"Early phase," he said. "People help each other. They still have hope."
Hope dies when the canned goods run out. When the water taps dry. Then the scavenging starts.
"Search parties lose people. Volunteers become conscripts." Van's grip tightened on the wheel. "Leaders crack. The useful ones get protection. The useless ones get the dangerous jobs."
Resentment builds. Why do the safe ones eat what the dead risked to find?
Caroline listened, her face half-lit by the dashboard.
"Phase two," Van continued. "Authority collapses. No rescue coming. No law."
When the state can't enforce order, violence becomes private. No consequences. No courts.
"Rules still exist," Van said. "But they're for the leaders' survival. Not yours."
Dissenters leave. Or fight. Or disappear.
"The camps that last use absolute force. Or religion." Van's jaw clenched. "Civilization is a luxury. It returns only when the threat ends."
He glanced at the women.
"Phase three: Trust nobody. Every stranger is a threat."
Caroline exhaled. "One month alone. We can do it."
Van glanced at her. He'd expected resistance.
Caroline's smile was thin, bitter. "After Hurley, I need to see if you're right."
Van nodded. "Problem."
Murphy looked up from the map.
"Fuel," Van said, tapping the gauge. "Below half. We need reserves."
Murphy spread the chart across her knees. "Sir, permission to speak?"
Caroline flicked her ear. Murphy yelped, then pointed. "Tyrone. West of Hurley."
"Hurley fell days ago. Bombed. Bayard and Central are likely infected."
"Tyrone's close. If the infection spread, residents fled or died. Might be empty. Just rotters and supplies."
Van considered. The logic was sound.
He turned east.
They drove through the night, rotating shifts. No stops.
Dawn broke over the Chihuahuan Desert. Murphy shook Van awake.
"Contact."
Van rolled from the cargo bay, joints stiff. Murphy had parked the Express atop a dune.
"Tyrone," she said, pointing.
Silence.
The town sat in the valley, baking under the sun. No movement. No smoke. No wandering figures.
Murphy climbed onto the roof with binoculars. "Nothing. Quiet as a grave."
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Van opened the center console. The blue glow pulsed—today's resupply had materialized. One hundred rounds, neatly stacked. He verified the count, then chambered a fresh magazine.
He chambered a fresh magazine. "We check it out."
The Express rolled down the slope, stopping one kilometer out.
Caroline glassed the outskirts. "No patrols. No movement."
Van turned the truck around, positioning for immediate egress. He nodded to Caroline.
She moved to the rear hatch, rifle ready. Murphy manned the roof hatch.
Van hit the horn.
HONK.
HONK.
Two minutes of echoing blasts. Nothing stirred.
Caroline lowered her rifle. "Empty?"
They rolled into Tyrone.
Shattered storefronts. Broken windows. But no bodies. No blood. No rotters.
"Where are they?" Murphy whispered.
Van scanned the ruined buildings. The damage looked old. Days old.
Caroline pointed. "Fuel station."
The Express pulled up to the pumps. The three dismounted, weapons up.
"Activate the pumps. Check for supplies," Van ordered. "I handle the fuel."
Caroline and Murphy moved toward the convenience store, rifles shouldered.
The shelves were still stocked. Untouched.
"Panic buying never happened," Caroline said, tossing a bag to Murphy. "They had no warning."
Murphy swept feminine hygiene products into the bag. Caroline grabbed clothing and headphones.
Van uncapped the tank. Fuel gurgled into the Express.
The tank hit full. He sealed the cap.
SCREEEEEECH.
The sound cut through the desert air like a blade.
Van turned.
In the distance, a crimson figure lumbered between the buildings. Tall. Wrong.
It moved toward them with purpose.
The shriek tore through the desert air. Van waved sharply, gesturing toward the Express.
The women sprinted from the store, hauling bags. They tumbled inside. Van slammed the door.
The rearview mirror showed it: a crimson giant, taller than the upgraded Express. Skin shredded, muscles exposed. The head sunken between mountain-like shoulders.
That shriek? Muscle fibers grinding against bone.
"Move!" Caroline shouted from the cargo bay, rifle ready.
The thing's muscles twitched, fibrous vines writhing beneath the surface. Its eyes—trapped within the facial meat—locked onto them. Intelligent. Hungry.
Van floored it. The engine roared.
The Berserker coiled.
"What's it doing?!" Murphy screamed.
CRUNCH.
The impact lifted the Express off the ground. Caroline and Murphy slammed into the supplies.
Murphy caught a glimpse of those eyes as they rolled—crimson, aware, furious.
"It's thinking!" Caroline gasped, scrambling up.
Van gritted his teeth, fighting the wheel. The Berserker appeared at the side window.
BOOM.
The shoulder check dented the armor plating. The truck skidded sideways, two meters off course.
Van's jaw ached from clenching. He punched the accelerator.
Caroline opened the rear ballistic window, mounting her rifle. Murphy pressed against the back of Van's seat, eyes fixed on the mirror.
"It's staring at us," Van said.
The Berserker bent its knees.
"One-thousand-one, one-thousand-two—" Murphy counted. "Now!"
Dust exploded. The creature launched.
Van jerked the wheel left. The Express swerved.
The Berserker missed by inches, confusion flickering in those buried eyes.
Caroline fired.
CRACK-CRACK-CRACK.
Three blue tracers punched into the exposed muscle. The thing tumbled, snapping a tree, rolling in the dirt.
Then it burned.
Blue flames erupted across its flesh, consuming it in seconds. It tried to rise, coiling for another leap, but the fire ate through its tendons.
It collapsed into ash.
[ EXPERIENCE GAINED: +200 ]
Van exhaled, guiding the Express onto open sand. He cut the engine on a dune.
Caroline slumped in the passenger seat, clutching her rifle. Murphy sat silent, hugging her pack.
"New data," Van said, producing a notebook.
He wrote:
Standard Infected: Human-speed x1.5. Bicycle velocity. Audio/visual attracted.
Canine Variant: ~80 km/h. Pack coordination observed.
Berserker Type: ~3 meters. Extreme kinetic force. 2-second wind-up for charge. Sonic muscle vibration. Possible deafness—relies on vision.
Caroline leaned forward. "It's the eyes. When it missed, it looked... confused. Surprised."
"No ears visible," Murphy said. "Buried in the muscle. It couldn't hear the engine. It saw us."
Van added: Sensory: Visual only?
"Where are the others?" he asked. "The standard infected?"
No one knew. But fifty kilometers south, in Rozburg, a Lieutenant was learning the answer the hard way.
The Humvee's gunner emptied his magazine. The Berserker absorbed the rounds, closing the distance.
"Last grenade!" the Lieutenant roared.
The 40mm round embedded in the creature's neck. BOOM. Half the neck vanished. The giant crashed.
Then the street erupted.
Standard infected swarmed the fallen giant, tearing at its flesh, avoiding the Humvee entirely.
"Drive! Now!"
The vehicle surged forward. The Lieutenant watched the rearview, breath ragged.
The swarm scattered. Something rose from the center—larger than the last. Muscles so overgrown they had swallowed the skull entirely.
It shrieked.
The Lieutenant closed his eyes.
"Evolved," he whispered.