anything, to rescue these people.

A few minutes pass and the meeting ends. The door opens and outpost senator Gibson steps out followed by the Commander. Bidding the senator goodbye, the Commander turns to see Captain Miller waiting patiently by the door. As Miller stands to attention and salutes, the Commander smiles a little, then returns the salute and beckons for him to follow him into his office.

âSo, Captain Miller, I heard you got hit hard on your last assignment,â the Commander says, sitting behind his desk as Miller takes the seat in front of it.

Miller nods. âYes Sir, over forty dead, I now have less then ten under my direct command,â he replies.

The Commander nods. âYes, yes, quite unfortunate, but, your less then ten, their good, dedicated soldiers, correct,â he says.

Miller nods again. âYes Sir, they are the best they can be trained to be, all of them are ready, willing, and able to defend this outpost from the infected threat,â he replies.

Nodding again, the Commander stands up and pours himself a small glass of whiskey from his dying supply. âTell me, Captain Miller, would you and your men be willing to carry out a, special mission, deep in the city, something only a small group can really carry out,â he says.

Miller gives a confused look, but nods. âYes Sir, I am quite sure that my platoon, well, squad, could carry out a special mission, if I may ask Sir, what is it,â the Captain inquires.

The Commander nods. âIâm not sure how much if anything you heard waiting out there, but the man that just left is as you know outpost senator Gibson, this morning, he was forced to take cover on a car from the infected and was just about dead when his life was saved by a Robert Wilson and the only escaping survivor of his settlement group, a Mr. Sotello,â the Commander starts. âWell, apparently, Mr. Wilsonâs daughter, a Samantha Wilson, and three other people are believed to still be alive, holding out in a secure area of the apartment building, and weâd like to send a squad to rescue them,â he continues.

Miller shakes his head. âI understand Sir, but what sense is it to risk the lives of my men for a possibly alive group of settlers, the risks do seem to outweigh the benefits here Sir,â Miller replies.

The Commander shrugs. âTrue, true, but, the senator wants it done to repay this man, and this man has just seen most of his family and friends torn to shreds before his very eyes, it might be nice to be able to bring him his daughter and a few of his friends, and if you can carry it out, I can guarantee that staff position to you and your platoon can stay together as a recon squad, no being used for replacements,â the Commander says.

Miller sighs, and then nods. âYes Sir, It will be done, but, how do we find this apartment building,â the officer asks.

The Commander stands up and points out into the security office. âGet one of the staff Privates to go with you, most of them know the settlement areas, in fact, you should be able to find the one who assigned the Wilsonâs their settlement location,â he says.

Nodding, Miller stands up and salutes, then turns to leave and enters the staff office. Seeing a Sergeant sitting next to a large file cabinet with settlements written on the side, he walks over to get the information he needs.

âSergeant, I require the information regarding the Wilson city settlement and the person who assigned it to them,â he says, reaching the desk.

The Sergeant nods and turns to look through the cabinet, barley even looking at the Captain. Finding the correct manila folder, he pulls it out and opens it to be sure itâs correct.

âRobert Wilson, former doctor, settled in the River view apartments approximately fourteen miles into the city, actually a fairly dangerous place unless they wanted to stay inside all night and most of the day, oh well, it was assigned by a Private Jessica Riley, here you are,â the Sergeant says, handing the folder to the Captain.

âThank you,â Miller says, receiving the folder and then turning to find Private Riley at one of the desks.

Walking through the room, the Captain spots a young woman, probably twenty with blond hair pulled back into a ponytail and fairly white skin sitting in clean, pressed desert fatigues that had probably never seen dirt before. She was reading over a map, humming a little song to herself and lost to the world.

âPrivate Riley, my name is Captain Miller, I was informed that you assigned the River view apartments to a Robert Wilson and, Private Riley, do pay attention, I am not standing here talking to hear the sound of my own voice,â the Captain says, noticing her not even batting an eye towards him.

Slowly, Riley turns to face him, a large smile on her lips. âSorry, work and all, Robert Wilson, River view apartments, one of many Iâve done,â she says.

Miller doesnât return her smile and starts to talk again. âPrivate Riley, the location you assigned to the Wilson group fell to the infected last night, there where survivors and some are still held up there, I am in charge of a rescue mission to locate and secure any survivors at that location, but I need you to find it for me,â he says.

Riley shrugs, and then looks over to her map. âItâs really not that hard to find, you just follow, well, let me write this down for you,â she says, reaching for a pen.

Miller stops her. âPrivate Riley, could you find this place by yourself, in the city for example,â he asks.

Riley nods. âYeah, sure, easy, I used to have a friend that lived there, nice place, Iâll just make that map up for you and get you on your way Sir, maybe itâll convince you to become a settler one day too, it all seems so, interesting to do, doesnât it,â she says, pulling out a pen and starting to write down the directions.

Laying his hand down on the piece of paper to stop her from writing, he gives her his normal serious look. âPrivate Riley, your written directions are of no use as infected movement patterns and cultist strongholds can force us to change our path, your maps are not that useful either as they fail to point out current enemy movement trends, we need someone who knows there way there, not a map,â he says.

Private Rileyâs smile starts to fade as she looks up at the serious officer. âUh, sir, what exactly do you mean,â she asks.

âPrivate Riley, you have two hours to gather your kit and report to Seventh Platoonâs barrack shop, we leave after breakfast tomorrow morning, as this is the fourth combat platoon, I do expect you to bring your Kevlar vest, helmet, melee weapon, preferably a knife, and at least one hundred fifty rounds of ammunition for your firearm already in magazines, as well as any navigational aids you might need,â Miller says.

Riley starts to tremble with fear. âBut, but, Iâm not, Iâm not a combat soldier, Iâve only ever fired my weapon on the rear parking lot range, I, I,â she replies.

Miller shakes his head and stands up. âYou know the city and we need someone who knows the city, gather your kit and prepare to meet us at our quarters in two hours that is all privateâ Miller says, then turns and leaves, leaving a shocked Private Riley to carry out his orders.

~ O ~

Back in the former clothing store, Corporal Ryan sits on his cot cleaning his M4. Jackson is sharpening his combat knife, Gordon is looking over a deck of cards, Zapata and Friar are playing a friendly game of poker, Allan is sleeping and Ramirez is sharpening the blade of his fire axe, trying to remember his time as a firefighter all that time ago.

Corporal Ryanâs attention, as well as the attention of the others is caught when the door to the former store is opened at Private Riley nervously steps inside, her helmet strap secured around her chin, the Kevlar vest hidden under the fatigue blouse, the combat knife sheathed on her hip, the two full canteens on her belt, the two magazine holders holding three loaded magazines each, and the M4 in trembling hands.

âCan I help you,â Ryan asks, nervously standing up from his cot, some of the others are slowly reaching for their weapons.

âIs this, is this seventh platoon,â she nervously asks.

Ryan nods. âYeah, uh, who are you,â he asks as he slowly inches towards Riley.

âThis is Private Jessica Riley, she is a staff Private assigned to settlement detail, she is going to be helping us with a combat detail, you may have one of those cots over there,â Miller says, walking past Riley but pointing out a cot on the female side of the store.

âWhat mission,â Jackson asks, taking his hand away from his FN FAL.

âTomorrow morning you will grab a quick breakfast and then Private Riley is going to lead us to the Riverview apartments where a settlement group was attacked last night,â Miller starts. âThere are reports of survivors, notably a Samantha Wilson, held up in a safe room high in the apartments, our job is to go there and rescue any survivors, we are recommended to avoid any non-necessary engagements along the way, so this should be good,â he continues.

âWait, weâre going to risk our lives for a, Samantha Wilson, now thatâs a brilliant use of military resources during the war for humanity,â Jackson says.

âJackson, shut up, itâs a chance to do some good in this mess,â Private Allan says.

âThank you Private Allan, like it or not we will be carrying out this mission to rescue Samantha Wilson and the remaining survivor group, so get some rest while you still can,â Miller says.

Shaking his head, Jackson goes back to what he was doing. As he looks down at the small pile of journals and diaries next to his cot, Corporal Ryan smiles a little to himself as he thinks about this new mission. No one came for them, no one came for him and her, but now this squad will be going for someone held up, trying to survive the infected onslaught. In a way, this mission will be him doing what no one did for those people, what no one could do him and her, the only revenge he can ever hope to get.

Great story. You have a way with words. I have only one thing to suggest. Keep it on the same level of action (more or less). Other than that great story.

Good story but there are more storys on the forums that are better.

Chapter 3;

Slowly waking from his sleep, Corporal Ryan checked his watch. Seeing it was almost seven in the morning, the young soldier pulled himself up in his cot, stretched, and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. Looking over the sleeping platoon, well, squad, he saw everyone but Allan was accounted for, but with Allan being an early riser, this was not uncommon.

Getting out of the cot, Ryan checked over what he was wearing. Desert fatigue pants, a tan t-shirt, and black socks. Taking a drink from the canteen on the table next to his cot, he started to get dressed. Remembering the rescue mission, he pulled on the Kevlar vest, little protection from the infected claws he knew, but it was better then nothing. Over that he pulled on the desert fatigue blouse with the sleeves rolled up and attached two three round magazine pouches to his best as well as the sheath to his bowie knife. Attaching the two canteens to his belt and dropping his black pen knife into his pocket, he grabbed his M4 by the fore grip and slung it over his shoulder to carry it by the strap, taking the loaded magazine from the weapon and placing it in his pocket. Satisfied he had all he needed, he took his helmet and started outside into the mall compound to get something to eat before the mission began.

Making his way through the hall and to the stairs, the still waking Ryan went down towards the former food court now used to distribute rations. One could still get a hot meal of, food, there at evening, but for morning all that was available where a few crackers and maybe an oatmeal cream pie that had been sitting around for quite some time.

Getting in the line, still short due to the early hour, Corporal Ryan filed up to the counter, took a tray, and got the crackers, aged oatmeal cream pie, and a little bit of apple juice taken from the apple trees grown in the former park.

Leaving the counter, Corporal Ryan saw Private Allan sitting at a table on the far end of the area by himself reading something with his full kit lying next to him. Walking over to him, Ryan set his plate down at his table and sits down himself.

âGood morning Allan,â the Corporal said, trying to make conversation.

âGood morning Corporal Ryan,â Private Allan quickly responded, continuing with his reading.

âSo, uh, ready for this rescue mission,â Ryan says, painfully trying to get a conversation going.

Private Allan shrugs. âWell, personally, I like the mission, could help me, atone for my sins, so to speak, but, this Private Riley, well, Iâm not to sure about her, I think sheâll end up getting someone killed, doesnât seem like she knows what sheâs doing, but thatâs just my opinion Corporal,â he replies.

Ryan nods. âYeah, she did seem a bit, nervous, but, when the outbreak occurred we all werenât exactly Rambo either, I have faith sheâll come around, sooner or later, but, until then, I think weâll be able to keep her and ourselves out of too much trouble,â he replies.

