[104] Fortress

Me and Cassidy got into our positions behind the window and we began to fire back at the mob.

As the deafening sound of gunfire rang out, the pandemonium of the outside world seemed to converge upon us. The cold metal of the AR-15 dug into my shoulder, its cold, unfeeling touch a stark contrast to the heated turmoil that was taking place beyond the hospital's frail, glass window.

My finger was a steady drum on the trigger, each squeeze sending out a hail of bullets that ripped through the air, cutting down the approaching mob one by one. My eyes, hardened and unyielding, were glued to the sights of my rifle, the focus unwavering as the aim adjusted from target to target.

Cassidy was on my left, the rapid, almost rhythmic, chatter of her UZIs providing a counterpoint to the staccato bursts of my AR-15. She handled the submachine guns with practiced ease, the dual wield UZIs spitting out a deadly spray of bullets that mowed down anyone who dared to come closer.

We were the gatekeepers, the last line of defense between the relentless mob and the innocent lives inside the hospital. And we would not yield, not until our last breath.

Sweat trickled down the side of my face, stinging my eyes, but I blinked it away, never letting my focus falter. My heart pounded in my chest like a war drum, each beat matching the rhythm of the gunfire that echoed in my ears.

Every now and then, I would steal a glance at Cassidy, just to make sure she was holding up. Each time, I would see the same resolute determination etched on her face, her lips set in a grim line, her eyes blazing with an unquenchable fire.

And from the corner of my eye, I could see Kaya. Her vantage point on the hospital roof providing her with a clear view of the battlefield. The sharp crack of her rifle was a constant in the symphony of chaos, each shot bringing down a member of the mob with ruthless precision.

The floor beneath us was vibrating, the reverberations of the gunfire resonating through the structure of the hospital. Casings from our guns clinked against the tiled floor, a morose rain of brass that fell with each squeeze of the trigger. And despite the chaos and the fear, we held the line.

Meanwhile, Kaya got to the rooftop and laid down on her stomach.

Once in position, she unfolded her sniper rifle, a sleek, deadly instrument designed for one purpose: to take lives from a distance. The faint metallic clink of the bipod hitting the concrete was drowned out by the roar of gunfire from below. Her fingers, calloused and weathered from years of combat, expertly checked the rifle's chamber, ensuring it was ready for the task at hand.

Laying flat on her stomach, Kaya inched forward until her eye was level with the scope. The crosshairs danced in her vision, casting a deadly grid over the frantic chaos of the mob below. Every heartbeat, every breath, every minuscule movement of her body could mean the difference between a kill shot and a miss. But Kaya was disciplined, her body as still as the concrete beneath her.

Then came the moment of truth. Her finger curled around the trigger, the pad of her finger gently grazing against the cold metal. Her heartbeat slowed, each throb echoing in her ears as if time itself had slowed. Her gaze was locked on a target, a man attempting to rally the mob for another assault.

The world seemed to quiet around her, the cacophony of the mob becoming distant as her focus narrowed. Her breath hitched, a fraction of a second where the world stood still, and then she squeezed. The rifle bucked against her shoulder, a sharp jolt that sent tremors down her arm, but she barely registered it. Her attention was solely on her target, watching as the bullet found its mark, dropping the man like a sack of bricks.

Without missing a beat, she worked the bolt of her rifle, ejecting the spent cartridge and chambering a fresh one. The process was methodical, each action ingrained in her muscle memory from countless hours of practice. There was no room for hesitation, no room for error. And Kaya, with her unwavering concentration and lethal precision, made none.

With each shot, Kaya reduced the mob's numbers, her sniper rifle singing a deadly song that echoed across the town. From her perch on the rooftop, she was the silent guardian, the unseen threat that kept the mob at bay. Each pull of the trigger was another life ended, another threat eliminated. It was a grim task, but one that Kaya did without falter or remorse.

The hospital's impromptu defense line was crumbling under the relentless assault from the mob. The once clean and sterile corridors were now the sight of a chaotic and grim firefight. Shattered glass, upturned furniture, and bullet casings littered the once sterile floor, painting a surreal picture of chaos and destruction.

The armed guards that had taken a stand with us were courageous, each standing their ground and meeting the onslaught with steely determination. The air was punctuated with the deafening sound of gunfire, cries of pain, and angry shouts. Men and women who were just civilians before the world fell apart were now fighting tooth and nail for their survival.

