The helicopter's roaring ascent was a brutal, physical pull away from the inferno of Fort Hamilton. Iris pressed her face against the cold, reinforced window, watching in horror as the last bastion of order crumbled beneath them. It was no longer just a battle; it was an execution. Fire consumed the barracks, lighting up the teeming, unholy mass of the zombies that had finally, utterly, overwhelmed the base. The cries of the dying were swallowed by the rising flames and the ceaseless, guttural roars of the victorious horde.
Inside the rattling chopper, the air was thick with the stench of fear, blood, and the metallic tang that seemed to be the signature of this new, dying world. Alex slumped against the fuselage, his face pale and streaked with grime, his eyes wide and vacant from the sheer, overwhelming carnage he'd just witnessed. He looked at Iris, then back at the inferno, his lips moving silently as if trying to grasp what he had seen. The impossible feats she'd performed, the monstrous strength, the blinding speed – it was no longer a suspicion in his analytical mind, but a chilling, undeniable truth.
David, slumped on the bench opposite them, was a silhouette of exhaustion and grim resolve. His rifle lay across his knees, ready. He had pulled the grizzled Warrant Officer he knew into the helicopter at the last second, a silent testament to the bonds of soldiering. Now, he simply stared out, his face etched with a profound weariness, the weight of a world lost pressing down on him.
The journey was a blur of exhaustion and adrenaline crash. There were no comfortable seats, no hushed conversations, just the constant thrum of the rotors and the low, collective moan of the terrified survivors crammed into the helicopter. They were soldiers and civilians, all broken, all clinging to the desperate thread of continued existence.
Hours passed. The sun, a cold, indifferent orb, began its slow descent. David finally stirred, pushing himself upright with a groan. He pulled out a crumpled map, tracing their approximate flight path. His face was grim.
"Approaching designated drop zone," the pilot's voice crackled over the internal comms, clipped and devoid of emotion. "Remote LZ. Expect no ground support. This is a one-way trip, people. Good luck."
Remote LZ. No ground support. One-way trip. The words hit like physical blows. Their "rescue" wasn't to another Fort. It wasn't to a safe haven. It was a drop into the vast, unknown, and utterly hostile wilderness.
The helicopter began its rapid descent, buffeting violently. Dust and dry leaves exploded around them as the landing gear hit a patch of hard, unforgiving earth. Before the rotors had even fully spun down, the pilot was yelling, "Go! Go! Go! Out! Out! Out!"
David barked orders, shoving Iris and Alex forward. They tumbled onto the parched ground, the hot, dry air a stark contrast to the humid, blood-soaked concrete they'd known for weeks. The chopper lifted off almost immediately, its roar quickly fading into the vast, unnerving silence of the wilderness. They were alone.
The "drop zone" was nothing more than a desolate expanse of scrubland, stretching to a horizon unmarred by city lights or plumes of smoke. A few sparse, wind-battered trees stood like sentinels against the dying light. There were no tents, no patrols, no semblance of order. Just empty land.
David scanned their surroundings, his eyes already assessing the risks. "Welcome to nowhere," he muttered, his voice flat, devoid of emotion. He turned to Iris and Alex, his eyes hardened by decades of combat and the fresh trauma of Fort Hamilton's fall. "This won't last."
Alex, surprisingly, didn't argue. He looked around at the endless desolation, then back at the rapidly disappearing helicopter. The brief, terrifying days of 'safety' at Fort Hamilton, the sheer overwhelming experience of One World Trade, and now this stark, silent emptiness had shattered any lingering illusions of the old world. He gripped the scavenged knife David had given him, his hands calloused, his eyes now holding a wary readiness. "What do we do?" he asked, his voice rough.
"We move at first light," David announced, his voice low, cutting through the vast silence. "This place is a coffin waiting to close. We head west. Less population. More open land. We find a new way to survive. On our own."
Iris felt a strange sense of liberation, despite the overwhelming fear. The constricted space of the base, the constant anxiety of discovery, had been suffocating. Out here, in the vast, broken wild, her powers felt less like a dangerous secret and more like a necessary truth. A tool for survival.
They spent the remaining hours of darkness meticulously packing, sifting through their meager possessions, making agonizing choices. Alex, with his analytical mind, calculated their estimated range, their caloric needs, their water consumption. David double-checked his weapons, his map, his gut instinct. Iris, fueled by a nervous energy, helped them prepare, her heightened senses already reaching out into the silent, waiting wilderness beyond their immediate vicinity.
As the first sliver of dawn painted the eastern horizon, long before any living thing truly stirred, David gave the silent signal. They slipped away from the desolate drop zone, ghosting through the pre-dawn gloom. The "safety" they'd sought was a false promise, a brief, fragile illusion. Ahead lay the vast, unknown expanse of an Apocalypse Reborn, and they were stepping into it, alone.