Private Allan nods. âI hope so, but, Iâm just not sure,â he says, then goes back to his meal and book.

Corporal Ryan finishes his meal and leaves, placing the tray on the table before he goes. Having nothing better to do, he heads over to the former main entrance to the mall, now used as the primary staging area for all into the city and out of the city operations. Finding an unused bench, he sits down and pulls out a journal and starts to read.

The journal is the story of a young man, Dave Harris, a used car salesman on the far side of the city. It had been a slow month for used cars that month so he had been worried about his job and his family. He had just found out his wife of two years was pregnant with their first child, something that made him extremely happy, but also added to the pressure of possibly loosing his job. He had just been about to sell a young woman a â97 sedan when a man in his thirties with symptoms now know to be those of the infected ran up, tackled her to the ground, and started clawing and biting at her. With the sight of this already enough, a few seconds later the woman starting shaking violently, coughing up blood and starting to foam at the mouth. Standing back up, she started to attack the salesman with the man that had attacked her, but he managed to run inside the showroom and lock the door behind himself.

That night, the salesman, the salesmanâs boss, and a young couple that had been looking for a car hid inside as a small crowd of infected started to form outside. The next morning they heard a radio broadcast saying about how over five hundred thousand people where now believed to be infected as well as some animals. The nearby Air Force base had also fallen victim with the survivors fleeing toward the city. The police and some military had set up a stronghold in a former mall thanks in part to assistance from military aircraft and anyone left alive was to try and make their way there. Deciding they had no choice, the four survivors had pilled up into a new pickup truck and smashed through the showroom class and used the vehicle like a battering ram to get through the infected crowd and head towards the mall.

While their escape had worked, their luck started to run out when the vehicle started to run out of gas. The loud moans and screams of the infected where coming from all sides, as where the sounds of gunshots in the distance so in their desperation, the group ran to the only shelter they could find, a convenience store. Getting inside, they found the employee, a middle aged man, armed with a shotgun. With the group now numbering five, they barricaded the store as well as they could and thatâs where the story in the blood stained journal ended.

Lost in the journal, Corporal Ryan hardly noticed as the rest of the former platoon arrived in the waiting area. Zapata and Friar arrived first and started to carry on a conversation with each other while Friar sharpened his chef knife. Before the outbreak, his dream had been to be a chef and create the finest meals he possibly could, but with the way things had turned out, the chef knife his father had given him had spilled more blood then any butcherâs knife. Following those two was Jackson, the âRight Arm of the Free Worldâ slung over his shoulder and an angry look on his face. He was still not happy about the mission, probably not as unhappy about rescuing someone as rescuing someone he saw as being in trouble for their own foolish reasons. Following him a few minutes later, Ramirez entered with his SAW hanging off his shoulders and his fire axe strung through a belt loop. Before that fateful day of full outbreak, he had been a firefighter and the dulling axe served as a reminder to him of a better time.

At eight oâclock sharp Captain Miller entered the waiting area and gathered the squad. Next to him stood a trembling with fear Private Riley, about to head out on her first ever combat operation, her first time in over two years outside these walls or the immediately surrounding area.

âGentlemen, and lady, as you all know we are about to head out on a rescue mission for a Samantha Wilson and three other settlers,â the Captain started. âWhile on this mission, I expect top notch trigger discipline from everyone on this team, we do not want to raise the agro to a degree where we become overwhelmed, especially on a rescue mission,â he continued. âIt is highly likely that if these people are still alive they are experiencing shock and will be panicked so patience is key, as is portraying yourselves correctly as an authority figure. Noise discipline is also required, all conversation must be kept to a whisper. Now then, Private Riley here will be our guide, Private First Class Gordon will take point, letâs move,â he finishes, then turns to leave.

Gordon quickly moved to the front of the squad and they formed a lose line with Allan following him, then Riley, Ryan, and the others. Stepping outside the doors, they found themselves in a large parking lot surrounded by old, rusting cars used as a wall. The parking lot entrance has a large gate built guarding it topped with barbed wire and a machine gun next guards it from the inside.

Stepping up to the gate, the squad has to wait as a soldier slowly opens it. Making their way through, they find more rusted vehicles lining the path, forcing anyone wishing to reach the mall to zigzag their way across maybe one hundred yards under the watchful eyes of a machinegun team and sharpshooters.

âOf we go, to get ourselves slaughtered to save some dumbass little bitch,â Jackson jokingly sings to himself.

âCorporal Jackson, going on a rescue mission is not a foolish errand, it is our compassion that has allowed us to survive this long,â Private Allan replies, obviously frustrated with Jackson.

Jackson rolls his eyes. âIâm just saying, sending a squad deep into the city, fourteen miles into the city, deep into the red zone where they never should have been allowed to settle in the first place just to save some idiot dumb enough to move out there is not a smart use of military resources,â he says.

âExcuse me, but, Samantha Wilson is seventeen years old, she moved out there with her family, it was hardly her choice,â Private Riley counters, her voice trembling with fear of being attacked by the infected.

Jackson shrugs. âStill, itâs a poor use of military resources, hell, weâre hardly a military, less then two hundred Airmen made it to the outpost and most of them arenât stupid enough to come walking out here like this, mostly ex-cops like Ryan looking to play Rambo, or worse, accountants, weâre a glorified militia at best,â he continues.

âCorporal Jackson, the Defense Forces have allowed the survivors of the outbreak to live relatively normal lives for the last two years and have managed to take back small areas of the city, even as the infected arrive from surrounding areas and possibly even breed, the ex-Airmen mostly man either the convoys going to the few out of city areas where supplies can be secured or work the outpost defense and your opinion on this mission does not matter so please do not provide it,â Captain Miller says, getting frustrated with Jackson.

Jackson rolls his eyes. âYes Sir, sorry Sir, wonât happen again Sir,â Jackson says, impersonating a military style British accent.

âIt had better not, and I would prefer a lack of sarcasm when addressing a superior officer, Corporal,â Miller replies.

With Jackson shut up, the squad continues on. Making their way two blocks into the city, Riley points out a right turn and they follow it. Continuing for maybe four blocks, Gordon stops and raises his right arm in a fist.

âContact, twelve oâclock,â he says, getting down and moving back towards the squad. Nodding, Miller takes cover behind a rusted out vehicle while the others quickly take cover behind vehicles.

Looking out over his cover, Ryan sees the contact. A small group of maybe fifteen infected slowly making its way towards the squad from approximately six hundred yards down the street. Next to him, he sees Private Riley trembling with fear, the magazine in her M4 rattling from it.

âHey, donât worry, thereâs only fifteen of them at most, lay low and theyâll probably pass,â he says, trying to calm her down.

âBut, but, what if they attack, they could, they couldâ¦,â she says, but is cut off by Ryan.

âIf they attack, weâll engage and drop each and every last one before they can reach us, remember, we have firearms, they have teeth and claws, we win, just remain calm and act appropriately,â he says.

Riley nods nervously, fear still in her eyes but the magazine is now longer rattling in her weapon. Looking up, Ryan can see the small group getting closer, now maybe four hundred yards away.

âWe are most likely going to have to attack them, Ramirez, if we engage, hold fire, fully automatic fire will raise our agro too quickly, Zapata, Friar, Gordon, and Ryan, switch your M4âs fire modes to semi-automatic and double tap each one when I give the order, aim for the center mass towards the heart,â Miller says in a quiet, just louder then a whisper voice.

Nodding, Ryan and the others moved the selector lever to semi-automatic and shouldered their carbines, selecting their own personal target. Deciding they where still just far enough out, Ryan adjusts his weaponâs iron sights to the long range aperture. With the infected group nearing, just over two hundred yards away, Miller decided it was time.

âSelected fire team members, open fire,â he said with his voice just above a whisper.

Taking aim on his first infected, Ryan squeezed the trigger twice, letting loose two highly lethal rounds flying directly towards the infected person. Hitting their mark, the personâs chest, possibly the heart, and the infected fell to the ground dead.

As soon as the first four fell, the infected group sprung to life. Charging foreword, they started to cover the ground a lot faster, but Ryan and the other three just calmly fired another two shots each, dropping another four infected.

By the third volley, the infected group, now numbering three in all, was just about on their position, less then twenty yards away and quickly closing. Panicking, Rileyâs finger starts to reach for the trigger of her M4 as the fourth volley erupts, dropping the last three.

Before she can react, Rileyâs finger hits the trigger and letâs loose a quick burst of maybe three or four rounds. Quickly removing her finger from the trigger, she looks up to see all eyes on her.

âPrivate Riley, I do not believe I ordered you to fire,â Captain Miller says.

âIâm sorry Sir, my finger just slipped and, Iâm sorry Sir, Iâve never been into combat before,â she says.

âThat shows, I had a feeling youâd do something stupid, this time raising agro and wasting ammo, what next,â Allan says.

Ryan stands up, switching his iron sights back to normal. âHey, sheâs new, sheâs never been in the field before, she panicked, it happens, we should get out of here before anymore come, our agro is probably already high enough,â he says.

Captain Miller nods. âGood point, no need to stand around here arguing about a little piss up, move out, Iâd like to reach these apartments by nightfall,â he says.

As the squad starts to move out again, Jackson and Allan both give Riley a dirty look as they file past her. At least they finally found something they can agree on.

~ O ~

The squad continues on in mostly silence for several blocks trying to stick to the shadows provided by the buildings and rusting vehicles lying out on the street. As they advance, they see how time is taking its toll on the former city. Grass grows through the concrete in some places and rats roam free, darting in and out of the shadows themselves as if trying to avoid the same foe as the squad.

Turning a corner, the silence is suddenly broken by a gunshot in the distance just down the road. One block down the road leads to a large hotel building, obviously where the gunshot originated from, but there is no infected to be seen.

Acting quickly, the squad took cover behind an old bus that had crashed into a sedan. Crouching and aiming foreword, they waited for Millerâs order.

âRyan, take Zapata and Friar and go investigate that gunshot, the rest of you be prepared to supply covering fire, Riley, perhaps you should sit this one out, keep an eye on our rear, just in case,â Miller orders.

Nodding, Corporal Ryan stands up and beckons for Zapata and Friar to follow him. Forming a single file line and keeping themselves low to the ground with their M4s shouldered, they quickly advance to the doorway of an old restaurant.

âFriar, run over to the flipped over car a hundred or so yards from the hotel, me and Zapata will cover you,â Ryan orders.

Nodding, Friar stands up and runs as fast as he can towards the vehicle as Ryan and Zapata use the doorway for cover, keeping their M4s trained on the hotel.

Reaching the flipped vehicle, Friar quickly scans the building with his eyes and waves the next person over. Lowering his rifle, Ryan springs foreword towards the vehicle, leaving Zapata to cover him from the doorway.

Quickly reaching the vehicle, Ryan takes aim on the hotel and starts to hear voices, mostly yelling and screaming coming from the building. Looking at Friar, he shrugs, and before he can look back Zapata has reached the vehicle cover.

