Chapter Text
As the first rays of morning sunlight pierced through the dense canopy, the survivors pressed forward, their footsteps crunching softly against the forest floor. Ellis kept a firm grip on the pilot, steadying him as they maneuvered through the uneven terrain, while Mary, the co-pilot, walked a few paces ahead, eyes locked on the map in her hands.
"We keep heading north," she said, voice calm but firm. "There's an old road not far from here. If we're lucky, we might find a vehicle."
Nick snorted. "Lucky? Yeah, because that's worked out real well for us so far."
Coach shot him a look but didn't respond. They had all been through too much to argue about hope.
As the sun fully broke over the treetops, they arrived at the riverbank. The water, usually a sign of life, was tainted by death—bloated corpses drifted lazily downstream, their rotting flesh staining the river a murky red. Some were half-submerged, others caught on branches, their lifeless eyes staring blankly at the sky.
"Ergh." Nick wrinkled his nose in disgust. "That's nasty."
"Hey, Nick, maybe it's time for you to take a bath," Rochelle teased, flashing a tired grin.
Nick shot her a glare. "I ain't touching that water with those things floatin' in it. Not unless you want me turnin' into one of them."
"Relax," Ellis said, adjusting his grip on the pilot. "Ain't like takin' a dip makes you one of 'em."
Mary, however, wasn't amused. "Don't even joke about that," she muttered.
The gang continued their way to the Riverbank—heading north as they followed Mary.
Ellis adjusted his grip on the pilot, glancing at him with curiosity. "So... uh, what's your name? We haven't really introduced ourselves."
The group slowed to a stop at Ellis's suggestion, exchanging glances. It was strange—after everything, after surviving a helicopter crash, running through the woods, and fighting off the infected, they still hadn't bothered to learn each other's names with the pilots.
Ellis chuckled awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. "Name's Ellis, by the way. I know it sounds like a girl's name, but—"
Nick shot him a pointed look, raising an eyebrow as if to say, Just get on with it.
Ellis cleared his throat. "Ah—y'know what, never mind. Just call me Ellis." A bead of sweat rolled down his temple as he quickly dropped the subject.
Coach stepped forward, offering the pilot a nod. "You can call me Coach."
"Rochelle," she added, giving a small wave.
"Nick," the conman muttered, his arms still crossed, looking unimpressed by the whole thing.
The pilot, despite his pain, straightened up slightly. His voice was rough but steady. "Sergeant First Class David Foster. U.S. Army."
"David," Coach repeated, testing the name. "Well, Sergeant, good to finally put a name to the face."
Mary glanced at the group before shifting her stance. "Lieutenant Mary Caldwell. But just Mary is fine."
Ellis grinned. "Well, Mary, David—looks like we're all in this mess together."
The group shared a moment of silence before Coach clapped his hands together. "Alright, now that we got introductions outta the way, we need to keep moving. That road ain't gonna find itself."
With that, they pressed forward, their boots crunching against the damp forest floor. The sun was climbing higher, but the woods still carried a heavy, lingering fog. Somewhere in the distance, a distant snarl echoed through the trees.
Whatever was watching them hadn't left.
After several minutes of walking, the trees began to thin, giving way to cracked pavement and faded yellow lines.
Mary halted at the edge of the road, her gloved fingers tightening around her map. Behind her gas mask, a smirk tugged at her lips. "We're here."
Ellis adjusted his grip on David, helping him stand as the injured pilot surveyed their surroundings. "Not much of a welcome sign, huh?"
Rochelle scanned ahead, spotting two structures a short distance away. "Look—gas station down that way. And there's a motel on the corner."
Nick scoffed, shoving his hands into his pockets. "Great. A gas station. Y'know what? I'm betting it's either picked clean or crawling with infected."
Coach ignored Nick's grumbling and turned to the group. "Alright, we'll split up. Nick and I'll check out the gas station. Rochelle, Mary—you two take the motel, see if there's anything worth grabbing."
He turned to Ellis and David. "Ellis, you stick with me and Nick while helpin' our friend here. That leg of his ain't gettin' any better if we don't find proper medical supplies."
David let out a short, humorless chuckle. "You're telling me."
Mary hesitated, her grip tightening on her sidearm. "Are you sure splitting up is a good idea?"
"It ain't," Nick answered bluntly, "but sittin' in the middle of the road debating it isn't either."
Coach nodded. "We'll keep within earshot. If anything goes south, we regroup at the motel. Understood?"
Everyone exchanged glances before nodding.
"Good," Coach said, cocking his shotgun and taking point. "Let's move."
With that, they stepped off the road, heading toward their respective destinations. The eerie silence of the abandoned town pressed in around them, broken only by the occasional distant groan of the undead.
---
Mary and Rochelle moved cautiously through the parking lot, their footsteps muffled against the cracked pavement. The motel was eerily silent, its broken windows and rusted-out cars a grim reminder of the world that once was.
Mary adjusted the hunting rifle strapped to her back and kept her silenced pistol in hand, but Rochelle reached out, stopping her. "Best not to waste ammo," she whispered, handing Mary a bloodstained crowbar.
Mary hesitated, staring at the crude weapon. "It's fine. I'll use my knife," she said, drawing a military-grade combat knife from her vest.
Rochelle gave an approving nod. One by one, they moved through the motel, silently dispatching the scattered infected.
Rochelle used her crowbar while Mary used her combat knife. Mary worked methodically, but Rochelle wasn't surprised—she was a lieutenant, after all.
