Chapter 67: Far to the East – III

Near the southeast, buried deep in the dirt of the once greenish landscape, was Ryan, Zolyah, and Sofia.

The Army Soldier positioned himself to the side, overwatching the surroundings in case a nearby zombie found itself wandering alone in the wasteland.

Sofia oversaw the intersection hundreds of meters away, munching on a piece of gum. Her small face made a large contrast of the large binoculars in front of her face.

If not for the serious situation they were in, Zolyah would have long laughed about it.

She rested her eyes on the magnified scope, slightly adjusting the optics based on the range, altitude, and wind direction.

“Strong winds to the east,” she muttered. “Sofia, how’s our target doing?”

“In the middle of the pack,” Sofia replied. “You got a lot of obstacles. Can you make a shot?”

“We’ll see about that.”

Finished adjusting, she took a deep breath and angled her sights to the oblivious screamer. Another croak escaped her mouth, bending its body over before standing upright again.

“This should do good,” Zolyah remarked as the crosshair landed on the screamer’s widened neck.

“Echo Actual, Eagle One is in position, over.”

“Eagle Two is also in position, Echo Actual.”

“Roger,” Dmitri replied. “Wait for my signal.”

They moved again, slowly but deliberately.

Heat bled up through his boots, crossing the asphalt with measured risks. Loose gravel and shattered glass lay scattered on the road, the kind that loved to betray those who were careless on their feet.

He kept his weight forward, rolling each step instead of forcefully planting it. Out here, filled with sharp rusting metals and decayed cars, even a scrape could turn into a signal flare for the undead.

There, he saw two of the Scouts he sent for forward reconnaissance earlier.

The man in front snapped his neck to the right, surprised that their squad leader had arrived. He formed a thumbs up, receiving a nod from Dmitri.

“Echo Two and Three, are you in position?”

“We’re ready to go.”

The two squads replied.

Dmitri raised his right hand. A clenched fist—hold.

The Machine Gunners broke off the formation first, moving with precision against the M249 SAW’s weight. One knee dropped, then the other, the M249s coming down in controlled arcs.

Belts were seated.

Bipods bit into the asphalt with dull metallic taps, lightly stirring up dust. Each sound were carefully spaced, never rushed.

The Guardian GI moved last. He slid into position beside a wrecked pickup, the MK19’s tripod unfolding with a muted clack as he locked it down on the dirt.

The weapon’s barrel settled, angled just above the clustered mass ahead.

When they were ready, nobody spoke.

A Machine Gunner raised his two fingers, then closed his fist.

The Guardian GI followed with one slow nod, eyes never leaving the magnificent sight of his targets.

Dmitri exhaled through his nose, boots steady against the burning road. The screamer remained croaking, unaware of the danger that had already surrounded it.

“Eagle One,” he said quietly on the comms, voice flat and final. “Send it.”

Zolyah grinned on the other side, placing her thrilled fingers into the trigger. With a deep breath, the scope stabilized.

Her eyes locked on the target.

Time suddenly slowed. Then she pulled.

The bullet flew out of the barrel, yet also in that instant, it had already arrived at the screamer’s vital neck.

Time returned to normal.

The horde was stirred from the shot. When the zombies looked back, the screamer had long succumbed to its death.

A gaping hole emerged on her body, spreading from the neck, to the shoulders, then to the chest.

A heartbeat later, the crack of the M82 rolled across the road.

Confusion rippled through the mass. Heads turned, bodies shifted, but they were far too late.

A 40-millimeter grenade dropped into the center of the formation.

The blast lifted bodies off the asphalt. Limbs scattered. The horde broke apart in a spray of rotten bone and meat.

It was silent, but deadly. A weapon these zombies didn’t dare expect of.

Suppressed fire followed immediately, short but disciplined bursts. Heads popped one by one as the Scouts, with their silenced MP7A1s, locked the kill zone.

The MK19 spoke of another barrage again, quickly thinning the horde before they could recover.

“Hold your fire,” Dmitri ordered in the radio, waiting for the smoke to dissipate.

“Echo Teams, move forward and secure the approach.”

He lifted off his foot and moved with the rest, checking the area for any remaining hostiles.

“North section clear,” Echo Two responded first.

“Southern section clear,” Echo Three followed.

“Intersection area clear,” Dmitri said last. “Good job team.”

“We got another horde down south,” Zolyah’s grumpy tone echoed in the comms.