âAlright, Zapata, you advance to the front door and be prepared to breech, me and Friar will then follow and when weâre both over there you can lead us in,â Ryan starts. âNow, Iâm not sure if this is a cultist situation or not, but I doubt it, too much yelling and screaming but not enough shooting, but better safe than sorry, when youâre ready,â he finishes, returning his sights to the hotel.

Standing up, Zapata sprints foreword towards the hotel and throws himself against the wall next to the door, getting as close as possible and shouldering his carbine aimed at the door incase anyone should come through. Deciding now is as good as ever, Ryan stands up and runs over to Zapata, then Friar follows when Ryan reaches his position.

âAlright, breech on my order, remember, we donât know the entire situation so try not to be too trigger happy, but donât be afraid to pull the trigger either,â Ryan says. Looking back over at the bus being used by the rest of the squad to cover them, Ryan takes a deep breath and pats Zapata once on his right shoulder, the signal to breech the door and enter the building.

Taking the signal almost immediately, Zapata quickly starts foreword and kicks the door. Having not been fully closed, it flies open and the soldier runs inside, quickly followed by Ryan and Friar. As soon as heâs inside, Zapata turns left and runs to the first corner of the room and Ryan takes a right to the right corner of the entrance lobby. Following the two in, Friar kneels to the left of the door.

Inside the building, tables are flipped on their sides to provide cover against any incoming infected, yet the door was left slightly open. The windows in the lobby at least are barricaded by wooden planks nailed up and a shotgun rests on the counter, but there is no one to be seen.

Despite there being no one to be seen, there are plenty of people to be heard. Just upstairs, several voices can be heard yelling and screaming and the sounds of someone possibly crying can also be heard.

âZapata, start up the stairs, Iâll follow, Friar, bring up the rear, keep an eye on our six, I donât like this,â Ryan says.

Starting foreword, Zapata makes his way to the stairs on the other side of the lobby and slowly starts up them, one by one, followed by Ryan and then Zapata. As they reach the second floor, the sounds of yelling and screaming grow louder and louder and suddenly, another gun shot rings out, causing several of the people involved to scream.

Reaching the second floor, Zapata slowly advances into the hall followed by the other two. Training his carbine on an open door, he slowly inches foreword as he searches the room from a distance for any hostile contact.

Suddenly, one of the closed doors flies open and a young woman of maybe twenty comes running out towards the three soldiers.

âHOLD IT RIGHT THERE, DONâT YOU FUCKING MOVE,â Zapata screams at her, quickly kneeling down and aiming his carbine directly at her chest. Ryan and Friar also take aim at her.

âDO NOT MOVE, PUT YOUR HANDS BEHIND YOUR HEAD AND INTERLOCK YOUR FINGERS, DO IT NOW,â Ryan screams.

The terrified young woman trembles as she slowly moves her hands behind her head, crying as she does so.

âWhat the hell,â a young man says, stepping out into the hallway, a Beretta 92 pistol in his hands.

âPUT THE WEAPON DOWN,â Zapata screams, moving his weapon to point at the man.

âDude, no, wait, man, itâs him in there you should be worried about, not me, come on man,â the man says, dropping the pistol and trembling with fear.

Moving foreword, Ryan passes by the two people and nears the door they just came from, shouldering his carbine as he does so.

Looking inside, he sees what the man was talking about. A middle aged man, maybe forty or so years old with graying hair is holding a young woman in her mid twenties like a shield by her throat with his left hand and holding a Colt 1911 in his right. Just above his head are two bullet holes in the ceiling and he has a deranged look in his eyes. Across the room from him is another young man frantically trying to reason with the deranged man and next to him is another young woman with a Lee Enfield lying at her feet also trying to calm the lunatic.

âLET THE HOSTAGE GO,â Ryan orders, aiming his M4 at the man.

âFuck you dude, you have no authority here, sheâs mine, there mine, this whole fucking place is mine,â he starts. âHell, those infected are going to kill us all soon, so Iâm going to have my fun before I die and youâre not going to stop me asshole,â he continues, laughing at himself when heâs done.

âSir, I did not come here to listen to the ramblings of a crazy man, now either let her go or I will be required to use lethal force,â Ryan calmly says.

âWhat, lethal force, ITâS THE ONLY FORCE, fuck off and leave us be soldier boy,â the man says.

âSir, let the hostage gâ¦,â Ryan starts, but is cut
off when the man fires another shot into the ceiling.

âFUCK OFF SOLDIER BOY,â the man screams as he shoots. Suddenly, a sadistic smile crosses the manâs lips. âHell, Why donât I just make you fuck off, yeah, thatâs what Iâll do, make you fuck off,â the deranged man says, and then starts to move his pistol to aim it at Ryan.

âDo not point that weapon at me,â Ryan calmly orders.

Smiling a lunaticâs smile, the man lowers the
barrel to point at Ryan. Knowing what he has to do, Ryan moves his finger from the trigger guard and places it on the trigger. His sights are already lined up with the manâs head, the only clear shot with the hostage in the way. With the lunaticâs weapon nearly pointed at his own head, Ryan squeezes the trigger.

The bullet explodes from the barrel and flies foreword at several thousand feet per second, smashing into the lunaticâs forehead. As soon as it hits a cloud of blood and bone fly into the air and the man drops the firearm and releases the young woman as he falls backwards. Hitting the ground, blood pours from his wound and from his ears as well as from the exit wound, reddening the carpet beneath.

Before he even hits the ground, the young woman bolts foreword and runs out of the room. The right side of her head as blood splattered on it, especially in her brown hair as well as some bone fragments, but there is nothing more at that moment she wants then to be out of that room. As soon as she leave, the two others in the room turn to leave, the other woman taking the Enfield with her as she goes.

With only him and the former deranged lunatic in the room, Ryan can only look down at what heâs done. Just a few moments ago, the two where having a conversation, a crazy one, but a conversation none the less, and now that man is dead by Ryanâs own hand. Shaking his head, Ryan closes his eyes, remorseful for what heâs done. The man was crazy and he had no choice in the matter, but that doesnât really help much.

Stepping into the room, Zapata lays his hand on Ryanâs shoulder. âItâs the hardest part of all this, isnât it, when someone goes crazy, when someone just, flips out and forces us to do something we should never have to do,â he starts. âItâs, interesting, that for some reason during this last two and a half or so years, so many of us have been at our best, working together for a better, infected free tomorrow, but some of us just canât handle the pressure. Youâd think that during these dark times, anyone still, alive, so to speak, could be trusted, you think that as long as youâre with what we consider the living that, well, youâre safe,â he continues.

Sighing, Zapata takes his hand from Ryanâs shoulder and puts it in his pocket. âI can still remember the day of the initial outbreak, when they flooded out of the hospitals and poorer areas and densely populated areas, when it seemed like the apocalypse itself, I can still remember the terror,â he starts, telling his own story. âI can remember people, men, women, and children, even the family dog, running, scared, terrified, and falling to the infected claws. I can remember gunshots and screams, and the moans, oh the moans of the infected, I remember those. In my desperation, I ran to the one place I thought Iâd be safe, the church. Yes, the church, where men of God put themselves aside to help others and where their strong faith would pull them through any situation, that is where I ran. When I got there, I found my little sister, my best friend, and so many other people. The priests, they seemed so kind, willing to share everything they had, leading us in prayer, telling us how God would lead us through this, this hell, and we believed them, everyone believed them, all but one of them,â he continues.

Starting to pace around the room, Zapata looks out the window and then starts back towards Ryan. The sounds of the squad entering the hotel from the lobby start to be heard.

âThat night, we all slept on the floor of the
church while men and women who had guns watched the windows. All was going well until maybe midnight when, one of the priests, of all people, I guess, I guess he lost his mind or something, poured gasoline all over the church and just, lit a match and let it drop. The place went up, so, quickly, instantly. And there he stood, just laughing as people caught on fire and died so, horrifically,â Zapata continues, tears forming in his eyes.

âI can remember screams and heat, oh it was hot, I can remember people running for the large doors only to find them chained up. All though this, he was laughing, laughing like it was some great comedy show and our horrific deaths where the greatest comedian known. I can remember some people by a window, they had guns, and they shot it out and called for us to go through. By this time, people where already horribly burnt, but they tried, they tried so hard. I can remember running, throwing myself out the window and following the people with the guns into the dark,â He says.

âWell, the bright light of the fire and all the screaming, it raised the agro of the infected and they just, charged it. Like an all they could eat buffet, it was just, sick, horrible, and all I could do was, run. I ran and I ran, our group got smaller and smaller, some tripped, some where tackled, some where even accidentally shot by panicked survivors, but I wasnât. I ran for at least ten minutes, there where only sixteen of us, and in the distance, we saw it. A humvee with an M60 on top and soldiers, well, Airmen and other survivors, just a few hundred yards away, so close, salvation was so close. As we neared them, we yelled, screamed, did everything we could to let them know we where alive, and it worked, too well. They welcomed us, they where all happy to see us, others had survived, there was hope, but our screams and yells had attracted the infected,â he continues, sitting down on a chair at the side of the room.

âA large crowd started to fall upon us from the rear. They came, hungrily charging towards us, and we knew we had to go. A bus in working order was fifty yards down the street and one of the Airmen ran to it and got it started while the others started shooting and climbing into the humvee. People started to pile into the bus, all the seats where filled up but the Airmen just told us to get on, sit on peopleâs laps, sit on the floor, stand up, as long as the vehicle could still go it wasnât a problem. As I neared the bus, they got closer and closer, and my little sister, my best friend, I just then noticed I hadnât seen them in the crowd. I stopped, for just a moment, trying to find them, but, I couldnât. By the time I was ready to get on the bus, by the time I knew they werenât there, the infected where just about on us. Running for the bus as people shot the infected from the windows I found myself towards the end of the line of people being crammed in there like sardines. Getting closer and closer, I was just about on when a man, maybe thirty, tried to bit me. Before I could react, a chef knife found its way into his gut and a bullet from the bus found its way into his head. Getting on the bus, I found the person who had stabbed the infected man just before he could bit me, the too be Private Friar, my oldest friend in all this mess,â Zapata continues.

Taking a breath, he stands back up. âThe next morning, we reached the mall where police and military and civilians where forming an outpost and we got in. In the end, it all turned out alright for me, but if someone had been around to stop one crazed man, my little sister, just eleven years old, and my best friend from my former life would still be alive, as would so many others. Today, for someone, you was the person who stopped a lunatic, because of you, that young womanâs alive, as are you, so donât beat yourself up for it,â Zapata finishes, then walks out of the room.

Sighing, Ryan reaches down and takes the manâs pistol. Shaking his head, he steps outside the room to find the young woman he had been holding hostage sitting on the floor with Allan, Riley, and some of her group trying to comfort her. Seeing Corporal Ryan, she stands up.

âUm, thank you, thank you,â she says, her voice trembling.