But the mob was relentless. The hospital's undermanned and underequipped defense couldn't hold up against the sheer number of their attackers. One by one, our makeshift barricades were being overrun, our numbers dwindling with each passing minute. Our resistance was fierce, but the mob's onslaught was even fiercer.

I witnessed a guard next to me go down, his face contorted in a grimace of pain as he clutched his bleeding side. Another, a woman not much older than me, was hit in the shoulder, her scream piercing through the din of the battle before she collapsed onto the floor. They were brave, these guards, standing their ground and fighting back, even in the face of such overwhelming odds.

Cassidy was beside me, her fingers tightly gripping her UZIs, her face set in a determined frown. Her gunfire was relentless, each squeeze of the trigger cutting down one more attacker. But for each one we took down, it seemed like two more took their place.

The scene was chaotic, adrenaline-fueled, and utterly horrifying. A grim testament to our desperate struggle for survival. The once secure hospital was now a battlefield, and the scent of fear, of blood, of death hung heavy in the air.

Yet, despite the overwhelming odds, despite the losses we were suffering, we fought on. There was no giving up, no surrender. This was our last stand, our backs against the wall, and we would fight to the bitter end. For each fallen guard, for each lost life, we pushed back harder, our resolve hardened by the grim realities of our desperate situation.

The sound of gunshots, the sight of fallen comrades, the taste of fear, it all merged into a grim symphony of survival. Our senses were assaulted from all sides as we fought back, clinging onto the hope that we would live to see another day. But with each passing minute, with each fallen guard, that hope was slowly fading.

We're fked...

As the mob closed in, a chilling sound echoed from the distance, a bone-rattling, gut-wrenching howl that was as unmistakable as it was terrifying. For a moment, the entire battlefield fell silent, every face turned towards the source of the noise, and every heart was filled with a primal fear that transcended factions and alliances.

The howl was a siren's call of death and decay, a haunting symphony of moans and screams, and it filled the air, drowning out the sound of gunfire, the cries of the wounded, the shouts of the mob. It was the call of the undead, thousands of them, their cacophonous howls echoing off the buildings, chilling the blood of every living being within earshot.

As the eerie sound reverberated through the night, the battlefield was plunged into a stunned silence. The mob, so fierce and relentless just moments before, stood frozen in their tracks, their bloodlust forgotten in the face of this new, far more terrifying threat. Fear etched every face as the howls grew louder, closer, a grim reminder of the real enemy that loomed beyond our petty squabbles.

Bitter enemies moments ago, the mob, the hospital staff, me, Cassidy and Kaya, we all stood united in our fear, each one of us understanding the unspoken truth – the horde was coming. The eerie silence that followed the chilling howls was broken only by the occasional whimper of fear, the sharp intake of breath, the clattering of a dropped weapon.

As the howls grew closer, a palpable wave of fear swept through the crowd. The once fierce mob was now a frightened group of survivors, their fiery aggression extinguished by the gut-wrenching howls of the undead. The once indomitable guards, reduced to fearful individuals, their faces ashen, their bodies trembling. The horror of the impending doom was clear on every face, a shared understanding of the chilling reality of our situation.

In the face of the undead, all our differences seemed insignificant. The territorial squabbles, the fight for resources, all seemed meaningless when compared to the inexorable advance of the undead horde. The fear was palpable, a thick fog that hung over the crowd, making it hard to breathe, hard to think.

In that moment, it wasn't us against the mob, or the mob against us. It was the living against the dead. And as the chilling howls echoed through the night, one fact was made painfully clear to all of us - the true horror of our world wasn't each other. It was the sea of undead, their ravenous hunger for the living, their relentless march towards us.

The impending onslaught of the undead was a grim reality that had sunk its cold claws into each one of us, chilling us to our very cores. The sounds of their collective howls was a haunting lullaby, a chilling promise of the doom that was fast approaching.

Suddenly, the air was pierced with the deafening sound of thousands of footsteps. The undead were here. And with them, they brought the stark reality of our world, a grim reminder of the true threat that loomed over us all. The petty fights, the squabbles for resources, all faded into insignificance in the face of this terrifying reality.

And as we stood there, on the brink of an undead onslaught, our enemy was not each other. It was the hordes of undead, their howls echoing in our ears, their relentless march a chilling promise of the horrors that awaited us.

Now we are really fked...

Q: What would you do if you are in this situation?