CHAPTER 19: BESIEGED

  Palusian Continent — a building near the Ethar Post Office — Present time.

  "Captain Annie!"

  Hyerin’s voice snapped me back to the present. I had been standing by the fourth-floor window, lost in a daze, staring down at the thousands of undead swarming the building.

  We had escaped the spiders by a hair. Luckily, Michael’s two friends had arrived just in time. With their help, we carved a bloody path out of the post office—the nest of those blue spiders—and scrambled into the pickup truck parked out front.

  But misfortune clung to us.

  No sooner had we pulled away than the undead poured from every alley, charging without hesitation. Christian, our "mad driver," finally had his chance to prove himself. But even he managed only a hundred meters before thousands of living corpses surrounded us. They slammed against the truck, pounding on the bodywork, fixated on one goal: shatter the glass and drag us out to be devoured alive.

  Christian floored the gas. The engine screamed. But the rear wheels spun uselessly in the air—rotting, skeletal hands had gripped the tail of the truck and hoisted it off the ground.

  "What do we do? What do we do?" Hyerin’s voice cracked in panic.

  "Do you have explosives?" Richard, Michael’s friend, asked suddenly.

  "Yes—in the black bag," Jenine replied. "Nick, grab it. It’s under your seat."

  Nick Broney nodded and pulled a lumpy black bag from under his seat, tossing it to Richard. Unlike his companions, Nick Broney was the quiet type. Tall and pale with a hooked nose, he reminded me of a comedian from a show I used to watch back in Harvint. Maybe he really was that actor; I hadn't found the time to ask.

  Richard tore the zipper open and pulled out several dark-brown sticks of explosives, carefully wrapped with yellowed, slow-burning fuses.

  "Impressive. Better than Vanstine’s stock," Richard muttered in admiration.

  Radian looked quietly proud. Before joining us, he had been part of a weapons manufacturing group. No doubt he had a hand in making these.

  "We improved the blast radius," Radian said. "Who’s Vanstine?"

  "A weapons dealer. Slave trader. Iberian," Richard replied. "Michael and I were once his slaves."

  "I thought the three of you traveled together?" Jenine asked, glancing at Nick.

  "Oh, another Nick was with us then. We only met Nick Broney in Astorm," Richard explained. "But we know he’s a damn good pilot. His seaplane got us across the storm-choked sea to Palusia."

  "Great," Jenine said. "Annie crossed the sea too, didn’t you?"

  "Yes," I answered. "By boat. It took much longer. But we can talk about that later. We need to get out before the undead figure out how to rip these doors open."

  "Leave that to us," Michael said with a tight smile. "Slavery at least taught us a few practical skills."

  He and Richard lit two sticks each and hurled them through the narrow window slits. We ducked instinctively.

  The explosion shook the world.

  Blood, flesh, glass, and stone blended into a grotesque slurry—but it carved a path through the carnage.

  The blast shattered every window of the truck, yet it cleared enough space. Christian slammed the accelerator, swerving and driving straight over mangled bodies that still clawed and snarled despite being torn apart.

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  A few more explosions followed, but we only made it as far as an old apartment building. A jagged metal shard had punctured a tire during the chaos.

  We burst from the truck and opened fire without pause. The undead regained their speed quickly; fresh prey always sharpened their hunger. They came in waves, forcing us back toward the building.

  Then, a rare stroke of luck: we found survivors inside—the very people Hiroth’s autonomous zone had asked us to find. They covered us with gunfire and dragged us inside before slamming the heavy entrance shut and barricading it with thick wooden beams.

  That was yesterday.

  Now, leaning against the wall beside the fourth-floor window, I watched the undead still circling the building. Hyerin entered the room carrying a bowl of potato soup and a piece of dense black bread—the staple of the frozen Palusian lands.

  "We don’t have much food," I said quietly. "We should conserve it."

  "Yes, but everyone agreed," Hyerin replied. "They want you to stay strong. They’re depending on your leadership to get through this."

  "Do I really have that ability?" I murmured.

  After everything that happened, faith felt like a luxury. I hadn't abandoned hope, but belief in myself was something I had lost.

  "Everyone believes you can," Hyerin insisted. "Lord Hiroth never chooses the wrong person. Without you, we’d already be dead outside."