Ryan nods. âNo problem, listen, you guys need to get back to the outpost, we can radio your coordinates in to a patrol in the area to escort you back, we can even wait with you until they get here,â Ryan says, turning to Miller to see if itâs alright. Miller nods.

âThank you, thank you all so much,â she says, still trembling.

Nodding, Ryan turns and starts towards the stairs. Reaching them, he lays the pistol down on a table next to them and slowly starts down.

âWhat happened in there,â Private Riley asks, catching up with Ryan.

Ryan shakes his head. âNothing, just another victim of all this bullshit, thatâs all,â he replies, continuing down the stairs.

Still standing on the stairs, Riley looks back up at the second floor. She had known of the risks of the infected, known just how dangerous they could be and that was enough to scare her out here, but this. People, non-infected people also being a threat, it gave her chills thinking about it. She was definitely getting a lesson in what life was like outside the compound walls, a lesson she didnât want. All she could do now was wonder just what other horrors would they come across on their path to save Samantha Wilson.

Chapter 4;

The squad waited for nearly an hour for a patrol to arrive at the hotel. Nothing much was said, there wasnât much to say, and when the patrol finally came the group solemnly filed out and started to follow them back to the safety of the compound. Satisfied the group was in good hands, they squad started to move out.

Leaving the hotel, the squad walked several blocks under the now overcast sky, hopefully getting closer to their final destination and saving Samantha Wilson, hopefully reaching her by nightfall. Turning another corner, they saw something troubling.

Four piles of burnt human bodies spread out across the street with maybe ten to fifteen bodies each. The vehicles lining the road showed signs of fire damage, as did the buildings and road itself. Broken glass bottles littered the street, most surrounded by significant fire damage. Taking in the sight, the squad slowly started foreword.

Suddenly, from behind, they heard it. A caw, originating from the building behind the squad, followed by the rustling of wings, a sound known all too well by the squad. Pivoting quickly, Miller raised his P90 and tapped the trigger, letting two 5.7 rounds rip through the crow sending it crashing into a lifeless heap below.

âShit,â Jackson says, watching the birdâs lifeless body hit the ground.

âWe need to keep moving, everyone stay alert,â Miller says, starting foreword. Quickly scanning the rooftops with their eyes, the squad quickly follows.

âWait, what exactly is going on,â Riley asks, obviously confused.

âCrows, they can be a little, vicious,â Ryan says, keeping pace with the quickening squad.

The squad advances for maybe a hundred yards before turning a corner and seeing them. Emerging from buildings are what are known as the charred infected, infected persons who where lit on fire, some in massive bonfires too overloaded to consume all the infected or by improvised flamethrowers or Molotov cocktails that just couldnât finish them off. Their charred, grey skin is known to be tough and more resistant than the normal infected skin and they also have a reputation for being more vicious, a bad combination for the squad.

âRyan, Gordon, Allan, Riley, take the left, Jackson, Friar, Zapata, get inside a building and cover the road, Ramirez, follow me to that sedan and prepare to lay down covering fire,â Miller calmly orders, starting to pull back towards a rusted out sedan maybe seventy-five yards back.

Running into a former convenience store, Ryan and the other three quickly check to ensure that itâs secure. Satisfied it is secure, they kneel next to the already broken out windows and prepare to engage.

The large crowd of mostly charred infected starts to storm foreword even faster then the normal kind the squad is more used to dealing with. There are at least one hundred of them, but the growing louder crow caws tells the squad the situation is worse then it seems.

Ramirez starts to open fire with the M249, cutting
down the infected ranks as Millerâs P90 does what it can against diving crows. The infected do start falling, but not as fast as they normally would and they are gaining ground fast.

From across the street, Jackson and the two with him start to engage. Friar and Zapata have their M4s on fully automatic, trying to cut down the infected groupâs right flank while also trying to fend off attacking crows. Jacksonâs FALâs loud report can be easily distinguished from the other firearms and its heavy 7.62 roundâs superior knockdown power proves its worth, but the charred infected are still gaining ground way too quickly.

Switching his M4 to fully automatic, Ryan lets loose a quick burst and then stops, re-aligns his sights, and squeezes the trigger again. Next to him, Riley is trembling with fear, but fires in quick bursts as well, knowing it is just a waste of ammunition to spray and pray.

As Ryan re-aligns his sights after dropping a charred infected that was once a young man, a crow nears his fire team. Flying directly towards Gordon, it swoops down on the soldier and first tries to attack his helmet. Finding no success in pecking at the soldierâs helmet, it starts towards his face.

Gordon tries to bat the bird away with his hands, but it doesnât work. Trying to save his comrade, Ryan flips his M4 around and bats the bird away with the rifle stock. Hitting it as hard as he can, the bird flies into the back of a chair and crashes to the floor below. Before it can get up, Ryan produces his Bowie knife from its sheath and impales the bird on it. Using his boot to hold the bird down, he pulls his knife out, wipes the blood off on a chair, and returns it to its sheath.

âThanks Corporal,â Gordon says, then fires another burst into the crowd.

Ryan nods and returns to his position. âNo problem,â he replies, then fires another burst himself.

Returning to his position, Ryan sees the infected are just about on them. A few of the charred infected are nearing the window, only at most ten yards away. The hunger and anger in their eyes is visible to the covering squad members, the only thing not visible is the pain the bullets hitting them should inflict.

Ryan squeezes his M4âs trigger again but nothing happens. Acting quickly, he hits the magazine release and lets the empty magazine drop into his waiting hand. Maneuvering it back into his magazine pouch, he swaps it out for a full magazine which he moves to and inserts into the magazine well. Ensuring itâs seated correctly, he slaps the magazine release and lets loose another quick burst.

A small group of the charred infected are clawing at the squad from just outside the window, way too close for comfort. Private Riley falls backwards, spraying them down with bullets but to little avail. Ryan slowly moves backwards and flips over a table covered in aged candies and booklets as the infected start to figure out the location of the still open door.

Squeezing the trigger, Ryan kills an infected, taking five bullets to inflict enough trauma to end its miserable existence, but there is at least fifteen more waiting to take its place and caws can be heard just over the crowdâs head.

Looking to his left, he can see the terrified Private Riley spraying maybe ten rounds into the infected crowd, killing one and significantly wounding another. As she tries to fire a second volley, her weapon jams.

âShit, shit, shit, oh God, no,â she says, starting to panic even more, frantically trying to clear the jam, something she was never fully trained to do.

âCome on, letâs go, FALL BACK,â Ryan orders, grabbing Riley by her shoulder and pulling her to her feet. Frantically trying to find a way out, Ryan sees a door behind the counter and starts towards it. Her weapon still jammed, Riley follows him and pulls the door shut behind her, seeing Allan and Gordon fleeing into another backroom.

Leaning against the wall and resting for a moment, Ryan looks over at Riley. She has dropped the magazine out of her carbine and is pulling the charging handle backwards and releasing it, ensuring the jam is cleared. Her hands tremble as she does so, but she knows the importance of the drill. From the room where Allan and Gordon ran, they can hear gunshots, but the sounds of the infected banging on the door to their room are louder.

âGet it cleared,â Ryan asks, panting from the excitement.

Riley nods. âYeah, Iâve never had to do that before, it just, it just wouldnât fire,â she says.

Ryan nods, smiling just a little. âYeah, they do that sometimes, but, their better then nothing, pretty good actually when they work right,â he says.

She nods. âYeah, uh, weâre going to die here, arenât we,â she says.

Ryan shrugs. âIt is possible, but if we do, we will take more of them to hell with us then kill of us, a blaze of glory so to speak, but, we still have ammunition, we are still armed, we still have hope, and hopes whatâs allowed us to survive this mess all this time,â he says.

Riley closes her eyes and tears start to well up in the corners of her eyes. She opens them again and shakes her head. âI thought, when all this mess started, I would die, I was terrified, I actually pissed myself, as did so many others, but when I found the compound, I found hope, I found the Defense Forces, a way to fight back, but, I just didnât have it in me to actually go do the fighting, so I did what I could, and now here I am, staring down the worst death I can imagine at the moment,â she says.

Ryan nods, snapping the restraints on his Bowie Knifeâs sheath. Pulling the knife out, he hands it to Riley. âHere, just in case it jams again, Iâve got something a little, better,â he says, bending down and starting to roll him his left pant leg. Releasing a strap, he pulls out another knife with a blade about seven inches long. Looking it over, he smiles a little, and Riley figures out what it is, a bayonet.

Fixing the bayonet to the muzzle of his M4, he shoulders the weapon. The door to the room has just about broken, their almost in. âI found this bayonet in a surplus store once, people used to own semi-automatic clones of the M16 and these where produced for them, I bought it because at the time I was just getting out of the police academy and sometimes we used AR-15s, the civilian M16 clone, and I thought it would be an interesting thing to have, never thought Iâd actually use it, but here we are,â he says. Giving him a nervous smile, Riley turns back to face the door, the Bowie knife in her pocket and a look of sheer terror on her face.

âHow do you think they are,â Gordon asked Allan, the two hiding in the bathroom that they had ran into.

Allan shakes his head. âFrom the sounds of things, I wouldnât say good,â he says.

âWhat can we do though, there are only two of us,â Gordon replies.

Allan sighs. âI think I know, you know, I always wondered why,â he says.

Gordon looks at him. âWondered why what,â he asks.

âWhy I got to live, of all those people, why did I live,â he starts. âIt wasnât until the night when they came for us, most of the guards had left to see if their families where alright, most likely to find the grim aftermath and be turned themselves, but some remained. For maybe twenty minutes they tried to defend the prison, tried to hold them off, but, they found a way in, I guess prisons easier to get into then out, and they stormed the place. The first few guards stood no chance, there where just too many of them, screams filled the air, as did gunshots and cries for help. Eventually, they knew the night way lost, so, one of the guards with his dying breath opened the cells and let us go. So many of us where killed, slaughtered like cattle, only to rise again and turn on their former cellmates. Finding a shotgun laying in a pool of blood, I started my escape, me and my cellmate, running for the only way out. I, I made it, by the grace of God I was spared, but he, he wasnât so lucky. To this day man, I remember his face, so much pain, calling out for help. If I had gone back for him, I would have died, he knew that, he just wanted me to do one thing, end his suffering, and thatâs what I did. I know it was for the best, but I can still see it, still hear that gunshot, it haunts me. The next morning, I was picked up by a couple of fleeing cops, how ironic, and the next thing I did was sign up for the Defense Forces,â he continues.

âI always wondered why I got to live, and now I know why, to save better people then me,â he says, then stands up, taking his M4 in his hands. Reaching into his magazine pouch, he pulls out three still loaded magazines and places them at Gordonâs feet. âLive man, live,â he says, and then starts to run towards the door.

Gordon grabs the magazines and stands up, confused about whatâs going on. Allan had never really said much, what he had just said had been more then heâd ever heard him say before, and now, what the hell was he doing?

