Note
I apologize, I'm still very busy and wasn't able to make a lot of chapter this week.
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Including me, there were eleven of us moving in formation. I led from the front as we advanced toward the building the scout had marked earlier, the one with a crude "HELP" sign plastered across the windows. Along the way, we encountered stragglers—lone walkers dragging themselves aimlessly through the streets. We dispatched them quickly, quietly, and efficiently, each soldier armed with nothing more than a knife. Firearms were out of the question; drawing them now would only bring a swarm before the convoy even arrived. Every movement had to be calculated.
By the time we reached the building's entrance, we had already put down more than two dozen walkers, their bodies slumped silently in the shadows we left behind. I raised my hand, signaling a halt. The streets weren't empty—birds scattered overhead, startled by our presence. That meant noise traveled easily here, and one mistake could expose us.
I ordered one soldier forward to test the door. Two more I signaled to cover the rear, while another pair prepared to flank from both sides. I positioned myself directly behind the point man, sword in hand, ready to strike if anything burst out. We exchanged silent nods. On my count—one, two, three—the soldier at the door raised his hand, then pushed it open.
The air inside was stale. Almost immediately, movement stirred in the gloom. Walkers—twenty at least—turned their milky eyes toward us, drawn by the intrusion. The first three soldiers surged in, knives flashing as they secured the entrance. I followed close behind, cutting down a walker with a clean strike of my sword. Behind us, the two men guarding outside dealt with a few more that had wandered too close, then shut the doors to keep our position contained.
The floor fell silent within minutes, every walker either collapsed in bloodied heaps or still trapped behind locked doors. We regrouped in the lobby, weapons slick but steady in our grip. I scanned the staircase spiraling upward.
"According to the scout's report, survivors should be on the tenth floor," I told them, my voice low but firm. "This building has twenty floors total, so we move slow, steady, and we clear each level before advancing. No rushing."
I met the eyes of each soldier, making sure the message settled in. We weren't here just to cut through walkers—we were here to bring people back alive.
"Form up," I ordered. "We're moving. Stay sharp.".
From floor to floor, we advanced in silence, clearing each level with methodical precision. We didn't waste time entering every single room—only securing the hallways as we climbed higher. By the time we reached the ninth floor, the air was heavier, staler, and the silence almost suffocating.
"Ready?" I asked quietly, hand resting on the hilt of my sword.
The soldiers gave firm nods. I pushed the door open. This was it—the floor where the "HELP" sign had been plastered on the window. If survivors were anywhere, it had to be here.
The first soldier stepped in, but before we could move further, he stumbled back out, doubled over, and vomited everything he'd eaten that morning onto the dusty tiles. The others who caught a glimpse inside gagged, some covering their mouths, eyes wide with horror.
"What the hell happened?" I demanded, though my gut already twisted at the possibilities.
A soldier, pale and trembling, answered between shaky breaths.
"S-Sir… it's… cannibalism."
I forced myself forward, and the stench hit me before the sight did. Then I saw them—five figures, crouched over the remains of what had once been people. Stripped flesh, gnawed bones, torn muscle—it looked less like a rescue and more like a butcher's floor. The five raised their heads to stare at us, eyes wild and lips slick with blood. In their hands wasn't just food. It was human meat.
My stomach lurched, but I locked it down, forcing control. If I broke, the rest of the squad would follow.
"Kill them," I ordered flatly.
The soldiers hesitated, weapons trembling. The five cannibals dropped their scraps and raised their hands slowly. One of them stammered, "W-Wait! This isn't what it looks like! We—we didn't have a choice!"
But before he could finish, gunfire erupted. The squad didn't wait for me to repeat the order—they opened fire, bullets tearing through the five in an instant. Their bodies collapsed, red spreading across the already blood-soaked floor.
Silence followed, broken only by the ringing in our ears and the stifled retching of one soldier in the back. I exhaled sharply, the weight of it all pressing down on me.
"It's still early in the apocalypse," I thought grimly, "and already… this."
"This is disgusting," one of the soldiers muttered, his face pale as he looked away from the corpses.
"This is reality now," I said firmly, my voice colder than I intended. "We must be strong, or we won't survive what's coming."
I gave the floor one last glance, taking in the carnage, then turned back toward the stairwell.
"Let's go. This rescue mission is over. The sign was a trap—bait to lure others in. We wasted our time here."
As we descended, the memory of those bloodied hands and hollow eyes stayed with me. The apocalypse wasn't just creating monsters out of the dead. It was reshaping the living too.
By the time we returned to camp, night was creeping in. The streets had grown restless; herds were moving more often now, forcing us to take longer routes and wait in shadows until it was safe to move. It cost us hours, but at least we made it back without losing anyone. That, at least, was a small victory.
As soon as I stepped into the perimeter, Troy caught sight of me. His expression shifted from relief to concern the moment he saw my face.
"What's wrong with you? You look… pale," he asked, stepping closer.
I didn't answer right away. Instead, I let out a long breath, shrugged, and muttered, "Later." The last thing I wanted was to unload the horror of what we'd seen right in the middle of camp, not when people were still unpacking supplies and settling down.
But Troy wasn't the only one who noticed. He glanced over my shoulder at the soldiers trailing behind me—every one of them carried the same haunted look, their faces stiff and drained of color. That was all the confirmation he needed that something had gone very wrong.
He straightened, his jaw tightening. "Fine. But you're telling me."
Before I could reply, he added, "The rest of the convoy arrived an hour ago. We're all here now."
I followed his gaze across the camp and spotted Jessy standing near the supply trucks, speaking with a few others. Even from a distance, I could see the sharpness in his eyes as he turned toward us. I gestured for Troy to follow and walked straight to him.
Jessy met us halfway, his expression softening when he saw me, then shifting into something more serious when he caught the tension in my stance.
"What happened?" he asked quietly.
I stopped, lowering my voice so only the two of them could hear. "It wasn't survivors we found in that building. It was… people, yes. But they weren't calling for help. They were luring others in. When we opened that door…" I paused, steadying myself. Even recounting it made my stomach twist. "…They were eating human flesh."
Both Jessy and Troy froze. Jessy's hand clenched into a fist, his knuckles pale. Troy's eyes widened, his face tightening with anger and disbelief.
"You mean—" Jessy started, his voice almost trembling.
"Yes," I cut in. "Cannibals. Five of them. They tried to talk, to explain themselves. But we put them down before they had the chance to draw us into anything else."
For a long moment, silence hung between us, broken only by the distant crackle of fires and murmurs of the camp around us. Then Troy finally spoke, his tone sharp and bitter.
"Already? It's barely started and people are eating each other?!" He spat to the side, fury written all over his face. "Sick bastards…"
Jessy's reaction was quieter, but his anger was no less fierce. His voice was low, almost a growl. "If this is what people are becoming, then walkers won't be our only problem. The living are going to be worse."
I nodded grimly. "Exactly. That's why from now on, we're not just careful of the dead—we watch the living too. We don't take signs of 'help' at face value anymore. We assume it could be a trap, every time."
Jessy exhaled slowly, his anger simmering just beneath the surface. "Good. Because if I ever run into another group like that… I won't hesitate."
Troy shook his head, pacing a step away, then back. "Damn it. It's one thing fighting walkers, but people? This changes everything."
I looked at both of them, my voice steady. "This is reality now. We don't get to choose what the world becomes. We only get to survive it. And we'll survive by staying sharper, harder, and more united than anyone else out there."
Neither of them argued. They didn't need to. Their expressions said it all—shock, anger, disgust—but also a hardened resolve. The apocalypse had just shown us another face of horror, and none of us would forget it.
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