The refinery woke before sunrise.
The sky above Bataan remained dark blue when the first generators rumbled louder and floodlights gradually shut down one by one. The smell of oil still lingered in the air, mixing with the cool sea breeze coming from Manila Bay. From the northern access road came the sound of boots against concrete and the occasional rumble of military vehicles returning to their parking areas.
The engagement from the previous night had been brief.
Five hundred infected.
No casualties.
No breaches.
Compared to the battle for Central Luzon, it was insignificant.
Yet no one inside the refinery treated it lightly.
Because it had proven something.
The dead were still here.
Even on a peninsula that had remained relatively isolated from the chaos of Luzon.
Even here.
