Chapter 2: First Contact (The Descent into Chaos)
The staccato beat of gunfire echoed through the desolate street as Daniel Botia and the remaining members of Charlie Team regrouped, adrenaline surging through their veins. The dead weight of Rodriguez's body on the ground barely registered in their minds; the smell of fresh blood hung in the air like a curse. Daniel's hands were shaking—he wasn't even sure if from fear or the pure shock of what they had just seen. Whatever that thing had been, it wasn't human anymore.
"We need to move," Thompson snapped, his voice a razor of command cutting through the chaos. "Secure this area and fall back. No more heroics."
"Rodriguez is—" Ramirez started, staring at his fallen comrade.
"He's gone," Daniel said, cutting him off, his voice hollow. "He's gone, Ramirez. We focus on the living now."
Ramirez nodded slowly, the reality settling in his eyes. The mission had just taken a nosedive from routine evac to a nightmare scenario. The bodies, the bites, and the way those things moved… it wasn't right. But there was no time to dwell on the horror. They had to keep moving.
As they proceeded down the street, Daniel could feel the city itself pressing in around them, like some malevolent force watching from the shadows. The streets were littered with overturned vehicles and scattered belongings, abandoned in the frantic rush of those fleeing whatever was happening. The few civilians they'd encountered so far were dead—or worse. The streets felt haunted, the quiet broken only by the distant echo of screams and the crackling of burning buildings.
Thompson led them to an alleyway that snaked toward a small plaza, where their intel had indicated a group of civilians might be hiding. The captain's face was set in grim determination, but even he seemed rattled by the strangeness of it all.
As they turned the corner into the plaza, Daniel spotted them—about a dozen civilians, huddled together near the steps of a boarded-up pharmacy. They were gaunt, their eyes wide with terror, clothes dirty and torn. Some held makeshift weapons—a broken chair leg, a kitchen knife—anything that might protect them from the unseen horrors stalking the streets.
"We're UBCS," Thompson announced as they approached. "We're here to get you out."
At first, the civilians didn't move, paralyzed by fear. Then, a man in his fifties, probably a father or neighbor, stepped forward hesitantly. "Get us out of here," he begged, his voice shaky. "Please, for God's sake, they're everywhere."
"We'll get you to safety," Thompson assured him, motioning for Daniel and Ramirez to help herd the group into position for extraction. But as they began to move, Daniel's gut twisted. Something was wrong.
The civilians were huddled too tightly together. Something—or someone—was missing from this picture.
Daniel stepped forward, peering closer at the group. "Where's everyone else? Are there more of you?" he asked the man.
"Others went to get help," the man stammered. "They—"
A scream cut through the air, slicing through the conversation like a knife. It came from behind a collapsed pile of rubble that blocked part of the plaza. Suddenly, figures began to stagger into view. At first, they seemed like more survivors—disheveled, bloodied, stumbling—until Daniel saw their eyes. Dead. Vacant. Hungry.
"Oh no," Ramirez muttered, backing up, his rifle rising instinctively.
There were at least a dozen of them, their faces slack, clothes torn and bloodied, their jaws hanging open with a low, wet groan. The first one, a woman in a hospital gown, limped forward, her arms reaching out, fingers twitching in spasms of unnatural movement. Behind her, more followed—men, women, even children—each one moving in that same, disjointed rhythm.
Zombies. The infected.
"OPEN FIRE!" Thompson's voice rang out, and the world erupted into chaos.
Daniel didn't hesitate, his rifle already aimed at the closest infected. He squeezed the trigger, sending a burst of rounds into the woman's chest. But it didn't stop her. She barely slowed, her body jerking violently as the bullets tore into her flesh. Her dead eyes locked onto Daniel as she lurched forward.
"Headshots!" Daniel shouted over the deafening gunfire. "Aim for the head!"
The infected were fast—faster than he'd expected. One of them, a hulking man with half his face missing, broke into a sprint, closing the distance between them in seconds. Ramirez barely had time to react before the thing was on him, teeth gnashing as it tackled him to the ground. Ramirez screamed, wrestling with the creature as it clawed at his face.
Daniel swung his rifle around and fired, the shot taking the infected man in the head. It crumpled on top of Ramirez, dead weight pinning him to the ground.
"Get up!" Daniel barked, grabbing Ramirez by the collar and yanking him to his feet. "We need to fall back!"
The civilians screamed, panicking as more infected poured into the plaza. Some of them ran, scattering in all directions, while others cowered in place, frozen in terror.
The infected tore through them like animals. Daniel watched in horror as a woman, holding a child in her arms, was tackled by one of the infected. The child fell from her grasp, screaming, as the infected tore into the woman's throat, blood spraying across the pavement.
Daniel fired, but it was too late. The woman's body convulsed, her eyes glazing over in death as her blood pooled beneath her.
"Fall back!" Thompson's voice boomed. "We're getting overrun!"
The infected swarmed them, relentless, their sheer numbers overwhelming. For every one they dropped, it seemed like two more took its place. Daniel's heart pounded in his chest as he fired shot after shot, his rifle kicking against his shoulder. The plaza was a warzone, civilians and soldiers alike falling under the weight of the horde.
A hand clamped down on his shoulder, jerking him backward. Thompson, his face streaked with blood, shoved Daniel toward a side street. "We're pulling out! We can't hold this!"
Daniel barely registered the order, his eyes fixed on the carnage unfolding in front of him. He watched as Ramirez, scrambling to reload, was tackled by two infected at once. Their teeth sank into his flesh, and his screams were swallowed by the chaos.
"Ramirez!" Daniel shouted, moving to help, but Thompson yanked him back.
"He's gone!" Thompson roared. "Move!"
Daniel stumbled, torn between the instinct to fight and the cold, hard truth that staying meant death. He turned, following Thompson into the alley as the infected swarmed over Ramirez's body, tearing him apart.
The alley was narrow, lined with dumpsters and debris, but it offered some cover. Daniel's breathing was ragged, his legs burning as he sprinted, his rifle nearly empty. Behind them, the sounds of the infected grew louder, the groans and snarls chasing them like a nightmare.
They rounded a corner and skidded to a stop. A chain-link fence blocked their path, too high to scale in a hurry. Thompson swore under his breath, glancing back at the street they had just come from.
"We're trapped," Daniel muttered, the reality sinking in. The infected would be on them any second.
Thompson's eyes darted around, searching for an escape. Then he spotted it—a rusted fire escape ladder hanging just out of reach above them. Without a word, he jumped, grabbing the bottom rung and yanking it down with a screech of metal.
"Up!" he ordered. "Move!"
Daniel didn't need to be told twice. He scrambled up the ladder, his muscles screaming in protest as he climbed. Behind him, Thompson followed, the infected already pouring into the alley below, their hands reaching for them, clawing at the air.
They reached the rooftop just as the first of the infected slammed into the base of the ladder, shaking it violently. Daniel collapsed onto the roof, gasping for breath, his body trembling with exhaustion and fear.
Thompson sat beside him, wiping blood from his face. "We need to regroup," he said, his voice grim. "This city's gone to hell."
Daniel nodded, his mind still reeling from the massacre below. He had survived, but barely. And as he looked out over the burning city, he knew that this was just the beginning.
The nightmare had only just begun.