Running back into the main part of the convenience store, Allan shoulders his M4 and starts shooting. His bullets hit, sending infected blood flying into the air and killing several infected, but there are still plenty to go around. Crows attack, flying from the shelves and pecking and clawing at his face, him doing his best to bat them away.

Firing a few more shots, he finds him M4 to be empty. Throwing the weapon, it hits a female charred infected in the head, knocking her backwards. Pulling his combat knife from its sheath, he lunges foreword and plunges it into the chest of a male charred, then jumps back and feels for another weapon. Finding nothing, he notices the long ago broken refrigeration unit holding drinks behind him and runs to it.

Reaching the refrigeration unit, he throws open the door and reaches inside. Finding cans of soda, he throws them into the crowd of infected, doing little more then pestering them. Reaching for another can, one grabs at him. Swinging around and punching it in the face, he only manages to knock it back about a foot before it start towards him again.

Knowing itâs over, he shakes his head. Reaching into a pouch on his belt, he pulls out two grenades and holds them one in each hand. Pulling the two pins and letting them drop, the infected fall upon him. Shutting his eyes and taking a deep breath even as the infected claw at him causing great pain, he slowly opens his hands as he starts to feel the pain of the virus flooding through his veins, letting the two handheld bombs fall to the ground below.

His M4 trembling in his hands, Corporal Ryan quickly removes his left hand from the fore grip to wipe the sweat from his forehead. Looking over at Riley, he takes a deep breath, himself now trembling as much as she is.

Just as he is about to start towards the door, the sound of a large explosion comes from inside the convenience store. âWhat the hell was that,â he says, starting towards the door. From inside the convenience store, most of the moans of the infected have died down and the sounds of gunfire from the street have disappeared.

Slowly, Ryan reaches for the door and pulls it open. Stepping into the main part of the convenience store, he finds it in complete ruin. The refrigeration unit at the other end of the store is blown apart with the remains of well aged soda forming a miniature lake among the blown down and apart shelves. Parts of the roof have fallen in and a lifeless infected lays blown back against the counter. Several dying infected lay on the floor, many impaled with pieces of the former shelves. Just in front of the refrigeration unit lays a broken M4 and the lifeless body of a Defense Force soldier, well, whatâs left of it. The corpse lays in a large pool of blood and bone and parts have been blown off, some even falling down from the ceiling.

Unable to fight the urge, Private Riley throws up behind the counter after seeing the gruesome mess and Ryan just looks it over in a disgusted awe. From the bathroom where he was hiding, PFC Gordon steps out, his hands covering his face in shock.

âWhat, what happened,â Ryan asks, seeing Gordon standing in the doorway.

âHe, he, he just told me, he had been a prisoner, and had escaped during the outbreak, and his purpose was to save better people then himself, and, and, and he blew himself up,â the shocked soldier said.

Ryan nods. âYeah, I can see that, we should get out of here,â he says, taking the bayonet off of his rifle.

Stepping out of the convenience store, Captain Miller and the others come over to see what happened.

âSir, we have a man down, Private Allan sacrificed himself so we could live, he saved us,â Ryan says, stepping over to Captain Miller.

Miller nods. âYes, yes, he was a good soldier, we should move out, agro has got to be high, Iâll, Iâll put his name in for accommodation, have someone come out for the body later,â the officer says.

Gordon shakes his head, looking back at the blown apart convenience store. âNo need Sir, not enough body to recover,â he says, and then walks past the officer.

âGreat, just great, weâve now lost a good soldier due to this complete fuck up of a mission, just brilliant,â Jackson says, mostly to himself.

âCorporal Jackson, please shut the fuck up,â Zapata says, passing the Corporal by and shaking his head.

~ O ~

Continuing for five blocks, Miller decides the area is safe enough and gives the squad a few minutes to take a break. Seeing a rundown bus shelter on the side of the road, Ryan goes and sits down, as does Gordon and Riley. Sitting there for a few minutes, they watch as rats run across the street, searching everything they find for food.

âWhy are there so many rats, I donât know why, I just wouldnât have expected that many animals,â Riley asks.

Ryan shrugs. âWell, itâs believed that rats are used as a primary food source by the infected, they die before the virus can take hold so they can be consumed, they also breed like crazy, so, a sustainable food choice for rabid killing machines,â he replies.

âAre there any other animals, besides rats and crows,â she replies.

âWell, infected dogs and cats have been reported, dogs more so, uh, rabbits have been seen to a lesser extent, their also a food source, but not too much,â Ryan replies.

âWhat about infected animals, only dogs and cats and crows,â Gordon asks, wondering about what else there is to worry about.

Ryan shrugs. âBy now, probably not too many, but, from some of those journals I read, I heard of a group of people during the initial outbreak fleeing to the mall,â he begins. âA few miles to the mall, they came across something, well, an infected, rhino. They started to shoot at it, one guy had an AR-15, two had Mosin Nagants, a few had shotguns, and the rest where just people running with them. They shot it and shot it and shot it again, the guy with the AR fired nearly two magazines worth of ammunition and the guy with the Mosin fired nearly ten shots, but it took a lot to kill it. The beast charged them, got one guy with a twelve gauge with his horn, impaled him, killing him, well, not instantly, but fairly quickly before they could kill it,â he finishes.

âShit, is that all,â Gordon asks.

Ryan leans back, and then sits up. âWell, when an Air Force team and some other survivors where fleeing to the outpost by the zoo they came across two infected lions, a male and a female. They started shooting, killing the male first but the female pounced and killed one of their guys, they took quite a bit of ammo themselves, but, all the large infected predators should be dead by now, hopefully,â Ryan says, then stands up and starts to walk away.

A few minutes later, Miller decides theyâve had enough rest and the squad starts foreword again. Getting her bearings, Riley points out a turn they need to make and they go down it, keeping their eyes peeled just in case another group of infected decides to attack.

On point, Gordon hums a little song to himself, keeping an eye out for any infected target. Sighing, he looks down at the ground to see if he can see anything and something catches his eye.

In a dried pool of blood something glistens. Looking down at it, he figures out what it is, a golden pocket watch stained with blood. Shrugging, he bends down and picks it up. Starting foreword again, he plays with it in his hands, and finding the way to open it, he opens it.

Inside is a picture of a young couple, a brunette woman with a large smile and a similarly smiling young man with short, dark hair. The woman is sitting on his lap with her arms around him and he is sitting on a large, comfortable looking chair next to a roaring fireplace. Smiling at the picture, Gordon closes the pocket watch and starts to put it in his pocket.

As soon as he starts to slide the broken timepiece into his pocket, a gunshot erupts from just down the street. As soon as it does, Gordon feels a great pain in his left leg above the knee and falls to the ground screaming in pain trying to keep pressure on the bleeding wound.

âCONTACT,â Zapata screams, then runs to take cover behind a dumpster. Ryan runs over to a crumbling brick wall followed by Riley and Ramirez, while Jackson, Miller and Friar follow Zapata.

From down the street bullets start to rip through the air towards the squad, smashing into their cover and ricocheting off the metal. Keeping their heads down, the squad prepares to fight back.

âWhere the fuck are they shooting from,â Ramirez says, turning to Ryan.

Ryan shakes his head. âSomewhere down the street, on three we start shooting back, try to suppress them and maybe someone can get out there and get Gordon,â he says.

Ramirez and Riley nod as Ryan starts to poke his head and M4âs barrel over the brick wall. Looking over to the middle of the street he can see Gordon holding his leg in agony, screaming for help. Scanning the buildings down the street, he sees a muzzle flash, then another, and so on.

âAlright, just down the street, second floor window maybe three hundred yards down, fire on one, two, three, fire,â Ryan orders, quickly squeezing his carbineâs trigger.

Returning fire, the squad shoots out the second floor windows and a scream can be heard coming from it. In the middle of the road, Gordon is still screaming in pain, holding the wound inflicted by the gunfire.

Getting back behind the dumpster, Miller turns to Jackson. âJackson, on my mark, run out there and drag Gordon behind the vehicle ten yards from him, when you get there, start bandaging his wound, Zapata and Friar, you two will assist in providing covering fire, is this understood,â the officer asks.

The three soldiers nod and Jackson makes his way towards the edge of the dumpster, ready to run on the officerâs order. Taking another look, Miller nods and turns back to Jackson. âGo, the rest of you cover,â Miller orders.

Standing up, Jackson charges foreword towards his fallen comrade as the rest of the squad fills the air with bullets to cover him. Reaching Gordonâs position he can hear bullets shooting by but has yet to feel one, something he sees as a good sign. Grabbing the wounded PFC by his shoulders Jackson starts to drag him the ten yards to behind the vehicle.

Getting behind the vehicle, Jackson drops his pack and starts to dig through it. Finding some antiseptic spray, he sprays the wound down and then places it back in his pack. Taking a bandage out, he starts to wrap the wound, keeping his head low while he can.

âOwe, fucking hell, my fucking leg,â Gordon manages to say, his voice filled with pain and tears rolling down his cheeks. His teeth are so tightly gritted it looks like they might crack at any moment and besides from the few words he manages to get out the only sounds he can make are whimpers and screams.

âItâs alright, itâs alright, only a leg wound, youâll live, hey, no more foot patrols, maybe a desk job, sounds good huh,â Jackson replies, trying to comfort the soldier starting to cry with pain.

Looking up for just a second, Jackson sees a very bad sight. Diving down towards him is a crow, probably attracted by all the shooting now ready to attack an unsuspecting meal. Reaching for his FAL, the bird practically explodes as it is hit by a stray bullet. Smiling, Jackson shakes his head and reaches into his pack for one last thing, a hidden canteen of whiskey.

âHere, something for the pain, itâs all Iâve got,â he says, moving the opening of the canteen to Gordonâs lips.

âHold fire, we should conserve ammunition,â Ryan says, lowering his carbine. Ramirez nods, lowering his SAW while Riley is more than happy to get away from the shooting.

âThat, thatâs the cult, right,â she asks, her voice trembling from having been shot at.

Ryan nods. âYeah, they think the outbreak is a sign that humanity is evil and they must perfect society, really a bunch of glorified fascists lead by an ex gang leader looking for power,â Ryan explains.

âHere they come,â Ramirez says calmly, raising his SAW back up, ready to engage.

Emerging from the building are three men in dark blue trench coats with AK-47s in their hands. Slowly starting foreword, one of them taps his trigger and lets a bullet shoot down the street, trying to intimidate the covering squad.

âWhat do I do Corporal,â Ramirez asks, lining up his M249âs sights.

Ryan sighs. âMeet lethal force with superior lethal force, drop âem,â he says, sitting leaning against the car.

Nodding, Ramirez squeezes his weaponâs trigger. The bullets erupt from the firearm, cutting one man down in a pink cloud almost instantly and then moving to a second. The third man panics and starts to run back to the building. Taking his weapon from off the vehicle, Ramirez sits next to Ryan.

