By the time I reached the upper floor there were far more bodies. The floor was soaked in blood, and in the middle of the room lay a torn-apart corpse as if a pack of wild animals had shredded it. The colonel sat at the table by the comms station; at his feet lay the body of an infected, and a pistol was clutched in his bloodied hands. His pupils fixed on me he was alive.
"Anyone else make it?" he rasped, forcing his gaze to focus on me. "It's you. Of everyone at the base, you're the one who survived. Looks like you weren't infected."
He coughed, spat blood. His hands were bitten; there were also bite marks visible on his shoulder.
"The situation's shit," the colonel continued. "Food… that's the main source of the infection. Everyone who ate the civilian rations got infected. Command traced it the source was the flour. By the time it became clear, it was too late. Some of the personnel had already eaten it. Those who lived off military rations weren't infected. Who would've thought because of some damned doughnuts we'd be defeated."
The colonel smiled bitterly and coughed up more blood.
"Can I do anything to help?" I asked, though I already knew he was infected and there was nothing I could do.
"Not anymore," he answered, breathing hard. "I've seen what the infection does. I can't be helped."
He tried to stand and failed.
"My body won't obey me; I feel like I'm losing control. Listen carefully, soldier. I've got an order for you. Help me relay new commands to the city's military forces. Command didn't get the order to the units in time looks like the infected reached them too."
"What do you want me to do?" I asked.
"Take the headset from the table. Switch it to channel two," the colonel murmured, barely audible.
I grabbed the headset, put it on, tuned into the comms and switched to channel two.
"Command to HQ… order all units to fall back," the colonel croaked, his lips moving with difficulty. "An airstrike will be carried out on the city. At exactly nine o'clock. I repeat the order… everyone fall back…"
As he finished, his voice dwindled and his head slumped, lifeless.
I watched him, feeling the cold spread through me. Then I glanced at the clock six a.m. Three hours until the strike.
How had everything in the city gone to hell so fast? Printed reports and dispatches from the units lay on the table. I scanned through them. Almost all the units had been forced to retreat; the infected had broken the lines. Those who ate from civilian supplies rather than rations turned out to be infected.
Panic among civilians had become madness. People attacked those trying to protect them, seized weapons, killed soldiers. The survival instinct had stripped them of everything human, leaving only chaos and bestial despair.
And how do you hold a city when even your comrades turn infected and lunge at you? The military tried to stem the flow of refugees, but the barricades didn't help. The city had become a nightmare panic, blood, screams, gunfire. Sanity crumbled for everyone still breathing.
I had to leave. It was the only right choice.
"Arkha" the colonel, motionless, gave a faint sign of life. I didn't hesitate: I shouldered my rifle and fired several shots into his head.
I slung the assault rifle across my back, pulled my pistol, checked the magazine, and headed for the storerooms. I needed to restock: food, ammo, anything I could carry. Three hours was more than enough.
I ran to the warehouse and opened the door. Inside I hit the switch the lights came on. The place was almost empty. Most of the supplies and weapons were already gone, for obvious reasons. I found a couple of shotguns in the weapons lockers. I picked up a Benelli M4 Super 90 the same shotgun I'd used to storm the lab before; I'd returned with it once, and it had been taken from me, there'd been no time to look for it again.
For close-quarters combat with the infected, it was the perfect weapon: reliable, powerful, and simple to handle. I grabbed several boxes of twelve-gauge shells, packed everything into my backpack, and laid a spare set of clothes on top. There wasn't much space, but I managed to fit as much as I could.
I needed transport. Going on foot was too dangerous. Circling around to the side of the garage, I stepped through the service door and to my surprise, found three vehicles still standing inside.
"Better than nothing," I muttered, running my hand over the seat of one of the bikes.
It was an HDT M1030B1. I'd been briefed on almost every piece of hardware used by the military and special units. This motorcycle was based on the Kawasaki 650 a rugged enduro, reliable and easy to maintain. A beast that could run on almost any kind of fuel. The model had been modified for military use: redesigned muffler, reduced noise level, camouflage paint. It didn't care about dirt or dust.
