Chapter 11: The New Threat
The man in body armor stood tall, his shotgun leveled at them. His dark eyes flicked between Carter, Sam, and Grace, taking in their weapons, their ragged clothes, their expressions of barely-contained tension. The woman who had stumbled into the room clutched her wounded arm, her breaths coming fast and uneven.
Behind the armored man, four others filed in—each armed, each carrying themselves with the confidence of people who had done this before.
Sam’s heart pounded.
This wasn’t a random group of survivors. These people were organized.
Carter didn’t lower his rifle. His voice was calm, but there was an edge to it. “Who the hell are you?”
The man smirked. “That’s my line.”
The room was silent except for the faint, rhythmic thudding of the infected still pounding on the door behind them. Sam could feel the tension crackling in the air, a split second away from turning into something deadly.
Then, the woman with the knife spoke.
“Please,” she gasped. “Don’t—don’t shoot.”
The armored man’s smirk faded as he gnced at her. His tone was impatient. “Jesus, Emily, you’re a mess.”
Emily pressed a hand to her bleeding arm. “Ran into trouble. They helped me.”
Carter’s fingers twitched on his rifle. “We didn’t help you. We don’t even know you.”
Emily swallowed hard. “Could’ve left me to die.”
The armored man studied them again, as if reassessing. Then he sighed and lowered his shotgun.
“Alright,” he said. “Guess that means we don’t have to kill you.”
Sam’s stomach twisted at how casually he said it.
Grace’s voice was tight. “Who are you people?”
The armored man slung the shotgun over his shoulder. “We’re the ones keeping this city in check.”
Sam frowned. “What does that mean?”
The man grinned. “Means we don’t take kindly to people messing up our operations. And we sure as hell don’t tolerate thieves.”
Sam’s chest tightened. “We’re not thieves.”
The man raised an eyebrow. “Really? Then what are you?”
Carter exhaled sharply. “Just trying to get the hell out of here.”
The man chuckled. “Aren’t we all?”
Grace crossed her arms. “Look, we don’t want trouble. We’re heading west. We’ll be gone before sunrise.”
The man tilted his head. “West, huh?” His expression darkened slightly. “That’s our territory.”
Carter stiffened. “Since when?”
“Since we took it.”
Sam’s fingers tightened around his bat. These guys weren’t just some random group. They were ciming nd.
The armored man stepped forward. “Name’s Marcus. My people and I? We run things around here. Anyone heading west answers to us.”
Carter didn’t flinch. “We don’t answer to anyone.”
Marcus smirked. “Then we got a problem.”
A Deal with the Devil
The pounding on the door behind them grew louder. The infected were relentless.
Marcus gnced at the shaking metal door, then at them. “Here’s the deal. You want to get out of here? You work for us.”
Sam felt a chill crawl up his spine. “Work?”
Marcus nodded. “There’s an old military supply depot about ten blocks from here. Loaded with gear, food, ammo. Problem is, it’s crawling with infected. My guys don’t feel like risking their necks going in. But you?” He grinned. “You seem desperate.”
Carter’s jaw clenched. “You want us to clear it out for you.”
“More like sneak in and grab some choice supplies. Do that, and we let you go west. Hell, maybe even give you a ride.”
Sam hated everything about this.
Grace’s voice was cold. “And if we refuse?”
Marcus’s smile didn’t waver. “Then we leave you here.”
He tapped the metal door. “With them.”
Sam swallowed hard.
Carter and Grace exchanged a look. Carter’s eyes were hard. He didn’t want to do this. But they were outnumbered, trapped, and running out of options.
Finally, Carter exhaled. “Fine.”
Marcus grinned. “Smart choice.”
He nodded to his men. “Patch up Emily. We move at first light.”
A Risky Mission
Hours ter, the city was still in darkness when they reached the supply depot.
It was a fortress—tall concrete walls topped with rusted barbed wire. The front entrance was blocked by colpsed cars, but there was a side passage—a busted chain-link fence leading into the courtyard.
The pce was quiet. Too quiet.
Marcus and his men hung back, letting Sam, Carter, and Grace take point. Typical.
Carter scowled. “I don’t like this.”
Grace checked her rifle. “Let’s just get this over with.”
They slipped through the fence, stepping onto cracked pavement. The depot loomed ahead—dark, massive, and ominous.
Then Sam saw the bodies.
Scattered across the courtyard. Some old, some fresh. Some torn apart.
He barely had time to process before a horrible, wet gurgle sounded from the shadows.
Then came the screech.
A blur of movement—fast, inhuman.
Carter’s voice was sharp. “RUN!”
Sam sprinted as the creature lunged.
It wasn’t a normal infected.
It was faster. Stronger. Hungrier.
And it wasn’t alone.
The depot had become a nest.
Dozens of mutated infected poured fro
m the darkness, their eyes glowing in the faint moonlight.
Sam’s blood turned to ice.
This wasn’t a supply run.
It was a death trap.