âWe should go see Gordon,â Ryan says, standing up and starting towards Jackson and Gordonâs position.

Starting over to Gordon, Ryan is followed by the rest of the squad. Reaching him, they see the wounded soldier trying to hold back tears of pain and still holding his wound, but the whiskey seems to have helped a little.

âWe really need to get him out of here, I wouldnât think heâd be able to survive and engagement with the infected in this condition,â Jackson says.

Miller nods. âNo, no he wouldnât, Zapata, get on the radio and call for an extraction team, we still have a mission to complete,â the Captain orders.

Nodding, Zapata kneels down next to the radio and is about to turn it on when a bullet smashes into the side of the vehicle Gordon and Jackson where using as cover.

âShit, we didnât get them all,â Ramirez says, quickly ducking down with the others.

A few more bullets crack through the air and hit the squadâs cover and Riley and Friar prepare to return fire as Ramirez slides his SAW over to the edge of the vehicle.

âWait, somethingâs wrong,â Jackson says.

Ryan nods. âCaptain Miller Sir, correct me if Iâm wrong, but that sounds like M4 fire, not Kalashnikov,â Ryan says, turning to the officer.

Captain Miller nods. âYes, youâre right,â he replies. Slowly, he starts to inch his way up and looks through the window of the vehicle at whatever is shooting at them. As he does, his eyes open wide in shock and he slides back down. âSquad, hold your fire,â he quickly orders.

âWait, what Sir,â Ramirez asks, ready to engage.

âBut their shooting at us, the cults shooting at us,â Riley says.

Miller shakes his head. âItâs not the cult, Zapata, get on the radio and try to contact that platoon, tell them their firing on friendly targets,â the officer orders.

Nodding, Zapata tries to activate the radio, but nothing happens. âSir, itâs not working, the radios bust, I put new batteries in and everything,â the PFC replies.

âThen we have to signal them another way,â Miller says as another few bullets slam into the side of their vehicle.

âAlright, Iâll do it,â Jackson says, starting to stand up. âHEY, HEY YOU FUCKING MORONS, WEâRE ON YOUR SIDE,â he screams at the shooters, then gets back down.

âSubtle Jackson, very subtle,â Ryan says. Jackson shrugs.

âWHAT THE HELL DO YOU MEAN YOU CULTIST BASTARDS,â a voice screams back.

Jackson stands back up. âWEâRE FROM THE SEVENTH PLATOON, DEFENSE FORCES, ON A RESCUE MISSION, YOU JUST SHOT AT YOUR OWN GUYS,â he replies.

âOH SHIT, SORRY DUDE,â the voice replies. âHOLD ON, WEâRE COMING OVER,â the voice continues.

From down a side road comes a squad of Defense Forces soldiers with the âoh shitâ look on their face. Reaching the squadâs position, they look down and see the wounded PFC Gordon.

âOh shit, did we do that, please God tell me we didnât shoot him,â the soldier says, a young man with a terrified look on his face.

Jackson shakes his head. âNo, the cult ambushed us, got him in the leg, though we got them, two dead right over there, free AKs along with them,â Jackson says.

âYeah, we knew the cult was in the area, our platoons been hunting them all week, like fucking roaches, hard to find unless they find you first, weâve taken a few losses, where just about to take our wounded back when we heard the shooting, the Captain sent our squad out to, deal with the situation,â the soldier says.

âSoldier, can you take our wounded man back, we need to move on with our mission but we canât with him, can you get him back to the outpost,â Miller asks.

The soldier nods. âYeah, sure, no problem, Finch, Cook, carry this man, Hernandez, take those two AKs, could be useful in a pinch,â the soldier says. Following his orders, two of the soldiers take out a folding stretcher from a pack and assemble it to carry Gordon while another goes over to the two dead cultists to collect their weapons.

Staying with Gordon until the second squad is ready to go, the squad takes a quick break. As their about to leave, the second squad resupplies Millerâs squad with ammunition, something they will no doubt need to have any chance of completing their mission. Finally ready to go, the second squad and the wounded PFC Gordon start out, leaving the original squad numbering only seven personnel.

Starting back on the path to save Samantha Wilson, Jackson takes point and the squad marches on in silence. Riley, following Ryan and Friar is now more scared then ever, knowing now that not only are the infected a threat, but there is an entire cult out there that wants to kill them. To make matters worse, they canât even be sure if their not shooting their allies in all the confusion. She can only hope they can find Samantha Wilson alive and well before they all fall in this damning quest.

Chapter 5;

The squad continues foreword, slowly advancing through the run down city keeping a watchful eye out for the infected or the cult, hoping that if they do happen to run into anything it is one of the rare things that does not want to kill them. Noticing even through the dull, overcast sky that the sun is about to set, Captain Miller decides to halt his squad.

"Thereâs no need to risk moving through deep infected territory at night lady and gentlemen, find good cover and dig in, that restaurant over there looks good," Miller says, pointing out a deserted diner across the street.

Starting over to it, Ryan enters the deserted building first. Stepping inside, he can tell it was serving food during the initial outbreak. Plates with half eaten now rotting food still sit on the tables and some are spilled on the floor. Blood stained knives litter the floor, having been used in futile attempts at self defense while rats step over them to get to the rotting food.

âAll clear Sir, for now at least,â Ryan says, looking into the kitchen through a window. He can see pots and pans littering the floor with their former contents still spilled out on the floor, but no infected or cult members.

âAlright, Friar, you wanted to be a cook, see if there is anything you can cook up here, Ramirez, keep an eye on the street, alert me if you see anything but do not engage, I would like to keep the agro down for now at least,â the officer says, stepping into the diner and heading over to a booth.

Sitting at a booth, Ryan watches as Friar and Zapata go into the kitchen to see what they can dig up. Ramirez sets his M249 up on a table behind a broken window to watch the road as Jackson clears a table of its long abandoned plates to lay his FAL down, then lying on the boothâs bench like a bed.

âIs this where weâre staying tonight,â Riley asks timidly, stepping over to Ryan.

The Corporal nods. âYeah, better then sleeping out in the open, and maybe theyâll be something left not rotten in the kitchen,â he says.

Riley feigns a smile and sits across from the Corporal, laying her M4 on the table.

Reaching into his pack, Ryan pulls out a journal and opens it, then looks up at Riley. âDo you have a rifle cleaning kit,â he asks.

She nods. "Yeah, I put one in my pack," she says.

Ryan nods. âGood, break your weapon down and do a quick cleaning, just a quick one, run the rod through the barrel and wipe down the bolt carrier group and the internals, something tells me a clean weapon will be a good thing tomorrow,â he says, starting to read.

Reaching into her pack, Riley pulls out a rifle cleaning kit and opens it. Assembling the cleaning rod, she then lays it down and takes her M4 in her hands. Extracting the magazine, she lays it down in front of her and pulls back the charging handle to extract the chambered round. Letting the charging handle fly foreword, she dry fires the weapon, and then pushes the rear take down pin and lets the upper assembly pivot down on the foreword take down pin. Extracting the bolt carrier group, she starts to take it apart to properly clean it.

Looking up to ensure sheâs properly cleaning the weapon, Ryan nods and looks back down at the journal. This one was written by a Shelby Partlow, a college student who had been sitting in another mundane class on another mundane day when the sounds of screams and gunfire started to erupt from the city surrounding the campus. In that class that day was her was her childhood friend and sweetheart, a Lewis something, the last name was illegible. The two had fled outside in the screaming mass of students, panicking as the infected started to break through windows and doors and attack the defenseless pupils. Getting outside, they saw great crowds of infected charging into the student body, tackling them to the floor, slashing at them, all kinds of things. Following Lewis, Shelby saw the campus police trying to fight off the infected with their pistols to little avail, maybe killing one or two before they where added to the infected ranks.

Trying to escape the horror, Lewis and Shelby fled towards the parking lot and to the road. Nearing the end of the parking lot, they heard a loud boom, a shotgun blast. Looking up was a student standing next to a pickup truck with a pump action shotgun in his hands and several boxes of shotgun shells on his seat. As the infected neared him, he blasted them back with the lethal power of his weapon. Looking over, he saw the two terrified but not infected students and urged them to run over to him.

Deciding he was their best bet, Shelby and Lewis ran as fast as they could towards the young man, charging right through the crowd of infected out for human blood. By the grace of God they made it and they climbed into the truckâs cab. Not wasting a minute, the young man jumped in himself and slammed his foot down on the accelerator, using his vehicle like a battering ram to get through the infected crowd.

As the vehicle rammed through the infected, the windscreen started to crack from their hitting it and the vehicle started to loose power, probably from body parts clogging up the machinery. But, once again, they made it through the crowd just as the vehicle died like so many others that day.

Exiting the now worthless vehicle, the young man started to lead them foreword, but was stopped by an infected woman biting his leg. Dropping his weapon, he fell to the ground, knowing the virus was taking hold. Stopping in her tracks, Shelby ran over to him and grabbed his shotgun and shot the young woman, killing the infected instantly. Looking down at him, she saw the tears in his eyes as the virus started to take hold. Knowing there was only one thing she could do for him, she lowered the barrel to point at his forehead and squeezed the trigger.

Their savior dead, Shelby and Lewis quickly grabbed the two boxes of shotgun shells he had been trying to carry with him and started to run. As they ran, Shelby started to stuff the shells into every pocket she could find, emptying and discarding the boxes before they even made it a block. Turning another corner, they stated to run towards the local police station when Lewis screamed out in pain.

Turning to see what was wrong, Shelby saw her old friend, her childhood sweetheart, the one love of her life, being attacked by an infected Labrador. Quickly shooting the animal, she knelt down to hold her friendâs hand, urging him to get up, to continue on to the police station, but he just shook his head. He was trembling and his eyes where turning red. His breathing was heavy, labored, and his muscles where tensing. Knowing what was wrong, knowing her friend was turning into one of them, one of those evil creatures, she closed her eyes, pointed the shotgun, and squeezed the trigger.

Not wanting to see what she had just done, Shelby stood up and turned around before daring to open her eyes. Starting foreword, she walked almost in a daze, shooting the occasional infected that charged her without a second thought, operating the weaponâs pump, and inserting another twelve gauge shell from her pocket into the tube magazine without thought.

Continuing foreword, she reached the police station and opened the door. Stepping inside, she saw the place in ruins. Firearms lay all over the place, the floor was littered in blood and paper and shell casings and there was not a police officer to be seen. Sighing, she sat down on a chair, pulled out her old journal, and started to write.

The next entry was dated two days later. She had slept in the police station that night, listening to the screams and gun fire coming from all around, but not really paying attention to it. She had kept the shotgun across her lap, loaded and without the safety on in case one of those things even dared to enter her police station, but none had.

Waking the next morning, she had strolled outside and started to walk down the street, not really meeting any infected except two or three she soon dispatched. Continuing down the street, she came across a sporting goods store and wandered inside.

