Bryan pushed through the undergrowth, scanning the warehouse wall for any point of entry, alert for danger ahead.
Hm?
As he clambered over some debris, a hairline crack in the corrugated metal caught his attention.
He crouched and pressed the spot experimentally. The metal panel buckled inward, revealing hidden seams around it.
His lips curved. Knew it. These guys always leave themselves a back door.
It made sense. In a place where criminals gathered, violence was inevitable. Everyone needed an escape route—especially from a fixed location like this. No way the main entrance was the only way in or out.
He checked his position. Somewhere near the back of the building.
Carefully, he removed the loose panel and peered through. An office—desk, chair, couch by the door.
Jackpot.
He stood quickly and headed around to find Sarah.
Meanwhile, Sarah walked the wider path, pipe in hand, searching for her own entry point. The warehouse walls here were covered in more red-painted warnings: DON'T OPEN! and MONSTERS INSIDE!
Who wrote all this?
She didn't notice the infected rising silently from behind a junked car. It spotted her and let out an excited shriek, charging forward.
The sudden noise made her heart seize. She'd checked the area—how had she missed this?
Memories of the Black woman's fate flashed through her mind. Was this another evolved one?
Fear threatened to paralyze her. But she refused to die here. She wanted to live.
Survival instinct conquered terror. She spun, swinging the pipe blindly at whatever was behind her—
CLANG!
The impact connected solidly with the infected's skull just as it reached her.
The creature staggered but didn't fall. The blow had landed, but Sarah simply didn't have the strength to do real damage.
At least now she could see it—just a regular infected, not one of those evolved nightmares. Relief flooded through her. Still dangerous, but manageable.
It lunged again. She dodged nimbly, then cracked the pipe across the back of its head. It stumbled but kept coming.
They fell into a rhythm—lunge, dodge, strike. Over and over. Sarah realized her evasion was getting smoother each time.
The infected seemed to grow angrier with each failed attack. It let out a furious roar and charged once more—
"AAGH—"
The roar cut off mid-cry. A gleaming knife had appeared from behind, plunging into the back of its skull.
Bryan withdrew the blade as the infected crumpled, then rushed to Sarah's side.
"You okay? Any injuries?"
"I'm fine." She grinned, brandishing her pipe. "Actually, I was kicking its ass."
"Sure you were." He shook his head, unable to stay annoyed. "Just promise me—if this happens again, call for help. Okay?"
"Where did it even come from?"
Sarah pointed at the junked car. "Must have been hiding back there. I was looking at all the warnings and it just... appeared behind me."
She glanced over her shoulder uneasily. This incident would stay with her. Always watch your back.
Bryan circled behind the car and found a bucket of red paint with a notebook resting on top. A paintbrush lay nearby. Scattered hand and footprints in the dirt—this was where the infected had been before turning.
He picked up the notebook and started reading. Sarah hurried over to look.
It was a journal, recently started, with only a few entries:
September 10, 2013
Never thought I'd keep a diary. Been trapped here four days now. Food's running low, but those things are still out there. Damn it, can't they go somewhere else?
Can't wait any longer. Have to do something. There aren't that many of them. Maybe I should go on the offensive?
September 11, 2013
Ha!
These freaks only hunt by sight. Idiots. I got right up close and they didn't even notice.
Remembered Ford left a truck for his brother Morris. That guy hasn't shown up—probably dead. Guess even God's on my side.
There's some weird-looking ones in there, though. Half their heads are covered in gross mushroom stuff. But that means they're missing an eye, so they should be easier to deal with. Tomorrow I'll take them all out.
September 12, 2013
I'm such an idiot. The blind one can hear. It tracked me by sound. Lucky I reacted fast enough to lock them inside, but the thing scratched me. Damn it.
Wrote some warnings on the doors with red paint. Should tell people there's danger inside.
Feeling tired. Think I'll rest against this car for a bit, then get out of here...
The journal ended there. Two days ago. The writer had been infected.
Bryan closed the notebook and stared at the warehouse. According to this, there was at least one evolved infected inside—one that hunted by sound rather than sight.
Dangerous. But not enough to change his mind.
"Come on. I found a way in on the other side."
He pocketed the journal and led Sarah around the building.
They squeezed through the gap in the wall and entered the office. Sarah spotted the desk immediately and remembered the note—a hidden compartment underneath.
She crouched to look. Sure enough, there was a recessed panel in the floor, but the desk was partially covering it. Moving it would make noise. She looked up at Bryan questioningly.
"Don't worry about that yet. First we clear the infected."
Bryan hadn't come unprepared. Ever since learning about the evolved infected, he'd been thinking about countermeasures.
He'd wracked his brain for weapons that were both easy to make and effective. The answer: Molotov cocktails.