BREN

"Shots fired! Shots fired!"

"It's coming from upstairs!"

Fourteen bullets were left in Betty. Eight men. Make it count.

I strode toward the door adjacent to the master bedroom. Footsteps resounded from behind; perhaps the sniper perched up from the window, watching Haskell did his thing behind the plume of smoke. Now, he's distracted, caught off-guard by the gunfire next door.

I quickly strode toward the door, leaned my back next to the doorframe. I gestured for Peter to take the other side. The footsteps grew closer, and I tightened my grip around Betty.

The door swung open, and the rifle's barrel appeared at my periphery. Now's my chance! I struck, grabbed hold of the barrel, and pulled the soldier toward me. Once his body pivoted and faced me, I pushed Betty on his gut, two shots, heard his croaked shout against my ears, and he crumpled down to his knees. His grip loosened on the rifle, so it was easy for me to pull it off of him. I threw it to the side, and within a split second, I raised Betty higher, placed the barrel under his chin, and pulled the trigger. His jaw shattered, blood shot out from the top of his skull, and the soldier slumped to the ground.

That was all under two seconds, but it gave Peter enough time to take out the second one.

The second soldier stepped in, letting out a muffled yelp, surprised by the ambush. It would only last for a split second. Thinking quickly, he raised the rifle and aimed for my back, but Peter was already beside him, raised the Beretta, and shot him on the temple. He went down, unmoving.

I rolled over toward the bed, still worried that there might be more men beyond the room. The commotion was getting quieter, and we were quickly running out of time. I didn't hear any shouts from beyond the space, only from below, so I grabbed the map off the bed, folded them into my pocket, and gestured for Peter to move into the adjacent room.

A clean sweep. I followed close to his heels. We made it into the room, found it empty.

"Clear," Peter said, though his aim never wavered toward the dark corners.

I replayed my count earlier twice over: Donahue and Garrett were downstairs, the soldier guarding the back door, and the three at the front...all accounted for. No one's on the second floor.

I made a curt nod: two down, six more to go.

A door into the hallway opened up opposite of the landing, blocked by the thick handrails and columns. I slowly opened it, took a peek, and saw dark figures moving up the stairs wearing something over their eyes. Night vision goggles. Smart. They had killed the lights downstairs. I didn't know who was leading, but there's at least four of them coming up.

I took out the grenade from my belt. Peter saw, and he quickly moved behind the bed. I pulled the pin, counted to two, and threw it over the handrails. I saw it hit the stairwell landing, clattering like a golf ball on the foot of the first soldier.

"Grenade!" That was all he shouted before a mad dash for cover.

The grenade rolled toward the stairs, hit the first two steps, going down and down, dancing below their feet. I jumped over the bed and took cover beside Peter just as the explosion shook the house.

Men screamed; the door cracked from the shockwave, though it did spat out splinters from where some of the debris had wedged into the wood. I staggered to my feet, leaning hard against the bed frame. I didn't waste time to move and headed back into the radio room with Peter taking point.

The first soldier was there, shrouded in smoke, hiding behind the wall, dazed, shaking his head. We could still see him from the blazing fire from the community center. He must have jumped for cover before the explosion hit. It didn't matter. He turned around, probably he heard my footsteps, but Peter was already on him. He didn't even see it when the bullet penetrated his eye and went through his head. He dropped dead next to the soldier with the open throat.

The grenade ripped the wall off and some of the steps. Two dead bodies lay broken next to the splintered wood: one on the hallway with his stomach ripped open and the other in the middle of the stairs where his legs were just missing.

"Down?" Peter whispered.

"Down," I said.

I didn't even make it down to the fourth step when gunfire erupted, littering the wall inches from my face with holes. I scurried back up to the landing, with Peter dragging me around by the collar like a rag doll. They fired in quick succession, shouting and cursing. They were trying to pin us down. Three men left, but I didn't have another grenade with me to flush them out (or risk blowing more than a hole up before this was over).

I needed to make a distraction.

"Keep firing. I'm gonna go out the window and flank them," I said to Peter.

