"Easy now—one at a time. Don't be scared!"
At a window on the far side of the apartment building, soldiers were lowering survivors one by one on curtain ropes from several dozen feet up.
Each survivor clung to the makeshift rope with their eyes squeezed shut, feeling their body descend inch by inch, hearts pounding in their chests.
Bryan brushed the snow off a boulder and sat down. As one survivor after another reached the ground safely, he quietly retrieved some food from his pack. When no one was watching, he slipped it into his mouth, replenishing the energy his body had burned through.
After an hour of agonizing, hunched progress, the group had finally reached the highest accessible point of the building and glimpsed the outside world. But because of the height, they now had to climb back down the same way they'd come up.
His thoughts drifted to the bullets that had flown from the pit. A cold smile tugged at his lips. After leaving that corridor, he'd voiced his concerns to Tracy. She hadn't wanted more blood on her hands, so he'd proposed an alternative: seal off every route and passage they'd taken. That way, even if the people in the pit escaped, they wouldn't be able to catch up—and they posed no threat to the remaining journey.
Tracy had been reluctant at first. But when Bryan "casually" reminded her of the soldier opening fire, she fell silent for a moment, then agreed.
Cough, cough!
While Bryan was lost in thought, Sarah—eating too quickly beside him—suddenly broke into a fit of coughing, snapping him back to reality.
"Slow down, don't rush!" He pulled out his water canteen and patted her back gently to help her breathe. Then he handed it over.
His gaze shifted to Wilfred, standing not far away. Fresh sweat beaded on the man's face. His body trembled faintly. And his eyes—the whites had turned an alarming, bulging red, threaded with blood vessels. Bryan felt a twinge of concern.
If not for the fact that they'd been hunched over the entire time inside the building, with Wilfred keeping his head down, he probably would have been exposed already.
Watching Sarah slowly drink the water, Bryan stood and walked over to Wilfred. His eyes fixed on the safe zone visible in the distance, seemingly close enough to touch. "This is the last stretch. Can you hold on?"
"Don't worry. It's just a little further. I'm not giving up now." Wilfred gazed at the ruins ahead, where few Infected seemed to roam. A wave of relief washed over him. Once they crossed this street and reached the soldiers guarding the safe zone, his daughter would be truly safe.
At the thought, a smile broke across his face. His voice, now barely human, rasped out: "I've been thinking about how I want to make my exit."
As he spoke, he reached inside his coat, intending to retrieve the grenade. With so little distance left to the safe zone, holding onto it was a waste. He figured he'd return it to Bryan.
Seeing the motion, Bryan understood immediately. He grabbed Wilfred's arm to stop him. "Keep it. Your fingers probably can't pull a trigger anymore. And I don't think you want to become one of those things. You'll need it for yourself."
"You really do know everything, don't you?"
Wilfred extended his hand. His five fingers had grown stiff, barely able to bend even with concentrated effort.
Looking at his rigid fingers, he paused for a moment, then tucked the grenade back into his coat. "In that case... thank you."
"Don't mention it. Once we're inside the QZ, I probably won't be allowed to keep this kind of stuff anyway." Bryan then glanced toward Anna, who sat nearby. "Are you going to tell her?"
"..."
"No."
After a long silence, Wilfred pulled a letter from his pocket, pinching it between two fingers. He held it out to Bryan. "When I'm... gone... just give this to her for me."
Bryan sighed softly, took the letter, folded it carefully, and slipped it into his pocket. "Alright. Leave it to me."
They talked for a while longer before rejoining the group. By now, everyone had safely descended. Looking at the short distance remaining, their faces were alight with eager anticipation.
Tracy didn't even need to give an order. The survivors had already gathered on their own, ready to move.
Seeing their enthusiasm, Tracy simply waved her hand and led the group forward once more.
As they drew closer to the safe zone, the tension began to ease. The grim expressions that had been etched onto every face started to soften. People began chatting—with acquaintances and strangers alike.
Wilfred kept his hood pulled low, his head bowed, walking close beside Anna. His eyes were half-shut, as though he wanted to spend these final moments simply being near his daughter.
"Look! We made it!"
After what felt like an eternity, as the group crested a small rise, a man at the front spotted the perimeter fence about a kilometer ahead. He shouted excitedly to those behind him.
"Yeah!"
"Thank God!"
The entire group erupted in celebration. People embraced one another, overcome with emotion. The harrowing journey from Dallas to Atlanta had felt like a waking nightmare—and now it was finally over.
Seeing no Infected nearby, they could no longer contain their joy and began celebrating right where they stood.
Bryan stood off to the side, watching the premature festivities with a sardonic thought: What's the rush? The old saying held true—extreme joy invites sorrow. If this were a movie, what would happen next would be—
BOOM!
Just as the thought crossed his mind, an explosion thundered from behind him. It was followed by the frantic pounding of footsteps, the crack of rifle fire, and the panicked screams of a fleeing crowd.
The celebrating survivors froze as if someone had hit a pause button. They stood rooted in place, turning in disbelief toward the source of the blast.
About two hundred meters away, from behind the bombed-out ruins of a residential building, nearly a hundred people came running. Some wore civilian clothes—survivors. Others were fully armed soldiers. It looked like the convoy's other group.
The survivors' faces were masks of terror as they sprinted toward Bryan's group. The soldiers ran backward, rifles raised, firing in bursts and occasionally lobbing grenades that sent up thunderous explosions.
"SHRIEEEEK—!"
Moments after this group emerged, the shriek of Infected followed. And then, pouring out from behind that same building, came a tide of Infected in hot pursuit.
"Holy shit!"
"Run! RUN!"
"..."
Seeing this, the frozen crowd snapped back to reality. Their jubilant expressions vanished in an instant. Chaos erupted as everyone abandoned any pretense of order and bolted toward the safe zone.
"Goddammit, are you kidding me?!" Bryan cursed his own jinx. He grabbed Sarah and Allen and took off running.
Wilfred, however, showed no fear at the sight of the Infected horde. He simply told Anna and Lucy to run ahead while he fell in behind Bryan. "Your bag zipper's come loose. Let me fix it."
Bryan slowed immediately, and once Wilfred said it was done, he resumed his sprint. Something felt off, though—his pack seemed lighter than before.
Discreetly, Wilfred tucked something into the waistband of his pants. He glanced at Bryan's retreating back, then turned and followed at a measured pace behind Anna and Lucy, occasionally looking over his shoulder to track the Infected.
"Ahhhh—!"
A scream of pain and terror. A soldier was tackled by an Infected that had caught up. He barely had time to cry out before the swarm engulfed him, silencing him instantly.
As the Infected closed in, the soldiers stopped turning to fire. They sprinted with everything they had. Within moments, they had overtaken the civilians who had been ahead of them.
Human stamina has limits. After hours of grueling travel, most survivors—aside from those who had managed to eat—were running on fumes. The surge of adrenaline from the initial terror could only carry them so far. Their legs grew heavier. Their pace slowed.
Aside from a few dozen adult men, most of the women, elderly, and children began falling behind. One by one, they were dragged down by the Infected.
Human ugliness revealed itself in full. Some survivors, realizing they were falling behind, turned vicious. One grabbed the collar of the person ahead, yanking them to the ground. Others deliberately tripped the people beside them, sending them sprawling—and taking down those behind them as well—just to buy a few more seconds.
But no matter what tricks they pulled, the Infected kept gaining. Death seemed inevitable.
BOOM!
Then, from within the safe zone, came a deafening roar. A shell arced through the air and slammed into the heart of the Infected swarm, sending bodies flying in all directions.
...
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