The alarm on my watch vibrated against my wrist at exactly 5:00 AM, but I’d been awake for the past hour anyway, staring at the ceiling and running through the plan in my head for the hundredth ti. The house was completely silent except for the familiar sounds of early morning.
I rolled out of bed as quietly as possible, my bare feet finding the cold hardwood floor. Every movent felt amplified in the pre-dawn stillness, and I found myself holding my breath as I gathered the gear I’d carefully laid out the night before.
The equipnt Mark had prepared for was spread across my desk like so kind of high-tech arsenal. The frequency registration device looked like sothing from a sci-fi movie—all sleek black tal and digital displays, about the size of a hardcover book but significantly heavier. According to Mark, it would be able to record and analyze the Screar’s sonic signature with pinpoint accuracy, assuming I could get close enough without getting my brain scrambled by the sound waves.
Next to it sat the protective headset, which looked like a cross between high-end headphones and a military communication device. The padding was thick and comfortable, and Mark had assured it would filter out the most dangerous frequencies while still allowing to hear what was going on around . The thought of testing that theory in the field made slightly worried, but it was better than going in completely defenseless against the Screar’s primary weapon.
My weapons were arranged with military precision beside the electronic gear. The shotgun was a reliable Remington 870 that I’d liberated from a sporting goods store two weeks ago—twelve gauge, pump action, with a modified barrel that made it perfect for close-range encounters with Infected. I’d loaded it with buckshot rounds that could drop most standard Infected with a single blast to center mass.
The pistol was a Glock 19, chosen for its reliability and the fact that 9mm ammunition was still relatively easy to scavenge. I’d practiced with it enough that I could hit moving targets at twenty yards, though I hoped I wouldn’t need that skill today. The plan was reconnaissance, not engagent.
My hand axe was also there.
The new steel spike I’d crafted was a replacent for the one I’d lost when facing that Electrical Infected as well. That bastard had nearly fried my nervous system before I managed to hurl the spike through its skull, but the weapon had gotten stuck and I’d had to abandon it. This new one was slightly longer, with better grip wrapping, and I’d taken extra care with the point to ensure it would penetrate even the thickest Infected skull.
My outfit was designed for mobility and stealth. Dark jeans that wouldn’t catch on obstacles, a long-sleeved black shirt that would help blend into shadows, and along a leather jacket.
Combat boots with good tread for running across debris-covered streets, and a tactical vest with pockets for extra ammunition and supplies. I’d learned the hard way that in the field, accessibility was everything. If you couldn’t reach your gear quickly, you might as well not have it at all.
I moved through my morning preparations like a ritual. Check the weapons—safeties on, chambers loaded, spare ammunition secured. Test the electronic equipnt—batteries full, connections solid, recording functions operational. Verify my route on the hand-drawn map I’d been updating for weeks, marking known Infected concentrations and safe houses along the way.
The plan was simple in theory, though I knew that in practice, simple plans had a way of becoming complicated very quickly. Get to the old radio station on the east side of Jackson Township, use the building’s height advantage to observe the Screar’s territory, record its vocalizations from a safe distance, and gather intelligence on how many Infected were serving as its protection detail.
Mark needed the frequency data to develop so kind of counterasure—he’d been vague about the specifics, but I trusted his technical expertise. The guy had managed to jury-rig everything from solar panels to water purification systems using scavenged parts, so if anyone could figure out how to neutralize the Screar’s sonic weapon, it was him.
I wanted to leave before anyone else in the house woke up. As far as they knew, this was just another early morning scavenging run, the kind I’d been doing regularly for the past month. No need to worry them about the specific dangers involved, especially since I was planning to keep my distance from any actual combat.
The others had enough to deal with without adding my problems to their list. The last thing they needed was to spend ti worrying about whether I was going to co back from this particular expedition.
I finished loading my gear into my backpack, double-checking that everything was secured and easily accessible. The frequency recorder went into a padded side pocket where it wouldn’t get damaged if I had to move fast, and the headset hung around my neck where I could put it on quickly if needed.
Moving carefully through the house, I made my way toward the garage where I kept one of the motorcycles we had recovered. It was an old Honda dirt bike that had seen better days, but it was reliable and, more importantly, it was quiet. In a world where noise could attract every Infected within a mile radius, stealth was often more valuable than speed.
The garage door opened with only a slight squeak, and I walked the bike outside before starting the engine. Sowhere in the distance, I could hear the occasional moan of wandering Infected, but they sounded far enough away not to be an imdiate concern.
I was just about to start the engine when I heard footsteps behind .
"Going sowhere?"
I spun around scared the hell out, my hand instinctively moving toward the pistol at my hip, then relaxed when I saw Rachel erging from the shadow of the house. She was fully dressed and ard, carrying a steel rod that she’d welded herself and wearing a backpack that suggested she’d been planning this for a while.
"What are you doing out here?" I asked, genuinely shocked. It was barely past dawn, and Rachel was usually waking later.
"I knew about your plan," she said simply, adjusting the straps on her backpack. "After I forced Mark to spill everything yesterday afternoon."
My heart sank. "Rachel, you can’t—"
"I won’t let you do this alone," she interrupted curtly clearly aning arguing was pointless.
"You can’t help because of the Scream," I said desperately. "The sonic waves will scramble your brain if you get too close, and I can’t protect both of us and complete the mission."
