It's war now.
That "parade" of murderous maniacs marching down the middle of Main Street was... sobering.
They were organized. Not stumbling or shambling like in the movies. They moved together like a swarm, like a single organism with a hundred bodies. Marching band uniforms, blue and gold—caked with blood. Baton twirlers with dead eyes spinning their weapons. A drum line keeping perfect rhythm with clubs instead of sticks.
And at the front, riding on a makeshift float covered in streamers and corpses: the Mayor. Still wearing his suit. Still smiling that empty smile. Still waving to the crowd like this was the Fourth of July.
They were celebrating. CELEBRATING. Celebrating what? Their infection? Their madness? The death of everything good and sane?
They saw me. All of them. Turned in unison, that same tilted-head gesture, and then they came. Like a wave. Like a flood.
I ran.
Killed as many as I could. Rifle first, picking off the leaders from distance. Then the machine gun when they got close. Then the shotgun when they got too close. The bodies piled up behind me, but there were always more. Always. Chasing me down Main Street, through the pharmacy, past the bank, toward the eastern edge of town where the Paradise River cuts through on its way to nowhere.
My hands don't shake anymore. That's something. My aim has improved. That's something else. I'm getting better at this. At the killing. At the war.
Is that good? Is that bad? Does it matter?
Found a Molotov cocktail in one of the stores—someone had been preparing for this, bottles filled with gasoline, rags stuffed in the necks. Lit one. Threw it into the pursuing crowd. Watched them burn. Watched them DANCE as the flames consumed them, still marching, still smiling, until they collapsed into charred husks.
The fire reflected in my eyes. I caught my reflection in a store window. For just a moment, just a split second…I saw something else looking back. Not me. Something with my face but wrong. Eyes too dark. Smile too wide. Teeth like broken glass.
Behind my reflection, that figure. The tall dark thing with the burning eyes. Closer now. Almost touching me.
Then it was just me again.
Just me.
You see? You're stronger now. Purer. The weak fall away. Only the strong survive.
Only those willing to do what must be done.
I'm done hoping. Done looking for survivors. This is a war now. A war for survival. For sanity. For the future of everyone outside Paradise who doesn't even know they're in danger yet.
Must attempt to cross the bridge. It's a narrow metal suspension bridge, two lanes, seventy feet above the river gorge. On the far side: the old mining tunnels. The Paradise Mining Company went bust in the seventies, left behind a network of caves and shafts that honeycomb the hills east of town.
The elevation will give me an advantage. The narrow passages will funnel them. I can work with that.
I can win this.
I MUST win this.