Time passed, and there was less and less to take. Road robberies became increasingly rare. Across many regions, rumors began to spread about the state of Pennsylvania about hunters who pursued anyone they came across, slaughtering their prey without mercy. No one was spared. As a result, people started avoiding the state altogether, detouring around it as if it were plagued, even though other routes were crawling with infected.
Discontent began to grow within the Jackals. They weren't moving anywhere, just sitting and waiting. The outcome was obvious and inevitable. The group survived on raiding, and when there was nothing and no one left to rob, the group began to consume itself. They tried to force their way through a weak point toward an infected trap, but FEDRA managed to repel every attack and prevent them from gaining a foothold. Unlike trained soldiers, the bandits quickly lost their momentum and pulled back, unable to withstand the pressure and losses.
Despite the apparent futility of their assaults, they still managed to strike FEDRA patrols from time to time, slowly thinning the ranks. The main reason for the soldiers' losses, however, was a critical shortage of ammunition. Bullets were disappearing almost before their eyes. Colonel Simons did everything he could to preserve what little they had left. He couldn't send out a large supply run that would weaken the city's defenses and give the Jackals a chance to strike the garrison. But doing nothing wasn't an option either.
A desperate gamble followed: sending out a small unit, knowingly sacrificing men to cover the retreat.
"Did they all die?" Simons asked, without much hope. His voice was dull, as if he already knew the answer.
"Sir, the blocking unit held their positions as long as they could. They lost most of their people and pulled back," the aide reported, not meeting his eyes.
There were several Jackal informants inside the settlement. They constantly fed information to their own, keeping them fully aware of how dire the situation had become. Resources were running out, and the fight had turned into a war of endurance whoever broke first would lose.
The rescue unit had managed to make it out of the city. That alone was good news, even at the cost of good men. Every one of them had been loyal and reliable, each worth many others. Did he truly believe this plan would succeed? Deep down, he didn't. The quarantine zone was coming apart at the seams, and he couldn't see a single real way out. But his people believed in him, and he couldn't kill their hope or betray that trust.
"Sir, unrest is growing among the civilians because of the reduced rations," the aide reported.
"Reinforce security at the food halls. Identify anyone spreading panic or undermining order," the colonel said sharply, without hesitation.
Ah yes the smugglers. How could he forget them, constantly slipping beyond the walls. He'd turned a blind eye to them before. Yes, they broke the law, but they also brought resources into the city. But the moment some of them began helping the Jackals, they crossed a line. That couldn't be tolerated. Everyone had to be crushed at once no negotiations, no exceptions.
"Yes, sir," the officer replied and left the office, snapping a crisp salute.
Simons frowned, slowly rubbing his temples. Thoughtfully, he opened a drawer of his desk and pulled out an empty syringe. His fingers lingered for a moment, as if waiting for an answer from it.
"Is it really possible… that we could still create a cure?" he murmured into the emptiness.
Every scientist said the same thing, in unison: the attempts were futile, there was no hope. To move even a single step forward would require massive industry, laboratories, and resources that no longer existed. Everything that could be done here had already been done.
And yet, to his surprise, there was an old subordinate someone who had survived infection and continued to walk this earth. More than that, he was fighting it.
"Lucky bastard… He was always like that. Victor. You were a good soldier honest and fair. Damn shame it ended this way," the colonel said quietly.
******************************************
By evening, we had finally completed most of the route and stopped for the night. The number of infected around us kept growing almost at a frightening rate. Finding a place where you could feel even remotely safe was becoming harder and harder. In a few miles, we'd have to abandon the vehicles and continue on foot; otherwise, we'd drag every creature in the area behind us. Fuel was nearly gone anyway we were squeezing the last drops out of what remained in the ruins of cities.
We gathered in a small structure on the outskirts. It had once been a warehouse, long abandoned and stripped bare down to its walls.
"All bridges along the river before Harrisburg were destroyed," the lieutenant said. "That was done to at least partially cut off the infected. Back when massive hordes were devouring everything in their path, the decision was made to blow the bridges and turn the Susquehanna River into a natural barrier. Beyond it, drawing attention will be a guaranteed death sentence."
He paused, letting the words sink in.
"There's a small dock near the town of Newport. From there, the river connects to the one we need. We'll take boats and cross closer to our objective. Any questions?" the lieutenant asked, pausing again.
"Good. Then no questions."
With that, he wrapped things up, assigned sentries, and ordered them to keep an eye on us.
I sat a little apart from the others. Slowly, I ran my hand just above my elbow I'd caught myself on something sharp in one of the houses and gotten scratched. I hadn't even noticed until Eric pointed it out. Pain is an unpleasant thing, but it's also what keeps us alive, warning the body of danger. Now, when I touched the spot, all I could feel was the faint trace of a scar.
Strange.
At the same time, my vision had worsened slightly. I chalked it up to the usual decline. But as I started putting things together, something else became clear. My hearing, on the other hand, had sharpened. Sharpened a lot. Sometimes it felt like I could hear the world without needing my eyes at all.
Like… clickers.
Inside, there was this sensation that I could sense objects differently even without stepping inside buildings. The faintest rustle, a soft creak, breathing if there was any sound at all, I caught it.
It seemed the cordyceps inside me was developing, slowly changing everything. Mutating. Rebuilding my body. Would I remain human? Would I have the strength to resist it to stop it from taking more than it already had?
We set out again at first light, when the sun's rays brushed against the windows. By the time we reached Newport, fog rising from the river still hung in the air, limiting visibility. We left the vehicles nearby, hiding them in the shadows of buildings, away from open streets.
*image*
"Move slowly. Watch the silhouettes in the fog," Harper said.
Naturally, Eric and I went first, under the sergeant's supervision. As we moved closer, I heard movement in a house to our left. I raised my hand, signaling for everyone to stop.
"What did you see?" the sergeant cut in.
"A sound," I replied.
"I didn't hear anything," he said skeptically.
"Could be an animal. Or a stalker," I said.
"We don't have time to check every building. We need to reach the boats and get out," the sergeant said.
I agreed. There was no desire to risk ourselves out of curiosity. We could spend a lot of time clearing buildings and even then, there'd be no guarantee we'd get them all. Those things knew how to hide, how to wait… and how to strike from the dark.