The wailing siren echoed across the entire town. The quiet settlement erupted into chaos as everyone—sleeping or half-dozing—jolted awake. People rushed to windows, desperate to learn what catastrophe had struck.
In the temporary command center at town center, Commander Harry listened to the communications officer's reports with a grim expression. Sweat beaded on his forehead as detail after detail came through. Finally, he slammed his fist on the table and roared: "Was the eastern post just decoration?! Why are we only hearing the alarm now, with nearly a thousand Infected practically at our doorstep?!"
"We... we can't reach the guard post. We don't know what happened there." The communications officer kept his head down, clearly at a loss.
"Don't know... 'don't know,' he says."
Harry clenched his fists, pounding the table again to vent his fury. Then he took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down.
He knew anger wouldn't help now. Whatever had gone wrong, they had to survive this first. Silently, he cursed his decision to let people sleep in buildings rather than on the buses. If they'd followed protocol, they could have evacuated immediately without worrying about the Infected.
"It's too late to evacuate now..." Harry closed his eyes, thinking rapidly. "Order all perimeter squads to fall back. Tell them to throw grenades along the way—draw the Infected away from the center, buy us time."
"Yes sir!" The communications officer responded crisply, grabbed his radio, and hurried off.
Harry sank into his chair, analyzing the situation through narrowed eyes. The Infected had been close to begin with. The alarm would have drawn them in faster. They had precious little time to prepare.
The town had only a few flimsy checkpoints—useless against a horde. Without proper cover, there was no way to fight such numbers.
Then inspiration struck: the buses. Their massive frames...
Perfect mobile barricades.
He shot to his feet. "Radio all bus drivers! Have them park their vehicles sideways across the streets—create walls! All soldiers grab full ammunition loads and report to the intersections! Once the buses are in position, establish defensive perimeters! We hold the line at all costs!"
He turned to his adjutants. "Colbert—you're taking the main western approach. That's where they'll hit first and hardest. You need to be there commanding. And use fuel from the tankers to make Molotovs—fire's more effective than grenades against Infected!"
"Justin—take your tactical squad and cover the alleys and side streets. This isn't a walled city; those things can climb. We cannot let any slip through the perimeter. If they breach the sides, everyone inside is in danger."
". . ."
Orders poured from Harry in rapid succession. With each command, someone rushed to relay it. Colbert and Justin didn't waste breath on questions—they simply sprinted for the exits. Everyone understood that every second counted.
Harry grabbed a glass of water, moistened his throat, but his expression remained grave. Two thousand soldiers couldn't adequately cover every approach. They were short-handed.
After a moment's thought, he addressed a tall soldier beside him. "Have the interior guards gather all civilians. I need to speak with them."
. . .
Town center was pandemonium. Most people had panicked at the alarm, grabbing their belongings and fleeing their lodgings without any clear destination—headless chickens running in every direction.
With most soldiers deployed to the perimeter, fewer than a hundred remained here. They couldn't possibly control five thousand terrified civilians.
Soon, a towering soldier climbed onto a raised platform—the same one who'd disciplined the troublemakers that morning.
He shouted for quiet, trying to make himself heard, but his voice drowned in the cacophony of thousands. Frustration darkening his features, he drew his pistol and fired into the air.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
The gunshots shocked everyone into stillness. Movement ceased. Heads swiveled toward the sound.
Seeing he had their attention, the soldier raised a megaphone. "If you don't want to die, shut your mouths and line up! Now!"
The crowd, cowed, fell silent. Within five minutes, they'd assembled in rough formation—chaotic, but workable.
Once order was established, Commander Harry strode to the platform, took the megaphone, and spoke: "I'm Harry, commander of this convoy. You all heard the alarm. I'll be direct: a large Infected force has appeared to the east..."
Before he could continue, the crowd exploded into terrified murmurs. Fear wrote itself across every face. Only the soldiers' presence kept them from bolting.
"Listen to me!" Harry raised his voice, drawing attention back. "We're using the buses to barricade all streets, creating a defensive perimeter around town center. But we're undermanned. If we want to survive, we need to work together. I'm asking you to join the defense. If the line falls, we all die here!"
The request to fight Infected silenced everyone. People exchanged uncertain glances, unsure whether to obey.
Then a shrill voice cut through: "The Infected are coming from the east! Why not just evacuate west?! Why should we risk our lives fighting?!"
That sparked another wave of murmurs. Yes—why not flee west and avoid the fight entirely?
Harry regarded the restless crowd coldly, then raised the megaphone again. "Yes, I could let some of you evacuate first. But what about the soldiers fighting to buy you that time? Your lives matter—do theirs not?"
"If they abandoned their posts and fled like you're suggesting, what happens to everyone still here? Your families and friends might be among them. Who protects them then?"
Silence fell again. When news of the Infected broke, terror had overwhelmed rational thought. Flight had been the only instinct.
But Harry's words about family and friends cut through the panic. Many of these people had brought loved ones. Could they really abandon everyone to save themselves?
"Give the order—we'll defend!"
After a moment's internal struggle, one man raised his pistol high, the first to volunteer.
Others quickly followed. Handguns emerged throughout the crowd, thrust skyward in solidarity.
There's power in numbers. One or two people alone might cower before Infected. But united as a group, fear began to fade. Some even looked eager.
Seeing this, Harry smiled with relief. He gave quick instructions to the tall soldier, then led a squad eastward at a sprint. They'd already lost too much time—he needed to see the situation firsthand.
The tall soldier received his orders and signaled his men. Soldiers quickly organized the crowd. Time was critical; no one bothered counting heads. They simply divided the mass roughly into thirds. Most headed east; the rest split between north and south.
Women and children were gathered into a dozen buildings near the center, guarded by fifty soldiers—insurance against unexpected developments.
Even as Harry had been rallying the civilians, the Infected had already entered the town.
They surged toward the center, as if scenting life itself in the air. In their bloodred eyes, excitement gleamed.