  She took my hand, her eyes shining with fierce conviction. "You can do it, Captain."

  She smiled and left me alone with the tray.

  There were too many things that made a day long, too many things that made the air heavy. If I kept circling my own doubts, I’d destroy myself before the enemy did. No. I had to wake up. Action—only action changes anything.

  I inhaled deeply and made a promise: doubt would not rule me again. I sat down and devoured the bread, silencing the hunger within.

  At eight that evening, we sealed even the upper-floor windows with iron bars. In a room beneath the spiral staircase, I gathered everyone for a meeting.

  "We have about one week of food left," I began. "Counting everyone, there are twenty-two of us. We have two machine guns, six submachine guns, four pistols, and a double-barreled shotgun that someone seems to have… modified quite enthusiastically."

  "That was Mr. Vionlera’s," a man at the table said sheepishly. "I helped him tweak it. Slow to reload, but powerful. He died last week. Tried to call his cat back inside."

  "Alright. Thank you," I cut him off. "Back to the main issue. Escape."

  I explained the sewer route beneath the basement laundry room. According to the map, it led to a wastewater facility outside Ethar. From there, reaching Hiroth would be manageable.

  "Hiroth?" the residents murmured.

  Jenine explained the sanctuary. Once again, I was reminded how broken information had become. A safe haven existed right under their noses, yet they hadn't even heard of it.

  I detailed the formation: the unarmed in the center, Richard and I scouting twenty meters ahead, the rest following in teams of five to minimize casualties. We agreed to move at dawn, when the zombies were less aggressive.

  I returned to my room and fell into a heavy, dreamless sleep.

  Near midnight, the crash of splintering wood jolted me awake. My door, already half-rotten, broke in two. Michael and Christian burst in.

  "Captain, run!" Christian shouted, gasping for air.

  GRAAA!!! That familiar shriek tore through the darkness. Red eyes lunged from behind them.

  "Wait!" Michael cried as he was tackled to the floor.

  A female undead had lunged from the hallway, pinning him down. Christian delivered a powerful kick to its jaw, sending it sprawling beside my bed. I dived from the mattress and drew my dagger.

  Squelch. The head separated, and the body went limp in a pool of dark blood.

  "What is happening?" I demanded.

  "Some idiot forgot to lock the back door!" Michael gasped. "By the time we found out, a dozen were inside. We sealed it again—but some are loose, attacking everyone. If we don’t leave now, everyone will be infected!"

  "What about the others?"

  "We save who we can!" Christian snapped.

  "No. We gather them. Then the sewers."

  I tucked the dagger into my belt, grabbed the modified shotgun, and followed them out. The stairwell was pitch black.

  "Flares—in my pack! Drop one!" I shouted.

  Michael complied. A red glow erupted, casting twisted shadows across the spiral stairs. We almost screamed in horror. Scattered across the steps, zombies were wandering, or crouched over what remained of their human meal.

  Screams echoed endlessly through the enclosed space.

  BANG, BANG, BANG. Gunfire erupted from the third floor.

  "That’s Mathar’s room!" I said. "Most of the weapons are there!"

  "Jenine and Hyerin too!" Christian added.

  We forced ourselves down, ignoring the cries from rooms where people were being torn apart. My throat tightened with helpless rage. Tears blurred my vision. I couldn't save them all.

  BANG! I gunned down an undead blocking the landing.

  Survivors burst from a nearby door, clinging to us in desperation.

  "Stay calm!" I ordered. "Stick together—but don't grab anyone!"

  They nodded, but fear had already reshaped them. I took a pistol from one of them and handed it to Michael to cover our rear.

  We reached Mathar’s room. A shot splintered wood inches from Christian’s face.

  "It’s us!" he yelled.

  "Get inside! Fast!" Jenine shouted back.

  The crowd shoved forward, trampling each other to get inside. I was knocked aside, half-laughing at the absurdity of it. Michael reached out to pull me up—

  Then his face drained of color. He froze.

  "Annie—look out! MONSTER!!!"

  Too late.

  A grotesque, slick hand seized my throat and yanked me backward into the pitch-black darkness just as the flare died.

  My own scream rang out—and Michael’s voice answered it from the dark.

  Then—nothing.