Cleansing Zone, First Line of Defense After the Bombardment
"Area cleared. No infected detected in the outer zones."
"Zz… Confirmed. Let the infantry handle the rest until the next attack."
Alan looked over the battlefield after a direct bombardment on at least two hundred thousand infected who had attempted to assault the shelter he had been stationed at over the past week.
This place was beyond deplorable—a zone filled with nothing but the dead. The smoke lingering in the streets made visibility worse, which only made the military's job harder.
At this stage of the pandemic, it was nearly impossible to find survivors in the cities.
Sadly, that had made certain decisions easier for Alan—decisions that might have caused other soldiers to hesitate.
"There's no one left alive here. Hell, not even animals could survive something like this."
John Rambo, a captain in the special forces, looked at Alan, who stood in silence, and said, "You shouldn't be here, Colonel…"
"At this point, I'm not that important. The plan I came up with is already in motion. Even if I die, nothing will stop it." Alan acknowledged the middle-aged man who had regained his rank and rejoined the army with one request: that they save his family.
Alan had agreed—having a soldier experienced in guerrilla warfare was ideal for defending the new base. His combat expertise would be invaluable in the future.
"No one here would feel secure about the future if you died."
Everyone felt reassured knowing Alan was alive and commanding the remaining army in Texas—free from FEDRA's control.
"Why are we moving so fast?" asked Lee, a bald man in the group, with some hesitation.
"FEDRA controls the military in almost the entire country, which brings up a very important question: What happens when we stop receiving naval support?"
After saying this, Alan added, "So far, their airstrikes have kept our fuel and weapon stockpiles in check. But once that support stops, we'll be forced to retreat and eventually vanish from the cities."
"That makes a lot of sense…" John thought Alan was highly experienced—and he wasn't wrong. If FEDRA chose to cut off their naval support, their days would be numbered.
"Well said, Corporal. Let's move out."
Once the smoke had cleared enough, Alan—assigned to clear the basement of a library—gave the order: "Our mission is to eliminate a nest. You know the drill—masks on."
"Understood, sir. But we should consider scheduling more rest intervals. A lot of us are having psychological issues from seeing so much blood," one soldier said, though he stopped speaking when he noticed the way everyone was staring at him.
"We're all mentally exhausted, Corporal. But we have to keep going—if we don't, this will never end." Alan turned away after speaking.
Everyone was tired, but this was a race against time. Transporting all the machinery from key factories in the city and suburbs had been left to the civilians.
That's why, while resources were being moved, the soldiers had to keep fighting until they couldn't anymore.
Additionally, their mission wasn't just to eliminate infected—they also had to carve out paths to retrieve the most valuable resources from the area.
Weapons were Priority A. Preserved food and clean water were Priority B. Fuel and electronic devices fell under Priority C. This system gave them total control over which resources were most crucial.
All the squad members had been selected to form the foundation of the new military base at the dam. Alan knew that having strong soldiers under his command was more than enough to begin with.
If he could secure everything necessary to restart operations and stop depending on outside support, then he could start thinking about expanding his influence.
"Something on your mind, Captain John Rambo?" Alan noticed John's silence and asked, wanting to assess his mental state.
"I'm fine, sir—ready for whatever needs to be done today." John gave Alan a confident look, and Alan looked away, satisfied with the response.
He might not show it, but Alan was confident John would respond well under pressure. When they arrived at the clearing zone, everyone disembarked from the Humvees.
"Split into two teams. One will handle the upper floors; the rest will take the parking garage."
Everyone started moving. Alan climbed to the upper levels of the library, leading his team. He spotted several walkers who hadn't noticed their movement yet.
"In the chambers to the right, there are more Stalkers dazed from the smoke and explosions. We need to eliminate them quickly."
Alan took aim at the Stalkers ahead, but just before he fired, he sensed a presence rushing from his left.
What the hell?
Alan turned—but not fast enough. A black figure struck him hard and sent him flying out of the second-floor walkway, which connected to the first.
"Open fire!"
Bang! Bang! Bang!
The soldiers behind Alan saw him thrown by what appeared to be an infected, and they immediately opened fire.
Crack!
Alan landed between two bookshelves. As he tried to stand, he spotted several walkers approaching from behind. "Is it down?"
"The target's been eliminated—but this one was different. Much faster, stronger… smarter." Claire was nervous at the thought that more infected like that might be lurking.
Brion, who had seen Alan go flying, joked, "That idiot must've been an athlete. You think that was an NBA player?"
"Cut the jokes. Colonel, how are you?" asked Cole, who came down with a team to check on Alan. Alan had already taken out a few of the infected nearby.
Standing up, Alan nodded, but as he took better stock of his condition, he realized a wooden shard had slashed his back. "How bad is it?"
Claire looked at Alan's wound and immediately said, "There's more bleeding than normal, but you'll be fine. Let Carlos treat you while we take care of this."
"Will you be okay without me?"
"Haha, you just got launched across the room—I think we'll manage."
Alan smiled as he watched the soldiers handle the infected quickly, but a look of concern crossed his face.
The infected… seemed to be evolving in different ways.