Cutting Losses

Chapter 6

The military patrol boat sliced through the dark river, its lights cutting through the night. Bill and Francis sat in silence, catching their breath after the grueling fight at the boathouse. The crew was efficient, checking their weapons, talking in hushed tones, and scanning the shores for more survivors. Bill kept his eyes trained on the water, while Francis leaned back, trying to shake off the weight of their constant battles.

“Hey, old man,” Francis said, breaking the silence, “think this is finally it? We’re gonna get to safety?”

Bill didn’t respond right away, staring into the distance. “Don’t know,” he muttered, his voice low. “But I’ve learned not to count on anything ‘til it happens.”

Francis nodded, more serious than usual. He understood. They’d seen too much, survived too many close calls to let their guard down now.

A low groan caught Bill’s attention. He turned his head sharply, spotting a man in the corner of the boat, clutching his side and sweating profusely. One of the other survivors they had picked up. Something wasn’t right.

Before Bill could say anything, the man let out a strangled gasp, his body convulsing. His skin turned pale, eyes bloodshot as he spasmed violently on the floor.

“Shit,” Francis whispered, his grip tightening on his shotgun. “He’s turning.”

“Get ready,” Bill said, standing up, already drawing his pistol. The other survivors backed away in horror, some screaming as the man let out a guttural snarl, his body jerking as the infection took hold.

It happened in seconds—he lunged at a nearby soldier, sinking his teeth into the man’s neck, blood spraying across the deck. Chaos erupted as people panicked, pushing and shoving, trying to escape. But it was too late. The bitten soldier staggered backward, clutching his neck before falling to the ground, convulsing in the same way.

One after another, the infection spread like wildfire through the cramped quarters of the boat. Screams echoed around them as people turned, their bodies contorting, eyes filled with rage and hunger.

“We need to get off this damn boat,” Bill growled, firing a round into one of the infected that came charging at him.

Francis blasted another with his shotgun, the blast echoing across the river. “No shit!” he shouted, backing up toward the railing as more infected swarmed the deck.

They fought their way through the chaos, dodging the frantic survivors and avoiding the infected’s deadly bites. The boat’s crew was overwhelmed, some trying to fend off the infected while others desperately tried to steer the boat to shore.

Bill grabbed Francis by the arm, pulling him toward the back of the boat. “We’re jumping. Now!”

Francis hesitated, looking at the dark water below. “You sure about this?”

“Better than staying here,” Bill snapped, firing another round into the horde closing in on them.

Without another word, they both jumped overboard, plunging into the cold, dark river. The water hit them like ice, stealing their breath as they struggled to stay afloat. Bill’s military instincts kicked in, and he began swimming toward the distant shoreline, Francis right behind him.

The boat drifted away, still filled with screams and gunfire, but Bill didn’t look back. They had to survive. That’s all that mattered.

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They dragged themselves onto the shore, soaked to the bone, and utterly exhausted. The dense trees of the National Forest loomed ahead of them, casting eerie shadows in the moonlight. The night was quiet, too quiet, except for the distant growls of infected still wandering the riverbank.

Francis collapsed onto the ground, panting. “Man… I can’t believe we made it.”

Bill stood, scanning the area, his rifle at the ready. “Barely,” he muttered. “We need to find shelter. Now.”

The two stumbled deeper into the forest, their bodies aching from the cold and exhaustion. Eventually, they found a small clearing, surrounded by thick trees. It wasn’t much, but it would give them some cover for the night.

They sat close, huddled together by a small fire Francis managed to start with the few dry branches they found. The silence between them was heavy, both men lost in their thoughts after the chaos on the boat.

“You think anyone else made it off?” Francis asked quietly, his voice unusually subdued.

Bill didn’t answer right away, staring into the flickering flames. “Doubt it,” he said finally, his voice low. “That boat was a death trap the moment we got on it.”

Francis looked down, his usual bravado stripped away by the constant near-death experiences. “We gotta keep moving, huh?”

Bill nodded. “Yeah. First light, we keep going. Try to find any survivors, maybe CEDA, maybe military—something.”

They sat in silence after that, the fire crackling softly. The sounds of the infected were distant, but ever-present, a constant reminder that danger was never far away.

Eventually, exhaustion caught up with them. They took turns keeping watch, both too paranoid to fully relax. But when Francis’s turn came, Bill found himself unable to sleep, still on edge after everything they’d been through.

The forest was eerily quiet, the only sound the rustling of leaves in the gentle breeze. Bill’s mind raced, replaying the events of the night—the chaos on the boat, the infected turning in front of them, and the fact that they had no idea what was waiting for them tomorrow.

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When morning finally came, the forest was bathed in a soft, misty light. Bill and Francis packed up what little they had, preparing to move on.

As they walked deeper into the forest, the weight of what they’d survived the night before still hung over them. But neither of them said much. They didn’t have to. The unspoken understanding between them was enough—they’d made it this far together, and they’d keep going.

But as they moved through the dense trees, the feeling of being watched crept over them. The infected were never far behind, always lurking just out of sight.

The real nightmare was only just beginning.