Chapter 3

The armored vehicle sped down the ruined streets, its tires crushing scattered debris and corpses.

As we neared the destination, the intersection ahead was blocked. It looked like a massive pile-up. Over a dozen mangled cars were stacked together, completely sealing off the road.

"We need to get down there and hook up the winch to clear the barricade, or we’re sitting ducks." Sergeant Miller raised his rifle, eyeing the growing number of zombies gathering outside.

No cover, completely exposed on an open street—it was a clearance task that strictly tested one's psychological grit. The gloves of the other two privates were soaked in cold sweat.

"I'll go."

I jumped straight out the door, yanking out the heavy steel winch hook.

A few zombies flanked me from the side.

I didn't step back. Dragging the heavy steel cable with one hand, I raised the standard-issue rifle I'd picked up earlier with the other.

Bang, bang, bang.

Three zombies were shot precisely between the eyes, dropping to the ground one after another.

I quickly hooked the cable onto the axle of a scrapped pickup truck. Once the job was done, I immediately fell back. Not a single second or movement was wasted. From stepping off the vehicle to locking the hatch behind me, those zombies hadn't even made it within ten feet of me.

Sergeant Miller stared at my practiced unloading motion, a muscle twitching in his rugged cheek. In this fully collapsed post-apocalyptic world, sympathy was worthless; absolute individual combat prowess was the only currency that mattered.

"Are all the guys out of the 7th Engineering Battalion hard-asses like you?" Miller pulled out a bottle of military-grade purified water and tossed it to me.

"At least we don't scream at the sight of dead bodies." I twisted off the cap.

"Once we're inside the perimeter, you're assigned directly to my tactical crew," Miller decided. "Room and board included, double daily rations."

"Gladly."

The MRAP's winch roared with a deafening screech, ripping the obstacles apart before the vehicle surged forward into the safety of the base.

...

Three days later.

I had already changed into clean desert camo fatigues. Sitting in a watchtower on the edge of the base's quarantine wall, I held a military-issued can of pork and beans—an extra ration.

Inside of three days, I had run three rapid sweep-and-clear missions with Miller's squad. Thanks to my calm tactical execution and zero-mistake kill efficiency, I had fully earned the respect of this regular army unit.

I scraped the last drop of gravy from my mess tin with a spoon, lifting my head to look at the gray skyline of the city center.

That 36-story corporate tower still stood tall.

By my count, the backup generators under the building were about to give out.

I wondered how those executives—the ones who caused my gruesome death in my past life—were doing right about now.

I didn't believe for a second that in this apocalypse, there was any helicopter coming to pick them up.

Leaning back against the sandbags, I apathetically withdrew my gaze.

……

36th Floor, Executive Boardroom.

The panoramic floor-to-ceiling windows remained intact, but the air inside was so putrid it was nauseating. Empty water bottles and shredded documents were scattered across the expensive wool carpet.

Three days.

A full seventy-two hours.

The typically glamorous executives had been reduced to the most pathetic of refugees.

The silence of the building's upper floors was broken. Faint but continuous scratching sounds came from right outside the door—zombies that had crawled up the stairwell, aimlessly hunting for the living.

In the crystal goblet on the table, once used for celebratory toasts, not a single drop of wine remained.

Marketing Director David slumped in his chair. His cracked lips were peeling with layers of dead white skin, his eyes glued fixedly to the ceiling.

"Water... Richard... give me a sip from the bottle in your bag..." David's voice was hoarse.

"Fuck off!"

Richard's gold-rimmed glasses sat crookedly on his face. Both of his hands clamped tightly over his leather briefcase. "That's the last drop of purified water I saved! You lay one finger on it, and I'll throw you out the damn window!"

Allies who once patted each other on the back at this very table had completely torn each other apart in the face of a survival crisis.

David forced his gaze toward Amanda, sitting at the head of the table.

"It's been three days... Amanda! Where is this helicopter you promised?!" David suddenly erupted. Standing up too fast, he staggered and crashed against the edge of the table. "You said it would pick us up by the first evening at the latest! And now?! We’ve eaten all the chips from the vending machine!"

Amanda's white suit had turned an ashen gray.

Even so, she clung desperately to her executive facade.

"Shut up, David." Amanda shot him a cold glare. "This is a total martial law zone. My fiancé’s helicopter needs to navigate complex airspace negotiations to cross the perimeter. Deployment takes time."

"Bullshit!"

From the darkest corner of the boardroom, Paul, who was usually marginalized, abruptly stood up.

"When that AC repairman left with the army, I could have gotten on that armored truck! There was water in that truck! Guns! A way out!" Paul pointed an accusing finger at Amanda. "It was you! You conned us with that non-existent private island and helicopter!"

"Paul, watch your tone!" Amanda slammed her hand down on the table hard.

But that petty trick, usually used to whip subordinates into line, sounded incredibly pathetic right now.

Even Susan, who had stood by Amanda all along, broke down. "...Those zombies are going to find us eventually... Why... Why didn't I just leave with Jack..."

The tight-knit inner circle had formally collapsed.

The looks they gave Amanda morphed from their initial appeasement into blazing suspicion and rage.

Richard stared at her, a distinct threat lacing his words. "Amanda, I'm only going to ask this one last time. Does your fiancé’s helicopter actually exist? If not, while those things outside haven't broken through the fire doors yet, we split up and make a run for it now. Maybe we can still find a rescue squad. You cannot drag us all down to hell with you."

Seeing them closing in on her, a thread of panic finally sprouted in the depths of Amanda's heart. But she used her last ounce of strength to force it down.

Conceding now meant a dead end.

Amanda took a deep breath, cracked open her handbag with feigned composure, and pulled out a military satellite phone. She slammed it onto the solid wood table with extreme force, producing a dull thud.

The sound temporarily deterred David and Paul, who were just about to snap.

"I told you, my fiancé Hayes's private island is absolutely secure. I’ve already contacted them before, and I’ve said more than once that the delay is purely due to military radar interference. Since you don't believe me, I will contact his head of private security right now."

To shut them up once and for all, Amanda didn't put the receiver to her ear. Instead, she pressed the red speakerphone button.

Then, she dialed a long, complex string of numbers.

The boardroom instantly fell into a deathly silence.

Everyone stopped arguing. Even the volatile Paul stood frozen in place, staring intently at the sat phone.

"Beep... beep... beep..."

The call connected.

But what came through the speaker wasn't the extremely respectful "Hello, Ma'am" that Amanda had expected. It was a burst of ear-piercing static.

Immediately followed by the deafening rattle of automatic rifle fire, echoing into every corner of the 36th floor!

The sudden sound of a firefight terrified David so badly his legs gave out, and he collapsed back onto the carpet. Richard’s glasses nearly slipped off his face; blood drained from his cheeks as he stared at the phone.

A muscle near the corner of Amanda's eye twitched violently.

Feigning composure, she leaned close to the omnidirectional mic and yelled in a commanding tone, "This is Amanda! Put the Head of Security on the line! Where is the helicopter?! Your inefficiency is playing games with your boss's life!"

The other end of the line went silent for an exceptionally brief second.

Then, a furious roar exploded from the speaker.

"Fuck your helicopter! You delusional, crazy bitch!"

The color drained from everyone's faces.