Molotov cocktails were the weapon of choice for protests and terrorist attacks worldwide—and for good reason. Glass container, flammable liquid, ignition source. Simple materials, devastating results. A direct hit meant full-body burns and a painful death.
That simplicity was exactly why Bryan had chosen them.
He set down his pack and carefully withdrew three bottles. One empty, two half-filled with gasoline, their mouths sealed with duct tape. Even through the glass, the sharp petroleum smell was unmistakable.
Fortunately, he'd transferred everything else to Sarah's pack beforehand. Otherwise, all their supplies would reek.
"Ugh, that stinks." Sarah pinched her nose.
"Deal with it."
Bryan peeled off the tape. The fumes made his eyes water, but he worked quickly, stuffing rags into the bottle necks.
He checked both pistols and the assault rifle, topped off the magazines, and handed Sarah one of the handguns.
"Things might get hairy. Keep this ready."
"Got it."
Preparations complete, Bryan rose and peered through the office window at the warehouse interior. Darkness and silence. Junked cars stacked high. Shelves lined with boxes and lumber. He could make out a few infected shapes, but the shadows obscured details.
"Stay close."
He gathered the three bottles, signaled Sarah to follow, and approached the office door. With agonizing care, he turned the handle.
Creeeeak...
Even at minimal force, the sound carried through the stillness like a gunshot.
Bryan froze, straining his ears. No reaction from outside. He exhaled and eased the door open.
They hugged the warehouse walls, moving in absolute silence until they reached an open area in the far corner. They ducked into the shadows.
"This is where we make our stand."
Bryan set down the Molotovs and handed one to Sarah.
"I'll throw the empty bottle to draw them out. If there's a lot, wait until they're clustered together, then we both throw. Got it?"
"Got it." Sarah accepted the bottle, then frowned. "Why didn't we use that other open space we passed? It was closer."
"Too risky." Bryan pointed at the shelving units loaded with cardboard boxes and wooden pallets. "If we fight there and they scatter into the shelves, those materials could catch fire. We don't have anything to put out a blaze. We'd be trapping ourselves."
"Oh..." Sarah nodded, not entirely following but trusting his judgment.
"Ready?"
Bryan glanced behind them—at something Sarah hadn't noticed—then picked up the empty bottle, rose slightly, took aim, and hurled it at the clearing.
CRASH!
Glass shattered against concrete.
RRRAAAAAGH!
The noise erupted like a grenade. Shrieks exploded from every direction as infected throughout the warehouse converged on the sound, a stampede of pounding footsteps.
Sarah's jaw dropped as infected poured into the clearing. Over twenty of them.
But Bryan hesitated. Something was wrong.
None of them were evolved.
No time to worry about it. The infected were already starting to scatter. Now or never.
He and Sarah lit their rags simultaneously and hurled the bottles into the mass of bodies.
The Molotovs tumbled through the air, trailing fire like comets, and shattered among the infected. Gasoline sprayed outward. Flames erupted.
A dozen infected became human torches, thrashing and flailing. They weren't afraid of fire—but the fungus inside them was. They clawed at themselves, desperate to extinguish the threat to their parasites.
Gasoline fires don't go out from patting. Within seconds, the heat destroyed the fungal networks in their bodies. They collapsed, twitching, filling the air with the stench of charred meat.
The survivors—those outside the blast radius—ignored their fallen fellows. The noise told them prey was near. They began to spread out, hunting.
Bryan wasn't about to let them scatter.
"Watch our backs!"
He rose, shouldered the assault rifle, and opened fire. His aim was terrible, but at this range it didn't matter. The hail of bullets cut down the remaining infected in seconds.
At that same instant—
Two hissing shrieks erupted from behind them.
Two evolved infected burst from the darkness, lunging at Bryan's exposed back.
Sarah had been watching. She raised her pistol and fired at the lead creature, emptying the magazine. The first few shots shattered its fungal armor; the last punched through its skull.
As it fell, the second evolved was right behind it.
Sarah pulled the trigger—click click click. Empty.
The creature accelerated, sensing victory.
She dropped the useless gun, snatched up the knife, and prepared to fight—knowing she couldn't win, but determined to protect Bryan's back.
Then the evolved infected's foot caught on something. It pitched forward, crashing to the ground.
Sarah didn't hesitate. She lunged, planted her boot on its back, and drove the knife into the base of its skull.
Only then did she look at what had tripped it.
A thin rope, stretched between a wooden crate and a shelf leg. A tripwire.
Bryan finished the last infected and turned around. He saw two evolved corpses, Sarah staring at the rope, and walked over to tap her shoulder.
"You okay?"
"Huh?" She snapped back to the present, then looked at him with something like awe. "When did you set that trap? How did you know they'd come from behind?"
"..."
"I didn't know. Just... prepared for the possibility." Her expression made him uncomfortable. He scratched his head awkwardly.
Then he reached out and squished her cheeks between his palms. "Stop looking at me like that. It's getting late. Let's clean up, grab what we need, rest here tonight, and leave at dawn."
"Fine, fine!" She swatted his hands away, puffing her cheeks in protest, then followed him to deal with the corpses.
...
While Bryan and Sarah worked, a convoy of trucks arrived at the southern edge of town.
One vehicle peeled off from the formation and headed toward the lakeside house.