"Ahhh!"
The previously quiet apartment building erupted with a deafening crash, followed by screams of terror.
Those at the front of the group heard the piercing shrieks behind them and spun around in alarm.
"What the hell?!" Bryan whipped his head around and gaped at the scene. His mouth fell open in shock.
The entire corridor behind them had collapsed into a gaping pit, kicking up clouds of dust. The people who had been at the rear of the group had vanished completely. Only a handful remained, sprawled on the ground at the edge, staring at the pit in horror.
Bryan immediately turned and carefully made his way back. At the edge of the pit, he stretched his neck and peered down.
The first thing that caught his eye was a man impaled through the abdomen by a steel rebar jutting from the wreckage. Blood poured from the wound in a steady stream. The agony was so intense that he could only wail and writhe weakly against the metal rod. But every movement only caused his body to slide further down, deepening his suffering.
There were two or three others in similar situations—though they had it slightly better, with only limbs pierced through.
Others had been crushed under massive chunks of debris, struck by jagged protrusions, or lay unconscious after their heads collided with hard surfaces. The pit was a tableau of suffering—every kind of injury imaginable.
Watching the carnage below, listening to the screams and groans, Bryan's expression remained unchanged. If anything, he frowned—these people were making way too much noise.
Then something caught his eye. His pupils contracted sharply. He stumbled back several steps and clamped a hand over his nose and mouth.
"What happened?!"
At that moment, Tracy arrived with over a dozen soldiers, pushing through from the front of the group. When she saw what was in the pit, she immediately spun around and commanded, "Get down there and rescue them!"
Bryan, still covering his nose and mouth, heard her order and shouted: "Don't go down there!"
"Who said that?!"
The soldiers froze mid-motion and turned toward the voice. Seeing it was just a twelve- or thirteen-year-old boy, one of them said dismissively, "What are you talking about, kid? Get out of here. Don't—"
"Wait!"
Before he could finish, Tracy—recognizing Bryan—raised a hand to cut him off. She strode quickly to his side and asked, "Why not?"
She didn't know why Bryan was here, or why he was stopping them from rescuing the survivors. But she knew he wouldn't say something like that without reason.
The soldiers behind her exchanged confused glances. They couldn't understand why their commanding officer was treating a child's objection with such gravity.
"There's a fungal growth from an Infected corpse down there!" Bryan pointed toward a corner of the pit. There, clinging to the wall, was a clump of reddish, fleshy fungal mass.
Back in Austin, he had seen something like this in a basement. At the time, he hadn't understood why the air in that basement was a sickly yellow-green. Out of caution, he'd chosen not to enter.
But after reading that pamphlet about Cordyceps, everything had clicked. Those red fungal masses formed when an Infected died and the Cordyceps in its body absorbed nutrients from the corpse. The yellow-green gas was the spores these growths expelled. Inhaling even a small amount would result in infection.
Hearing this, everyone—soldiers and survivors alike—peered down into the pit. Sure enough, in one corner, they spotted the solidified red mass.
Every face went pale. Hands flew to cover noses and mouths as everyone instinctively retreated, not daring to get any closer.
"Please! Save us!"
"Help! Someone help!"
"We're not infected! Don't abandon us!"
"..."
Down in the pit, a few survivors who had miraculously avoided injury stood on the rubble. When they'd seen soldiers preparing to descend for a rescue, their faces had lit up with hope.
But when they heard the boy mention the fungal growth, their eyes filled with panic and fear. Watching the crowd above slowly backing away, they scrambled to the edge of the pit, desperation in their eyes, pleading without pause.
"Captain, please save me!"
The young soldier fell to his knees, his gaze fixed on Tracy with raw desperation. He didn't want to die. He was still so young. He couldn't accept dying like this.
Tracy stood frozen, staring at the anguished faces below—and at the soldier's pleading expression. Her hands clenched into fists. Slowly, she closed her eyes, her face a portrait of anguish.
But she couldn't risk everyone else's lives to save these people. Steeling herself, she turned sharply and said through gritted teeth: "We're leaving."
Bryan watched her give the order and opened his mouth slightly, disapproval written on his face. In his view, she was being too soft-hearted. They still had a long way to go. This pit was deep, but given time, the people below could find a way to climb out. Abandoning them now—who knew what desperate acts they might commit once they got free?
If it were up to him, the best course of action would be to use suppressed rifles to eliminate everyone down there. That would be the safest choice.
The thought sent a chill down his spine. He was startled to realize he could even think that way. In that moment, it dawned on him just how much he had adapted to this world—and how cold-blooded he was becoming.
Hearing Tracy's order, the soldiers and survivors alike breathed sighs of relief. They had genuinely feared she might show mercy and send them down to attempt a rescue. That would have put them in an impossible position.
The group immediately turned to leave, everyone pressing their hands firmly over their noses and mouths. They didn't want to stay here a second longer.
"Damn you! You'll pay for this!"
"You'll all die horribly!"
"..."
Seeing the people above abandon them, the expressions of the survivors in the pit shifted instantly. Their pleading faces twisted into masks of malice and hatred. They glared at the retreating figures and hurled curses without end.
"If you won't let me live, then I'll make sure none of you die easy!"
The young soldier who had been kneeling suddenly rose to his feet. He swung his rifle up, aimed at the backs of the departing crowd, and opened fire.
Rat-tat-tat—!
A spray of bullets tore through the air toward the group, now several meters away. One survivor at the very back of the group took a round to the back of the head. Before he could even cry out, he collapsed heavily to the ground, dead on impact.
"Oh, shit!"
The crowd heard the gunfire and turned to see one of their own lying dead. Screaming, they scrambled and crawled forward in a panic.
Bryan, also near the rear, narrowly avoided being hit. His reflexes kicked in and he dropped flat to the ground. Staring at the bullet hole just above his head, a dangerous glint flickered in his eyes—something even he didn't consciously register. It felt as though something inside him had cracked, shattered by that single bullet.
But before he could dwell on it, Tracy grabbed him by the arm and pulled him to his feet, dragging him forward as they fled.
"Arrrgh!"
Down in the pit, the angle and the retreating crowd made it impossible for the bullets to find their marks. The young soldier hurled his rifle to the ground with a furious howl.
He began scanning for a climbing route. He was a trained soldier—his physical conditioning far surpassed that of the civilians down here. He was certain he could escape. But just as he began planning, his eyes fell on something nearby: a heavyset man with a bushy beard, his leg pinned under rubble, screaming for help.
The moment he saw that face, the soldier's gaze locked onto him like a predator. He remembered what had happened above. It was because of this man blocking the path, because of him slamming his fist against the ground, that they'd all fallen down here.
Bone-deep hatred flared in his eyes. Slowly, he drew the knife from his belt and began walking toward the man.
The other survivors noticed the soldier's movement and followed his gaze. When they saw the bearded man, they remembered exactly why they were in this pit. Their eyes turned bloodshot as they advanced on him as well.
"Wh—what are you doing?!"
The heavyset man had just regained consciousness and realized his leg was trapped. He called out for help, expecting someone to come to his aid. Instead, he saw everyone approaching him with murder in their eyes. His voice trembled as he spoke, and he struggled desperately to free himself.
No one answered. They stared at him coldly, each one picking up whatever weapon they could find in the rubble. Then they pounced.
Moments later, the man's agonized screams echoed through the entire apartment building—screams laced with such terror and despair that everyone who heard them felt a chill run down their spine.
...
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