*image*
I secured my backpack to the rear rack, attached an extra jerry can of fuel, and made one more run to the supply room for whatever was left. By the time I finished strapping everything down and checking my gear, a good chunk of time had passed.
At the gate, I pressed the button on the remote. The heavy doors started to rise with a metallic groan. Lost in thought, it took me a moment to realize what I was seeing. First, a pair of legs appeared on the other side and then, as the doors lifted higher, an infected lunged straight at me. What probably saved me was the rifle hanging across my chest. Instinctively, I jerked it up. The creature's teeth clamped down on the barrel, and I fell backward, wrestling with it.
"Son of a bitch," I snarled, mustering all my strength to shove it aside. I yanked my sidearm from the holster on my thigh and fired several rounds into its head.
Another infected was already charging at the sound of the shots. I brought the pistol up, aimed, and squeezed off a few rounds. The thing dropped right at my feet. My heart was hammering I started to relax for just a second, and that almost got me killed.
I couldn't afford that anymore. Not here. There was no safe place left every moment had to be spent on guard, ready to fight.
Slowly, I got up and scanned the area. I holstered my pistol, kept the rifle at the ready, and checked the perimeter. Most of the bodies were still where they'd fallen. Looked like none of the infected had gotten back up. I stood there for a few minutes, listening to the silence, then my gaze drifted to my watch. Like most soldiers, I wore it face-inward. There wasn't much time left.
Back at the bike, I did a quick calculation: the fuel in the tank should last around six hundred kilometers maybe less, considering the load. Still, it would be enough.Time to move.
I kicked the starter. The engine coughed to life, growling hoarsely, as if it resented being woken from a long sleep. I gave it a little gas, and my mood shifted instantly. Riding a bike is a different kind of feeling. I didn't use two wheels often, but that sensation is impossible to forget the speed, the rush of wind slapping your face, the way your whole body moves with the machine.
I shot out of the garage and headed for the gate. James was lying by the checkpoint, mauled to death. Looked like he'd fought to the very end. I went inside, hit the button to open the outer gates they began sliding aside slowly. On the table, I spotted a box of 5.56 rounds. Took as many as I could; my backpack was nearly full.
Mounting the bike again, I turned it toward the outskirts, keeping to dirt roads, away from highways and main routes. After a few minutes, I slowed down on a hilltop. From there, I had a full view of the city.
It was burning. Thick black columns of smoke rose from dozens of points, climbing into the sky. The glow of the fires shimmered in the windows. Somewhere in the distance, there were flashes gunfire. When I looked closer, I realized it wasn't the military shooting. It was civilians. People trying to fight off the infected… and some shooting at each other.
In the streets below, the infected ran wild, drawn to every sound, attacking anything that moved. The military was almost gone now only small groups retreating toward the outskirts.
*image*
I lowered the binoculars and watched for a long time as human civilization crumbled in a single moment. Everything built over generations was turning to ash before my eyes.
"Not the kind of morning I was hoping for," I muttered, my voice trembling.
I thought nothing could be worse than this day.
The sound of an aircraft.
The roar of engines tore across the sky, making me look up. A massive shadow glided slowly over the horizon a heavy bomber. Behind it, several smaller planes followed fighter escorts.
I couldn't see the bombs from this distance, but the results came fast. Within seconds, bright flashes lit up Pittsburgh. Waves of fire rolled through the streets, and a low, thunderous rumble reached me, heavy as an earthquake. The ground beneath my boots trembled, as if the earth itself couldn't bear the weight of what was happening.
The bombing went on for nearly ten minutes. The planes came one after another, dropping death upon an already dead city. Each explosion ripped through the air and through my thoughts. Was it right? There were still people in that city.And yet, I understood the military. They had to contain the infection. Those who remained would turn eventually. They just made the inevitable happen sooner.
My attention was drawn to the infected. As if obeying some unseen command, they began to leave the city, scattering into the forests. If I remembered correctly, they had something like a collective consciousness. It seemed the Cordyceps had evolved it was trying to preserve its hosts.
Soon, it would be too dangerous to stay anywhere near the city. I had to move.
I kicked the starter, the bike roaring to life, and turned away heading toward wherever there might still be a shred of safety, away from the chaos that had devoured this place.
