Colbert stared at the final page of the notebook, frozen. Beads of sweat suddenly rolled down his temples. His hands began to tremble violently—until a gust of cold wind against his cheek snapped him back to reality.
He fumbled to drop the notebook, yanked out his radio, and threw the window wide open. His voice came out in a hysterical roar:
"Charlie Squad! Abort your mission! Do NOT open the garage access door! I repeat—do NOT open the parking garage door!"
Leaning out the window, Colbert's eyes frantically scanned the blizzard below, searching for the garage entrance. But the howling wind and swirling snow made it impossible to see anything at a distance.
His heart filled with bitter regret. Why didn't I read the notebook first? If he'd known what was inside, he would have chosen the safer option. Now all he could do was pray that Charlie Squad heard his transmission and stopped immediately.
"Kssshh—kssshh—"
But the radio returned only static. Whether from the blizzard's interference or some other cause, there was no response—just white noise crackling in his ear.
The soldiers in the doorway exchanged confused glances, unable to fathom what their commanding officer had just read to provoke such a violent reaction. But they quickly realized it couldn't be good news.
"Follow me! We need to find the garage entrance!" Seeing that communication had failed, Colbert spun around and sprinted out of the room toward the stairwell. He keyed his radio again as he ran: "All squads, abort your current missions! Get outside and find the parking garage entrance! Do NOT let Charlie Squad open that door!"
Moments later, responses crackled back from the two teams on the upper floors:
"Copy that!"
"Understood!"
Hearing the other teams acknowledge, Colbert felt a sliver of relief. After a brief hesitation, he tried one more time to reach the forces outside: "Harry, do you copy?"
"Kssshh—kssshh—"
Nothing but static. The radio couldn't reach anyone outside the building.
Colbert turned to the sergeant. "When we get out there, go straight to the commander. Tell him to begin immediate relocation—do NOT stay near the hospital entrance!"
He slammed through the lobby doors. The howling wind instantly rushed in, sending loose debris swirling through the air.
The sergeant stumbled back a step against the gale. He gave Colbert a thumbs-up, lips moving to confirm he understood.
Then they split up—the sergeant heading toward the convoy while Colbert led the remaining soldiers toward the hospital's southeast corner, where the nearest parking garage entrance was located.
The weather seemed determined to ensure the coming disaster played out unimpeded. The wind suddenly intensified, driving sheets of snow that hammered into the soldiers like physical blows, knocking several of them to the ground.
Colbert had no time to help the men behind him. He pushed forward against the gale with single-minded desperation.
"There!"
After several agonizing minutes, he spotted the outline of a downward-sloping ramp ahead—the parking garage entrance.
A few more steps, and he could make out a closed security gate. A few more, and he saw soldiers crouched beside it. One was installing something at the base of the door.
Colbert's blood ran cold. He broke into a frantic run, waving his arms desperately at the two soldiers standing guard outside—they'd noticed him approaching.
"DON'T OPEN IT! ABORT THE MISSION!"
But his voice was snatched away by the wind almost as soon as it left his mouth. It never reached their ears.
The two guards couldn't identify the dark figure approaching through the snow. They could only tell from his waving arms that it was human. They exchanged a glance, kept their weapons trained on him, and waited—while informing their squad leader of the situation.
Colbert wanted to scream in frustration. He knew shouting was useless now. There was no more time to waste. Summoning every ounce of strength, he plowed forward through the snow.
But before he could take more than a few steps, he heard a muffled bang from ahead. A thin wisp of smoke rose from beneath the door. The soldier who'd been preparing the charge stepped forward, crouched down, and heaved the security gate upward.
A dark maw yawned open before Colbert's eyes.
In that instant, the world seemed to spin. To him, it looked like a gateway to hell itself—and they had just opened it.
...
"Roger that, sir!"
Hugh, Charlie Squad's team leader, responded into his radio before clipping it back to his chest. He surveyed the debris-choked passage ahead and the barely visible sealed door beyond, then turned to his men.
"Let's go. We're entering through the outside."
He led his squad back through the outpatient lobby, mentally reviewing the hospital map that Lieutenant Colbert had shown them earlier. After getting his bearings, he pushed through the main doors and plunged into the blizzard.
They made their way southeast. Before long, they found a downward slope—an external entrance to the underground parking garage.
"You two, hold position here."
Hugh gave the order to the last two soldiers to arrive, then turned to examine the heavy-duty security gate before him. He glanced at a stocky soldier beside him.
"Radio the lieutenant. Tell him we've reached the garage entrance."
His eyes scanned the gate, stopping at a section where the seal showed a visible gap. He pointed to it and addressed the remaining three soldiers.
"Set the charge right there."
"Yes, sir!"
As his men got to work, Hugh paced in front of the gate. Something felt off—though he couldn't quite put his finger on what. The nagging feeling drew him into contemplation.
"Hssss—"
"Hm?" Just then, Hugh caught a faint sound from behind the gate. A soft hissing. His heart lurched, and he froze mid-step.
But whether due to the howling wind or something else, when he strained to listen more carefully, the sound had vanished.
Did I imagine it?
Muttering to himself, Hugh convinced himself it was probably nothing. Still, caution drove him to press his ear against the gate, hoping to catch any sound from within.
"Captain, what are you doing?"
Just as Hugh closed his eyes to focus on listening, a voice from his other side interrupted him.
He turned to find the stocky soldier he'd sent to make the radio call. Annoyance flickered across his face.
"I told you to report in. Why are you still here?"
The soldier hurried to explain. "I tried, sir, but... the radio won't connect..."
"What?"
Hugh pulled away from the gate and strode toward the entrance ramp, pulling out his own radio as he walked.
"Calling Lieutenant Colbert. This is Charlie Squad. Do you copy?"
"Kssshh—kssshh—"
Static. He frowned and tried again. Still nothing but white noise.
"We had a clear signal just a minute ago. What happened?"
Seeing that communication was indeed impossible, Hugh reluctantly lowered his radio. He turned to his soldiers.
"Are we ready?"
Might as well enter the garage first, he thought. We can try the radio again once we're inside.
"Ready!"
The soldiers flashed an OK sign. Within three minutes, they had the charge in place.
"Alright, everyone put on your gas masks."
Hugh turned back toward the security gate as his men complied.
What he didn't notice was a dark figure emerging from the swirling snow behind them, running toward their position.
The soldiers donned their masks, stepped back from the gate, and raised their rifles—muzzles trained on the opening, ready for anything that might come charging out.
One soldier held a remote detonator. Seeing his comrades were in position, he pressed the button without hesitation.
BANG!
The charge detonated with a muffled blast. Smoke rose from the damaged section, revealing exposed electronics beneath.
Seeing the control unit destroyed, Hugh shouted to the soldier with the detonator: "Go! Get the door up!"
The man didn't hesitate. He rushed forward, crouched, jammed his fingers into the gap at the bottom of the gate, and heaved upward. The security door rose halfway.
"On guard!"
Hugh's shout echoed as he and his men raised their weapons, flashlight beams stabbing into the darkness beyond.
Ten seconds passed. Twenty. Nothing emerged.
The soldiers exhaled slowly, cautiously lowering their weapons—
THOOM! THOOM!
"HSSSSSSS—!"
From the depths of the darkness came a thunderous rumble—footsteps, hundreds of them, like a stampeding army. The ground itself seemed to tremble. Then countless shapes materialized from the blackness, surging toward the light.
The soldiers stared in horror as the faces of the Infected emerged from the shadows—grotesque, twisted, ravenous—growing larger with every heartbeat.
"OPEN FIRE!"
RAT-TAT-TAT-TAT—!
...
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