The operating suite, once a symbol of their last stand, became a war room. The air, thick with despair just moments before, now crackled with the electric tension of a desperate plan. Quinn, Hex, and Lena gathered the survivors who were still capable of fighting—a handful of ten men and women, their faces grim but their eyes now lit with a spark of purpose. Among them was the woman with the machete, whose name was Maria, and a quiet, wiry man named David who had proven to be surprisingly adept with a crowbar.
"This is a one-way trip," Quinn told the small group, his voice low and intense. "There is no falling back. There is no surrender. We move forward, or we die. Our objective is the riot van, parked at the front of the building. We get the children there, and we go."
Hex laid out a floor plan of the clinic on an operating table. "The horde is concentrated at the front and west side of the building," he explained, tapping the map. "The morgue loading bay, in the sub-level, is our exit point. It's a reinforced steel door that opens into a recessed alleyway. It's our best chance of getting out unseen."
"But how do we get the horde away from the van?" Maria asked, her knuckles white as she gripped her machete.
"Diversion," Hex said, a grim smile touching his lips. He pointed to the clinic's oxygen storage room. "It's filled with dozens of highly pressurized oxygen tanks. If we were to, say, open the valves on those tanks and introduce a spark…"
"It would create a massive explosion," Lena finished, her eyes widening. "A fireball. The sound and the light would draw every infected for blocks."
"Exactly," Hex said. "It'll be the biggest dinner bell they've ever heard. It should pull the bulk of the horde to the southeast corner of the building, giving us a window to get from the loading bay to the van."
The plan was audacious, bordering on insane. It relied on precise timing and a healthy dose of luck.
The preparations were a blur of frantic, focused activity. They gathered the five children, including Lily, into a small, protected group. Lena gave each of them a small dose of a mild sedative she had saved—enough to keep them calm and quiet, but not enough to render them helpless. She armed herself with a scalpel, its small, sharp blade a deadly tool in her steady hand.
Hex worked on the trigger for the explosion. He rigged a simple remote detonator using a walkie-talkie and the battery from a defibrillator. One of the volunteers, a young man named Alex whose family had been lost in the first days, offered to stay behind to open the oxygen tanks. It was a suicide mission, and everyone knew it.
"They'll be at the door before I can get out," Alex said, his voice quiet but firm. "Let me do this. Let my death mean something."
Quinn looked at the young man, saw the profound, tragic resolve in his eyes, and gave a solemn nod. "We won't forget you, Alex."
When everything was ready, Quinn gathered the breakout group at the stairwell leading down to the morgue. "From this moment on, there is no stopping," he commanded. "We move as one. We protect the children. Hex, you have the rear. I have the point. Let's go."
He gave the signal to Alex over the walkie-talkie. They waited, their hearts pounding in the tense silence. Then, a voice crackled back.
"Tanks are open. It was an honor. Go."
Hex pressed the button on his detonator.
A low whoosh was followed by a cataclysmic explosion that shook the entire building to its foundations. A wave of heat washed through the hallways even down in the sub-level. The sound was a physical blow, a deafening roar that was immediately followed by the collective, enraged shriek of thousands of infected.
"Now!" Quinn yelled.
He kicked open the stairwell door and plunged into the morgue. A handful of infected were here, drawn by the initial noise, but they were disoriented, their heads turning towards the source of the massive explosion. Quinn's axe dispatched them before they could react.
They reached the loading bay. The heavy steel door was controlled by an electronic lock, its power dead.
"I got this," Hex said, pushing his way to the front. He ripped the control panel off the wall, exposing a nest of wires. He pulled a small multimeter from his pack and began to work, his fingers moving with practiced speed. "Just need to find the right circuit to short…"
The sounds of the horde outside were changing. The initial roar was being replaced by the sound of movement, thousands of feet shuffling, running, moving towards the fire. The diversion was working.
"Hex, now!" Quinn urged.
"Almost…" Hex muttered, touching two wires together. A shower of sparks erupted, and with a heavy clunk, the electronic lock disengaged.
David and Maria threw their weight against the heavy door, pushing it open just enough for them to squeeze through. They emerged into a narrow, recessed alleyway. The air was thick with smoke, and the night sky to the southeast glowed a hellish orange.
The path to the van was fifty yards of open ground. But it was not clear. Dozens of infected, stragglers from the horde, still roamed the parking lot.
"No more stealth," Quinn said, taking Lily from Lena and settling her securely on his back. "We run. I clear a path. You all cover the flanks and protect the other kids. Go!"
They burst from the alleyway like a commando unit. Quinn was a force of nature at the front, his axe a blur of motion. He did not engage in prolonged fights, simply smashing through any infected that stood directly in their path, creating a narrow corridor through the chaos.
Lena was right behind him, a scalpel in one hand, a small medical kit in the other. She moved with a dancer's grace, using her small size to her advantage, ducking under a swiping arm, making a quick, precise jab to an infected's eye, then moving on. When one of their group, David, took a deep gash to his arm, she was there instantly, slapping a pressure bandage on the wound while still moving, never stopping.
Hex brought up the rear, his shotgun booming, providing a rear guard against any infected that pursued them. His shots were controlled, methodical, each blast serving to scatter and stun, keeping the path behind them clear.
They were halfway to the van when they hit a thick cluster of infected blocking their path. Quinn saw them falter.
"Don't stop!" he roared, his voice a raw command. He pushed forward, a one-man wrecking crew, creating a small, bloody opening. "Through here! Go! Go! Go!"
They pushed through, a desperate, scrambling mass of humanity. They reached the van, its armored shell a beautiful sight. Hex was already there, having sprinted ahead, and was wrenching the side door open.
"Get the kids in!" he yelled.
One by one, they bundled the terrified, sedated children into the back of the van. Maria and David provided cover fire, holding back the infected that were now swarming their position.
Lena was the last one to get in. As she scrambled into the van, an infected grabbed her leg, its teeth snapping inches from her ankle. Before Quinn could even react, Lena twisted, driving the heel of her boot into the creature's face with surprising force, then pulled herself inside.
Quinn jumped into the driver's seat, Hex climbing into the passenger side. He slammed the door shut, hit the ignition, and stomped on the gas. The riot van roared to life, its heavy tires squealing as it plowed through the remaining infected, its armored body shaking off the impacts of their bodies.
They sped away from the burning clinic, leaving the screams and the chaos behind them. Quinn looked in the rearview mirror. He saw the orange glow of the fire, the writhing sea of infected, the final, desperate stand of the haven that had been. They had made it. A handful of them.
He looked over at Lena, who was tending to David's arm. He looked at Hex, who was grimly reloading his shotgun. In the back, he could hear the soft, sleepy breathing of the children. They were alive. They were free. But the cost had been immense. And as the burning clinic disappeared from view, Quinn knew that their journey, their fight, was far from over.