Through her scope, a fresh horde pushed forward, feet kicking up pale dust as they ran.

White smoke wafted out of their feet, as if the burning sensation didn’t hinder them one bit.

She ignored the runners. The brute at the front mattered more.

Her crosshair settled, then she fired.

Just as the shot thundered, the brute’s head snapped backward, not bursting, not spraying, but folding in on itself as if something had scooped it clean out.

The large body took three more steps, collapsing forward. Its dead weight crashed onto the asphalt and sent the smaller zombies stumbling over it.

“Team, focus south!” Dmitri snapped. “Echo Two, hold the north. Eagle teams, status?”

“Negative,” both Eagles replied. “Lost visual of our main target.”

Dmitri clicked his tongue. “Machine Gunners, lay down suppressive fire now!”

The SAWs opened up.

The road erupted under sustained fire, rounds chewing through vehicles and bodies alike as the horde slammed into the kill zone.

While they enjoyed the spectacle, Zolyah’s forehead rolled with sweat.

“Sofia, do you see the target?”

“I can only see dead zeds. Negative on our target.”

How hard is it to find a large-bellied zombie? Zolyah inwardly complained.

She fired another shot, blasting a lasher’s body into pieces.

Yet that thing hadn’t come out.

“Shit, a special passed through!”

The radio suddenly turned chaotic.

“That’s Mason!” Zolyah was startled, quickly adjusting her scope’s angle.

In the peripherals, a Machine Gunner sloppily jumped out of his dug-in position.

In place was a green liquid sizzling on the ground, slowly corroding the earth away.

“Eagle teams, do you see the target?” Dmitri shouted this time.

Even he didn’t catch how that new special fired a projectile without them knowing.

“I see it, behind that fucked up big truck!” Eagle Two responded with a shot. “Shit, I missed!”

“What big truck, Eagle Two?” Zolyah cursed.

“Blue one!”

Zolyah snapped her scope left. The truck was half-collapsed, its container door bent inward like a torn jaw.

She didn’t see the belly, only the trail.

Green residue clung to the underside of the chassis, smeared along the asphalt where something had dragged itself, not walked.

It’s crawling, stalking around, she thought.

Another splash of bile hit farther down the line—farther and cleaner.

Yet, it was a feint.

Zolyah ignored the chaos and shifted her scope lower, scanning beneath the wrecks rather than over them.

Long limbs folded and unfolded in the shadows, hauling a swollen mass sideways between the covers.

And there, the special paused. Just for a fraction of a second, its body compressed as it prepared for another launch.

Gurgling sounds could be heard, but not from where Zolyah was.

She exhaled, leading the shot through the gap and not at the body.

The trigger was squeezed. A bullet was shot.

The round punched through the concrete edge first, then tore into the creature’s sagging core.

The bile sac ruptured inward, collapsing the body into a wet implosion, splashing itself with its own juice.

The creature spasmed once, limbs scraping uselessly against the asphalt. Large groans left its mouth, then went still.

Silence followed.

Zolyah lowered her rifle, heart still racing, then felt a change in her body.

Her breathing steadied faster than it should have. The weight of the rifle felt… lighter than before.

Her vision sharpened, edges clearer, distances clearer, targets… clearer and faster for her to engage.

“Target down,” she said, voice calm again. Somewhere deep in her chest, something clicked into place.

“Excellent shot, Eagle One,” Dmitri’s shoulders eased, finding it a easier to breathe once again. “Mason, how are things?”

“Looks good, Echo Actual,” he said while checking his M249 SAW. The green liquid splashed on it yet remained untouched.

“Corrosion didn’t work on my gun,” he added. “Thank goodness this thing’s tough.”

He grabbed the machine gun out of the pool of green liquid and blew the dust away.

“Eagle teams, check the southern approach,” Dmitri walked into the intersection, glancing at the corpses.

“All quiet, Echo Actual,” came the reply.

Dmitri nodded, though no one could see it.

The smoke thinned, drifting low along the road as the last echoes of gunfire died out.

Somewhere, metal ticked as it cooled.

He took a slow breath and let out. The intersection was clear—at least for now.

“Good work,” he said. “Regroup on me. Ammo check, then we move. Bulldog One and Escort Actual, you’re good to go.”

Boots thumped. Weapons were lifted. Engines hummed.

The platoon settled back into motion.

To the east, the road stretched on—long, open, and waiting.

Dmitri turned and started forward, leading the convoy hundreds of meters ahead.

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