Day 3: Scavengers
06:00 AM, En Route to the Armory—New Jersey Turnpike
The rig's suspension groaned over a pothole, jolting Jack from a half-sleep. He'd nodded off clutching his shotgun, the stock digging into his thigh. Across the cab, Tara nursed a flask of coffee, her eyes glued to the road—what was left of it. Abandoned cars littered the highway, some burned-out, others stripped to their frames.
"Ethan's fever's spiking." Lily's voice came from the back, strained. Jack twisted in his seat, seeing the boy curled on a makeshift cot, his mother hovering over him. The bruise on his arm had spread overnight, dark veins spiderwebbing from the "scrape" to his elbow.
Tara grunted. "Infected don't get fevers. They get hungry."
Lily shot her a glare. "He's not infected. It's a bacterial infection from the scrape." But her voice lacked conviction. Jack met her gaze in the rearview mirror, saw the lie in her eyes. They both knew the virus's incubation period was unpredictable—Mike had mentioned 24 to 48 hours. Ethan had hit 36.
07:15 AM, Abandoned National Guard Armory—Secaucus, NJ
The armory loomed ahead, a concrete monolith ringed by rusted barbed wire. The front gate hung open, a Humvee crashed into the fence, its doors ripped off. Inside, the courtyard was a graveyard of armored vehicles, their paint peeling, tires deflated.
"Home sweet home." Tara killed the engine, silence crashing over them like a wave. "Last time I was here, it was stocked with MREs, ammo, even a few RPGs. Raiders might've hit it, but scavengers usually avoid military bases—too many booby traps."
Mike popped his head out of the back, laptop in hand. "I'm picking up a weak signal—internal security system's still active. Motion sensors, maybe automated turrets." He tapped the keyboard, grin returning. "But their firewalls are crap. Give me five minutes to disable the sensors."
Jack shouldered his shotgun, scanning the shadows. "Lily, stay with the rig. Tara, you and me check the perimeter. Mike, hurry."
07:30 AM, Courtyard—Turrets Activated
The first turret fired without warning, a burst of bullets pinging off the rig's armor. Tara swore, diving behind a Humvee. "Thought you said you'd disable them, hacker!"
"Working on it!" Mike's voice crackled over the comms, panicked. "They've got a secondary system—military-grade encryption."
Jack spotted the turret on the roof, its barrel rotating toward them. He aimed, fired—shotgun pellets sparked off the metal casing, useless. "Tara! Molotovs!"
Tara tossed a cocktail from her belt, the glass shattering on the turret's base. Flames erupted, melting the wiring. The turret spasmed, then went silent.
"Nice shot." Jack grinned, adrenaline pumping.
"Don't thank me yet." Tara nodded to the armory doors, which creaked open, revealing a half-dozen figures in tattered military gear, rifles raised. Scavengers—probably ex-Guard, now looters.
"Drop the weapons!" their leader shouted, a grizzled man with a sergeant's insignia on his jacket. "This is our territory."
Jack exchanged a glance with Tara. They were outnumbered, outgunned—until Mike's voice blared over the comms: "Got it! Turrets are down, doors are open. Oh, and… there's a horde incoming. Infected, maybe a hundred strong. They're drawn to the gunfire."
"Shit." Tara gripped her rifle. "Sergeant! We're here for supplies, not trouble. Infected are on their way—join us or die alone."
The sergeant hesitated, eyes flicking to the distant roar of感染者 (infected). "Fine. But we split the loot."
08:00 AM, Armory Interior—Chaos Unleashed
The armory was a maze of shelves, half-empty but still stocked with gear: M16s, grenades, body armor, even a crate of C4. Jack grabbed a tactical vest, loading it with magazines, while Lily raided the medical locker—antibiotics, IV bags, painkillers.
Ethan's mother clung to the boy, now delirious, muttering nonsense. "He needs rest," Lily said, but her hands trembled as she checked his pulse. Too fast. Too weak.
Mike hovered over a terminal, downloading data. "Got something! GenCorp's lab coordinates are confirmed, but the self-destruct timer's already ticking—48 hours from now. And get this: the virus was designed with a kill switch. A specific frequency that shuts down the infected's nervous system. But you need a prototype emitter from the lab to activate it."
Tara whistled. "So we're not just looking for a cure. We're looking for a weapon."
The sergeant slammed a crate of ammo onto a cart, eyeing Jack's gear. "You planning to storm a fortress?"
"Worse." Jack clipped a grenade to his vest. "A biotech lab with a self-destruct protocol."
A distant crash echoed—the infected had breached the courtyard. Gunfire erupted outside, the scavengers' rifles barking. Jack peered through a window, seeing感染者 (infected) swarming the turret's flames, their movements faster, more coordinated than before. They're learning to avoid fire.
"Lily! Get everyone to the loading dock," Jack shouted. "Tara, you and the sergeant hold the front. Mike, find us a back exit."
09:30 AM, Loading Dock—Ethan's Turn
The back door led to a narrow alley, blocked by a collapsed fence. Jack and Tara heaved debris aside, while Lily tried to steady Ethan, who was now convulsing.
"Mom… it hurts." The boy's eyes flickered, pupils dilating, milky film creeping in. Lily froze, recognizing the signs—same as the first感染者 (infected) in the grocery store.
Ethan's mother screamed, clutching him closer. "No! He's just sick!"
Jack stepped forward, shotgun raised, but Lily shook her head. "I'll do it." Her voice was steady, but her hands trembled as she took Jack's pistol.
