The air is filled with the smell of burning corpses as we walk upon the graves of hundreds of infected, their charred limbs and remains scattered across the road, crackling beneath my boots, brittle and half buried in ash.
Smoke clings to the nearby homes like a shroud of depression.
Every breath tastes of iron and rot.
None of us speak. Not one of Whiskey's men. Not me. And definitely not Jenny.
I follow at the back of the group, one of Whiskey's men at either side of me. They're the two survivors who were sat around the fire in the middle of the town hall. The one to my left has short black hair, and a dark brownish skin tone. His skin was much lighter than Zane's, yet seemed to be much darker than my own. He seemed to be wearing a similar protective vest like mine with metal plates, likely to protect him from metal bullets. Nevertheless, he walked with an exalted confidence, seeming to have some training of sorts, and wielding a weird curved scimitar.
The one to my right on the other hand had wavy blonde hair, sort of like Aurelia's. He was smaller than me, which was expected of those with the peasant mark due to their inferior genetics. In one hand, he seemed to carry a flail, while in the other, he held some sort of makeshift shield made of wood and a leather strap that he most likely constructed himself.
While walking, I couldn't help but wonder where these people had acquired such weapons. Even Whiskey and Jenny carried a special weapon of their own, a spear and a giant cleaver respectively. They said that they had been hunting infected and exploiting the reward system for a few nights now, choosing to find and hunt down those special infected like the one I found on the beach a few days ago, gaining that compass. Could these weapons have been from that?
In front, Whiskey was leading us with Jenny and his other two men from the office by there side. In total, our squad had 7 people. Most of us had left our guns behind at the village since they were out of ammo. Luckily, Jenny remembered about the box of bullets in Whiskey's office and went back to retrieve a handful, meaning at least both her and I had a bit of ammo. The others however required a different type of ammunition, meaning that they'd just have to use their melee weapons.
As we pressed forward, the scorched remains and charred buildings started to thin, giving way to dirt roads and cleaner air. The road veers slightly up a hill, and there just beyond the crest lies the the final line of homes, marking the end of both the road and the village. We slow our pace, ensuring to be more careful now as we creep up the road.
It's strangely quiet. Like weirdly quiet. At night, you usually hear the crickets, or maybe the occasional sound of a bird or a lizard. Yet here, all I could hear are the sounds of footsteps as we continue up the road.
It seems like I'm not the only one concerned as both Whiskey and Jenny also seem on guard.
I shift uncomfortably as we continue. In my left arm, I cradle a crate carrying the two grenades, while with my injured arm, I carry my bow. It was still most certainly is in pain. It felt stiff and pulsing, as if it was on fire. Every movement continued to send fresh pain pulsing through my arm.
I need to search for some meds later, if I survive that is.
We reach the edge of the village, where the dirt road fades into open fields, and the clustered buildings give way to a vast stretch of grass swallowed by the darkness of night.
Whiskey raises his right hand, signaling for us to stop. We do as he says stopping just in front of the dirt street.
He stares out at the field in front of us. The grass is tall, extremely tall. In fact, it seemed taller than the grass at the watch tower.
I would be lying if I said that I was not scared. I couldn't see far into field due to the darkness, yet for some reason I just had this feeling in my gut that there was something there. Hiding and waiting.
Whiskey looks back at us, seemingly hesitant.
"Do you think that they've set a trap?" Jenny asks, stepping forward.
"They're infected. Are they smart enough for that?" I ask, butting in to the conversation.
For a moment, no one says anything, not even Whiskey.
Suddenly the brown skinned man next to me speaks up.
"Even if it is a trap, that means that they have intelligence. Normal infected don't have intelligence. That must mean that the horde has some sort of intelligent leader."
Jenny nods.
"If it is a trap, he must be nearby. Plus we've already killed the majority of the horde. How bad could it be?
Whiskey sighs.
"Could they be evolving?" He asks, suddenly, gaining our attention.
"I mean, think about it. They were no doubt a little faster, perhaps even a little stronger than before. And did you see the size of that horde? It was absolutely massive. Also, why did they attack the village, before they used to stick to the beach and the forest. Now they're inching even closer inland. Plus, how can they tell the difference between us and them. For a time, we were covered in zombie blood. How can they tell it was us? If it wasn't for the fact that they're blood was flammable, we no doubt would have already died."
Jenny shifts uncomfortably, gripping the handle of her cleaver tighter. "If they're evolving, that must mean that the rewards are getting greater. Imagine the reward we'd get from killing a whole horde, and it's leader!"
The blonde man nods beside me, his flail twitching in his hand. "Many of us have already died. It wouldn't be worth it to turn back now."
Whiskey hesitates before sighing once again.
"You're right." he mutters, raising his spear.
"Let's go."