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Sorry guys, I had an urgent matter to attend to, so I wasn't able to post the update as planned. Thank you for your patience — I'll be compensating for the delay by releasing 5 chapters.
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At the Britton Hotel, some doors on the fifth floor were ajar, revealing pools of dried blood on the cheap linoleum inside, while others were tightly shut, leaving the fate of those within unknown.
In the pitch-black hallway, only the emergency exit signs emitted a faint, dying green glow, powered by the last dregs of their battery backups.
However, two other pairs of green lights were different; they were purposeful, moving forward with lethal intent. These were the faint glows from Simon and Dominik's night vision goggles.
It wasn't that you couldn't see your hand in front of your face in the corridor—the moonlight filtering through the smoke outside provided some illumination—but trying to read a faded brass room number in such dim light would be a fool's errand. With the PVS-14s, however, the hallway was as clear as day, albeit monochrome green.
Before long, Dominik and Simon arrived at Room 517, the exact location for the mission assigned by the System.
Simon stacked up against the wall by the doorframe and whispered to Dominik, "Are you sure it's here?"
"Yes," Dominik nodded, his heart pounding against his ribs.
At this moment, Dominik had already activated his Probe function, the radar pinging silently in his mind. But the readout was blank. He hadn't detected anyone within a ten-meter radius, which meant Laura wasn't in Room 517. Or Room 516. Or 518.
Even though he knew no one was inside, Dominik still needed to investigate. The System hadn't indicated mission failure, which meant his sister was still alive. She had to be.
Dominik gently tried the handle. Unlocked. He gestured to Simon—a silent nod towards the door, indicating breach.
Upon seeing Dominik's signal, Simon gave a thumbs-up.
With a soft click, Dominik pushed the door open and stepped back into the hallway to cover the rear. Simon seized the opportunity to flow into the room, weapon raised.
Simon cleared the fatal funnel instantly, sweeping the bathroom to his left before advancing into the main bedroom.
"Clear," Simon whispered.
Dominik followed him in. The small room contained a single bed with neatly made bedding—too neat. On a small rattan table by the window were several empty instant noodle cups and a half-empty bottle of water.
Simon looked at the empty room, frustration evident in his posture. "Where is she?"
Dominik didn't answer immediately. He walked over to the instant noodle cups. He picked one up—a spicy seafood flavor common in local convenience stores—and sniffed it.
"These were eaten recently. Maybe yesterday morning. The broth hasn't molded yet in this heat," Dominik said, his voice tight. "Laura might still be in the hotel."
"How do you know it's from yesterday?" Simon asked, puzzled.
"Hehe, just a skill I picked up in college..." Dominik gave a weak, awkward laugh. "Student diet. You get to know the lifecycle of instant noodles intimately."
"Ah!" A scream cut through the humid air.
"Bang! Bang! Bang!" Gunshots echoed, muffled by concrete but distinct.
Just as the two were about to discuss their next move, screams and gunfire erupted from outside the window. But not from the street. The sound was coming from above.
"Upstairs," Simon said instantly, tilting his head. "By the sound of it, the reverb... it should be around the tenth floor. Maybe the roof access."
"Let's go!" Dominik turned and sprinted for the door.
The tenth floor was beyond his radar's range, but he felt it in his gut. If Laura was alive, she had moved to higher ground. It was the smart thing to do.
Simon wasted no words. He took point again, but this time the stealth was gone.
They moved with speed and violence. The commotion from above was loud enough to wake the dead, literally. The zombies throughout the hotel were like a kicked beehive, swarming towards the source of the noise.
The Stairwell.
"Ten meters behind! Two tangos!" Dominik shouted, spinning around.
"Drop them!" Simon ordered without looking back.
Thump! Thump! Dominik fired his suppressed Type-56. It took him five rounds to drop the two infected stumbling up the stairs behind them, but they fell.
"Five meters ahead! Seven!" Simon yelled.
Pfft-pfft-pfft!
Simon's SCAR-L barked in controlled bursts. It took him less than four seconds to double-tap the seven zombies blocking the landing between the eighth and ninth floors.
Simon waved his hand forward. "Move! Move!"
With the immediate threats cleared, the two sprinted up the final flight of stairs, arriving at the fire door for the 10th Floor.
This time, Simon didn't wait for a countdown. He kicked the door just below the handle.
Bang! The heavy metal door flew open, slamming against the wall.
Simon, gripping his SCAR-L, surged into the corridor. Dominik followed tight on his shoulder.
However, once they entered the tenth floor, they both froze.
The tenth floor of the Britton Hotel wasn't guest rooms. It was a large, open-plan banquet hall and conference center, likely used for weddings.
And it was packed.
The space was filled with at least a hundred zombies. They were pressed together, a sea of rotting flesh, surging towards the double doors at the far end of the hall—the doors leading to the roof terrace.
From behind those doors, Dominik could hear frantic shouting and the crack of a small-caliber pistol. Survivors.
Upon seeing this, Dominik understood why the lower floors were relatively empty. The dinner bell had rung upstairs.
"Oww..."
The zombies at the rear of the horde turned. They had heard the fire door slam.
Through the night vision goggles, a hundred pairs of eyes seemed to glow green, reflecting the IR illuminators. It looked like a wolf pack spotting prey.
"Graaaah!"
The horde shifted. The back half broke off from the main group and began to shamble towards Simon and Dominik.
Pfft! Pfft! Dominik raised his rifle and fired into the mass, but it was like spitting into the ocean. He couldn't stop them all.
"Simon! Too many!" Dominik yelled, panic rising. "Grenade!"
"Got it! Get down!"
Simon didn't hesitate. He didn't use a launcher. He pulled a pin on a canister grenade from his belt—an M18 Smoke... no, it was marked M34 WP. White Phosphorus.
"Frag out!"
Simon hurled the grenade over the heads of the front row, aiming for the center of the cluster.
He grabbed Dominik by the vest and dragged him down behind an overturned catering table.
BOOM!
The explosion wasn't a sharp crack like a frag grenade. It was a dull thud followed by a terrifying whoosh sound.
White tentacles of burning phosphorus exploded outward in a starburst pattern.
In the enclosed space, the effect was horrific. The shockwave blew out the windows, but the chemical fire did the real work.
"Cough! Cough cough!" Dominik inhaled dust and acrid smoke, choking.
However, Dominik, who was rapidly adapting to the reality of combat, forced himself up. He grabbed his Type-56 and peered over the table.
The center of the banquet hall was a hellscape.
The horde had been broken. The blast had cleared a circle in the middle of the room. But the white phosphorus... it stuck to everything it touched.
Zombies in the center were burning with an intense, white-hot flame that water couldn't extinguish. They flailed silently, their vocal cords burned away, igniting the others around them as they stumbled.
The horde was in chaos. The survivors at the far end of the hall had a chance.