Learn to Kill an Infected
In front of them, Lieutenant Stroud walked slowly, her gaze fixed on each face as if searching for any sign of weakness. The subject of the lesson was clear, and no one could ignore the gravity of the moment.
"Today we're going to talk about the Infected," she began, her voice sharp as a knife. "The most persistent and dangerous threat you'll face out there. No matter how many insurgents or Fireflies try to tear down these walls, the Infected are the true enemy. And if you don't learn how to confront them, you'll be dead before you can scream for help."
She stopped in the center of the formation, crossing her arms behind her back. "Listen carefully. This isn't a fucking horror story. This is science. The culprit behind all of this is a fungus called Cordyceps. In nature, it infects insects, takes over their bodies, and uses them to spread. But 20 years ago, it mutated. It jumped to humans. And ever since, we've been screwed."
The rain began to fall softly, adding a somber air to the lesson. Stroud continued unfazed.
"Cordyceps spreads primarily through two ways: direct bite and spores. If you're bitten on the arm or leg by an infected person, you have 12 to 24 hours before you lose control of your body. If you're bitten on the neck or face... two hours, if you're lucky. There's no cure, no treatment. If you're infected, the only thing left is to make sure you don't take anyone else with you."
The tension in the formation was palpable. No one dared move.
"Now, listen carefully," she said, stopping in front of one of the recruits. "Killing an infected isn't that hard if you know what you're doing. The fungus controls the brain, so the most effective way to kill them is to destroy it. One shot to the head. One clean hit. One knife stuck in the skull. If you miss, I assure you, you won't get a second chance."
Stroud pointed to a makeshift whiteboard behind her, where drawings of the different variants of infected were displayed. "Not all infected are the same. And if you underestimate them, you'll be dead before you know it."
She walked over to the drawing of a runner, the most common type of infected. "This is a runner. Newly infected, usually fast and agile. They're not very strong, but they move like they're desperate to kill you, because they are. They're the type you'll encounter most often."
She then pointed to the stalker. "Stalkers are a step up in infection. They move more stealthily, as if they're hunting you. You'll find them hiding, waiting for the right moment to strike. Keep your eyes open and don't trust the shadows."
His hand moved to a drawing of a clicker, and his voice took on a more serious tone. "The clicker. This is the nightmare of anyone who doesn't know what they're doing. The fungus has grown so much on their head that they've lost their sight, but their hearing is extremely keen. If they make a sound near one of these, they're dead. They're strong, dangerous, and not afraid to get close. If you see one, aim and shoot. If you're out of bullets, make sure your knife is ready."
Finally, he came to the drawing of a bloater, a grotesque, hulking monster. "This bastard is a bloat. If you're unlucky enough to encounter one, pray. They're slow, yes, but incredibly strong and resilient. Plus, they shoot out spores that can infect you if you inhale them. If you're near one, use everything you've got to kill it, and do it fast."
Stroud stopped and looked at the group. "Remember, every type of infected is lethal. Don't underestimate any of them. And if you think you can take one on alone, you better make sure you're ready to die. Because there are no second chances out there."
She turned to the corporals accompanying her. "Bring the targets."
The recruits exchanged nervous glances as the soldiers dragged several tied-up infected forward, some runners and stalkers, locked in reinforced cages. Snarls and shrieks filled the air, causing some to instinctively back away.
"Today you will practice how to face them. We will teach you how to aim, how to attack with knives, and most importantly, how not to hesitate. If you falter in front of one of these, you will be dead."
Elliot gulped as his hands clenched into fists. This was not a video game. This was real.
The soldiers, under Lieutenant Stroud's orders, tied several infected to reinforced posts, placing them in a line some distance from the group of recruits. The infected struggled against the ropes, growling and snapping their teeth in rage, but they were well secured. It was a terrifying sight.
Among the recruits, the murmurs grew louder. Some spoke in low voices, questioning Stroud's sanity. "She's crazy," one muttered. "This can't be part of normal training." Others remained silent, fear clearly reflected on their faces.
Suddenly, a group of soldiers arrived pushing carts filled with rifles. The clanking of weapons and magazines clanking together filled the air. They were basic M4 rifles, M16A4s, and a few M16A3s. The recruits watched in awe and anxiety as the soldiers began to distribute them.
"Okay! Everybody grab a weapon," Stroud ordered, his firm voice cutting through the murmur.
Without wasting any time, the recruits approached the cart, choosing a rifle and grabbing a magazine. Elliot followed suit, his hands shaking slightly as he picked up an M16A4. It was the first time he had held a real weapon, and the weight of the rifle in his hands made him aware of what he was about to do.
Lieutenant Stroud grabbed an M4 from one of the carts, loading it with an efficiency that showed her experience. Then she walked to the front, her gaze scanning the group.
