Richard sat on the roof of his house with a pair of binoculars. Every day he scanned the surrounding area methodically, patiently so he would be ready if anyone decided to attack. It was the only way he could calm his heart and reassure himself that everything was safe. Last time, that vigilance had allowed him to spot Victor's vehicle, and Richard had gone to deal with him personally. But everything had gone completely wrong.
A dull pop somewhere nearby caught his attention. At first, he thought it was a mine going off, but the sound was different and too far away. Then came another explosion, stronger this time. Richard squinted, trying to pinpoint the location. It had to be their resource base. The next blast was even more powerful; the shockwave rolled all the way to his position.
"Goddamn idiot. I told him to take the fuel, not blow everything to hell," the old man muttered through clenched teeth.
He hurried down from the roof. If the cultists decided to take revenge on someone, he'd be the one paying for it. He knew it clearly Victor only had to provoke them once, and war would be inevitable. Richard began preparing his gear, checking everything for functionality without wasting a single second.
He moved to the machine gun mounted on the wall in front of his warehouse. The position was well fortified: steel plates, sandbags everything assembled roughly, but solidly. The main road lay perfectly within its line of fire.
(Similar setup, just without the towers.)[image]
He pulled back the bolt and fed the belt. It was an M2 Browning heavy, merciless. One of the most widespread machine guns of its time, .50 caliber. It tore through light armor with ease, shredded cover, and ripped human bodies apart. A weapon designed not for combat, but for annihilation anything unfortunate enough to be on the other side of the barrel.
[image]
If he had to open fire, there would be no turning back.
Richard was hauling ammunition crates into position when Rebecca found him. She stepped closer, worry etched across her face.
"Wait what happened?" she asked, studying him intently.
"Go inside and hide Brian," the old man said, never taking his eyes off the direction the enemy might come from.
"No. I can fight too. I want to help. Are they coming for us?" Rebecca asked, clenching her hands.
Richard froze for a moment. His thoughts raced he understood all too well that he probably wouldn't be able to hold them off alone.
"Go up on the roof. Take my rifle. Cover us from above and report their movements," he said quickly, then immediately jogged off for another crate, dragging it closer to the position.
In addition to the machine gun, he placed an M2A1 rifle nearby and a full crate of hand grenades. Somewhere deep inside, he already knew today would most likely be his last day.
He looked up at the roof, where Rebecca had taken position, and hurried over to her.
"If we can't hold them back, you take your son and leave. I'll detonate all the charges. Under cover of my fire, drive out along the dirt road," the old man said, hoping at least that some part of his family would survive.
"No. I'm not leaving you. This is our home," Rebecca said firmly.
"To hell with this house and everything in it. If we all die here, none of it will matter. I'm sixty years old. How much longer do you think I've got before a heart attack or some other piece of shit takes me out?" Richard said, stepping closer and gripping her shoulders tightly. "You still have a chance. To live. To see sunrises. To find out how all this ends. Promise me you'll leave."
"I promise," Rebecca said quietly.
The old man turned away and immediately spotted a column of vehicles in the distance. A long trail of dust stretched out behind them.
"They're coming… Where the hell are you, Victor," Richard muttered. He had believed the kid would pull it off, that he'd bring the fuel back in time. But it looked like there was no hope left.
Richard went back down and took his place behind the machine gun grips. For a moment, memory washed over him another life, another war. He had fought before, when he was younger. More than once. Hot zones. Long ago. But things like that never really leave you.
The vehicles stopped near his barricade, and people began pouring out.
A shot.
A sharp, dry crack echoed through the yard. The bullet punched straight through a cultist's head. He collapsed before he even understood what had happened. Richard didn't look up he just trusted that his back was covered.
He squeezed the trigger, and the heavy machine gun came alive in his hands. The burst tore through everything in front of it bodies, metal, dirt turning blood and brains into a chaotic slurry.
There was no going back now.
Tri-trrr-trrr.
Gunfire slammed into the road barricade. Bullets kept shredding human bodies, scattering chunks of flesh across the ground. The cultists didn't stop. They kept advancing, as if they'd completely lost their minds. Death meant nothing to them. All that burned in their eyes was fanatic devotion.
The most dangerous person is the one who doesn't fear death who believes there's a place waiting for them afterward. That's when all limits disappear.
More than a dozen cultists lay dead near the barricade.
Richard thought he'd broken their push. The attackers began to fall back, retreating in disarray but he had underestimated their resolve.
"Rrrrr"
The roar of a powerful diesel engine ripped through the air. A truck burst around the bend, thick black smoke pouring from its exhaust. A crude metal battering ram had been welded to its front reinforced with steel plates and twisted rebar. At full speed, it slammed into the barricade, smashing it apart, though it lost some momentum.
Richard tried to punch through the cab with the machine gun, but thick steel plates protected it.
"Bastards…" he growled through clenched teeth.
He had saved something heavier for this. He grabbed the rocket launcher, aimed, and fired. The rocket hit dead center. The explosion tore the truck apart but its speed carried it forward anyway, and by sheer inertia it slammed into the gates.
The impact threw Richard backward. He barely managed to hold onto the machine gun, staying on his feet as the world swam before his eyes.
But he was still standing.
And the fight wasn't over.
"They're coming from the south!" Rebecca shouted.
Her voice snapped Richard out of it. He forced himself to focus, slipping into cold calculation and bitter concentration. He swung the machine gun and opened fire on the cultists' vehicles and the treeline, trying to buy time. Bursts tore through branches and dirt, forcing the attackers to keep their heads down.
Then he stopped firing, grabbed his rifle, and left the position.
Rebecca was already firing desperately from the sniper rifle. She picked off cultists pushing through the forest. Some were blown apart by mines, others caught in traps, others dropped by bullets. But as soon as the first wave fell, the next one advanced over their bodies, as if laying down a bloody path forward.
Reaching the roof, Richard took position beside Rebecca and began methodically dropping every cultist who came close to his territory. They managed to repel the southern attack but immediately after, another vehicle rolled down the main road.
The truck bed was filled with metal barrels. Their lids were open, fuel sloshing inside. Without slowing, the vehicle charged straight for the gates, toward the smoldering wreckage of the first truck.
Richard desperately tried to kill the driver, firing burst after burst. Several rounds tore through the cultist's chest but as if he felt no pain at all, the man kept driving forward. There was no fear in his eyes. Only madness.
He crashed into the gates, clutching a Molotov cocktail in his hands.
The impact twisted the vehicle. The Molotov shattered, spilling burning liquid everywhere. Flames leapt onto the fuel barrels. Vapors ignited instantly followed by the fuel itself.
It became a hellish mixture of fire, gasoline, and sparks.
The explosion tore the gates completely apart, clearing the way inside.
Fuel continued to spread, flooding everything around it.
"Get out. Now," Richard roared.
"But" Rebecca started.
"Don't be a fucking idiot. Shove your pride up your ass and run," the old man snapped, continuing to fire.
The cultists didn't have heavy weapons, but as they closed the distance, a shot struck dangerously close to Richard, sending sparks flying off the metal.
"Shit… shit…" he growled, ducking behind the edge of the roof.
He pulled out the transmitter. Hesitated for a second his fingers trembling then pressed the button.
Booom