"Got it," Peter said, and he fired three shots down the stairs without hitting anyone, waiting every ten seconds. He had two more mags on his belt, and I hoped that would give me enough time to do what I had to do.

I headed straight for the room facing the backyard. I remembered a balcony overlooking the pool, and perhaps I could climb down the lattice panel next to it covered with vines.

I was right.

It was there, but someone was already using it.

Distracted, I grabbed the soldier's collar while pulling my knife from my sheathe, trying to yank him up over the rails. He struggled, flailing his free hand, trying to fight me off, but he was too scared to let go of the lattice panel, too frightened to fall. I used that to my advantage. It didn't take much. Two quick stabs on the shoulder blades where his arm was attached to the lattice—one at the nape of his neck. The soldier loosened his grip on the panel with a gurgled cry. He hit his head on a white garden stone on his way down, cracking his skull open.

I doubted the other two soldiers saw or heard him. Peter and the others were still firing at each other. I went down the lattice panel and landed a foot beside the soldier. I didn't recognize the face, knew it wasn't Garrett or Donahue, so they must still be alive. I sighed, a deep ache in my chest when I realized I had to kill them.

Kill or be killed.

The sliding door was already wide open; no doubt the other soldier forgot to close it behind him. I saw muzzle flashes from beyond the window that I crept beside of, taking a couple peeks in to see where they were firing at. I deduced they must be in the living room, just adjacent to the kitchen. This had to be quick, so I readied myself by switching from Betty to my shotgun. Quick shots. Make it easy.

I went into the kitchen, creeping closer to the first soldier I saw. I recognized Donahue's voice as his magazine ran dry, but before he could pick up another from his belt, I shot his hand, blowing it clean off his limb. He cried out, made Garrett flinch, and started firing into the kitchen.

I slid behind the wall, running alongside to flank him from the hallway. Peter was already running down the steps. I realized that Garrett was moving, trying to find a better cover, a better hiding space, to put as much distance between him and me. But, in his panic, he had walked into the hallway, his eyes focused on the kitchen where he thought I was hiding. He didn't realize I was there beside him until I clubbed his head with the butt of my shotgun, and he crashed onto the floor. He was still conscious, but barely.

"No," Peter hissed. I froze when I thought he meant me, but when I turned around, Peter had Donahue pinned against the floor, his foot on Donahue's still-attached wrist where he had a pistol in his grip. "Don't even fucking think about it." Donahue let go of the gun, and Peter kicked it off to the side, disappearing under the couch. He picked Donahue up and hurled him onto the couch.

Peter took out Garrett's weapons from his belt—pistol, knives, ammo—and then plopped him next to Donahue. He was beginning to wake, groaning. He moved his jaw from side to side, opened his mouth to a yawn, probably feeling up where I had struck him.

"Who really are you?" Donahue asked. His eyes landed on me. "Alphas? Are you one of them, too?" He shot an accusatory glance at Peter, clearly disgusted that he dared to wear the uniform and backstab his brothers.

I pushed down the lump bubbling up my throat. No. I won't let this bother me, either.

Peter was nonplussed. "No one has to know what we did here. No one knew our names or that we were even here."

"Traitors."

"Maybe so. That doesn't change the fact of what we've done. The dead will still be dead."

"We're friends..." It was Garrett who spoke. "We had classes together. We had lunch together."

"We did, and I acknowledge that we are friends. But that was the old world."

"Acknowledge? The fuck? Is that all you can say, like it's some fucking transaction? A contract?"

"Spend enough time in the Red Zone, Alex. Perhaps you might see my side. This is nothing personal. We're just trying to survive, and I doubt the military will win against the vectors."

"What the fuck are vectors?"

"The monsters. The infected, or whatever you call them."

"Even so, we don't betray our brothers!" Donahue said.

"Really? A moment ago, you were close on abandoning your post when the Alphas attacked, planning to backstab Garcia and her men to drive away. Has that ever changed?"

"It was all talk. W-we were scared!"

"Please. Don't fucking kid yourselves into thinking you're the heroes. Especially you, Donahue. If there's one thing I detest the most, rape is one of them."

"Those women came here voluntarily! You'll justify your attack on us because of that?"

