February 24, 2028 - Dawn
With his unit lost, Alex drives for home. But can he escape the country's most crowded city alive?
Alex rotated his left wrist inward, his dominant hand steady on the wheel. The cheap digital watch strapped there read 0620. Sunrise.
The city was just waking up. Yesterday, zombies were nothing more than rumor, half-baked clips online, or another conspiracy theory for people with too much time. Today, half the country would roll out of bed, pour coffee, flip on the news, and hear the words: outbreak, contagion. They might've already been talking about the Belt parkway. Alex pictured office workers still trying to beat traffic, and parents still herding kids onto buses. Thursday morning habits stuck on autopilot, even while people outside were already dying.
Ironic. The end of the world was trending, yet people were still oblivious. He blinked, eyes gritty from no sleep, and glanced at his passengers. "Yo. Call home. Make sure nobody's going anywhere today." Arguenta nodded, already pulling his phone out. His face was serious. Morgan hesitated, thumb hovering over his screen. "You sure? I live outside the city too. It's gotta be quieter there, right?"
Alex's eyes stayed on the road. "Where at?" "Colonie." Alex barked a short laugh. "No shit. I'm Guilderland. Twenty, thirty minutes away. Guilderland's rural as hell, man, and I still told my people to sit tight." Morgan chewed his lip. "Can it really get that bad?"
"Yeah." Alex's voice was flat. "Remember how I told you I shot a guy three days ago? That was Albany. He was already gone, didn't even feel like killing someone, more like putting down an animal. He probably came from Albany city. Unluckily for me, or lucky, depending how you look at it."
What he didn't say: dying and waking up a week earlier was the real clock. He'd thought he had more time.
Arguenta and Morgan made their calls in raised voices, trying to sound calm while explaining the unbelievable. Family members on the other end didn't have the benefit of last night's carnage on the Belt Parkway.
Alex, on the other hand, seemed almost too calm from the outside. He spoke into his phone like this was just another call home from training. "Hey Dad, everyone still home?" "Don't worry, Alex. They are. You holding up, son?"
"I'm fine. We got hit hard. The unit's gone. We were overrun at the Parkway. I pulled out with Luis Arguenta and a few others." Silence on the other end. Then his father's voice, heavier. "I'm sorry, son. I know those men were your brothers. But how are you, really?"
Alex forced a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "I did what I could. Saved the ones I could. It's all anyone can ask for." He hesitated, then pressed on. "More importantly, you've got enough at the house. Don't risk going out. Pull out the guns. I left the good AR there. John can handle it. And Dad, you never used a shotgun, right?"
"I've never fired it." "It's like the AR. Semi-auto, it just kicks harder. Look up some videos, you'll figure it out." There was a pause, then his dad chuckled. "Figures. The same guns me and your mother hate are the ones keeping us alive."
For a moment, the tension cracked. They laughed together. Arguenta and Morgan gave him strange looks, like how the hell are you joking, but Alex needed it.
Calls wound down. Silence filled the Humvee except for the low growl of the diesel engine. Alex finally broke it. "Back on the Parkway… why do you think some of them were smarter?"
A shiver moved through the other men. Morales' half-eaten grin. Freiman fumbling at a Humvee door like he remembered how. Arguenta leaned forward, frowning. "On the CROWS feed, I only saw a handful move different. Like they knew what they were doing.
"Maybe they were smarter alive," Morgan suggested. "Nah," Alex muttered. "Freiman wasn't exactly a genius." The humor was weak and quickly died. Arguenta rubbed his jaw. "Doesn't matter why. Just means if you see one acting different, you treat it as a priority target." Morgan's face tightened. He nodded slowly.
The GPS directed them north, across the bridges into the Bronx. Here, the city was still alive. People walked dogs, hustled for buses, crossed streets with headphones in. Obeying traffic lights. Pretending the world hadn't changed overnight, or were ignorant to the change. The Humvee, armor scarred and mismatched, drew more stares than comfortable.
Near the Bronx hospital, everything shifted. Sirens in the distance. People dashing out of buildings, clutching bags. A grocery store emptied in a rush: carts clattering, bags splitting. At the rear of the mob, a heavy man stopped to scoop spilled cans. A young woman pounced on him, teeth sinking into his neck.
Alex's foot slackened on the accelerator, fatigue and curiosity getting the better of him. Civilians turned in shock as the Humvee roared past, their eyes begging the soldiers inside to do something. Anything.
Alex didn't stop. He couldn't save them. Maybe they'd at least figure it out early, to trust no one but themselves.
Arguenta's neighborhood came into view. Low apartment blocks pressed shoulder to shoulder. Clotheslines on balconies. Too many doors and hiding places. Alex's gut twisted. "You can't stay here. This city's a deathtrap."