At the city's edge, I passed the remains of army checkpoints. They were half-destroyed, surrounded by bodies soldiers and civilians alike. I could only imagine the horror that had unfolded there: people desperate to escape, soldiers ordered not to let anyone through, and the infected spreading faster by the minute.
Panic had broken out. The crowd, stripped of hope, had turned on the armed men. There was no way out. The soldiers had orders contain the outbreak at all costs. If they'd opened the road, the infection would have spread across the entire country. Then there'd be no place left to survive.
WHIIIIIIIINE
The roar of an engine ripped through the air, making me slow down and stop. For a moment, I thought it was another bomber but no. I looked up. A passenger plane had appeared in the sky. It was descending too fast, the pilots had lost control. If there was even one infected onboard, the passengers never stood a chance.There was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. Maybe the pilots had locked themselves in the cockpit, trying to hold it together long enough to land…
But it didn't look like they made it.
BOOM.
The plane slammed into the ground. The impact tore the fuselage apart, and the fuel ignited instantly. A massive fireball engulfed the crash site. From the sheer force of the collision, there was almost nothing left of the aircraft itself.
*image*
Someone began crawling out of the shredded wreckage of the plane. I couldn't believe there could be any survivors, but it didn't take long to understand. With broken limbs and torn-open wounds, infected were dragging themselves out of the flames.
Chaos reigned everywhere. I gunned the engine and tore away. I hadn't gone far before I hit a traffic jam. Highway was jammed solid. Dozens of cars were abandoned right on the road some had rammed into each other, others had flown off into the ditch. Blood smeared the doors, windows were blown out, and the intact vehicles were ringed by infected. It looked like some drivers had turned while behind the wheel and caused massive pileups.
Those who'd managed to get out abandoned everything and fled into the woods. I stowed the binoculars, opened the throttle, and drove over the grass to avoid the main road.
There were too many infected on the highway, but fewer on the shoulder. People trapped in their cars were sentenced to die sooner or later the infected would smash their windows.
All I could do was draw those things away long enough for people to get past. I wasn't a hero, but I felt obliged to give anyone a chance.
I pulled a fragmentation grenade from my pouch, yanked the pin, and without slowing down threw it into the crowd. The grenade landed in the thick of the infected.
Explosion.
The blast tore through a cluster of infected, killing many outright and mangling others, ripping limbs clean off. The commotion pulled their attention toward me. I drew my pistol and, balancing one hand on the bike, started shooting at the infected in my path.
Riding a bike with one hand while firing with the other on a rutted road is an art. My aim kept getting thrown off and more rounds flew wide than hit. When my magazine ran dry I had to weave and dodge through their lunges. I managed to break through; glancing back over my shoulder, I saw my plan had worked.
A mass of infected had been diverted toward the new target. The people I'd bought time for scrambled out of their cars and fled. Some didn't even try their fear had frozen them. For many, the car had seemed like the only refuge, and that was a terrible lie: staying inside was a death sentence.
Even if I'd wanted to, I couldn't have killed them all. I didn't have the ammo for that.
Clearing the jam, I accelerated, vaulted a guardrail, and finally got onto an open stretch of road. I kept to Highway heading toward Lakehaven Lake somewhere between towns, relatively removed from population centers. There were a few farms to the north where food could be found. The population was small; it might be possible to clear the infected and carve out some kind of safe place. But first I had to get there and think things through, piece it all together.
I'd been here two days. I still couldn't believe I'd ended up in this place. It's hard to accept reality not just understand it, but accept it. How do you go on living? Keep surviving in the hope that things will someday get better? It's more likely the sky will fall than that this will be fixed.
After roughly eighty kilometers my ass ached so badly I could hardly stand it. The enduro handled rough terrain well, but it wasn't meant for long highway stretches. Then again, maybe that was just because I wasn't used to it.
Along the way I passed cars headed both ways. People were searching for somewhere to stay; the government had probably designated evacuation points, but to me those sounded even more dangerous.
Finally I spotted a gas station. I pulled off onto the shoulder, cut the engine, and climbed down. The shotgun was already in my hands. I moved toward the station slowly and quietly, listening for any sound.