Peter grinned. "Don't mistake a bargain for consent. Sure, these women came here willingly to survive, but that doesn't mean you get to do as you please. If I ask them now, will they say they enjoy being with you and your tiny dick?"

"My dick's not—!"

"I've seen yours in the tent when you change, so don't even try to deny that. You've seen mine, too, and you can tell it's way bigger than yours."

Donahue gulped.

Peter's grin grew wider. "Yeah. That's what I thought."

Both Garrett and Donahue lowered their gaze. Peter saw through them right away. I didn't know how long he had read them, perhaps even when we first walked into camp. "So don't judge us all high and mighty while you'll do the same thing we do in the name of survival. Garcia was planning to do the same for the civilians—our friends—outside the walls, steal their vehicles and supplies, and leave them behind. Just admit that when shit hits the fan, we'll act like dogs."

"But this wasn't an Alpha attack. This was staged," Donahue said.

"Yes. But your decisions are still your own, real or not. I'm sorry you didn't run far enough months ago, Donahue. You could have been with your family right now, instead of...here."

Donahue scoffed and looked at me. He probably thought Peter had run his mouth long enough for his taste. "You're not really a soldier. You're not one of us," he said, changing the subject.

"No," I said, but I didn't elaborate. I didn't have to.

Then, Peter smiled. "You might know him by another name."

"Peter. Don't."

But he didn't listen. "He's the Red Wolf of Colby, boys. The one who killed and hunted those Alphas for an entire month. So, if we're killing those fuckers, we're not the Alphas."

Garrett opened his mouth but closed them again. Donahue didn't let his gaze on me faltered for a second. "If you're not with them, then, why attack us?" Donahue asked.

I couldn't answer him. None of my answers would satisfy him, after all, I already killed his friends, and no damn answer was gonna justify that. It would only lengthen the pain.

But Peter answered for me. "Because you built your house in sticks and straws. When the wolves come knocking, it makes it easier to blow it all down." Peter puffed up his chest. "And don't make it easier for him," he said proudly.

Donahue scoffed again. "Poetry doesn't suit you, meathead."

Peter glowered and turned to me. "Can I kill him now?"

I put my hand on Peter and gently pushed him back, telling him with one look to stop. Fortunately, he did.

Haskell came in from the open sliding door, flashlight swaying in the darkness. When he reached the living room, he lowered his weapon, let out a whistle when he gazed upon the splintered remains of the stairs. "When I heard explosions, I for sure thought all of you are dead."

"Haskell! Help us!" Garrett screamed as if that would help.

Haskell pretended not to hear. "I really want to get this over with," he said. He tried so hard to avert his eyes from the other soldiers. "I'll be at the back as the lookout."

"Haskell!"

"I want to go home, Alex. Do as they say, and you'll live to see your family," Haskell said before stomping off toward the kitchen and out of the sliding doors.

I stepped forward. "In respect for Haskell and Peter, I'm gonna let you live. They know you, and they told me you are a good man. I saw that for myself even though our time was brief."

Garrett shifted on the couch uncomfortably while Donahue kept shooting daggers at me. He hoped it would intimidate me, but all I thought of his paltry attempts were cute. I told Peter to keep an eye on them while I moved to the kitchen, opened the cabinet under the sink, and found the cleaning supplies. I took the bucket out and placed it on the coffee table in the living room. I looked inside and found the ingredients I was looking for.

I pulled out a rag from the pile. "These are bleach and rubbing alcohol. When you combine them together, they produce hydrochloric acid and chloroform. You know, that little chemical they put in spy movies where they kidnap their victims. It'll knock both of you out for a few hours, hopefully by morning, but we'll all be gone. There's not a lot of side effects aside from a hangover and some eye irritation, but I think both of you can tolerate that." I put some cleaning gloves and mixed the chemicals inside a tightly-lidded container where I would dunk the rag in.

"No. Please! No!" Garrett begged as I put the rag over his mouth and nose from behind the couch. I held my breath while I did this. I didn't want to pass out with him, and my eyes were already getting itchy. He went limp within two seconds.

"You're not gonna get away with this!" Donahue screamed.