Rachel smiled and reached into her jacket, pulling out an identical protective headset to the one hanging around my neck. "Mark made this for after I asked. He seed to think it was a reasonable precaution."
That old smoker...
I stared at the device in her hands, feeling my carefully planned solo mission crumbling around . "Rachel, this is insane. You don’t understand how dangerous—"
"I understand perfectly," she said, climbing onto the bike behind without waiting for permission. "Now hurry up and start the engine before the others wake up and decide they want to co too."
For a mont, I just sat there, torn between admiration for her determination and frustration at having my plans disrupted. Rachel had always been like this—once she made up her mind about sothing, she was impossible to dissuade.
"If you’re coming with , you have to follow my orders," I said finally. "No argunts, no second-guessing, no heroic gestures. This isn’t a discussion—it’s a condition of letting you tag along."
"You’re not letting do anything," Rachel replied, wrapping her arms around my waist. "But I agree to follow your lead. You’re underestimating if you think I can’t handle myself out there."
I wanted to argue further, but I could hear sounds from inside the house that suggested people were starting to wake up. The last thing I needed was for this to turn into a group expedition.
"Fine," I said, starting the engine. "But when this goes sideways—and it probably will—don’t say I didn’t warn you."
The motorcycle rumbled to life.
We pulled away from the house as quietly as possible, though I knew the engine noise would probably wake at least a few people. With any luck, they’d assu it was just another routine supply run and go back to sleep.
The streets of Jackson Township were eerily quiet in the pre-dawn light. Most of the Infected in our imdiate area were either dormant or had wandered off to other territories, leaving us with relatively clear passage through the residential areas. Street lamps had long since stopped working, leaving only the pale light of early morning to guide our way.
As we rode, Rachel leaned closer to speak over the engine noise.
"I can’t believe you were planning to do this alone," she said, her voice tight with barely contained anger.
"It was supposed to be a simple reconnaissance mission," I replied, navigating around an abandoned car that had been sitting in the sa spot for weeks. "Get in, record the frequencies, get out. No combat, no unnecessary risks."
"Nothing involving the Screar is simple, and you know it," Rachel shot back. "That thing is capable of killing all of us. What if sothing went wrong? What if you got trapped or injured?"
"I’ve been doing solo missions for months," I said. "I know how to take care of myself."
"That’s not the point!" Rachel’s grip around my waist tightened. "You don’t have to take care of yourself alone anymore. We’re supposed to be a team, rember? That ans relying on each other, not running off on dangerous missions without backup."
I sighed, knowing she was right but also knowing that my instincts for self-reliance weren’t sothing I could just switch off. The last "missions" had taught to depend on myself first and not drag the others in danger.
"I didn’t want to put you in danger," I said finally.
"And I don’t want you in danger," Rachel replied. "Which is why I’m here. I can protect you just as well as you can protect , you know."
I don’t know what to answer to that.
We continued riding in contemplative silence for a while, the landscape around us gradually shifting from residential areas to the more industrial sections of town. Here, the signs of societal collapse were more obvious—factories with broken windows, shipping containers scattered like giant toys, and the rusted hulks of vehicles that had been abandoned when their owners fled or died.
"Tell about the plan," Rachel said as we paused at an intersection to check for Infected activity.
"The radio station is about two miles ahead," I explained, pointing toward a cluster of taller buildings visible in the distance. "It’s got a good view of the Screar’s territory, and the building structure should provide so acoustic protection while I’m recording."
"What about escape routes?"
"From what I have seen, three different ways out, all mapped and tested," I said. "The building has external fire escapes on two sides, and there’s a maintenance tunnel that connects to the old subway system."
Rachel nodded approvingly. "What about the Infected concentration around the target area?"
"That’s..plicated," I admitted. "The Alien Box suggests the Screar keeps a protective detail of maybe hundred or even more Infected, but we don’t know their types or positioning. That’s part of what I’m hoping to scout today."
"We’re hoping to scout," Rachel corrected.
"Right. We."
As we got closer to our destination, the urban decay beca more pronounced. This part of town had been hit hard during the initial outbreak clearly, and the two months since hadn’t been kind to the remaining structures. Windows were shattered, doors hung off their hinges, and the streets were littered with debris from and abandoned vehicles.
I think though the Screams were also dealing their fair share of damages around...
More concerning was the increasing evidence of Infected activity. Scratch marks on walls, dried bloodstains, and the distinctive odor of decomposition that seed to cling to areas where the creatures congregated. We had to take several detours to avoid clusters of dormant Infected.
It was clearly a very dangerous place as always. I had ca here a few tis but there seed to be even more Infected around.
"There," I said finally, pointing to a modest three-story brick building with a radio tower extending from its roof. "That’s our target."
The radio station looked like it had been abandoned even before the outbreak. The parking lot was cracked, and several of the building’s windows were boarded up. But the structure itself appeared sound, and the radio tower would give us the height advantage we needed for observation and recording.
"This is it," I said quietly, checking my weapons one final ti. "Last chance to change your mind and head back."
Rachel’s answer was fast.
"Not happening. Let’s go et this Screar and register him."
Despite my concerns about the mission becoming more complicated with two people, I had to admit I was glad Rachel was here despite my concern for her.
"Alright," I said, putting on my protective headset and making sure the frequency recorder was easily accessible. "Let’s do this."
User Comments
0 comments from readers