The B-1 strike had shattered the northern second wave.
But it had not destroyed it.
Far from it.
Across northern Pampanga, fires burned in every direction.
Collapsed buildings smoldered.
Rice fields had become blackened wastelands.
Highways were littered with craters and wrecked vehicles.
The destruction stretched for kilometers.
And through the smoke—
The infected were still moving.
Thousands of them.
Perhaps tens of thousands.
The survivors of the bombardment staggered through the ruins.
Many were burning.
Many were missing limbs.
Some crawled.
Others limped.
But all of them had the same destination.
South.
Toward Basa Air Base.
Toward humanity.
Inside Bone One, Colonel Jason Reeves watched the thermal display.
The surviving infected looked scattered.
Broken.
Disorganized.
Then they began moving again.
Slowly.
Like streams of water finding new paths.
The weapons officer frowned.
"They're reforming."
The co-pilot cursed.
"How?"
Nobody answered.