"Listen carefully," she began, holding the gun out in front of her. "If any of you think handling a gun is second nature, let me correct you: it is not. You will learn the basics here, and you will learn how to do it right. Because out there, if you make a mistake, you will be dead."
Stroud held the rifle in both hands, turning it slightly so everyone could see. "This is a rifle. It is your survival tool. If you learn to use it properly, you can stay alive. If not, you will be fodder for the infected."
She pointed to the body of the gun as she spoke. "Basics: Here's the safety. Before you fire, make sure you take it off. But don't do that until you're ready to use it. This is the magazine. To load it, just insert it and push until you hear the click. Then pull the charging handle back and release. That arms the rifle."
He paused, looking at the recruits to make sure they were paying attention. Then he raised the gun, placing it against his shoulder.
"Now, aim. Hold the gun steady, resting against your shoulder. Don't pull the trigger like it's some tool; squeeze it gently, as if you have full control of the shot. Don't fire more than necessary. One well-placed bullet is worth a whole wasted magazine."
He turned to the infected tied to the posts. One of them, a runner, was writhing violently, grunting and straining at the ropes. Stroud pointed at him.
"This is their goal. And this is what happens when they know what they're doing."
Without hesitation, he lined up his sights, adjusted his stance, and pulled the trigger. The shot rang out like thunder, and the infected's head exploded into pieces. The body collapsed immediately, without further movement. Stroud lowered the gun and turned to the recruits.
"This is how it's done. One shot. Clean, precise, final. Don't hesitate, don't waver. If you do, you're dead."
Elliot gulped, feeling the weight of the rifle in his hands. This wasn't just any training. This was learning to survive.
"Now," Stroud continued, pointing at the remaining infected. "Each of you is going to practice. I don't want to see you empty an entire clip like idiots. One shot, one infected dead. That's the rule. And if someone misses... well, you better not miss."
The group began to move, each recruit taking his position in front of a target. Elliot took a deep breath, trying to calm his nerves. This was real. And now, there was no room for error.
One by one, the recruits faced the bound infected, under the watchful and stern gaze of Lieutenant Stroud. Some managed to get their shots off, but missed, hitting the torso or missing entirely. Each mistake was followed by a torrent of insults and humiliation from the lieutenant.
"What the fuck was that?! Do you think the infected are going to stop because you shoot them in the chest? Aim for the head, you useless people! Those bullets are a luxury you don't deserve to waste!" Stroud bellowed, her voice laden with contempt.
The murmurs and nervous glances between the recruits increased with each miss. Some began to tremble, fearing they would be next. The weight of expectation and the brutality of training was almost unbearable.
Finally, it was Elliot's turn. His name was called coldly, and he felt the gazes of his fellow officers and the lieutenant fixate on him. His heart was pounding, and his hands were sweating as he held the M16A4. But despite his nerves, something inside him ignited. He wanted to do it right.
Elliot took a deep breath, remembering every step Stroud had shown before. He held the gun firmly, resting it against his shoulder, and flicked the safety off. He carefully aligned the sights as the infected in front of him writhed, grunting and struggling against the ropes. This was not a video game. There would be no room for error here. He thought about the recoil, the drop of the bullet, and the impact of the shot. The mix of anguish and emotion filled him, but he focused on the target.
Without further hesitation, he pulled the trigger. The shot echoed in the air, and the infected's head exploded into pieces. The body fell limp instantly.
The surprised recruits began to murmur, some even congratulating him with words of support. "Nice shot, Torres." "That was amazing."
Stroud, watching him closely, raised an eyebrow. She was impressed, but not satisfied.
"Kill another one, soldier," she ordered in a cold, firm voice.
Elliot nodded, saying nothing, and readied his weapon again. He took a deep breath, repeating the same movements with precision. He aligned the sights, this time on another infected who was thrashing violently against the ropes. He pulled the trigger again. The shot was as accurate as the first. The bullet pierced the infected's skull, and the body fell dead instantly.
A momentary silence fell over the group. Some of the recruits gaped at him, while Stroud crossed his arms, his expression hard to read. Finally, he spoke.
"Looks like you're not all pieces of shit after all," he said, looking at Elliot. His tone was still harsh, but there was a hint of recognition in his words. "Very well, Torres. But don't let this make you think you're special." He turned to the rest of the recruits. "The rest of you should be taking notes. This is how it's done. No hesitation, no failure."
Elliot gulped, but couldn't help but feel a spark of pride. Stroud's gaze was still cold, but there was something else now: respect, even if it was minimal.
"This isn't over yet," Stroud added, turning his attention back to everyone. "I want to see every single one of you shoot until you hit. I don't care how many infected we have to bring in. You'll learn to kill today or you'll die out there."
The training continued, but Elliot knew something had changed. He had taken a step forward. In a world where every day was a fight for survival, every small victory counted.
End of Chapter 3