And somewhere beyond the darkness, something was driving them forward.
Far above San Fernando, Pampanga, Reaper One banked sharply through the night sky.
The A-10 Thunderbolt climbed away from its first attack run while the pilot studied the tactical display mounted inside the cockpit.
The infrared picture looked insane.
He had flown close air support missions for Atlas for months.
He had wiped out hordes before.
Entire towns before.
But this?
This was different.
The infected stretched across kilometers of terrain.
The targeting screen almost looked broken.
Everywhere he looked, there were heat signatures.
Thousands.
Tens of thousands.
Moving toward the same point.
Moving toward Outpost Echo.
"Jesus..."
The pilot zoomed the display.
The image only became worse.
Fields packed with infected.
Roads packed with infected.
Drainage channels packed with infected.
The infected weren't wandering.
They were marching.