"Lily—"
"Get the others to the rig." She turned away, tears spilling, but her aim didn't waver.
The shot was muffled, a soft pop against Ethan's temple. Jack didn't look back as he herded the survivors into the alley, Tara's rifle booming behind them. The infected were closing in, their growls a wall of sound.
10:15 AM, En Route to GenCorp—The Truth Hits Hard
The rig sped through backroads, Tara taking detours to avoid Guard checkpoints. Lily sat in the back, bloodstained scrubs, staring at her hands. Jack didn't speak—some losses needed silence.
Mike broke the tension, waving a printout. "Found blueprints of the GenCorp lab. Underground complex, three levels. Level B3 is the research hub—cure, kill switch emitter, everything's there. But access requires retinal scans from a senior scientist."
Tara smirked. "Lucky for us, I know a guy who used to work for GenCorp. Dead, of course, but his eyeballs might still be useful."
Jack frowned. "You're kidding."
"Eyeballs are reusable, Marine. Ever seen a zombie movie?" Tara's humor was dark, but her logic was sound. Desperation breeds creativity.
13:00 PM, Abandoned GenCorp Safe House—Princeton, NJ
The safe house was a suburban mansion, boarded up, but the garage held a grisly surprise: a corpse in a lab coat, seated at a desk, eyes intact, decomposing hand still clutching a keycard.
"Dr. Marcus Voss," Mike said, scrolling through his laptop. "Lead researcher on Project Elysium. Bet his retinas still work—freeze-dried, kinda gross, but functional."
Lily gagged as Jack pried the corpse's eyelids open, inserting them into a portable scanner Mike had scavenged. "You owe me for this," she muttered.
"Debt's on me." Jack grinned, darkly. The scanner beeped green. Access granted.
16:00 PM, The Ambush—Raiders Return
They never saw the raiders' RPG coming. The rocket hit the rig's rear axle, sending it skidding into a ditch. Jack was thrown from the cab, landing hard, ears ringing. Through the haze, he saw pickup trucks swarming, men shouting, "Take the gear! Kill the survivors!"
Tara emerged from the wreckage, bleeding, firing her rifle blindly. "Jack! The C4 from the armory—use it!"
Jack crawled to the rig, grabbing the crate of explosives. Raiders were closing in, their guns trained on Lily, who was dragging a wounded scavenger from the back. No time for precision.
He set the charges on the nearest truck, diving for cover as it exploded, shrapnel shredding two raiders. Mike, ever resourceful, had hotwired a car, honking the horn to draw the raiders' fire.
"To the cars!" Jack shouted, rallying the survivors. They piled into the stolen vehicles, Tara gunning the engine, leaving the raiders' wreckage behind.
But the damage was done. The rig was totaled, their supplies halved. Worse, Mike's laptop had taken a hit—screen cracked, data corrupted.
"Still got the lab blueprints?" Jack asked, tense.
"Mostly." Mike winced, tapping the keyboard. "But the self-destruct timer's accelerated. Now it's 36 hours—and counting."
20:00 PM, Temporary Camp—Woods Outside GenCorp
They camped in a clearing, fires banned, lights dimmed. Lily cleaned Tara's wounds, her movements mechanical, still numb from Ethan's death. Jack stood watch, staring at the distant glow of the GenCorp lab—a fortress of steel and glass, looming like a tomb.
Tara approached, tossing him a protein bar. "Kid's death wasn't your fault."
"Wasn't yours either." Jack bit into the bar, tasteless.
"Sure as hell wasn't Lily's. But she'll carry it anyway. That's the price of being the one who cares." Tara nodded to the lab. "Tomorrow, we hit that place. We'll need her sharp. You too."
Jack said nothing, watching Lily fold Ethan's bloodstained blanket, careful not to look at the stain. She'll be sharp, he thought. Or she'll break. Either way, we move forward.
23:00 PM, Mike's Revelation—The Kill Switch Flaw
Mike sat cross-legged, laptop propped on a rock, screen flickering. "Jack? Remember the kill switch frequency? I found a flaw in the design. It doesn't just shut down the infected." He hesitated, pale. "It targets anyone with trace amounts of the virus in their system.潜伏期 (Latent carriers)… like Ethan's mother."
Jack's spine stiffened. He'd seen her scratch Ethan's back earlier, hadn't thought twice. "How many survivors are carriers?"
"Hard to say. But the emitter won't discriminate. If we activate it… we might kill half our team."
Jack cursed. Another impossible choice. "Keep it quiet. For now."
Day 4: The Lab Clue
Dawn broke over the GenCorp lab, its black windows reflecting the rising sun like a predator's eyes. Jack checked his gear: M16, stolen from the armory, extra magazines, the dead doctor's keycard. Lily carried the medical kit, now bolstered with supplies from the armory, but her face was blank, professional—nurse mode, no room for grief.
Tara patted the stolen car's hood. "I'll hotwire a distraction, draw the guards. You three slip in through the service entrance. Mike, you hack the doors; Lily, you stick with Jack. And Marines—" She grinned, feral. "Try not to blow up the lab before we get the cure."
Jack nodded, hand on Lily's shoulder. "Ready?"
She met his gaze, eyes hard. "Let's end this."
They moved toward the lab, shadows in the dawn, unaware that inside, the self-destruct countdown had already begun—and that the kill switch's true purpose was darker than any of them imagined.