Veil of the forsaken.

"Unease."

Level 3: Continuation

The door creaked as Matthew eased it open, the faint light of their flashlights cutting through the dim haze of the corridor. The sounds of gunfire had faded slightly, replaced by the sporadic echo of distant voices and the low hum of machinery. Dorothea stayed close behind, her weapon at the ready.

"Looks clear," Matthew murmured, his eyes scanning the hallway. He motioned for her to follow, and they moved quickly but cautiously, their footsteps muffled by the layer of dust coating the floor.

Dorothea's earlier words lingered in the silence between them, unspoken but not forgotten. She wanted to bring it up again, wanted to ask if he'd meant what he'd said about her being there in that quiet corner of the world. But now wasn't the time. It never seemed to be the time.

As they rounded a corner, the faint flicker of a dying light overhead illuminated a row of sealed doors, each marked with a faded red cross. Medical bays. Dorothea slowed, her gaze lingering on the symbols.

"You thinking what I'm thinking?" she asked quietly, glancing at Matthew.

He nodded. "Could be supplies. Or survivors."

She stepped forward, testing the nearest door. It resisted at first, but with a sharp shove, the rusted mechanism gave way. Inside, the room was eerily intact. Rows of gurneys lined the walls, and shelves of medical supplies stood untouched. The air smelled faintly of antiseptic, a stark contrast to the decay outside.

Dorothea exhaled in relief. "Finally, some luck."

Matthew moved to the shelves, scanning their contents. "Bandages, antibiotics... This stuff's gold. Grab what you can carry."

As they worked, the sound of shuffling footsteps reached their ears. Dorothea froze, her hand hovering over a pack of gauze. She exchanged a tense glance with Matthew, who silently raised his rifle and moved toward the door.

The footsteps grew louder, accompanied by a faint, guttural growl that sent a chill down her spine. Matthew pressed his back to the wall, peering into the hallway. His expression darkened.

"Shit," he whispered, turning back to Dorothea. "Infected. A lot of them."

She tightened her grip on her rifle, her pulse quickening. "How many?"

"Too many for a straight fight. We need another way out."

Dorothea's eyes darted around the room, landing on a vent near the ceiling. "There," she said, pointing. "We can use that."

Matthew followed her gaze, frowning. "It's tight, but it might work."

They moved quickly, dragging a gurney beneath the vent to give them a boost. Dorothea climbed up first, prying the vent cover loose with the butt of her rifle. The metallic screech echoed in the room, and the growling outside grew louder.

"Hurry," Matthew urged, glancing back at the door as it shuddered under the weight of the infected pressing against it.

Dorothea hauled herself into the vent, the narrow space forcing her to crawl on her elbows. "Come on!" she called back, her voice muffled.

Matthew didn't waste a second, hoisting himself up as the door gave way. The infected poured into the room, their snarling and guttural cries filling the air. Matthew pulled his legs up just as the first creature lunged at the gurney, its decayed hands clawing at empty air.

"Move!" Matthew barked, his voice echoing through the vent.

They crawled as fast as the confined space allowed, the sounds of the infected growing fainter as they put distance between themselves and the room. The vent sloped downward, leading them to a grated opening that overlooked another hallway.