The Cold rain keeps falling down, the sky is still gray, the city is infested with monsters, the inundated streets wait for our footsteps, the Jungle platoon keeps moving through the deserted watery ways of this once great equatorial metropolis.
We have a tight schedule to follow, we must reach the Military relics in downtown before the bombs start to drop, our company commander ordered this operation of his own initiative. They don’t know we are here, we have been promised a heliborne evacuation but other than that we are a forlorn hope going against time, the company commander thinks those relics will be important. We follow his orders.
My lungs burn while my feet keep impacting the cold water on the street, 1 block to go, then we’ll reach the Police park and the museum, it’s deep in the red-zone and we already made too much noise fortunately we got enough cold steel to fight our way through, let’s hope the Harpy squadron will come take us back to safety when the shadows come for us.
Below the shadow of gentle trees and over the rancid trash filled water that took over these streets, we kept on moving, the colorful blue, green and yellow houses of the imperial period share space with the modern gargantuan gray architecture, the sidewalks are broken by the roots of old trees, abandoned cars of all colors and shapes fill the streets.
Down the street we see them, shambling corpses wandering around, undead around 25 of them an eerie sight to behold an obstacle to overcome.
Usually we would curral them into an alley or an alley-like way where we would only have to face a small number of them at a time so we could bayonet them one by one conserving our energy and taking our time, but we don’t have time right now, we will have to shoot our way through, attracting more of them towards us.
“HALT!” The lieutenant yells, his voice echoes through the streets, alerting the undead to us.
“Firing line!” his order is punctuated by the screech of a whistle
The sound of boots impacting the cold water mingled with the wail of the whistle, the soldiers in the back crouched and kept their guns ready protecting our rear and flanks, the ones in the front including me, formed a line shoulder to shoulder.
The Undead began shambling forward, some sprinted in-between convulsions splashing water as they came, others made their best to force their gangrenous limbs to move, their faces were contorted into expressions of hate and pain, their eyes were a big incognita, their scleras turned black, their retinas likewise also turned into pitch black.
The guns came to life, my ears began to ring while my vision was filled with muzzle flashes. My rifle fired but didn’t eject.
I had to use it like a bolt action, one shot, two shots, the Staccato of firing turning me deaf by each second, until it stopped.
The gas port was set to fire rifle-grenades. I took a still warm and wet brass casing from the street and used it to set the port back to normal.
While I was preoccupied with this the undead were defeated, their broken bodies lay on the watery streets, their rotten blood turning the waters red.
