Tracy stared at the hellscape before her, eyes blazing with fury. She dropped the radio, raised her rifle, and spun toward the stairwell—clearly intending to rush out and help.
"Don't go out there! You'll die!"
Wilfred had been watching her closely. He moved to block her path before she could leave, having already gotten a sense of her personality during their brief time together. One look at her expression told him exactly what she was thinking.
He genuinely liked people with good hearts, and he didn't want to see her throw her life away. "Calm down! Don't be reckless!" he urged. "The Infected have broken through completely. The soldiers are already fleeing—you're just one person. Going out there is suicide!"
But Tracy was beyond reason, her mind consumed by desperate urgency. She glared at the man blocking her way. "Get out of my way!"
When Wilfred didn't budge, she reached for her weapon, clearly considering forcing him aside.
"What do you think you're doing?!"
Anna had been watching from nearby. The moment she saw Tracy's hand move toward her gun, she drew her pistol and aimed it at the soldier. Tracy had helped them, yes—but if she threatened her father, Anna wouldn't hesitate.
"Anna, put the gun down." Wilfred quickly raised a hand to stop his daughter.
Then he met Tracy's eyes again, his voice calm and measured. "I don't know where all these Infected came from, but they've already broken out. Can't you see the soldiers are routing? If you go alone, you'll just be throwing yourself against a wall—completely useless, and dead. Think carefully about this."
Tracy knew she'd been acting impulsively. But her resolve hadn't changed. "Even if I can't turn the tide, I have to get the commander out!"
"Look over there!"
Just as Tracy finished speaking, Allen—who'd been watching the scene outside—suddenly pointed toward the window and shouted.
Everyone turned to look at the convoy below.
A supply truck suddenly burst from the rear of the convoy and plowed forward, crushing everything in its path—people and Infected alike. It didn't slow down, didn't swerve.
When the truck hit the densest part of the horde, it ground to a halt—but the driver kept the accelerator floored, forcing the vehicle to crawl forward until it reached the hospital entrance.
By then, countless Infected had swarmed onto the truck, pounding at the doors and windows, trying to tear out whoever was inside.
BOOM!
The instant the truck stopped, it exploded in a blinding flash of white light. The detonation sent Infected bodies flying in every direction, blood and debris raining through the air. A pillar of fire shot skyward, leaving a massive crater in the ground. The driver had detonated all the grenades and ammunition on the supply truck.
The hospital's perimeter wall collapsed, blown open into a gaping breach. The explosion annihilated every Infected near the truck, and the shockwave knocked down those further away, dramatically slowing their advance. It bought the fleeing convoy precious time.
The dozen or so trucks at the front of the convoy used that window to veer onto the sidewalk and break through the Infected's encirclement, speeding back toward the highway they'd come from. They didn't stop for anyone.
The lead truck flew an American flag—the commander's vehicle. Even without being told, everyone understood: that explosion had been a deliberate sacrifice to cover the command vehicles' escape.
The sudden blast had caught everyone in the café off guard. They stood frozen—until Bryan snapped back to reality.
"This is our chance! We need to move—now!"
He turned to Tracy. "You saw it yourself—the commander's already evacuated. Don't throw your life away rushing in there. Come with us!"
Tracy fell silent. She looked out at the chaos below, her grip tightening on her rifle. The light faded from her eyes. "...Fine. Let's get out of here first."
Bryan felt a wave of relief. Their group had too many children and women—the kind of composition that could make them targets in this lawless chaos. Having a soldier with them would provide at least some deterrent, thanks to the uniform if nothing else.
"Then let's go!"
The group hurried back downstairs. They couldn't help feeling grateful they'd left the bus early. Given where their vehicle had been parked, Bryan's nightmare might well have become reality. They exchanged glances, still finding it all hard to believe.
Tracy noticed the strange looks the others kept shooting at Bryan. She'd observed it ever since they were upstairs—their eyes kept drifting toward the boy.
And though everyone had seemed shocked by the Infected horde, they'd recovered faster than she had—almost as if they'd been expecting it.
She wanted to ask but decided now wasn't the time. She'd wait until they were safe.
Bryan had no attention to spare for anyone's glances. He peered outside and saw that most of the Infected were still chasing the fleeing crowds—none had approached their building yet.
"The streets are crawling with Infected. We'll leave through the back alley."
"Why?" Wilfred moved to the door to assess the situation himself. "The Infected haven't reached us yet. Shouldn't we use that cover to escape? Why take the back way?"
"No." Bryan shook his head firmly. "The blizzard hasn't let up. Even if we take the main road, we won't get far—and we might run into Infected. Since we can't leave the area anyway, we should take the back alleys, stay close to the highway, and find somewhere safe to hole up until the storm passes."
Wilfred studied Bryan with newfound surprise, as if seeing the boy for the first time. His reaction mirrored what Osborne had felt back in Dallas—astonishment at how sharp this child was.
But the surprise passed quickly. Smart children weren't unheard of, after all. He nodded. "Alright. We'll do it your way."
The others, despite their own amazement, agreed without argument. This wasn't the time for discussion. They hurried toward the kitchen, where a back door waited.
Crunch... crunch...
The snow in the back alley was even deeper than on the main street. Every step was a struggle, their footfalls crunching loudly in the silence. They watched for obstacles underfoot while staying alert for any Infected that might appear.
Though separated from the main street by only a building, they could still hear the gunfire and screams with terrible clarity. And from the buildings they passed came the sounds of shattering glass and violent impacts.
Clearly, there were plenty of Infected lurking inside these structures. Fortunately, the blizzard provided cover, and they moved as quietly as possible. The chaos on the main street drew all the creatures' attention. Otherwise, they might have found themselves caught between two fronts with nowhere to run.
The realization made everyone's blood run cold. They moved faster, staying low, pressing forward.
Wellstar Douglas Hospital wasn't far from the highway. Despite the winding alleys, they kept their bearings and pushed on without stopping. After what felt like forever, they finally spotted the highway ahead.
The Infected's shrieks had faded to a distant murmur. Their unimpeded progress through the alleys had left most of the fleeing survivors—and their pursuers—far behind. The area around them seemed quiet.
Seeing this, the group slowed to a stop. Wilfred called out, "This should be good. The highway's just ahead. Let's find shelter and wait out this storm."
They scanned the buildings on either side of the street. To their dismay, most were still hospital-affiliated structures. They definitely weren't going inside anything marked with a red cross—not after seeing what a single team entering the hospital had unleashed.
"What about... over there?"
While everyone searched, Sarah pointed somewhere. Her voice was too soft to be heard by most.
But Bryan, standing right beside her, heard perfectly. He followed her finger and spotted a bank near the highway.
...
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