In the Willows

Chapter Fourty-Eight: Pyrite

The moon is a sickle, casting just enough light to glint off the barrel of your rifle. The air hangs heavy with the stench of decay, a mix of rotting flesh and burning wood. Misery looms ahead, a once bustling haven of hope turned into a hell-scape. Inside, it's crawling with the infected. Zombies. Monsters. Abominations. Whatever you call them, they're in there, and you're going in.

You glance at Fox. His jaw is set, eyes narrowed, reflecting the steely resolve that keeps him going. Emory stands a few feet away, sharpening her knife hand with slow, deliberate strokes. Bryn and Marshall are to your left, discussing last-minute strategies in hushed tones. Alec sits facing towards Misery.

"We're clear on the plan?" Your voice cuts through the night, low but commanding. It's a rhetorical question, but you wait for some conformation. You've gone over it a dozen times, but one mistake and you all are dead. Or worse.

"Bryn and I will take the north entrance," Emory says, her voice barely above a whisper. "Kai, you, Alec and Fox hit the west side. Marshall, your men will cover us from the flank."

You nod, "Remember, use the molotov's when they start swarming."

The plan is simple: get in, secure the perimeter, and push towards the school where Seraphina is. Move in like a ghost, in and out before they know what hit them. At least, that's the idea.

"Let's move." Fox signals, and we're off, our footsteps nearly silent against the cracked pavement.

The west side of the settlement is quieter, fewer of the infected wandering about. You can see their silhouettes stumbling through the dark, some dragging what remains of their legs, others with arms outstretched, grasping at the night. Your heart thumps louder, every instinct screaming to run, but you force yourself to stay focused.

You split up with Fox and divide your soldiers, circling wide around the perimeter. You find the west entrance, a gap in the wall guarded by two sentries. They're infected—at least, partially. Human faces you recognize somewhat mixed with Gluttony's essence, clutching rifles and cleavers. Poor bastards.

You catch Fox's eye, and he nods. You move as one, silent and swift. You take the one on the left. Your sword slides out of its sheath, the blade catching the moonlight. You get behind him, and with a quick stroke you slice his head clean off. As he goes limp you catch him and ease him to the ground, then you scan for any signs you've been spotted.

Fox dispatches his target just as efficiently, and the soldiers drag the bodies into the shadows. The path is clear. You slip through the gap, entering the belly of the beast.

Inside, Misery is a maze of debris and carnage. The infected are everywhere, their low moans and shuffling steps a constant background noise. You hear the faint crack of gunfire from the north side. Bryn and Emory are engaging already. You need to move fast.

You and the soldiers with you hug the shadows, keeping low and out of sight. The center of the settlement is a large open space, once a market busy with people. Now, it's a feeding ground. A mass of infected crowd around something—or someone. You can't tell from here.

Marshall and his men and perched on top of roofs.

"On my signal," Fox whispers, his eyes scanning the area. "We go in, hard and fast. Clear a path. Burn the fuckers."

You nod, heart racing. The seconds stretch into eternity, and then Fox moves. You burst from the shadows, rifles up, fingers squeezing the triggers. The noise is deafening, gunfire echoing off the crumbling walls. The first wave of infected goes down, but more surge forward, drawn by the noise and the scent of fresh blood and burnt skin.

You keep firing, each shot a calculated breath. Headshots only, it's the only way to stop them for good. Guttural screams coming from the infected are the only thing you hear. Fox is beside you, his movements fluid, methodical. You and Fox are a well-oiled machine, cutting through the horde.