They checked each room, finding little more than broken furniture and old luggage. Rochelle eventually came across a duffle bag tucked beneath a toppled dresser. She pulled it free, unzipped it, and her eyes widened slightly.
"Jackpot," she muttered. Inside, stacks of bandages, painkillers, and antiseptic wipes—exactly what they needed. She slung the bag over her shoulder and followed Mary to the last door.
Mary reached for the doorknob, but Rochelle felt it first—something wasn't right.
Then, she heard it.
A deep, guttural bellow. Heavy, pounding footsteps from the other side of the door.
Her blood ran cold.
"MOVE!" Rochelle yelled, grabbing Mary's vest and yanking her back just as the door exploded off its hinges.
Mary barely had time to gasp before the Charger barreled through, sending splinters flying as it crashed into the opposite wall.
Both women hit the floor hard, Rochelle rolling onto her side while Mary scrambled backward, eyes wide in pure shock.
"What the hell is that?!" Mary gasped, panic creeping into her voice behind her gas mask. She had seen the infected before, but this? This thing was monstrous—half its body grotesquely overgrown with muscle, its right arm a massive, deformed club.
Rochelle, however, had no time to explain. She knew how Chargers worked. One hit could be fatal.
The infected beast twisted its body, locking onto Mary, who was still frozen in shock.
Rochelle's instincts kicked in.
"MARY, MOVE!"
She shoved herself up, grabbing the crowbar and hurling it at the Charger's head.
The weapon struck its temple with a loud thunk, causing the beast to stumble just as it lunged. That split-second delay was all Mary needed.
"Shit—!" Mary rolled to the side, narrowly dodging the creature's grasp. Her heartbeat thundered in her ears as she scrambled to her feet.
Rochelle, wasting no time, pulled her pistol and fired three precise shots into the Charger's back. The bullets barely slowed it down, but it was enough to shift its attention toward her.
"Over here, asshole!" Rochelle taunted, backing toward the hallway.
The Charger let out a furious roar and rushed forward—just what she wanted.
Perfect.
The moment it lunged, Rochelle sidestepped at the last second, dodging the attack entirely. As the Charger barreled past her, she swung her crowbar upward, twisting it to use the blunt edge instead of the hooked end.
CRACK!
The steel connected hard with the Charger's forehead, a sickening crunch echoing through the room. The brute staggered, its vision blurring from the blow, but the momentum was already carrying it forward.
It's massive frame hits right into the wooden beam.
BOOM!
The beam shattered on impact, chunks of wood and dust exploding into the air. The Charger collapsed, its body slamming against the wall with a heavy THUD.
For a second, it twitched—its body seizing up, blood pooling beneath its massive arm. Then, it went still.
Rochelle stepped forward, breath steady, pistol raised.
BANG!
One last shot, straight into its skull.
Just to be sure.
Then—silence.
The dust settled, the faint ringing of gunfire fading into the motel's ruined hallways.
Mary still stood there, panting, her grip tight around the bloodstained knife in her hand. Her chest rose and fell rapidly as the full weight of the encounter hit her.
This wasn't just another infection.
This was something else.
Her hands trembled slightly. The adrenaline was still there, but the fear? That was new. It was a different feeling that thing locked onto her, knowing it would have crushed her if Rochelle hadn't acted.
Rochelle exhaled and turned to her, sliding the pistol back into its holster. Rochelle stepped closer, eyes scanning Mary's features. The younger woman was still rattled—her chest rising and falling too fast, her hands trembling at her sides.
'First time facing something like that up close,' Rochelle thought.
"You okay?" she asked, stepping closer.
Mary blinked, swallowing hard. "That thing... that was—"
"A Charger," Rochelle finished for her. "Strong as hell, fast, and dumb as a brick. If it grabs you, you're done."
Mary let out a shaky breath, glancing at the lifeless corpse. "Jesus..."
Rochelle, noticing the way Mary's fingers still twitched around the handle of her knife, nudged her lightly on the shoulder.
"You handled yourself well," she said, offering a small nod of approval.
Mary let out a dry, breathless chuckle, shaking her head. "I froze."
"You moved when it counted," Rochelle countered. "That's what matters."
Mary swallowed hard, still staring at the creature's massive, mutated arm. She had gone through training, had been prepared for combat situations—but nothing in her training had ever accounted for this.
This wasn't just facing an enemy. This was facing something designed to kill you.
Something inhuman.
Her hands wouldn't stop shaking.
Rochelle recognized that feeling all too well. The first real fight was always the hardest. The first moment when you realize this world doesn't give you second chances.
She took a step closer and nudged Mary's arm again, lighter this time.
"The head," she said, gesturing to the Charger's cracked skull. "That's its weak spot. Put enough hits into it, and it drops. Simple as that. Sometimes, all it takes is one good blunt swing to the head."
Mary let out a slow breath, nodding slightly. "Right..."
"And don't worry," Rochelle added with a small smirk. "I've had a few run-ins with these guys. You'll get used to it."
Mary wasn't sure if she wanted to.
She flexed her fingers, forcing the tension out of them. The shakes were fading now, her body adjusting to the aftershock of adrenaline. It was over. She was still standing.
That was enough.
Rochelle clapped a hand on her shoulder, firm but reassuring. "Come on, we need to regroup."
Mary let out one last exhale, gave the dead Charger one final glance, then nodded.
"...Yeah. Let's go."
As they turned toward the motel exit, Rochelle kept an eye on her. She knew that kind of shock didn't fade immediately.
But if Mary was going to survive out here, she had to learn fast.
And Rochelle had a feeling—she would.
[End]