On the south side of town, bright floodlights illuminated snow covered in dark footprints. Soldiers patrolled with grim expressions, ready to investigate the slightest disturbance.
Even with the horizon ablaze and the outer perimeter descending into chaos, these men held their posts.
As one soldier passed a shadowy alley entrance, a head slowly emerged from the darkness.
The figure watched the soldier walk away, adjusted the black cloth wrapped around his head, and slipped across the street toward a small shop with a red sign.
Jim felt like the universe had it out for him today. He'd led a protest against the soldiers' unreasonable demands and gotten sold out for his trouble, spending nearly two hours kneeling on frozen concrete.
He'd barely managed to connect with some others who'd been punished. They'd started planning their escape for tonight—and then the alarm went off.
If he hadn't had the bright idea to duck into a shoe store, he'd probably be out there fighting Infected right now.
His legs still ached from kneeling. Fresh resentment boiled up inside him. He hoped the Infected and these military bastards would tear each other apart. Preferably with no survivors.
Wonder if the others are still there...
He felt his way through the dark shop, stumbled up the stairs, and found the door to the second floor. He raised his hand to knock the signal.
Before his knuckles touched wood, the door swung open. Several figures emerged.
Jim froze, mouth opening to cry out.
One of them—a tall, thin silhouette—was faster. He shoved Jim against the wall, clamped a hand over his mouth, and drew a knife, ready to thrust.
"Huh?"
The tall figure paused. Jim wasn't wearing a uniform, and he wasn't fighting back. Even in the darkness, that ridiculous multi-colored hair was unmistakable. "...Jim?"
Jim had been ready to die the moment he saw the knife coming. Hearing his name, his eyes flew open and he nodded frantically.
"Ha! Lucky timing. You caught the last train out." The tall man released him and tilted his head toward the stairs. "Come on."
Jim watched the shapes file past him, leaving him alone in the stairwell. He shivered, then hurried after them.
Threading through dark alleys, Jim brought up the rear, counting heads. Seven including himself. The tall man leading them was Joseph, the mastermind of their escape plan. The muscular guy behind him was Chad, Joseph's right-hand man. There were four others—a woman with wavy hair, a man in a suit, an obese woman, and a Black guy in a cap—faces Jim recognized but whose names he'd never learned.
They'd originally been a group of at least a dozen. Now they were seven. Combined with Joseph's comment about "the last train," it didn't take a genius to figure out the others had been left behind. He'd just gotten lucky.
Joseph clearly knew the area well. He led them through alleys and between buildings, dodging every patrol with practiced ease.
They'd worked their way from the south side all the way around to the east, taking a long detour, and the sounds of battle were getting louder instead of softer. Jim finally couldn't take it anymore: "Where the hell are we going?"
Joseph stopped in his tracks. The others stopped behind him, shooting annoyed glances at Jim. All they wanted was to get out of here—they didn't have time for explanations.
But Joseph considered for a moment, recognizing that some information was necessary. "Earlier, I was hauling food around here. There's a motor pool nearby—dozen or so trucks parked there, all covered with tarps. Dozen soldiers guarding it in shifts. Those have to be the supply trucks. Normally we couldn't touch them, but tonight? Tonight's our chance."
"What about keys? We can't drive without keys."
Jim had a point for once, but Joseph just gave him a flat look and turned away without answering, resuming his course.
Jim didn't understand what he'd said wrong, but he dropped it and followed silently.
They dodged patrols for nearly an hour, shivering with cold, before finally rounding a corner and spotting the motor pool ahead.
Everyone's spirits lifted. Without hesitation, they crept toward it through the shadows.
Because the frontlines were so desperate for manpower, only six trucks remained in the motor pool, guarded by exactly six soldiers. Each soldier had a gleaming brass key hanging from his belt.
So that's why Joseph didn't answer, Jim realized. Finding the keys was never going to be the problem.
"Ready up!"
Seeing the trucks and the skeleton crew of guards, Joseph's face lit up with excitement. He pulled out his pistol and motioned for the others to do the same.
But when he turned to look, only Chad had his weapon drawn. The others were visibly terrified, their pistols shaking in trembling hands.
"Useless. Fine—you wait here. When we're done, come running. Chad, let's go!"
Joseph had already known these people would be deadweight. Rolling his eyes, he gestured to Chad.
The two men crept forward, concealing themselves behind a low wall near the motor pool's flank, making a show of preparing to ambush.
The other five were relieved that someone else was doing the dirty work. They crouched behind some bushes, content to wait until everything was over so they could just hop in and drive away.
Moments later, Chad and Joseph finalized their plan. They exchanged a meaningful look, glancing back at the others hiding nearby, then rose slightly, pistols raised, taking careful aim.
BANG! BANG!
Two shots rang out simultaneously. One bullet punched through a soldier's skull. He didn't even realize what was happening before he crumpled.
The other bullet wasn't aimed at a soldier at all. It hit the ground right next to Jim's group, sparks flying close enough to make the two women scream.
The two shooters immediately ducked behind the wall and slipped away, circling toward the soldiers' rear.
Meanwhile, the surviving soldiers snapped to high alert. A bearded soldier looked especially furious—the dead man had clearly been a close friend.
They traced the gunshot and the screaming to the bushes across from them. Five soldiers raised their rifles and advanced.
Jim's group hadn't expected this. The realization of Joseph and Chad's betrayal hit them like a punch to the gut. The Black man didn't hesitate—he turned and bolted for the dark alley.
"You think you can RUN?!"
The bearded soldier saw him flee and opened fire, riddling the man's back with bullets. A single scream, then silence.
"AAAH—!"
"P-please don't kill us!"
The rest were frozen in terror. They raised their hands and dropped to their knees, weeping, begging the soldiers not to shoot.
The obese woman was so frightened she wet herself, then her eyes rolled back and she fainted dead away.
Jim wanted to scream at the heavens. Rage and desperation surged through him until inspiration struck. He pointed frantically at the motor pool: "There's two more of them! They're going for the trucks! One of your guys is dead—he's got the key! Stop them!"
The soldiers exchanged startled looks. They'd been wondering how this pathetic bunch could have managed such a clean headshot. Now it made sense. They spun toward the motor pool.
VROOM—!
One of the trucks' headlights flared to life. It lurched forward and roared out of the motor pool. As it passed them, Joseph leaned out the passenger window, face twisted in a mocking grin, middle finger raised. Then the truck veered hard and sped west, trailing exhaust fumes, disappearing into the night.
...
Get 20+ chapters ahead on - P.a.t.r.e.o.n "RoseWhisky"