"This would only take a while. When you wake up, you'll just walk over to HQ, but that will take days, and we'll be across the river by then." If there's an HQ to go back to.

"I tell you! You won't get away with this!"

"I've heard that a lot," I said.

"Captain Drucker will hunt you down. Yes. When he gets back, I'll tell you all about him!"

"Captain Drucker is not coming here tomorrow. He's too busy fighting the Alphas inside the city. I doubt he has time to look for me."

"I'll make him! I swear! I'll hunt you down myself if I have to. I will kill you, your friends, and everyone else, even those children! I will track you down, Red Wolf. I will make you suffer that you'll wish you are dead. But I won't let you! I promise that." Donahue cackled. "And I always keep my promises! When I wake up, you'll be sorry!"

I stopped and put the rag into the cleaning bucket, and slid it away from me. Peter and I shared a grim look, and I turned to Donahue again. "Well, thanks for letting me know."

I pulled Betty out go my holster, and Donahue's forehead caved in blood, bone, and guts.

Peter shrugged. "Not anymore, I guess."

"Peter. Don't even start."

"What? I'm just making a comment."

"Just hand me the handcuffs," I said. Peter pulled one out from his pouch and handed it to me. We dragged Garrett toward the stairs and handcuffed him to the railing while I put the key inside his pocket, which was thin and small, about the size of my pinky finger.

"Why'd you put it inside his pocket, then?" Peter asked.

"So that he can get himself out later."

"But we just handcuffed him."

"I'm not sure when he'll wake up, Peter. The handcuff is just a precaution."

"But the keys—"

"It'll take him a while to find it. Prisoners don't usually expect to have the keys with them. Eventually, he'll feel stupid once he realizes he has it all along."

"Cold," Peter said, smiling.

"I'm not trying to. Come on. Let's find Aria and the others."

——

LOGAN

Cora screeched into a halt in front of the gate; the soldiers were all gone.

"Where did they all go?" Alfie asked.

"I don't know. I'm gonna find out."

"Careful," Yousef whispered. "They might still be out there. They'll shoot you if you step out."

Logan flicked his eyes to the gate again. There was no movement. "I'll be fine," he said, but more so to himself, building up the strength to reach the door.

Logan grabbed the rifle leaning against the sofa and stepped out of the RV before ordering Indy to stay behind. He looked back to the line of vehicles behind Cora. He spotted Jun and Miguel coming out of the Honda Civic, their weapons already in hand. The others reluctantly started climbing out of the vehicles, gaping at the large plume of smoke rising beyond the wall like a twister's silhouette. Logan didn't know if Bren and the others were okay, but he hoped they made it out in one piece, whatever it was that caused the explosion. Was this the signal he was talking about? Logan wondered.

To the west, the sun had vanished, twilight shifting into the darkest night. Now, where are the stars...? The moon was the thinnest crescent he had ever seen it, bathed in shadow, faint to the eye, which was possibly on its last phase before the new moon would darken the skies even more.

Logan approached the gate, his hands slightly trembling. He fought the urge to tuck tail and run. That would be embarrassing, he thought.

So far, none of the soldiers showed up above the ramparts or from the watchtowers. It was as if they just vanished, perhaps busy fighting whatever was behind the wall. Did the vectors get in? Logan was tempted to touch the gate, maybe open it himself. He felt Jun already by his side when he approached, giving him a curt nod as if to say he had his back should trouble came up. Logan felt at ease having him there. Miguel followed close behind while the others stayed back.

"What if the soldiers started shooting at us?" Miguel whispered.

Logan hadn't thought about that. Could he explain they were just checking in, see what the trouble was? He doubted they'd have a clear mind for that. "I-I don't know."

Jun grunted. "So, we shoot back."

"But they're the army," said Miguel.

"Better to shoot first than dead."

The gate slowly slid open, and Haskell stepped out, rifle slung around his shoulder, face covered with dirt and soot. He pushed the entrance all the way to the side, exposing Bren and Peter standing behind it, drenched in blood. They both held grim expressions.

"It's done," Bren said.

Done? What's done? Where are the soldiers? Logan thought, felt like he was going mad.