Harem in a zombie apocalypse

[104] Fortress

Me and Cassidy got into our positions behind the window and we began to fire back at the mob.

As the deafening sound of gunfire rang out, the pandemonium of the outside world seemed to converge upon us. The cold metal of the AR-15 dug into my shoulder, its cold, unfeeling touch a stark contrast to the heated turmoil that was taking place beyond the hospital's frail, glass window.

My finger was a steady drum on the trigger, each squeeze sending out a hail of bullets that ripped through the air, cutting down the approaching mob one by one. My eyes, hardened and unyielding, were glued to the sights of my rifle, the focus unwavering as the aim adjusted from target to target.

Cassidy was on my left, the rapid, almost rhythmic, chatter of her UZIs providing a counterpoint to the staccato bursts of my AR-15. She handled the submachine guns with practiced ease, the dual wield UZIs spitting out a deadly spray of bullets that mowed down anyone who dared to come closer.

We were the gatekeepers, the last line of defense between the relentless mob and the innocent lives inside the hospital. And we would not yield, not until our last breath.

Sweat trickled down the side of my face, stinging my eyes, but I blinked it away, never letting my focus falter. My heart pounded in my chest like a war drum, each beat matching the rhythm of the gunfire that echoed in my ears.

Every now and then, I would steal a glance at Cassidy, just to make sure she was holding up. Each time, I would see the same resolute determination etched on her face, her lips set in a grim line, her eyes blazing with an unquenchable fire.

And from the corner of my eye, I could see Kaya. Her vantage point on the hospital roof providing her with a clear view of the battlefield. The sharp crack of her rifle was a constant in the symphony of chaos, each shot bringing down a member of the mob with ruthless precision.

The floor beneath us was vibrating, the reverberations of the gunfire resonating through the structure of the hospital. Casings from our guns clinked against the tiled floor, a morose rain of brass that fell with each squeeze of the trigger. And despite the chaos and the fear, we held the line.

Meanwhile, Kaya got to the rooftop and laid down on her stomach.

Once in position, she unfolded her sniper rifle, a sleek, deadly instrument designed for one purpose: to take lives from a distance. The faint metallic clink of the bipod hitting the concrete was drowned out by the roar of gunfire from below. Her fingers, calloused and weathered from years of combat, expertly checked the rifle's chamber, ensuring it was ready for the task at hand.

Laying flat on her stomach, Kaya inched forward until her eye was level with the scope. The crosshairs danced in her vision, casting a deadly grid over the frantic chaos of the mob below. Every heartbeat, every breath, every minuscule movement of her body could mean the difference between a kill shot and a miss. But Kaya was disciplined, her body as still as the concrete beneath her.

Then came the moment of truth. Her finger curled around the trigger, the pad of her finger gently grazing against the cold metal. Her heartbeat slowed, each throb echoing in her ears as if time itself had slowed. Her gaze was locked on a target, a man attempting to rally the mob for another assault.

The world seemed to quiet around her, the cacophony of the mob becoming distant as her focus narrowed. Her breath hitched, a fraction of a second where the world stood still, and then she squeezed. The rifle bucked against her shoulder, a sharp jolt that sent tremors down her arm, but she barely registered it. Her attention was solely on her target, watching as the bullet found its mark, dropping the man like a sack of bricks.

Without missing a beat, she worked the bolt of her rifle, ejecting the spent cartridge and chambering a fresh one. The process was methodical, each action ingrained in her muscle memory from countless hours of practice. There was no room for hesitation, no room for error. And Kaya, with her unwavering concentration and lethal precision, made none.