Didn't think I'd make it.
Sitting duck on that bridge. Exposed. Nowhere to hide. Bullets whipping past my head like angry hornets, ricocheting off the metal railings, sparking in the dry air. Some of them have guns. Not many, but enough. Enough to make the crossing a nightmare.
The bridge swayed with every step. I could hear it groaning, metal fatigue from decades of neglect. Below: the dry riverbed, rocks and broken concrete waiting to catch me if I fell. Halfway across, I looked back. They'd stopped at the western entrance. Just standing there. Watching. Waiting.
Why didn't they follow? Do they fear the bridge? Fear the mines? Or are they just toying with me?
I was heading towards the mine entrance and noticed something odd, towards the south of the riverbank.
Three people stood apart from all the infected i came across. Different. They weren't shambling or smiling that empty smile. They stood still. Professional. Observing.
From what i saw, they were two men and a woman, wearing civilian clothes...dark, but practical. One of the men was older, maybe early to mid thirties, with a rough, weathered face. The kind of face you get from seeing too much. The woman was Asian...i think...I'm not so sure...short hair, standing with military posture. The third was younger, clean-cut, holding something...like a pair of binoculars? Or maybe a camera?
They were watching me. Not the infected. Me. Specifically.
They didn't move. Didn't duck. Didn't run. Just stood there. The woman said something to the men. They nodded. Then, calmly, deliberately, they turned and walked away. Got into a dark sedan parked on the shoulder and drove off. Away from the river. Away from the bridge.
Not infected. Not panicked. Not dead.
Just...leaving.
Who the hell were they? Government agents? Military from the Base scouting ahead? Reporters stupid enough to document the apocalypse? They had equipment. Professional gear. They'd been watching me like I was a specimen in a zoo.
Why didn't they help? Why didn't they shoot?
I don't understand. I don't understand any of this.
...
Made it to the mine entrance by pure luck. Or maybe God's still watching after all. Maybe He's keeping me alive for a reason. A purpose. Maybe I'm the instrument of His wrath, sent to cleanse this festering wound on His creation.
Or maybe something else is keeping me alive. Something that needs me. Needs my hands. Needs my gun.
The tunnel mouth yawns open like a throat. Old wooden support beams, rail tracks rusted to nothing, that smell of damp earth and old darkness. I lit a flare and went inside.
The darkness swallows me whole.
...
Inside the mines, time stops working right. My watch says I've been down here for three hours. Feels like three days. Or three minutes.
The flare light dances on the walls, casting shadows that move wrong. That move when I'm not looking.
I hear things in the darkness. Not just the infected. Other things. Scraping. Breathing. Laughter that echoes from nowhere and everywhere.
You're getting closer. Closer to the truth. Closer to understanding.
This has all happened before. Will happen again. The world burns. The world always burns.
The flare dies. I light another. In the brief moment of darkness between them, I see eyes. Pale empty eyes. Dozens of them. Hundreds. Watching from the tunnel walls. When the new flare catches, they're gone.
Just tricks of the light. Just my mind filling in the darkness with familiar horrors.
According to the map I found, the mines open into the junk yard on the far side of town. Three miles of tunnels. Maybe more. The map was old, hand-drawn, half the passages marked "COLLAPSED" or "FLOODED."
The mines are a perfect killing ground. Narrow passages. Limited visibility. Nowhere to run. I set up choke points. Trip wires made from loose cable. Used some of the grenades to collapse passages behind me, sealing off routes, forcing them into the paths I choose.
I'm thinking tactically now. Strategically. Not just reacting, but planning. Anticipating. Controlling the battlefield.
When did that happen? When did I become this?
Found bodies in the mines. Old ones. Miners from decades ago, preserved by the dry air and cool temperatures. Their faces frozen in expressions of terror. What were they running from? What killed them?
In the flare light, their faces seem to move. Mouths opening. Eyes tracking my movement. I know it's just shadow. Just paranoia. But I can't shake the feeling they're trying to warn me. Trying to tell me something.
Turn back. Run. You're not fighting them. You're becoming them.
No. That's not right. I'm fighting. I'm surviving.
But also: new bodies. Fresh bodies. People from Paradise, fled down here to escape... what? Me? The infection? Both?
I find one still alive. Hiding in a side tunnel. Old man, face streaked with tears and dirt.
"Please," he begs. "Please don't. I'm…just…Just trying to survive. I didn't do anything Please don't kill me. I beg of you!"
I look at his eyes. Normal pupils. Normal human fear.
But that voice in my head:
He's lying. They all lie. You can't trust them. Can't trust anyone.
Kill him. Kill him before he kills you.
I raise my shotgun. The old man starts praying. Closes his eyes.
My finger hesitates on the trigger. For just a moment, I see him. Really see him. Just a scared old man. Harmless. Human.
Then I see something move behind him. In the shadows. Those pale eyes. Grinning mouth. The same thing I've been seeing since the beginning.
It nods at me. As if giving permission. As if giving an order.
And I...
...pulled the trigger.
The boom echoes through the tunnels. The old man slumps. Dead before he hits the ground.
I checked his body. No weapons. No signs of infection.
Just an old man who died afraid.
I tell myself I saw something. Those eyes. The shadow. I had to. Had to see it. Because if I didn't, if I just killed an innocent man because a voice in my head told me to...
My left arm aches. Bullet graze from the bridge. The wound is hot. Inflamed. I cleaned it as best I could, wrapped it in cloth torn from a dead man's shirt. Should be fine. Has to be fine.
Keep moving. Don't stop. Don't think about the old man. Don't think about infection. Either kind.
In the darkness ahead, I hear singing. Children's voices. High and sweet. Impossible down here. Impossible.
Soon. Very soon now.
I cover my ears. The singing doesn't stop. It's coming from inside my head.