Casually making her way through the store, she took several boxes of shotgun shells and emptied them into two bags that she tied to her belt. Looking over the rest of the merchandise, she saw the store had been looted by survivors already. Most of the guns where left, but an AR-15 still stood on a shelf, but it didnât interest her. Several pistols lay under a glass display case, but they too where boring to her, not eye catching. Her, well, hers now, shotgun was more then enough firepower wise, but she wanted something, different.

Stepping into the next aisle, she found it. In a plastic case hanging from a corner shelf was a machete. The price was only $7.99 and the weapon looked just so, perfect. Taking the case in her hands, she picked up a pair of scissors laying on a table and started to open the frustrating packaging.

Breaking through the clamshell packaging, she gripped the weaponâs cool plastic grip and ran her finger across the side of the blade. Admiring the weapon in the light, she toyed with it a little, slashing with it at air, getting a feel for it. Smiling at her new item, she took the sheath and placed it on her belt. Picking the scissors back up, she started to hunt through the shelves until she found something else, a knife sharpener.

Taking the knife sharpener in her hands, she started to sharpen the blade. As she did so, she felt a serenity she found hard to explain, expecting the journalâs reader to be able to understand. After at least an hour she stopped and returned the machete to its sheath. Standing up, she took her shotgun into her hands and started out the door.

Passing by the counter, she stopped. Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out a ten dollar bill and placed it on the counter. Satisfied she had paid for her knew weapon, she stepped out into the world, ready to deal with any infected she might come across.

It did not take long for her to come across an infected. Walking down the street, she was confronted by a large, infected man with the hunger for blood in his eyes. He had hissed at her, and then charged, ready to consumer a few bites of her before she turned into one of them.

Calmly, Shelby reached for her shotgun, but changed her mind before she slid the weapon from her shoulder. Instead, she reached down to the sheath and slowly, calmly, as if nothing was happening, released the machete from its sheath and took it in her hands. The infected man was close now, only a few feet away and moving fast.

Just as the man was just about on her, she jumped to her right. Before the infected man could react, she swung her machete at his neck. The blade hit and went through like a hot knife like butter, leaving his head hanging on by just his spin.

Satisfied with the weaponâs performance, Shelby bent down to wipe the blood from the blade so it would not spoil its perfection. With this task complete, she returned the weapon to its sheath and continued on, deciding whenever she wrote this entry that that was far enough for the reader.

Flipping the pages, Ryan found the next entry still legible due to blood stains on the paper. It was dated two weeks later and Shelby had found herself waking up on a fifth floor balcony. The rising Sun drew her from her sleep and she had calmly woken up. Pulling her self up, she went through her morning ritual of sharpening the macheteâs blade and ensuring her shotgun was fully loaded. Reaching into her bag, she pulled out what was left of a bag of Skittles and started to consume the little candies. Washing them down with a half bottle of water, she returned her meal to her pack and started into the apartment the balcony was connected too.

Stepping into the apartment, she found the floor littered with the corpses of the unfortunate infected who had gotten in her way. Stepping over the body of an aged, fat, infected woman, she made her way to the door and opened it.

Entering the hallway, she closed the door behind herself and looked down at her nice, well shined black combat boots. Shaking her head, she could see bloodstains on her right boot. Reaching into her pocket, she produced a rag and wiped the blood from it before starting out of the building.

Exiting the building, she whistled a little tune to herself as she made her way down the road. She had killed at least one hundred infected in the last two weeks, a nice little number, but far from enough. She had murders to avenge, the death of Lewis, the death of the student with the shotgun, so many deaths, one hundred infected wouldnât do. What she needed was a nest, something to give her just enough infected to satisfy her new found bloodlust, just enough for her to avenge so many. Turning the corner, she couldnât believe her luck.

Just fifty yards down the street was an open door with hundreds of blood stained footprints leading into it. It was a small building, a restaurant, only one story, but it must have at least a hundred infected inside. Smiling to herself, Shelby started foreword towards the former Italian restaurant.

Nearing the restaurant, she looked into the window. In the shadows she could see movement and lots of it. The moans of the infected confirmed what she had already known, it was full of them. Smiling what she labeled a sadistic smile, she stepped up to the window.

Raising her shotgun to her shoulder, she squeezed the trigger. The screams of the infected called back, as did the distinct sound of the pellets hitting former human flesh. Pumping the weapon, she let loose four more blasts before reloaded and firing five more blasts through the window.

Reloading for the second time, she started to make her way over to the door. Taking a deep breath, she could only hope she wouldnât get too much blood on herself. Releasing the restraints on her machete, she stepped inside.

The next few paragraphs where crossed out and impossible to read which Shelby later explained as not being important. There had been maybe fifty or sixty infected in the restaurant, she could not tell, but she was sure there where officially zero by the time she was sitting in the back office writing this journal entry. In less than ten minutes she had inflicted so much death upon the infected she had decided it was enough. Lewis was as avenged as he ever was going to be and the student with the shotgun had given so much so she could survive weather intentional or not. Yes, she was finally satisfied, she had drawn enough blood, she had wetted the ground with enough blood to avenge that of her friends, and now she was ready for a change. Written in panicked handwriting on a bloodstained notepad next to the office computer was something about an outpost at the former city mall. After all that had happened these last few weeks, she was curious as to what human society would be like now, how the survivors would be, how they would act, so she had made her mind up. She would go there, leaving her journal laying there for the next person to find. If she would make it or not, that was up to fate, but she would try.

Finished with the journal, Ryan looks up to see Riley finishing reassembling her weapon. Returning the bloodstained journal to his pack, he holds out his hands to take the weapon from her to inspect it.

Handing him the weapon, Riley starts to put everything back in the cleaning kit. Inspecting the weapon, Ryan nods, finding it to his satisfaction and hands it back.

âGood job, I should probably do that myself,â he says, handing her the weapon back and taking his own in his hands, going through the procedure to take it down and clean it.

As Ryan cleans his weapon the smells of cooking food emerge from the kitchen. It isnât the best smelling food in the world, but after the day theyâve had, it will have to do.

Ryan finishes cleaning his weapon as Friar and Zapata emerge from the kitchen carrying several plates on large trays.

âCooked whatever the hell wasnât rotten, for your pleasure my comrades,â Friar says, half jokingly, starting to lay the plates down in front of the squad members.

Taking a bite, Jackson recoils a bit, then shrugs and starts eating. âFriar, might be time to find another dream, cooking doesnât seem your strong suit,â he says.

Friar rolls his eyes. âI do the best I can with the best I can get, donât blame me almost everything in there is rotten,â he says, shoving a spoonful of something into his mouth.

The squad eats their humble meal and then settles in to sleep. Ramirez is given the first watch, with Zapata and Friar taking the next two shifts at the M249.

Lying down in a booth, Ryan shuts his eyes and starts to drift off, tired from the days, excitement. As he sleeps, he starts to have the dream again, more of a nightmare really, of her. Of the door closing on her face, leaving her in there with the weapon on her lap, something he still canât get out of his mind.

~ O ~

The next morning Friar quietly wakes the squad up and they dig out meager rations from their packs. The sky outside is still dull grey and heavily overcast, quite fitting with their current situation. Watching as time flies, Captain Miller finally decides on eight thirty as a good time to leave, seeing as it is now only a few miles to the River View apartments.

Stepping outside, Friar takes point, followed by Riley, Ryan, and the rest. Keeping their eyes peeled they wait for any contact at all.

âItâs getting harder to believe by the day you know,â Ramirez says, looking up at the buildings.

âWhat is,â Ryan replies.

âThat people used to live here, work here, play here, not just rats and these monsters, hell, just a couple blocks down is the park where my nephews used to play, so many memories,â he says.

Ryan nods. âYeah, well, one day, people will live here again, play here again, even work here again, just give it time,â he says.

âJust hope Iâm around to see it, you guys too, and I guess this Samantha Wilson,â he says.

âThis Samantha better be damn pleased we came out here too, damn pleased sheâs better than Allan, Gordon, the rest of us,â Jackson adds.

âOh shut up Corporal,â Zapata replies.

âOh sorry Private First Class, just saying what weâre all thinking, one dumb littleâ¦,â Jackson starts, but is cut off by a caw high above their heads.

âShit, now look what youâve done,â Zapata says, looking up for the crow.

From another rooftop, another caw comes, then another, and another, and another, from all over and from several different crows. Looking upward, the squad starts to get nervous.

Diving down from the rooftops come maybe twenty crows all hell bent on getting a kill. Raising his P90, Miller starts shooting, shooting one down, two, three, four, five, but they just keep coming.

Raising their M4s the squad starts to join in but the crows are coming too fast now. One dives towards Ryan but he bats it away with his rifle butt. Another shoots towards Ramirez who knocks it away with his fire axe and more are felled by bullets.

âInto the building, quick,â Ryan says, running towards a run down video rental store.

Running inside, the squad almost instantly realizes their mistake. Ryan, Riley, and Zapata are the first in and before they are even five feet from the door they turn and run out.

âThereâs a fuck load of them in there,â Zapata says as he runs out.

Close behind Ryan as he emerges from the video store is a practical horde of infected, at least fifty including approximately twenty charred infected. Each one screaming at the top of their lungs, hungry for the fresh blood so near, so close, just behind the guns.

Friar and Ramirez are the first to engage, cutting down several before they can even exit the video store. Reaching the two shooters, Ryan pivots, kneels, and starts to shoot into the massive crowd, pumping ammunition into them and dropping them one by one, but just not quickly enough.

âUh, guys, we have a problem,â Riley says, her voice trembling with fear, not something uncommon.

âWhat is it Private Riley, oh, contact three oâclock,â Miller says, turning to see what Riley sees.

Coming from down the street on the squadâs left is a large mass of infected, at least two hundred in all and hungry for blood. Even over the sounds of gunfire their screams can be heard as they charge foreword, even worse, a loud cawing of crows can be heard from above.

âPull back,â Miller orders, shouldering his P90 and firing into the crowd, constantly raising an eye to check for the soon to attack crows.

Pulling back, the squad starts to retreat down the road as the video store infected start to merge with the street crowd infected. Turning to fire into the crowd as they retreat, the squad finds their weapons have little effect on the crowd as a whole, killing only one or two or three at a time out of an enraged group of over a hundred.

Stopping in his tracks, Ramirez pulls a grenade from his pouch and pulls the pin. Letting the infected get close he throws the small explosive with his entire mite into the crowd. The device explodes, blowing several infected apart and delivering fatal wounds to others, but it has little effect on the crowd as a whole other then to allow the infected in the middle to move to the front.

Catching up with the squad, Ramirez runs to a rusted out blue sedan parked on an intersection and places his SAW on the hood and starts shooting into the crowd. Running up next to him, Jackson joins him as Miller, Zapata, and Friar take cover behind a busted brick wall and Ryan and Riley cover behind a red pick up truckâs truck bed.

Firing from behind the truck, Ryan manages to inflict several casualties on the infected horde, but itâs not enough. Riley, squeezing off rounds as fast as she can suddenly runs out of ammunition.