"I know." Arguenta's voice was tight. "But my family's split. My girl's with her folks. My brother's still at work. I can't just leave." Alex's throat burned. He wanted to argue, but what right did he have? "If I can come back for you, I will." Arguenta gave a firm nod. "You got your family. I'll handle mine."
Alex idled the Humvee in the middle of the street. Things were quieter than downtown Brooklyn, but quiet wasn't safe. Arguenta dismounted with his ruck. The M240 stayed behind, too heavy to carry alone anyways.
That's when Morgan and Alex spotted it, movement across the street. A runner. The thing barreled toward them, arms out. Before Alex could shout, Arguenta pivoted, rifle up. One squeeze. The zombie folded mid-sprint, skull cracked open on the pavement.
Alex climbed out and shoved four spare mags into his hands. "You'll need these more than me." Arguenta clapped his shoulder, voice rough. "Stay safe, bro." Alex wanted to say more, some last brotherly joke, but the words caught. So he just nodded once, hard. Arguenta nodded back, and that was enough. Then he was gone, boots pounding toward his apartment door.
Alex jumped back into the Humvee, engine already revving. He honked hard, long blasts echoing down the block. If noise drew the infected, maybe it would pull them off his friend. Then he floored it out of the neighborhood.
The farther north they went, the thinner the crowds. Whole blocks sat eerie and empty. No gunshots, no screaming. For a while Alex let himself hope. Merging onto the I-87, hope vanished.
Cars thickened, brake lights glowing. Drivers fidgeted, engines revved, horns blared. The whole column slowed, then stopped. Just like the Parkway. Sweat prickled down Alex's spine. This time, he stayed left, Humvee nosed along the shoulder with gaps to maneuver.
For a while, it worked. He slid past the jam, trimming potentially hours of traffic. Then a yellow BMW edged onto the shoulder ahead of him. Copycat.
Alex swore. The Humvee bore down, too heavy to swerve. The BMW jerked toward the fence, boxed in by cars behind and beside. Then the impossible: the white Toyota behind rammed it, shoving it closer to the guardrail.
"Fuuuck!" Alex yelled. The Humvee bucked, front tires on the BMW's hood, then screeched into the guardrail. The chassis groaned, wedged tight. They weren't moving again.
"God damn it!" Alex pounded the wheel. Moments later, his arms ached with phantom bites, the memory breaking loose. He snapped back. "Out. Now. We need a new set of wheels."
Morgan scrambled clear. Alex's eyes scanned fast. The Toyota driver was already down, torn apart by his female companion; he turned mid-meal. Alex reached for his pistol, stopping when he realized 9mm would probably bounce right off that windshield. He raised his M4 instead and scored two clean headshots.
Screams erupted ahead. People poured from cars, running back down the jam. Herd instinct. Run toward where you came from, even if it meant running straight into danger. Zombies spilled after them, clambering over trunks and hoods.
Alex's pulse hammered. "Black SUV, two cars up." He pointed. "Engine's running, we'll check for keys, move." Morgan took the right flank. Alex advanced while watching straight as they moved forward. The closer they got, the thinner the line of civilians, the thicker the infected.
They reached the SUV. "Clear." Alex popped the driver's side open, seeing keys on the seat he waved Morgan back. "Get the gear." Morgan ran, hauling jerry cans from the Humvee's trunk. Alex covered, firing methodical shots with his M4. The 5.56 cracked sharp in the morning air, head after head folding. "Got the trunk!" Morgan panted. "Just back seats left!"
"Swap!" Alex barked. He dashed back, slinging his M4 tight. He yanked out the last ruck, then the M240. Slinging it across his chest was impossible, too heavy, too awkward, so he carried it braced in both hands. A gunshot cracked from Morgan's direction. Then another.
"Knight!" Morgan's voice shrilled. "There's too many!" Alex sprinted, M240 clutched like a battering ram, ruck dragging on his back. Morgan was at the SUV, firing into a crowd closing fast. He ducked in, slammed the door.
Alex skidded to the hood, slammed the bipod down. Flipping the safety, the machine gun roared. Dozens of zombies crumpled under the storm. 7.62 tore through skulls, jaws, rib cages. Blood sprayed across the windshields. The barrel smoked after the long burst. He hadn't bothered to count.
Then he swung into the driver's seat, M240 dumped into the passenger footwell. He stomped the gas. The SUV tore down the shoulder, bouncing hard, weaving past wrecks and corpses.
Alex's breath came ragged, laughter bubbling up against the taste of copper in his mouth. "Did you see that? We're clear, we're fucking clear!"
Morgan sprawled in the backseat, pale and grinning wild. "I nailed that first fucker! Bro, that was at least fifty meters! Clean shot! Two more closed on me, but I kept my cool. Then you came in with the motherfucking machine gun!"
"Hell yeah, baby!" Alex whooped.
They laughed like lunatics barreling north, past the dead, past the living, past the life they'd known a week before. The Army hadn't broken them yet. The apocalypse already had.