âShit, reloading,â she says, her trembling hand catching the empty magazine as it drops free and then maneuvering it to replace it with a loaded one. While swapping magazines, she notices Ryanâs Bowie knife stuck through her belt. Ignoring it, remembering he has a bayonet, she finishes exchanging magazines and releases the bolt.

âI think we can hold them back, but as soon as this crowd is down the crows will attack,â Ryan says, reloading his weapon. Looking up, he can see the black specks on the rooftops fluttering their wings ready to swoop down on an easy, exhausted meal.

âI think weâve just about stopped them, just a few more minutes,â Ramirez says, starting to reload his M249.

Jackson nods. âYeah, not too many now, what the hell was that,â Jackson says, reacting to a large, almost roar from his left.

Turning to look down the street, he sees what caused the roar. A large, blood stained grizzly bear charging towards them followed by at least seventy more infected.

âFUCKING HELL, KILL IT, KILL IT,â Jackson screams, maneuvering his FAL to face the bear.

Looking over at the charging animal, Ramirez starts to panic and fumble as he reloads his weapon. Jackson fires one shot, then two, then three, each one hitting the massive beast but not doing enough to stop it.

âAim for the shoulder, aim for the shoulder,â Ramirez frantically says, his weapon just about reloaded.

Firing again, Jackson hits the massive beastâs shoulder but the bullet fails to break the bone, probably a glancing shot. Squeezing the trigger again, he hits the massive beast just next to its head as it rears up and pounces on Ramirez.

âFuck fuck fuck,â Jackson says, jumping up and running backwards towards Millerâs position to get away from the massive infected beast. Firing another shot, he hits the beastâs neck, this round finally subduing the giant as the shooter flees to the Captainâs position.

âThat, was, a, fucking, bear,â Riley says, her eyes open in disbelief.

Ryan nods. âYeah, we should really, really fall back,â he says, standing up and running over to the Captainâs position, Riley close behind.

âFall back, fall back,â Miller says, already starting backwards as Ryan and Riley reach his position.

Running as fast as they can down the street the squad turns another corner and starts down it. Stopping at the corner, Zapata throws a grenade into the massive infected mob chasing them and then quickly catches up with the others. Frantically looking for a safe place to hide, Miller catches sight of a store with metal bars on its windows and runs inside.

Zapata, the last person inside pulls the door shut behind him as Friar and Jackson push a shelf down to block the door. Taking a few moments to catch their breath, the squad looks at the store theyâve stumbled into and canât believe their dumb luck.

The store they had run into is a sporting goods store catering mostly to hunters and sport shooters. While the shelves are looted, several shotguns and bolt action rifles can still be found. Boxes of ammunition still lay on some shelves and AR-15 magazines, inter-changeable with the M4 magazines can still be seen on certain shelves.

âTake the AR magazines and load them, divide them up equally among each other, Ryan, Jackson, and Friar, take some of those shotguns and try to thin the infected herd a little,â Miller says.

Nodding, Ryan goes over to the counter and climbs over. Taking a Mossberg 500 in his hands he grabs two boxes of twelve gauge shells and loads the weapon. Stepping over to a broken window, he shoulders the shotgun pointing outside and fires a blast off.

The blast hits a female infected directly in the chest, blowing it open and killing her. Instead of falling back, more infected come to take her place, suffering a similar fate at the hands of one of the three guarding the windows.

As those three hold the infected back, Riley and Zapata remove the AR magazines from their wrappers and start loading them, using surplus 5.56mm at first and then moving on to mostly inter-changeable .223 when that runs out.

Firing another blast into the hungry crowd, Ryan steps back from the window and starts to reload the weapon. As he puts the third shell in the tubular magazine, a crow flies in through the broken window and shoots towards him.

Pumping a shell into the chamber, Ryan points the barrel at the bird and squeezes the trigger. The crow explodes into a pink and black feathered cloud and he returns to reloading his weapon.

Reloading his weapon, Friar opens a box of twelve gauge birdshot and starts loading it. Pumping the first shell into the chamber, he squeezes the trigger. The shell goes off, filling the air with more pellets then a normal shell and hitting three infected, knocking them back but not killing them. Pumping the action, two crows dive towards him and he shoots, blowing both of them out of the sky.

Finishing loading the spare AR magazines Riley and Zapata find they have twenty in all, excluding Captain Miller and Corporal Jackson. However, eight of the magazines only hold twenty rounds.

âDone Sir,â Zapata says, standing up.

Miller nods. âAlright, divide them up, three thirty round magazines and two twenties to everyone with an M4 including yourselves,â the officer says.

Picking up the magazines, Zapata takes his share while Riley takes hers. Stepping over to Friar, Zapata gives him his share while Riley takes Ryan his.

âThank you,â Ryan says, taking the magazines from Riley and placing them in his pocket. âCaptain Miller, permission to search the back room and look for a way out,â he says, turning to the officer.

Looking over at the window Ryanâs been shooting at, Miller nods. âDoesnât look like we will be getting out that way, you and Riley scout it out, the rest of you keep up the fire,â the Captain says, picking up a Stoeger Uplander and stepping over to the window.

Starting towards the back door, Ryan picks up a canvas bag and ties it onto his belt, then fills it with several boxes of twelve gauge shells, mostly normal shot and bird shot. Picking a sling off of a shelf, he attaches it to the weapon and then continues towards the back door.

âWhat are you doing with that,â Riley asks.

Ryan shrugs. âThink Iâll take a souvenir,â he says, and then steps into the back room, the shotgun leading the way.

The back room is dark and the floor is littered mostly with junk and the occasional box of ammunition, arrows for bows, and other objects. Moving slowly through the back room, his finger resting on the shotgunâs trigger guard, his eye catches sight of the back door.

âCover me while I open the door, I just want to check, make sure itâs secure,â Ryan says.

Nodding, Riley gets close to the door and shoulders her M4. Taking a deep breath, Ryan grips the door knob and slowly twists it, then as slowly and as quietly as he can he pulls it open.

The door creaks as the pulls it open, but it doesnât seem to alert anything. Looking outside, he sees an alley with several garbage cans lining it, but no infected in sight. Smiling to himself, he closes the door as quietly as he can and starts back into the store.

Stepping into the store, Ryan walks over to Captain Miller.

âSir, itâs all clear, thereâs an alley out back, we should be able to make an escape through it if we move quietly enough,â the Corporal says.

Captain Miller nods. âAlright, quietly pull back, Jackson, leave them something to remember us by, alright,â he says, starting towards the back room followed by the rest of the squad.

As the rest of the squad starts out the back, Jackson happily reaches into a pouch on his belt and pulls out a hand grenade. Smiling, he pulls the pin and slowly steps towards the infected trying to claw their way in.

âEnjoy, better luck next time I suppose,â he says, then chucks the grenade into the crowd. Running for cover, he jumps behind a shelf just as the grenade explodes, sending infected body parts into the store. Smiling, the Corporal stands up and makes his way into the back room, closing the door behind him.

Stepping into the back alley, Friar leads the way, followed by Riley, Ryan, Miller, Zapata, and Jackson bringing up the rear.

As they walk through the alley, the squad can still hear the moans and screams of the enraged infected just on the other side of the buildings. Moving quietly, they hope to avoid any contacts and all is going well until they reach a turn in the alley.

Trying and failing to resist, Riley sneezes as they pass by the back door of a restaurant. Before they can even walk another yard, the restaurantâs back door is thrown open and several infected, mostly obese, charge into the alley.

âContact,â Zapata declares, shouldering his carbine and firing several shots into the small group. The squad starts to run foreword, firing quick double taps into the small crowd, dropping them with ease, but they are still panicked by the thought of infected bears and the moans and screams of the infected coming from the other side of the building.

Running after the squad, Jackson hears something to his rear. Pivoting, he shoulders his FAL and his sights fall on what it is, a young woman, maybe twenty at the most chasing after him, her arms flailing above her head.

Dropping to a knee, Jackson squeezes the trigger, and before he can even ease his finger off the trigger he knows what horrible thing heâs just done.

The heavy 7.62 bullet explodes from his barrel and rips into the young womanâs heart, throwing her now lifeless body to the ground. Jacksonâs eyes wide with terror, the thing he heard finally registering with his panicked brain, âhelpâ.

âOh shit, oh shit, oh shit,â he says out loud, panicked, running over to the body.

Reaching it, he kneels down next to her, swearing to himself as he does so.

âJackson, weâve got to go,â Friar calls back.

Jackson turns back to him, a panicked, remorseful look in his eyes. âI, I, I killed her, she wasnât infected, she was running to me for help, and I just, and I just, I just shot her,â he says.

Shaking his head, Captain Miller walks over to the Corporal. Reaching the teary eyed Corporal, he knees down next to him.

âJackson, listen to me, you made a mistake, you could hear the infected, a mob of them, just on the other side of the buildings, we had just been attacked by the infected, you where panicked, she just ran out, took you by surprise, and you did what just about anyone in your situation would have done, you engaged what looked like a threat, it happens, itâs not good, but it happens,â the Captain says.

Jackson nods, tears still in his eyes. âI, I, I want to find her, Samantha, I want to find her, Iâve got to make up for this, I have to,â he says, climbing to his feet.

Miller nods. âYes, yes, weâre going to find Samantha Wilson, weâre going to find her, I promise you, we will find her,â he says, walking back to the squad with the emotional Corporal.

Continuing foreword, the squad walks for a few hundred yards when they hear something in the distance. Turning, Captain Miller instantly knows what the nearing noise is.

âRun, run very fast and try to find somewhere to hide,â the officer says, knocking a trash can over and starting to run down the alley.

Following the officer, the panicked squad charges down the alley, the roar of the infected mob behind them getting louder and louder with each passing second. The nearing caw of crows adds to the squadâs panic as they frantically try to put distance between themselves and the infected as well as find a place to hide.

Turning a corner in the alley salvation comes into sight. A large hotel building, its backdoor slightly ajar. Not wasting a single second the squad charges inside and throws the door closed behind them. Finding several large objects, they use them to barricade the door before they finally get a moments rest.

Trying to catch their breath, most of the squad practically collapses due to exhaustion. Breathing heavily, Captain Miller stands up.

âWe should go upstairs, take the stairs to the top floor, take shelter in a room up there, we should be able to secure it better, letâs go,â he says, starting into the hotel. Nodding, the squad follows him, not sure if the hotel is all that safe but damn sure they donât want to be outside again. This mission had better turn out to be worth all this mess.

Okay, two more chapters to go but I think I've figured out what's causing those boxes in the text. Seems when you copy and paste from Word it puts those in the place of " and , so what I did was move the story into wordpad, but only got the same result. So, what I think I'm going to do is go through each of the two remaining chapters when I post them and remove those symbols and retype them on here, should take me a bit longer though the end result should be worth it. Would be nice if I could delete and repost everything that way but at least I know what will work this time.